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Spoils of War	By : ladyofarundel Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 4663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Part III
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After a little over five months Little One broke his silence, and it was Draco who helped him do it.

He had backed away from the crimson bed curtains by the time Father, breathless, rushed into the room at the sound of Little One screaming. He beamed at Father.

"It's almost wake!"

Father stared at him a long moment before turning to the bed, where Little One thrashed and bled and screamed in pure terror as Draco watched, delighted. Father swept the sweet one into his arms, hushing words and frantically whispering spells that were drowned by the tortured cries. Father managed to coax the struggling, bleeding boy still enough to drink some of Angel's potion already perfectly placed on the table beside the bed.

Little One continued to scream himself raw but allowed Father to gather him into his lap and Draco's hands clenched in first of rage. It was his potion, not Father's, it should be him that went in after the asphodel and brought to a slight boil, and Little One should be in his arms, whimpering softly as his hands, not Father's, caressed his cheek.

He hated Little One for being Father's Little One and not Angel's Sweet Harry, hated him for choosing Father, hated him for making him hate Father who saved him. But Sweet Harry was still so ill and not all awake, so maybe he just didn't know better.

He no longer paid mind to the pair on the bed, fascinated instead by his hands glistening with Little One's blood, just like father's had that very first night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That night Father forbade him from ever touching Little One without his express permission, patiently explaining that Angel would break the toy beyond repair if he tried to play with it now, for it was still so fragile. Furthermore, Father lectured, Little One was not his to break, it belonged to Father, but perhaps if Angel behaved he would let him play with it once and a while and if he was really good he'd show him a better way to make Little One scream.

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Draco dipped the ladle into the cauldron and calmly stirred a hundred times clockwise, watching through his silver-blond hair as Father discarded his dressing gown and slipped into bed behind Little One. He licked his lips excitedly; Father had never taken to his Harry's bed nude before.

He watched as Father stroked Little One's bare chest and tight stomach, felt himself harden as the boy whimpered a happy little sound as Father pressed himself against him, remembered how exciting Father's hardness felt through his own thin pajama bottoms back when he wore nightclothes and slept in his childhood bed.

A pinch of wormwood and Draco ground his crotch against the heavy mahogany table—heirloom-cum-potions lab—matching the pace of Father's softly thrusting hips. He ground harder as those wicked hands slid lower and rubbed Little One's flesh through Draco's handed-down cotton bottoms. He bit his lip to keep from begging Father to pull down the pajamas to let him see, oh how he wanted to see even though he knew Little One was still too ill and weak to harden for Father, but Draco was hard for Little One, sweet Harry, so it was alright. He rubbed harder watching Father play with Little One; the table was Little One's tight body, the ladle in his hand Little One's hard cock, which surely would have swelled for the Angel had he been allowed to touch the precious One.

"Severus?"

He froze, as did Father, for Little One had spoken his first word in all his time at the Manor. No, no that was wrong, wasn't a child's first word supposed to be Father?

It had been Draco's, after all. A newborn, reborn, at fifteen.

Barely-suppressed rage darkened Father's features but his voice remained soothing and calm, pulling the boy closer and murmuring in his ear, but Draco paid little attention.

Severus, he knew that name—beautiful black robes, candy canes and trinkets always hidden in toddler-high pockets just for him, graceful, strong hands that had whisked him high into the air in circles. Elegant beautiful hands wrapped around a slender jar of belladonna, around a ladle calmly stirring the cauldron a hundred times clockwise, around his throbbing prick, pumping him.

He knew Severus from Before, who could have saved him but did not, who betrayed him, had tried to save him like Father did, two drops and he loved him, Severus, who warned him away from the skull and the snake but was too weak to save him like Father did, Severus who didn't love him, spurned him away, eyes wide in horror, what have I done, done, done and all Draco could do was laugh, three drops next time, or maybe four.

Little One cooed the hateful name again and Father jerked away from Little One, hands clenched, and in the next moment Draco found himself bent backwards against the table, Father clawing apart his robes and violently slamming himself deep Angel's dry channel. He screamed around Father's tongue and wrapped his legs around the thrusting hips, oh so good, blood dripping down his thighs, jars knocked off the table and shattering. Father pounded viciously, hair wild and partially obscuring furious eyes and Draco screamed, melting, so happy, Father loved him, teeth on his neck, his ear and he threw back his head.

"Little One was more damaged than we first thought, Angel."

Panting breath in his ear, glorious prick wrenching him in two. Father loved him!

"They abused poor Little One and they whored him for their cause, whored and corrupted our Little One but we will save him, won't we, Angel?"

"Yes, Father—oh—harder—harder, deeper—please—"

More jars crashed to the floor as Father poured his anger into him, essence asphodel and wormwood and lavender in the air, sounds and smells and the rough feel of a table beneath him and it was another potions lab, another's hands on him, another's cock in him.

"Please Father—oh, gods—Severus!"

Father froze, pulling Draco's hips back onto the engorged flesh and holding him there, fingers digging into his hips hard enough to draw blood, Draco's own prick bobbing desperately midair.

"What have you done, Angel?"

"Nothing, Father!" He squirmed, but Father held still inside him, releasing one hip to pick up a mincing knife from the table and lightly running it against Angel's perfect skin.

"Did he touch you?"

"Yes—"

Never lie to Father, who saved him from crimson eyes when Severus would not. The knife flicked around his nipples drawing little drops of blood and he moaned.

"Did you suck him?"

Cock heavy on his tongue.

"Yes—"

"Did he fuck you?"

The prick inside him painfully still, throbbing, love him, love him.

"Yes—"

Boiling cauldron hot against his skin.

"Did you like it?"

Cool steel along his throat, yes, yes, yes—

"Dirty little slut."

"Yes, Father!"

Anything for the cock inside him to move, deeper, deeper, devour him—

"Why, my Angel?"

Blood seeped down his cheek, his chest. Father traced the bloodied line of his jaw with his tongue.

"Because I missed you," he sobbed, "because you were his, because you had wanted him—"

He should have wanted Draco, too.

Two drops, should have used three.

Because young Draco loved to hide in secret behind the tapestry in the study and watch the man with the beautiful black hair stretch himself out along the chaise with his Daddy beneath him, Father making such pretty sounds as Severus took him.

Father began thrusting into him again, harder than before, and he was Lucius Malfoy being fucked by Severus Snape, Master of Potions and other things mystical and consuming, bent over a desk, screaming and so, so close. But the man above him, in him, growled harsh words of possession—love! in his ear as he took him, something Severus never did, and it was Father again taking Malfoy the son who always begged for more, even as he came, shuddering and spilling himself across their stomachs, even as Father arched into him a moment later.

They lay sprawled across the ruined table, ingredients scattered and shattered around them, Father panting heavily in his ear, yet to withdraw from him, and Draco clung to his shoulders, sated and content.

"Did he feel this good inside you, Angel? Did your godfather fuck you as well as I do?"

"No, Father," he purred, and Father gathered him in his arms and settled them into an armchair, rocking Draco close, aristocratic nose nuzzling silver-blond hair. Gentle fingers turned his head and together they watched as Little One whimpered in his tortured sleep, Draco's head tucked under Father's chin.

"Poor Little One, see what I saved you from, my Angel? That would have been you, they would have sent to fight, too, and the Traitor would have abandoned you to the Dark One, just as he used and deserted our Little One."

Draco happily murmured in agreement against Father's chest and they sat, blood and seed drying deliciously tight against his skin. Draco had loved Severus and Severus had said he loved him and Draco had wanted him, just like Father, and Draco had seduced him, just like Father, two little drops in pumpkin juice turned protests into moans into you're so tight and hot, Draco, such a good fuck, Draco—

"Did he kiss you?"

Godfather didn't kiss him, stroked him and sucked him and fucked him but would not kiss him, and when he had tried—Still panting and impaled, Draco had kissed his beautiful godfather and whispered his love and it had been the end. Black eyes wide in panic and then forever cold, what have I done, it has to stop, has to stop, should never have started, leave, leave, you aren't supposed to love me, I don't love you, a mistake, I didn't mean to make you think I, what have I—. Draco inconsolable, pleading, don't stop, you love me, you want me, you wanted me, fuck me, fuck me, you love me and he had shattered as beautiful Godfather the Traitor pulled out and left him alone and—

"Did he kiss you?" Draco tilted his head.

"No, Father."

"See, he didn't love you, not the way I do, my Angel," and Father's mouth descended upon his.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

He stood in the front hall of the Manor, excitedly hopping from foot to foot when Father finally returned from the Ministry.

"Father, Father! He's awake!"

Father smiled and swung Angel up into his arms, carrying him up the stairs towards Little One's room. Fifth floor, third door on the right.

"Did you touch him?"

"No, I'm not allowed," he whined, sullenly. Not that he could touch Little One with the wards Father placed around the bed with the crimson curtains each time he left.

"Good boy."

Draco squirmed excitedly, slinging his arms around Father's neck.

"And guess what else, Father?"

Father hummed absently, on the fourth flight now.

"Sweet Harry knew I was Angel! He knew, he knew!"

Father did not seem surprised and so he probably already knew Little One would know that, which was not surprising since Father knew everything.

"Oh did he now?"

"He did! He opened his eyes and saw me and was so surprised and do you want to know what he said, Father?"

"What did he say, Angel?"

"He stared and whispered to me, ‘Draco? You're dead!'"

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TBC...
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Spoils of War