Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

My first memory is the warm gush of blood under my fingertips. I don't remember being hurt. I don't remember falling to the ground, but the rough stone digs into my hip. It's dark, and I don't remember my name.

I know I must have one. It seems important that I remember. 

But the blood is flowing, viscous and hot out of a gash on my side, and that seems like the more pressing issue.

I make a sound—a ragged gasp—and I recognize my voice, just barely, but I don’t remember where I would have heard it. I don't remember ever speaking before. 

I dig my fingers into my side, pressing the fabric of my shirt into the wound with another small cry. 

I know I must stay quiet. If I'm heard— I don't know, I've forgotten that too. 

Something shifts on the stone to my left, the darkness swallowing any indication of a visitor. But the sound was enough to know I'm not alone. I curl into myself, a defensive position.

My fingers touch my hair. It’s curly, and for a flash of a second I wonder what color it is.

“Harry,” something hisses the word, a barely human voice dripping with hatred. I cringe my eyes shut, even though it’s too dark to see. 

A hand touches my head, long nails raking through my hair. 

“Harry,” the voice says again and it occurs to me that ‘Harry’ is my name. It doesn't sound like my name—not when it's said like that. “ Get up.” 

I shift on the floor and a spike of pain shoots up my spine. I'm not wearing pants, my bare legs exposed to the chill, damp air. The pain is coming from between my legs but I don't remember—I can't remember. 

A sob breaks off in my throat, lodging firmly in my airway. I don't want the monster to see me cry, but there's no context, no reasoning to grab onto. I am a blurred object, the edges only tangible in whisps. 

A hand yanks my head off the floor and I shout. Slitted red eyes stare at me in the darkness, it's face pressed so close to mine that I can smell the stale metallic scent of blood on its breath. 

“Who is Albus Dumbledore?” The thing hisses, grey teeth bared. 

I whimper and shake my head. The name is strange, unfamiliar.

The first tightens in my curls. “What are the four Hogwarts houses?” 

I don't understand. I can feel the creature's frustration, but I don't know. 

“Please,” I beg, and log the pathetic sound as another thing about myself. “I don't know.” 

“What do you remember?” The words are hissed directly into my ear. I shiver. 

“Nothing.” The word is hollow and broken, and I wonder how long I've been here. I wonder if it was the monster who hurt me. I wonder what else it's done to me. 

I feel the smile rather than see it, long bony fingers wrapping around my jaw, circling my neck like a predator ready to strike. “Good,” The voice purrs, as my skull is cradled. Something cold and fluid moves over me and I feel the wound in my side stitch itself back together. My eyes shoot open, but the monster is so close to me now. Its skin milky white, almost translucent with faint shimmers of snakeskin. 

“Your name is Harry, and you are mine.”

I whimper. 

The creature waits, but I don't know what for. Its thumb digs into my neck, the sharp nail breaking skin. “Repeat,” it whispers. A threat. 

I manage to choke out the words, “My name is Harry, and I am yours.” 

Another smile, “You will do what I say, when I say.” 

I repeat

“You will not fight me. You are mine.” The monster pushes me onto my back, hand pressed over my throat. “If you struggle, I will punish you. If you run, it will be worse.” 

The creature's second hand opens my thighs, the movement sending a shockwave of pain through my system. 

I will not cry, but the tears are pooling in my eyes. “I will not fight you. I am yours,” I croak. The creature is settling between my legs. “If I struggle—i will be punished. If I run— it will be worse.” 

Its fingernails dig into my neck as it lines up and shoves inside. I make a wretched sound. A sound ripped out of my lungs as its cock tears me open. But even as the intrusion is agony, I can tell it's not the first time. The slide is too smooth, my hole too loose. I don't stop it this time—I let out a sob. 

“You are nothing. ” It thrusts the rest of the way in. 

A tear streaks down my face. “I—am nothing.” 

“You are alive to please me and nothing else,” it pulls out almost completely, and shoves back in. Hard enough to push me backwards in the dust. “Your body is mine. Your soul is mine.” 

The sobs are uncontrollable now, but somehow subdued, quiet and small as tears flow freely down my face. “My body—is yours… my soul.” 

Another thrust, “You will behave.” Thrust. A grunt. “You will submit.” Its cock is thick and unforgiving, flaying me open. The monster lets go of my neck, using both hands to spread my legs farther. Another thrust. Brutal hands dig into the flesh of my hips and pull me down on its cock.

“I will behave—” I hear myself say as meaty slaps fill the air. The creature picks up pace, its hips snapping into mine. “I will submit—” 

“You were made for me,” it breathes, its words a little less steady than they had been. 

I close my eyes, the pain turning into something white hot and blinding. ”Made for you.” 

The thrusts become erratic, jerking wildly as the creature brutalizes my hole. 

“You’re mine,” the creature growls and slams in one final time. A shudder runs from its fingers to the point of connection as it comes. 

“I'm yours,” I whimper. “I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours.” 

The monster stills inside of me, warm liquid dripping down my thighs. Its breathing is labored.

“Much better,” the monster smiles, a wicked, cruel grin and it's at that moment I realize I'm being punished. I don't remember what I did wrong. 

My name is Harry. And this is all I know. 

Chapter Text

The monster leaves me in darkness, crumpled on the floor like a used rag. 

I stay like that. Long after I hear the door slams shut, the silence pressing in on my lungs—long after the blood dries on the back of my thighs—I don’t move. 

The stone is cold under my cheek, the damp smell of still water and mold fighting with the metallic tang of my blood, the earthy scent of what the monster left me covered in. 

I shut my eyes and list what I know. 

My name is Harry. 

I have curly hair. 

I am not safe.

Something drips at the far end of the room, and I flinch. After a moment, the drip comes again, and my muscles relax. Leaky pipes aren’t a threat. I wait. The drip comes again. The sound is muted. The room is small enough not to echo. I let out a breath. 

It feels like a cellar—somewhere below ground. I don’t know how I know that. 

Maybe I’m clever. 

Clever would be a good thing to be in this situation. Clever can escape. 

If you run, it will be worse. 

Had I run? Is that what I did wrong? I seem to be the type to consider it. Maybe I’m trouble for whoever trapped me here.

Something about the idea makes me smile. 

The monster left me in darkness, and I can’t tell how long it’s been. There are no windows in the cellar, only the blade of light creeping under the locked door. 

I crawl across the stone, hands out for something—anything. My fingers touch fabric, and after a moment of fumbling, I’m pulling a worn pair of pants over my exposed legs. 

It feels good to be covered—even if the clothes are unfamiliar and covered in filth. 

I keep looking, fingers sliding over cracks and slimy bits of ground where the water collected into pools. The cellar is empty for the most part, aside from the dust and debris of whatever used to be stored here. I throw away rotten pieces of wood, pushing through piles of dirt, until finally, my fingers find a loose brick in the lower wall, protruding just enough for my fingers to work their way into the crack. I pry at it, wriggling it back and forth until it comes free with a loud scrape. 

I wait for the door to open, for someone to check on me, but the door stays shut. I let out a breath. 

The brick is heavy in my palm, and I heft it, clearing off the dirt. My muscles respond easily to the weight, and I realize with a pleasant surprise that I’m strong, athletic. 

My legs tremble as I stand for the first time, and I stretch them experimentally, rolling my joints this way and that, testing the limits. I’m painfully sore, but there’s no telling how long I have to recover. It will have to do. 

I perch myself by the entrance, and I wait. 

Footsteps echo down the hallway, and my head perks up. It’s not the monster—too heavy-footed. I watched the twist of shadows shift under the door. There’s only one silhouette, and I raise the brick as the door latch unlocks. 

“Dinner—” A deep voice says gruffly just before the brick connects with his skull. The man staggers, glass plate smashing into the stone. I bring the brick down again, and he falls forward with a thwump. 

I don’t wait. I run. 

The cellar is connected to a short hallway leading to a long, narrow stairwell, and I take the steps two at a time, ignoring the screaming pain in my legs. 

The stairs open into a huge marble room. More stairs to the left, a hallway to the right. Orange light breaks through the windows, and I sprint for the hallway. I’m above ground, so I just need to find a door outside.

I hear shouting, and I push my legs hard, taking another hard left. There’s a double set of oak doors at the end of the hallway and I sprint for it. I swing the door open and stall. It’s a grand dining room with a group of people standing around a table, dressed in long black dresses. I curse and turn on my heel as heads swivel, strangers’ eyes landing on me like arrows. 

I almost trip over a blond man, but my body reacts instinctively, smashing a fist into his jaw and shoving past him. 

“Potter— What the fuck—” The man says as he hits the wall, but I’m already gone. 

Run. Find a way out. Find a door.  

The building is a maze of marble, each hallway identical to the last with white columns and portraits lining the walls. I can’t tell if I’ve gone in a circle, but I’m just running from the shouting at this point.

“He’s headed towards the drawing room—” someone screams. “Fucking stun him!” another voice shouts. The voices sound like they’re right behind me, but the hallways are clear and I can’t figure out where they’re coming from. I don’t have time for it though, I run faster. 

I knock over a massive vase as I make a sharp turn, the glass shattering across the floor behind me. 

“Petrificus totalus!” 

My legs stop working. I fall forward. My arms don’t move to catch me, and my body slams into the ground full force. My mouth refuses to let out a scream. 

I’m going to die. 

Hands grab me and hawl me upright, pointed fingernails digging painfully into my arms. It’s another large man, with stringy brown hair and a healed scar across his face. He sneers, leaning in close and I can smell decay on his breath. I want to turn away, but I can’t. 

“Disgraceful showing,” someone says, and my eyes flash over the man’s shoulder to where the new person is standing. Only it’s not a person. It’s a painting, and it’s moving. The portrait notices my stare and sneers. 

What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck? 

I can feel myself starting to panic, the fuzzy blur of edges as my lungs contract. I can’t open my mouth to get at more air. I’m going to die. Maybe I already am dead. Maybe this is Hell. 

“Who let him escape this time?” Someone snipes. The group of people in black dresses files into the hallway, surrounding me. I see the man I punched towards the back. There’s already a bruise forming on his jaw. 

“I found Amycus in the cellar. He’s got a nasty head wound.” A short balding man says. “Little brat found himself a weapon.” 

“The Dark Lord won’t be happy about this.” 

“He doesn’t have to know, you old bat.” 

A screeching laugh, “You would lie?” 

My eyes find the blonde again, and he holds my stare, piercing grey eyes steady on mine and I feel a bit of the panic ebb. Something about him—he’s familiar. 

Help me. I try, but my mouth doesn’t move. He looks away.

“We’ll chain him up this time,” the scarred man hisses into my face. “The Dark Lord will decide what to do when he returns.” 

If you run, it will be worse, I hear the monster growl, and for a brief second, I wish they would kill me. I try to catch the blonde’s eyes again as they carry me back towards the cellar, but he’s gone—disappeared into the crowd.