Forever Midnight

Part 2


It had been three weeks since Lucius Malfoy had taken Harry from the forest. Three weeks to deal with night terrors and continuous flashbacks of the werewolf's attack on him. When he hovered in that suggestible phase between the land of reality and the land of dreams, Harry believed he could hear the heavy breath of a beast stalking him, he thought he could feel heavy paws holding him down and a sharp prick poking around in the cleft of his arse, searching out his hole.

If he didn't awake screaming, he awoke shivering and panting, staring at the door in panic from under the covers. But the door never opened. It hadn't opened once in the three weeks since Malfoy had bodily thrown him through it. Food appeared magically on the little round table by the window and fresh clothes appeared in a neatly folded pile on the chair; but apart from that, nothing ever changed.

The room was basic – bed, couch, table, chair, bathroom. In any other circumstance, it might have been a quite a pleasant place to be, but Harry knew that Voldemort and his Death Eaters couldn't be too far away, and that knowledge made him even more confused than his violation had already left him. He also couldn't shake the awful, gnawing feeling that he was being kept alive for the next full moon. Whenever that thought crossed his mind, he had to run to the toilet to heave up the contents of his stomach.

But three weeks turned into four weeks and then into five … and six…

Harry's fear of the full moon abated, and there were days when he even forgot that he was a prisoner whose death warrant was doubtlessly already signed. He'd relax and read one of the books that lay on the mantelpiece, not noticing the passing of the time.

Those good days were rare, however. On most days, Harry felt the pressures of cabin fever, and he was slowly starting to climb the walls. He slept longer nights and often felt exhausted while he was awake. He was perpetually anxious and the same meal that appeared every single day was starting to make him feel sick. The memories of Fenrir were thankfully gradually becoming less vivid, yet Harry actually found himself running to throw up more and more often.

After about two months of captivity, Harry had to admit to himself that he was getting seriously sick.

But he still ate the food, repulsive as it was.

And he wanted more.

***

One day, after awaking yet again with the bitter taste of bile at the back of his throat, Harry dragged himself to the door and pounded on it – if he was being slowly poisoned, then he had nothing to lose.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting; he just knew that he didn't want to die alone in this room, scared and confused.

He was surprised when the door opened almost immediately: Lucius and Fenrir stood there, looking for the world as though they'd been waiting for Harry's call. He shrank back. He didn't want Fenrir to be anywhere near him.

"What's wrong, Potter?"

Shaking his head, Harry noticed for the first time that his hair had grown well past his ears. How long had he been here? "Nothing," he croaked. "I'm fine."

"He's losing weight, Lucius," Fenrir interrupted with a growl, advancing on Harry.

The room wasn't big enough for Harry to get away from Fenrir, and he quickly found himself backed into a corner. "No," he started as Fenrir's hands reached out feel his ribs, stroke down his torso and prod his protruding hips.

"Shhhh, sweetheart. Feeling sick?"

Sicker than ever before. Harry was so terrified, he slumped back against the wall and closed his eyes to try and block out Fenrir's presence.

"He needs more meat, Lucius."

Fenrir had stopped touching Harry and had obviously turned away to address Lucius, but the foul smell of his breath still lingered.

"He's getting enough, Greyback. The mediwizard said to keep him lithe."

"He's not lithe. He's underweight."

"What are you doing to me?" Harry cringed as both men looked right at him. "Why am I so sick?"

Fenrir's lips curled into a snarl and he glared at Lucius. "Why's he so sick?"

"It's normal. Don't worry. Everything's going fine. The monitoring spells on the room would have alerted us if there were any complications."

"What's going fine?" Harry wanted to know, gaining confidence from the apparent lack of aggressive intent in his captors.

Lucius looked down at him, the contempt evident in his expression. "Onto the bed, Potter."

Harry felt his pulse accelerating, thrumming almost painfully through his arteries and constricting his breathing. He pressed himself further against the wall; but before he could say, "Don't touch me," he'd been grabbed by the upper arms and propelled onto the bed. He tried to twist away, but Fenrir pressed down on his shoulders, using his weight to pin him down.

"Please, no!"

"Oh shut up, Potter."

"Shhhh, sweetheart."

Lucius' wand traced patterns in the air over Harry. Braced for pain, Harry was surprised when he felt nothing but a strange tingling in his belly. Four pulsing orbs of light appeared and hovered above him. They were strangely mesmerising, and Harry could feel himself relaxing and even smiling a little. Fenrir seemed similarly enthralled; his hold on Harry lightened as he watched the orbs.

"Four of them," Fenrir whispered gruffly.

And Harry no longer needed an explanation, because it all fell into place so easily that he could hardly believe he hadn't figured it out before. Four pulsing orbs, four beating little hearts … inside Harry.

"Four," Fenrir repeated, his thick fingers brushing the fringe out of Harry's face. "All healthy."

Lucius' lips twitched, as though he too was pleased. "One for you, one for me, one for the Dark Lord and—"

"One for me," Harry gasped before he'd even thought about it. He just knew he needed to protect those little hearts as best he could.

"If you survive," Lucius muttered derisively. "I'll have a potion brought up for your nausea."

"Can't you let me out? I'm going crazy in here. I—"

Inexplicably, Harry felt tears welling up in his eyes. How could he say to Lucius of all people that he felt lonely and would do almost anything to end his solitude? He didn't want to beg, didn't want to be weak … but he wasn't a hero. Not really. And now he had more than his own welfare to look out for.

"I need to get out. I … promise I'll be good. Please? "

So much for not begging. Lucius didn't reply, but he pulled a woven leather collar from his pocket and handed it to Harry. "If you break your promise, I'll kill you myself. If you survive the delivery, of course. "

Harry swallowed heavily, but nodded. What Lucius wanted was obvious, so Harry fastened the collar around his neck and tried not to think of it as submission, but as survival.

"You'll stay with me at all times." Lucius looked pointedly at Fenrir before continuing. "You're safe with me."

***

And thus started the daily excursions outside of his prison room. Almost immediately, Harry started feeling less unwell and more alive again. Lucius thought this was because the psychological impact of captivity had exacerbated Harry's physical symptoms. That's why he'd submitted to the request to let Harry out so easily. As Harry's main carer, he was also responsible for the welfare of the puppies.

At first, Harry was allowed out for an hour or two. He felt like a dog being taken for a walk by its master … and was similarly eager, his hopes rising with every imaginary creak of the door.

The routine was always the same: Lucius would enter and hand Harry his collar, which Harry would then promptly fasten around his neck. They'd then walk through the old fortress to whichever room Lucius was working on that day – he was clearly exploring and restoring the building, turning dilapidated rooms into welcoming quarters and sifting through piles of abandoned papers.

Harry watched Lucius working, admiring the man's deep understanding of magic. They worked as one, Lucius and the magic. To Harry, that would always be an alien concept.

On occasion, other Death Eaters joined Lucius and Harry. The only ones Harry recognised were Bellatrix and Fenrir; the former eyed him with cruel desire whenever Lucius' back was turned; the latter constantly tried to get close to Harry, to touch him or his bulging belly. Today again, he couldn't keep his paws to himself.

"Greyback, leave the boy alone."

Harry shifted closer to Lucius as Fenrir's grey eyes flashed angrily.

"They're my babies he's bearing."

"I know. And you know how dangerous this whole experiment is. So stop badgering him and give me a hand here."

Fenrir growled mutinously, but obeyed. "I'm not going to hurt him you know."

"The Dark Lord was quite clear about your orders."

"The Dark Lord knows nothing of werewolves. Isn't that why he wants his own pet wolves? He thinks we're killing machines."

"Are you not?"

Fenrir leered. "Sure I can kill. But I would never hurt my mate or my pups."

Harry listened to the exchange with bated breath. The word "mate" frightened him more than anything and he felt cold inside at the thought of Lucius giving in and letting Fenrir … have him. Mate implied forever; it implied consensual partnership. Harry shivered and looked up at Lucius beseechingly. "I need to rest. I feel tired."

As Harry was led back to his room, he felt Fenrir's gaze following him. Without even turning around, he knew the gaze would be feral and lustful despite Fenrir's self-proclaimed protectiveness of Harry and the offspring. Fenrir was too unpredictable to be trusted. Consequently, when he turned up at Harry's door instead of Lucius one day, Harry was able to nothing but stand and stare in horror.

***

To be continued...