"You were supposed to kill him." Fenrir Greyback stands over Draco. Dried blood is smeared down one cheek, matted into his hair, and covering his clothes and hands.
"We don't have time for this," Snape says, shoving Greyback to one side.
All Draco can do is huddle on the ground, hugging his legs to his body, and watch them. The tree at his back keeps him from curling up on the ground. His heart feels as if it's beating too slowly, shivers wrack his body, and spell-fire blooms in the darkness when he closes his eyes. He did this. He let these Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Monsters who serve the creature that once sent him running out of the Forbidden Forest where they now hide.
Draco drops his forehead to his knees and grits his teeth. He can never forgive Snape for this betrayal. He'd almost done it, almost found the courage to walk away from his family and save himself for once. Snape had stolen that from him. Bile rises with his resentment, and he does his best to swallow them both down. Surely he ought to be feeling more than that? But his other emotions, if he has any at all, seem to be caught behind a haze of non-feeling.
Snape and Greyback are still arguing when he lifts his head. Rowle and Dolohov have joined them. The Carrows are curled up beneath another tree, and Draco looks away before he can really see what they're doing. Unfortunately, that brings his gaze to his Aunt Bella, who is entwined with both Lestrange brothers, and there's no way to kid himself about what they're up to.
Reaching behind, he uses the tree to pull himself upright. His legs are heavy when he takes his first step, his muscles shaky and unresponsive, but he's determined. Before he can think about what he's doing, he's left Snape's supposed protection behind and is standing beneath what may be the biggest tree he's ever seen, peering up at the single star that's visible through its leafy canopy.
"You're a damnably pretty lad." Greyback's rasp comes from behind Draco, startling him and sending a jolt through him.
Draco straightens his spine and keeps his back to Greyback. It's possibly a fatal move, but after everything that's happened, he doesn't seem to have any fear left. Since he can't think of anything appropriate, he says, "I can't decide which star that is."
"It's not safe out here." Greyback's fetid breath gusts past Draco's ear. The disgusting, coppery stench reminds him of the school behind them. "There are monsters in this forest."
An odd hiccupping laugh escapes Draco's mouth before he can clamp it shut. It takes one to know one, he wants to say, but he doesn't trust his voice right now.
Greyback seizes Draco's upper arms. His long nails dig into the cloth of Draco's jacket. One presses down on a spell-burn.
Pain shoots through Draco, down to the fingers of his left hand, up to the knot of muscles at the base of his skull, making him feel alive. When the sensation eases, he shifts positions, pushing into those claws, and it happens again. And again.
The fourth time, Greyback tightens his grip, and Draco moans. He's shoved forward, into the tree.
"Keep it quiet, or I'll show you exactly how much I enjoy kids like you," Greyback says. His whiskers scratch Draco's neck.
"How dare you." Draco tries to pull free, but Greyback holds him in place. "I'll tell --" Draco stops before he finishes the sentence. There's no point in threatening anyone with his father. Least of all a Death Eater who's seen the drunken wreck currently stumbling around the manor.
"You'll not be telling anyone, will you?"
Sharp teeth nip at the cartilage of Draco's ear, and he's suddenly hard as a rock. It takes every scrap of pride that he has left not to reach for himself or rub off against the bark.
"You taste fucking good. Has anyone told you that?" Greyback bites again.
Something wet and warm trickles down Draco's neck. I'm bleeding. The thought is vague and distant, and leaves him grasping for the sharp pain he hadn't felt. He twists his head and rips his ear out of Greyback's mouth. That hurts perfectly.
A feral growl rumbles through Greyback's chest. Draco can feel it in his own body, and his excitement quickens. A tongue swipes at the skin beneath his ear, and Draco arches his neck to give Greyback better access.
"Damn fucking good."
The compliment is strange, odder than any he's ever received, but it soothes the wounds inside Draco. He wants, needs more. Ideas tumble through him nearly faster than he can comprehend them, but he holds onto the ones that makes the most sense. Punishment and power. Draco is going to be fucked. There's no doubt about that. The only question is who will be controlling whom.
Draco grinds his arse back into Greyback's erection and releases the moan that's been building inside him. Greyback is long and thick and hard, and Draco feels his arse and balls quiver.
His jacket and shirt don't stand up to Greyback's assault. Nails scrape down Draco's back, not quite hard enough to pierce the skin, and stop at the waistband of his trousers. Draco's hips curl forward until he can feel the pressure of those fingers against the head of his painfully hard cock.
"I'm going to fuck you, pretty boy."
Draco shivers and fumbles with his trousers. He wants this, and his skin crawls at the thought of having this filthy, disgusting creature be his first.
As soon as they're undone, Greyback shoves his trousers and pants down. "Bend over," he says.
Clutching at the tree for balance, digging his fingers into the bark, Draco doesn't hesitate to obey. His brain and his body seem to be completely separate. The one screaming that he's mad, and the other clamouring for Greyback's ungentle touch.
Then Greyback pulls his arse cheeks apart, and he licks.
Nerve-endings fire at the touch, at the push and the shove of that tongue inside Draco. There are teeth, too, and slobbering sounds that revolt him and give him the strength not to give voice to the begging, pleading words that are choking him.
The warm air feels odd against his wet skin when Greyback pulls away. Draco bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, but he succeeds at not asking for more.
Greyback sniffs, and Draco is spun around so fast that splinters of bark embed themselves in his fingertips. His mouth is attacked. His lip is sucked and nibbled on by sharp teeth, making him bleed even more.
Draco has to grab for Greyback's neck and shoulders, when he's hauled up, his legs parted around Greyback's thick waist, and a cock thrusts into him.
He screams. Despite everything, despite all his training and control. He throws his head back, arches his spine, and he screams.
It's an agony like nothing he's felt before. And when Greyback pulls out of him, he drives himself back onto that cock, because he deserves this, needs this.
Bark abrades his bare skin as Greyback pistons in and out of him. Growling, snarling, inhuman sounds remind Draco that he's being fucked by a creature and that just drives him wilder. Higher and higher.
The air fills with the smells of dirt and sweat, blood and musk. Greyback releases Draco's lip and clamps his mouth over Draco's collarbone. A small hurt at first, a mere counterpoint to the pain that drives through his arse and up his spine. Draco uses it to hold on, to give as good as he gets, clawing at Greyback's shoulders. Filthy words spill from his mouth, encouraging Greyback to move harder and faster.
Draco's cock rubs against the hard muscles and rough, wiry hair that covers Greyback's chest and stomach. He wants to touch himself, to drive himself over the edge, but Greyback rasps, "Mine."
As if that word is a mantra, Greyback begins chanting it. He thrusts harder and faster. Gets his own hand between them and wraps it around Draco's cock, pressing a nail into the slit.
Spell-fire explodes behind Draco's closed eyes, and he howls, spilling himself between them in a series of jerks and twitches.
And when he's done, when his muscles clench around Greyback's cock for the last time, Greyback bites down, breaking through skin and piercing muscle, and he pumps his release into Draco.
There's a moment, as they're sinking to the ground, when Greyback's cock seems to widen inside Draco, and Draco remembers about wolves and knots. But then Greyback slides out of him, and Draco breathes a sigh of relief.
"Mine," Greyback says, as if he's not capable of any other words. He clutches Draco to him, moving on top of him and pressing him into the rough, unforgiving underbrush.
As Draco lies there, he catalogues the feelings in his body -- the aches and pains, both small and large, in his body and his soul. Eventually, when Greyback rolls onto his back and begins to snore, Draco squirms out of his lax grip and stands up.
He pulls his trousers up and refastens them. Retrieving his wand from its boot holster, he repairs his shirt and jacket as best he can. Then he makes his way back to the campsite. Semen trickles down his legs. Blood seeps from his shoulder and innumerable smaller wounds. He can feel every bruise and cut as he walks.
The clearing is filled with sleeping bodies. Rowle stands guard, wand at the ready. He's a thick, brutal pillar of protection. Snape is merely dozing. Draco can tell from the way he's holding his wand.
A snort comes from behind Draco, a sleepy, high-pitched giggle from in front of him. He's trapped in this hell of his own making.
His heart and stomach flutter with panic, and that haze threatens to take over him again.
A voice fills his mind. I can help you, Draco. The words are followed by images of green eyes and dark hair, and a small, ugly house on a street filled with small, ugly houses. And before he can think again, his wand is out and he's Disapparating.
If nothing else, Potter always made him feel.