The Sorcerer
Chapter 1
...whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer...
By Dixi Nihil
Author's Notes: if any There are allusions to Hamlet in this fic. You don't necessarily have to be familiar with the whole play, just familiar to the idea of death and suicide. Also, this doesn't bash or bastardize Percy in any way.
Credits: The scenario is from the Fic Carnival featuring Oliver/Percy slash by the POWSN yahoo!group. Booth: Ghost Ride. Scenario #9: "How can death be sleep when life is but a dream?" ~John Keats
This fic is based on charaters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. A disclaimer is applied to Shakespeare's Hamlet as well.
The Sorcerer
Chapter 1
...whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer...
By Dixi Nihil
I stood in front of the manor, red hair and all. There was no point in trying to continue to disguise myself. I was caught. Now I had to pay the price. If only I had known that playing the double agent would be so difficult and so dangerous, except for the the fact that I had already known that all along. But no one would know that I had played the double agent, and if they did, they still wouldn’t know which side I was really on.
“Knowledge will be the destruction of us all,” I muttered. I knocked on the door and it slowly creaked open. The house elves had all been set free, surprisingly, by Lucius himself. Now the manor seemed to be enchanted and have a life of its own. Stepping inside, the interior continued to exude the age old wealth, power, and the danger of the Malfoys who had originated from France during the time witch burnings took place sporadically by, of course, Muggles. The place wasn’t the dungeon with heads adorned on the walls, which most people like to assume. It was quite pleasant, actually, once you get past the fact that you would be complimenting the Malfoys. But it was a nice place—warm too. The enormous fire place was alit with the flames dancing across the logs. The white carpet was plush while the ceiling was adorned with glittering chandeliers. Even the furniture and the various tablecloths and blankets were stunning to behold, all embroidered with silk and beads, he supposed.
“Fancy meeting you here in my humble abode Percy. Anything to drink? Water, juice, champagne?”
Typical of Lucius, really. Him being very humble about his wealth that is.
“No, I’m quite fine, thank you.”
“So what brings the former Minister’s poodle here today? Or should I say traitor? Maybe even bastard?”
“I’m fine today. How about you?”
This charade that we play, this bantering, children’s play really. It’s difficult to calculate, exactly, when we stopped being lovers and hated each other as before. As we should hate each other, just as my father hates him. Only, I don’t think I could ever hate him that much. He’s just too bloody persuading. One of the first lovers I’ve ever had and certainly one of the most gratifying as well.
“Well that’s good news *Weatherby.* Let’s cut to the chase, shall we? I wonder what the Master wants me to do with you. Tie you up and whip you, or perhaps something tamer. How about…”
And there he goes again bringing up various tortures that had consisted of our brief, but satisfying, sex life. How amusing.
“That’s enough, Lucy. How about confessing, what about that? Whose side are you on? Who are you really working for? If I got caught, you might as well. You’re not on the Dark Lord’s side, I know better than that. Are you just trying to save your own arse as well as your family’s?”
“Shut it Weasley.”
Lucius went silent for a while after that. He knew he was caught because I know that even in the coldest of hearts, and mine being one of them, even Lucius Malfoy can’t fully embrace the life of a Death Eater. He was a bigot and a sexist more than anything, conservative to the core. As big of an arshhole as he is, Lucius isn’t *truly* evil. He can even be quite cuddly when he wants to be.
But that’s another story.
Down the corridor (with enchanted *torches* along the wall. Merlin. How bloody *Lucius* of him), we went to his room for my “punishment.” Since Voldemort thinks that Lucius is still his right-hand man, he must still dole out the punishments no matter how much it sickens him, and for traitors caught in the action, the specific sorts of punishments weren’t very… savory.
Savory would be the word, unless you would much rather prefer other terms such as cruel. Brutal. Twisted. Painful. Yes, my torment would be very painful.
He opened his door, revealing that all-too-familiar bed, canopy and all.
“Here you go Weatherby. How about we cut to the chase and you just strip? And kneel.”
Oh, how nice of Lucy. He has chosen to rape and molest me rather than use an Unforgivable. Despite the false confidence and aloofness I was attempting to muster, I was nearly trembling by the time I stripped down to my last sock, naked, and as vulnerable as the day I was born. If there is anything I fear it’s the pain that comes from sex, from being on bottom, knowing it was a former lover that was doing it despite the dark circumstances that faced him and myself. I kneeled gingerly, knowing that Lucius would start off relatively tame. Considering Voldemort's taste.
He faced me, tall and beautiful. His thin, willowy frame deceiving the true strength and power that resides within him, the crackling magic and energy that is inherit in all Malfoys.
“Take off the glasses Weatherby. They’re very unbecoming. We don’t want anything covering up those big blue eyes now, wouldn’t we? They’re very virginal you know.”
With that said he stood in front of my kneeled form and unzipped his trousers, smirking.
“Let the games begin.”
It was horrid. I hated doing this forced and despised the fact that I was ever compliant through the whole ordeal, yet the taste of him as I placed his flaccid member into my mouth brought back an onslaught of memories. Memories of him introducing me into the forbidden world of homosexuality. I worked my mouth on him, trying to control my trembling, shaking form, trying to stop the tears prickling my eyes and threatening to spill onto my cheeks.
Out of pity, perhaps, Lucius gently stroked my hair and my face while I sucked his flesh. Oh, how much I know that he does in fact enjoy his partners a bit unwilling. He’s never raped me of course, and I doubt very much that he’s done that of his own free will without Voldemort looming close by, whether by magic or physical proximity.
Tears spilled onto my cheeks as he continued to gently thrust into my mouth moving slowly, but insistently, deeper and deeper until I could feel his swollen head filling my throat. Soon he was fucking my mouth, the thrusts not so gentle as his arousal grew, the soft strokes he bestowed on my head were soon replaced by him grabbing handfuls of my red hair, tugging until he came, the hot fluid cascading down my throat, the leftovers dribbling down my chin.
His member was soft in my mouth as I continued to suck, knowing full well that it was my place to please him, the master of sexual punishments and degradation, until he said so. Blessedly, for a short while, he relented and released me.
I slumped to the floor, curling around myself wondering what on earth I had gotten myself into. I know full well that many people would say that I deserved whatever I got, and whatever I would get in the future as well. No one becomes a Death Eater and not pay any price for it.
Lucius then kissed me, softly, on the corners of my mouth, my lips, his tongue pressing trying to seek entrance. And of course I opened my mouth, shyly tangling my tongue with him just like he taught me to all those years before. I soon tasted the potion he had placed in his mouth and before I knew it, I was drinking it from his tongue, welcoming the relaxed and hazy feeling one would get when taking in an aphrodisiac.
Merlin! Small mercies at last.
I was attacking his mouth, our kiss becoming more ferocious as I sought my only saving grace, that blessed potion. It tasted sweet, like wine. And I wanted every drop lest I experience and remember the pain in full conciousness that Lucius has no doubt in store for me. My world became surreal. I couldn't differentiate what was up or down, left or right. I was a bundle of nerves, the slightest touch sending shivers down my spine and the blood straight to my cock.
I knew Lucius would never rape me.
Yet drugging wasn't out of his league, even if it did make everything more pleasurable. Even the pain. Oh, yes. Especially the pain.
I felt a soft mattress beneath me. Already I was engulfed in warmth, surrounded by softness. He was kissing me everywhere, my eyes, my cheeks, my swollen lips. My clothes seemed to have disappeared but I didn't care. All I cared for was the soft caresses and the almost loving kisses Lucius bestowed upon me. I had forgotten that I was to be tortured, but this was a torture in itself. The love that I had ached for so long, Lucius seemed to be channeling that onto my body. His hands curved around my shoulders, down my stomach, stroking my penis until it grew glistening at the tip. I let out a whimper, ready to come onto his hand.
"Oh my sweet," he whispered, "I have missed you." He looked into my eyes, glassy from the drug.
"I am sorry."
The sweet and pleasurable haze that he had carefully built and surrounded me with left as he turned me around until I was on all fours like an animal to be mounted on in the ultimate act of domination. Twisting my nipples painfully he ripped into me as I screamed.
Through the white, shimmery material I could almost see stars burst right before my eyes he was fucking me so hard. The pillows were beautiful, like everything else in the manor. And so soft. I took some small refuge in the beauty of those pillows, the ones that my head was resting on, my forehead trickling tiny rivulets of sweat that might as well be my blood, soaking the covers. My tears as well. He moved inside me, hands on my hips and propping them up and holding them still, the pressure from his strong white fingers undoubtedly leaving purple and blue bruises in their wake. "Lucius" I would whisper, breathless and in muted agony from his potion, his "love potion" he used to call it.
He pounded into me, with little mercy and even less lubrication, in time with the pounding of my heart, grunting and sweating, refusing to allow me any pleasure. My erection had faded leaving me with blood smattering in between my thighs and staining the white spread below me like a virgin on her wedding night.
I couldn't scream.
I was suffocating.
Again, he twisted my hips shoving his penis further inside of me, the full length and girth tearing me open deeper inside until I could feel him in my throat. My tears continued to fall, my breathless and quiet cries for mercy and love fading and unheard. The potion only served to benefit in heightening my emotions and senses. Small pleasures turned orgasmic and a bit of pain turned into hell.
In and out, in and out, his nails began to dig into my skin piercing through, my blood staining his fingernails and my skin. I didn't know why it was taking so long for him to come, it never took this long. Or maybe time has stretched out for me to endure this even longer, to take Lucius within my body and have him rip through my soul. Lucius consumed me, my body, my mind, further shoving my sanity to the brink until I could no longer feel him undulating but the sharp burning pain of his seed coating my wounds and filling my insides.
Breathless as I was, he pulled out of me, his penis covered in semen and blood. And I knew it wasn't over, not nearly close to being over. He pulled me to him in an embrace, turning me around to face and kiss me. It was almost beautiful except that he wasn't done with me yet and had even more of that potent aphrodisiac, and even though I tried to pull away, he held me still, forcing that vile poison down my throat. I was weeping openly, trying to spit it back into his mouth, the dark red liquid spilling down my chin onto the bed spread with my blood. But he continued to hold me, forcing it down until I had swallowed enough and began to suck my neck where the potion (the poison) had dribbled onto.
I closed my eyes, letting the hazy pleasure take a hold of me once more, loving the ministrations Lucius was bestowing upon me. He took possession of my lips, brushed my tears from my lashes where it had clinged onto, and brought my flaccid member back to life. His soft, soft hands carressed the tip and slowly--so slowly--he went down and kissed it. My member soon found temporary refuge as Lucius lovingly and, oh so carefully, took me into his mouth.
I moaned softly and rocked my hips forward, trying not to think of what was to come.
Ooh, I would swear on Merlin's beard, and even the very planets and stars the centaurs worship, that his mouth was enchanted, magicked to bring me to the edge and back in again, an onslaught of pleasure and quiet agony. I wanted to come in his mouth yet he persisted to tease me and torture me to his will, reminding me again--despite the heady pleasure--that I have no control, and that whatever pleasure I receive is for his benefit (although I suspect that he meant for me to enjoy *something* lest my very being breaks). Up and down, his tongue worked onto my length, suckling at the tip, and swallowing me whole. Again and again, waves of pleasure spread through my body, Lucius's fingers stroking my chest, my nipples, anywhere he could reach each time setting fire to where he touched threatening to be my undoing.
Yet at that very moment I thought of his beautiful brown eyes that smiled down at me when he thought that I wasn't looking. In my drugged state of mind, I pictured that it was *him* that was sucking on me, tormenting my spirit, and giving in to my desires, his desires. I did not know where he was at the time, and I wouldn't know for some odd years. All I knew was that he was still alive, and that he was well. This soothed my heart as I soon found release in Lucius's wet mouth, knowing that there was still hope for love.
For the remainder of our lovemaking, I pictured that it was *him* kissing my lips, plundering my mouth with his tongue and brushing my sweaty hair aside. I even imagined *him* whispering to me "sorry" and gently opening my mouth with his hands and forcing his cock, that was still caked in his semen and my blood, into my waiting mouth.