
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4899136.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Rape/Non-Con,
      Underage
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Character:
      Draco_Malfoy, male_OC, Original_Male_Character(s), Harry_Potter, Hermione
      Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Torture, I'm_Sorry, Bondage
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-29 Words: 2550
****** The Horrible and Incredibly Short Life of Draco Malfoy ******
by flamingstuffs
Summary
     Draco hates Defense Against the Dark Arts. For eighth year,
     McGonagall hired a man named Jedediah Piggett, who wears flowery
     shirts straight out of the 70's and insists that everyone who isn't a
     Slytherin calls him Jed. The class is basically just him spouting a
     bunch of bull about conspiracy theories and ranting about Death
     Eaters. He smokes cigars that fill up the entire classroom with
     thick, reddish smoke and gives Draco (and only Draco) far too much
     homework to finish within the time limit. Draco has basically given
     up on DADA and is now failing the class, which Piggett attributes to
     his wartime allegiances. Piggett has also displayed frightening
     tendencies toward violence, and had voiced the thought that Death
     Eaters (no matter the circumstance) should be executed without trial.
     So when Draco was asked to stay after class he assumed it was
     probably his death sentence.
     ***MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING***
     DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO BASICALLY ANYTHING
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Draco hates Defense Against the Dark Arts. For eighth year, McGonagall hired a
man named Jedediah Piggett, who wears flowery shirts straight out of the 70's
and insists that everyone who isn't a Slytherin calls him Jed. The class is
basically just him spouting a bunch of bull about conspiracy theories and
ranting about Death Eaters. He smokes cigars that fill up the entire classroom
with thick, reddish smoke and gives Draco (and only Draco) far too much
homework to finish within the time limit. Draco has basically given up on DADA
and is now failing the class, which Piggett attributes to his wartime
allegiances. Piggett has also displayed frightening tendencies toward violence,
and had voiced the thought that Death Eaters (no matter the circumstance)
should be executed without trial. So when Draco was asked to stay after class
he assumed it was probably his death sentence.
Draco stays seated during the flurry of exiting students. He places his shoes
on the desk, a show of nonchalance. He leans back, hands behind his head, and
rests on the desk surface behind him. He closes his eyes and concentrates on
breathing calmly and in a relaxed manner.
"Mr. Malfoy." The deep voice is unexpectedly right next to his ear and Draco
fights to keep his eyes shut.
He feels leather on his neck, encircling his throat. Draco's eyes open, and
Piggett's face is far too close. His hands are roughly grabbed and Piggett
fastens a brown leather cuff to each of the pale wrists and seals them with
magic.
Draco makes a sound of indignation and the collar tightens and god, he can't
breathe, okay, not good - his head feels light, and there are black spots in
his vision -
"Behave, Malfoy." Piggett chuckles menacingly and the collar loosens, thank
Merlin. He hooks a thick finger underneath the leather and pushes Draco's chin
up, as if studying his sharp jawline and Draco exhales sharply. "Just do what
you're told, Blondie, and you'll be fine. I'll be summoning you soon." With
that, Piggett leans back and proclaims much too loudly and cheerfully: "Now,
off to class, Mr. Malfoy! Don't forget your scarf."
Draco almost decimates a chair, he's gone so quickly. He's breathing far too
fast but he can't help it - it's just so wrong, and this shouldn't be happening
HERE, he was supposed to be safe here and if he isn't safe at Hogwarts then he
isn't safe anywhere. This all runs through his head so quickly he feels dizzy,
or maybe its just lingering from being oxygen deprived. He checks the hallway -
empty, a good thing - and ducks behind a tapestry to where there is a secret-
ish alcove where he can really start to panic.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Draco feels the burning in the middle of dinner. His wrist-leather things are
painfully hot, and he glances down at them to see a message crawling across
them in a golden script. He discreetly rises from the Slytherin table, although
several people do notice and give him odd looks, and whispered insults go
ignored as he swiftly exits the Great Hall. Slipping into the men's, he swiftly
locks himself in a stall and reads the writing marching around his wrists. '/
Dungeons. 7 o'clock. Alone. Tardiness will be punished./' He checks his pocket
watch and shit, shit it's literally seven right now. He feels his breathing
become restricted and tries to stay calm but he can barely breathe and he's
running, flat out because being airless is the worst possible thing in the
world and all Draco wants is to fucking breathe.
He arrives, panting, at the dungeons five minutes late. Piggett eyes him up and
down and wordlessly motions for Draco to follow him. They go deeper into the
dungeons, the torches becoming dimmer and more useless the longer they walk.
Draco's starting to wonder how long this hallway goes on for when Piggett comes
to an abrupt stop and hauls Draco through a doorway.
The room is small, containing only a bed, and lots of sinister looking chains
and ropes and objects that Draco doesn't even want to think about. Piggett
lights a cigar, and speaks around the reddish smoke.
"Strip."
Draco turns pink with rage and balls his hands into fists but then the collar
tightens and he hastily unbuttons the top of his shirt. He glares at Piggett as
he shrugs off his robes and his shirt. Draco looks away as his pants come off,
and he hesitates.
"Everything." Piggett growls at him.
Draco squeezes his eyes shut and just does it, just pulls them off and chucks
them on the floor with violence. He stands with his arms crossed, feet planted
and a scowl that could curdle dairy.
Piggett manhandles him onto the bed, and Draco can't do much about it, because
one, Piggett is two times his size and two, Piggett is also heavily muscled.
Chains link up to Draco's leather wrist shackles and stretch his hands above
his head. He feels the rage simmer up into his chest. Two more chains with
leather padding snake between his thighs and wrench his legs apart, holding
them open and displaying everything. Draco clenches his teeth and growls with a
furiosity that suggests throat slashing.
Draco blinks and snap, Piggett is unclothed and climbing onto the bed, towering
over him. Draco flinches away, pressing into the mattress, but a large hand
wrenches his mouth open and Draco chokes on his air. Piggett places something
round and rubber into Draco's mouth and fastens it behind his head. Draco
starts to breathe hard through his nose and shuts his eyes. Piggett takes a few
strokes on his cock with a slicked up hand and then he just goes for it,
pressing fast and sharp into Draco's arse and Draco screams into the gag
because shit shit shit Piggett is huge and moving and fucking in and in and in.
After what seems like millennia of agony, he feels something disgusting and wet
fill his arse and Piggett groans, deep and low and maybe it's over. When he
pulls out Draco exhales sharply through his nose, and Piggett has the audacity
to tap the tip of Draco's nose, as if he's a five-year-old. Draco makes a
strangled noise of fury and regrets it almost immediately.
The next night, he's called again before dinner is over, and when he arrives at
the dungeons, there are two large men who look him over thoroughly. Apparently
satisfied with his appearance, they each hand Piggett a handful of Galleons.
Piggett motions Draco into the same room, with it's chains and intimidating
objects. He again tells Draco to strip, and Draco does, full to the brim with
utter loathing and disgust. The two men, one of them with long red hair in a
braid, the other with graying hair buzzed almost to his skull, both start
removing clothes as well. They talk to Piggett quietly as they do so, and
suddenly Draco can barely touch the floor, his arms stretched straight out to
his sides by chains suspended from the ceiling. Another loops into the collar
and forces his head up. He can feel the bile rising in his throat. The red-head
takes up position behind him, and Draco cries out when he's penetrated. Then
the other rubs his crotch on Draco's face and then traces his lips with the
head of his cock. Draco glares defiantly up at him, clenching his teeth, but
the man just chuckles and grabs his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He plunges in,
and Draco chokes. The man moans in appreciation and thrusts in, and the man
behind Draco takes his cue and fucks in as well, so Draco's being rocked back
and forth between them. Any sound Draco would be making is cut off by his
mouthful of cock, and he chokes over and over as the man fucks his mouth. He
feels a hot substance pour into his arse and the man behind pulls out. Draco's
legs give up, so he's just hanging by his hands and neck while the gray haired
one just thrusts into his mouth over and over, grunting. Finally, he tastes the
bitter flavor of come fill his mouth and the man pulls out. Draco is forced to
swallow every drop of it, because the man holds his mouth closed tightly until
he's sure Draco's finished. When he's released, Draco glares at Piggett and
pants out: "Fuck you." Piggett grins and Draco falls to the floor in a heap.
Piggett becomes a rich man very quickly, and McGonagall has no idea that her
new DADA teacher is selling a student's body out by night. Once, there's a
magical vibrator that Draco has to have in all day long. Sometimes Piggett
books a client with an even more abnormally large cock and they request arse
plugs for at least a day beforehand. There have been a few women, for whom
Piggett supplies potions that make Draco unable to control the actions of his
own cock. It happens every single night, and whenever Draco wakes up from his
one or two nightly hours of sleep, he looks in the mirror and performs a few
cosmetic charms to hide the bruising around the collar and the almost skull-
like shadows under his eyes. He barely has the energy to do anything, and he's
failing all of his classes.
He only tries to take the collar off once. It's the night after at least five
men took turns on him and he casts a Reductor curse at it. It leaves a slash on
his neck and Piggett punches him in the jaw for it, and then proceeds to fuck
Draco until he bleeds.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
After months of being controlled by the collar, Draco has had enough. He just
wants out. In any way possible. So, about a week before exams, Draco decides to
confront Piggett and accept the consequences.
"I'm done." Draco stands defiantly in the middle of the corridor. "Kill me,
hurt me, I don't care. But I'm done."
Piggett growls at him. "You don't speak to me that way, boy." Draco feels the
collar tighten a minuscule amount. He takes a deep breath and he's so
exhausted, and in such pain that he just wants it to be over, and really, what
does he have to look forward to in the future? Haunting memories of horrors no
one cares about? He wants escape, and Piggett provides the perfect opportunity.
"I won't do this anymore. The headmistress will hear about all of this." He
says calmly. Then he turns and runs down the hall, Piggett bellowing after him.
As Draco rounds a corner, he feels a curse hit him in the back. It doesn't
hurt. Nothing hurts and Draco could cry with relief.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
A few days before exams are set to start, Draco Malfoy's body is discovered in
the dungeons. Cause of death is unknown but foul play is suspected. There are
no deadly wounds on his body so Avada Kadavra is the most likely theory. An
investigation is being organized.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
"You've got it?"
Hermione nods and holds up a vial with a swirling white memory in it.
"Excellent." Harry takes the pensieve and places it on the endtable between
them. Hermione takes the cork out and pours the memories in, and then Harry
swirls the basin.
They are investigating alongside Aurors in the Malfoy Murder Case by accessing
the memories attached to scars and wounds on his body and attempting to
pinpoint a killer. The memory they were scrutinizing came from a scar on the
back of his hand, in a circle that connected to a steady line which ran all the
way up his arm.
They stood in Malfoy Manor. It was dark, and the room was empty save for two
people, Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. Malfoy was sobbing. "Aunt Bellatrix,
please, I - I did everything he asked, I - "
"Hush!" She cackled. "It's not about you. Its about your father. But you're the
one to feel his failure!" She sing-songed. Bellatrix carefully and lovingly
picked up a thin knife from the coffee table. Draco hid his face and sobbed
harder, and then she waved her wand and he was flat on his back, arms
outstretched with his palms on the floor. Bellatrix straddled him and dug her
knife into his hand, and he whimpered. She drew a circle and dragged a line all
the way up his arm, down his chest and in between his legs, down his thigh and
ended on his ankle. He panted and moaned and cried, but he never screamed or
begged. She started in on his other side and Harry turns away. The pensieve
releases them and Hermione just looks at him, eyes wide, their faces a
mirroring expression of horror and shock.
"Holy shit." Hermione swallows dryly.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . .
They see how once, when his father hit him for the first time, Lucius
accidentally knocked him into the glass tabletop and he had to go to St.
Mungo's. They see the Sectumsempra incident, and Snape asks Draco about his
back while healing the bleeding gashes. That's how they find out about the
whip, woven with bits of broken glass and made specifically to cause a special
type of pain.
They check the burn scar around and over his Dark Mark.
Harry and Hermione stand in a dark room, save for a single light that shows
them Malfoy tied down to a chair. A large man stood next to him and the smoky
air blurred his features. The man poured an oily substance over Malfoy's left
arm and he didn't even flinch, just stared unblinkingly ahead.
"This needs to be gotten rid of. Some people really dislike the symbolism." He
snarled in a gravelly voice. Malfoy blinked and turned to glare icily at him.
The man took out a match and touched it to the skin, and flames flared up,
singeing Malfoy's hair as he screamed. His flesh melted and blackened for a
minute or two while he screamed himself hoarse. Eventually the man cast an
Aguamenti charm and Malfoy quieted down, sobbing and gasping in a broken
rhythm.
"Hmm," The man mused. "Didn't work. This magic is strong. I guess we'll make
do, won't we?" He dug his fingernails into the mangled skin, and Malfoy
screamed again.
And then they look into the one on his neck.
Malfoy was looking in his bathroom mirror. He tugged on the leather collar
around his neck with a look of loathing. He pointed his wand at his throat and
muttered a Reductor spell. Blood blossomed from his neck and he stumbled
around, cursing loudly until he found a stray shirt and applied pressure. The
scene changes and they are in a room filled with red smoke and Malfoy was naked
except for his leather collar and shackles in the middle of the room. A man
lounged on the bed, eyeing Draco up and down. Then he smoothly got up, strode
across, and punched Draco squarely in the jaw. Hermione gasps. He straddles
Malfoy on the floor, hissing "What did I say about the collar?" And then not
waiting for an answer as he unzips his pants.
Hermione is breathless. "Harry." She says. "That was the Defense Against the
Dark Arts Teacher."
End Notes
     Thanks to my betas! I put them through the pain of the initial
     reading and the revisions. I'm so sorry. So, so sorry.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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