Content Warning!
(Regurgitating the Summary Part I)
This story contains slash elements (Harry Potter) and is rated 'R' for a reason (i.e. sexual situations, violence, strong language, and the author's tendency to wax poetic about bloody well everything). If you have difficulties tolerating relationships between two consenting adults who happen to be men, I would suggest you smack that back button at the top of your screen like there's no tomorrow and head on out of here before permanent damage is done to your fragile little mind. Also, this story has a fat lot of nothing to do with my other HP story, The Losing Side, and as such the events contained within either story have no bearing on each other whatsoever. That said, and assuming anyone stuck around past the first few sentences, thanks so much for coming and enjoy the show.

(Regurgitating the Summary Part II)
This story occurs in a world that exists as a result of Voldemort's triumph over the forces of Good. A world in which the whole of the muggle population of Great Britain has been crushed beneath the boot of their oppressive master. Where those who would not live beneath the reign of such a master lurk in dark places, hiding and scurrying and planning and waiting for the time when they will be able to rise up and seize control of their world once more. We enter the story five years after the final battle during which the last great stronghold, Hogwarts, fell before the Dark Lord's forces. Five years after the death of the child-hero known as Harry Potter during the last battle which had occurred directly following his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As such, this story contains spoilers for all four books. Thank you and have a nice read.

To Rule in Hell

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Chapter 2 - Dark Places

By Antenora


A dream.


A nightmare.


A memory of a prank gone horribly awry shared by the only two there to bear witness to the consequences.  

A forbidden fruit tasted, an innocence lost.  

Hot sex and cool darkness. 

Tears of pain and cries of pleasure.

Wrong, so wrong.

And yet... so very right.


"Shit.  It's locked."

"Locked?  Locked?!  It can't be locked.  Is this some kind of joke?  It's not funny."

"Be quiet.  Do you really want to be caught locked in a cabinet with me?  What's wrong with you?"

"It's just... Well, if you must know, I'm not fond of small places."

"You're claustrophobic?"


"Deathly afraid of small, dark places."

"Well... yes.  Don't laugh, Potter.  It isn't funny."

"Sure it is.  All these years trying to figure out how to get you back for all the nasty things you've done to me and mine and all this time I could have just locked you in a closet.  The all-powerful Draco Malfoy is claustrophobic." 

"Yeah, I'm also allergic to dust, jackass."

"I'll remember that."

"I have no doubts.  Just get the door open, Potter."


"What do you mean by that?"

"I can't open the door.  It's jammed with something."

"Jammed with something?  Are you kidding me?"

"No, I'm not joking, Malfoy.  Wh-what are you doing?"

"I'm going to try it myself.  Move over, Potter."

"Well, I'd love to, but this place is a little cramped."

"Just move your arm and..."

"Malfoy, this isn't..."

"Just shut up and move your bloody arse against that wall so that I get past you."

"Fine. Ouch!  Hey, watch where you're..."

"Alohomora!  Why isn't it opening?"

"I told you.  It's jammed."

"Potter.  I will not stay in here. I... I can't. I can't."

"Calm down.  Just close your eyes and don't think about it."

"Close my eyes, Potter?  With you standing there with your wand in your hand?  Are you mad?"

"You can't really see anything in here anyway.  What difference does it make?"

"I don't know, but it...Hey! Watch your hands."  

"Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy.  I'm just trying to sit down since we're probably going to be in here for a while."

"Oh no.  No, no, we are not.  HELP!  Someone get us out of here!"

"Malfoy, calm..."

"Don't you dare fucking tell me to calm down, Potter, or I will shove my wand down your throat."

"Well, that's pleasant.  Excuse me if I'm the only one here with survival instincts or have you forgotten that we were forbidden from leaving the dorms after 9pm and it is currently 1am?"

"I haven't forgotten anything, but I can't stay here."

"Look, Ron and Hermione both know where I am and they'll come looking for me soon.  We just have to wait for them to show up and get us out of here, that's all."

"And how long will that take, Potter?  I can't.  I can't do this."

"Shite, you're really serious, aren't you?"

"When exactly did you figure that one out, Potter?  Was it before or after I started hyperventilating?"  

"Just take a deep breath and sit..."


"I swear to God, Malfoy.  Calm down, sit down, and shut the hell up before I shut you up permanently."

"Sod off, Potter."

Harry gripped Draco's robes in one hand, yanking the blond down with such sudden force that Draco tumbled to the ground, landing awkwardly in Harry's lap.  He scrambled away as best he could a moment later, but ended up still half straddling Harry's legs unable to retreat any further.  He could feel the heat of Potter's body and for the briefest second he forgot that he was locked in a small, dark closet.  For a moment all he could think of was the warm body and that was all the motivation he needed.  If Potter wanted him not to think about it, then the bastard could bloody well help distract him.

He wasn't sure how he found Harry's lips in the darkness but he managed, pulling himself back onto Potter's lap and kissing the dark-haired boy soundly.  He bit at those full lips, nipping them as his fingers found Harry's head and held the boy firmly in place.  It was a bit like kissing a dead fish really for all the response Potter gave.  He didn't give an inch and Draco finally drew back, somewhat annoyed.  "Potter..."

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Kissing you.  If you helped it would be much more pleasant, I'm sure,"  Draco replied dryly.


"Why what, Potter?  Why am I kissing you or why am I sure it would be more pleasant if you helped?"

"I don't know."

"Well my, that was a well-planned argument."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

"Love to.  Can't.  So I thought maybe I would just fuck you to pass the time."

"This is a very bad idea."

"Fucking your worst enemy is seldom a good idea, Potter."

"True enough," Harry replied, licking his lips and finding Draco's lips so close that his tongue ran along them as well.  

Surprisingly, Draco Malfoy tasted rather nice.  Like blueberries and wood smoke.  


He darted his tongue out for another taste and Draco's tongue met his own.  A spike of pleasure sliced through him like the edge of a knife as their tongues tangled briefly, just barely tasting.  He heard something like a sigh escape his lips.  A satisfied sound of relief, as if he'd suddenly received a drink of water after days without.  

When Draco's mouth locked against his own, he didn't protest.  Instead he went to battle with tongues and teeth, with fingers that tore through hair and fumbled with cumbersome robes.  He laid open-mouthed kisses against Draco's neck, listening with satisfaction to the chest-deep moans that issued forth from the Slytherin's mouth as his own worked against the blond-haired boy's skin.  He found the way Draco threw his head back, laying his throat bare, both tantalizing.  By the time he'd finished bruising Draco's throat, his clumsy fingers had managed to get the Slytherin's robes unfastened and pushed back off his shoulders.  Draco wore flannel pajama pants and t-shirts to bed apparently, which Harry also found rather fascinating.  He'd always figured Draco for the type who wore tailored silk to sleep.  

"Potter, don't stop.  God, don't stop now."  Draco murmured, bringing Harry's lips back to his own before reality could set in for either of them.  

"I'm not stopping,"  Harry replied roughly, when he could breath again, shrugging out of his robes now that Draco's nimble fingers had worked the fastenings free.  He wore boxers and a t-shirt himself which put him one step ahead in the undressing department.  "Not enough room to lie down in here.  Wanna try and do this sitting or you want to stand?"

"Couldn't care less, Potter."

"Right. Sitting it is then."

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk too damn much?"

"I've heard it mentioned before."

"Well, now you've heard it again.  Shut. Up."  Draco growled, yanking Harry's t-shirt roughly over his head in a single movement.  He caught the Gryffindor's arms before he could lower them again and pinned them back against the wall before dropping his head to sink his teeth into Harry's bare shoulder.  

"Fuck,"  Harry managed as pain shot through his shoulder, he could almost feel the blood welling to the surface and beading against his skin.  "What the hell..."

"I told you to shut up,"  Draco grumbled, kissing Harry deeply to silence his protests and soon pleasure overrode the pain.  Draco thrust against him awkwardly riding him as they kissed and Harry wanted to touch that thrusting body, his hands fought their imprisonment, breaking free and diving between their eager bodies.  Draco moaned, breaking the kiss to gasp against Harry's shoulders as fingers brushed against him,  "Touch me, Potter."

"Say please," Harry responded, grinning as Draco growled and bit his lips in response, his own hands darting down to join Harry's between their thrusting bodies. 

"You want it too,"  Draco replied, pulling Harry's hands out of the way so that he could better emphasize his point by grinding their hips together.

"Harder," Harry managed, breaking Draco's hold so he could rest his hands on the Slytherin's hips, forcing their bodies closer together.  

"Masochist,"  Draco murmured softly, but the comment was ruined by the groan which issued forth from his mouth a moment later.  

"You ever... done this before?"  Harry asked as they combined efforts to get Draco's pajama pants out of the way.


"Me neither."



"Shut up and kiss me."


As they kissed, the world exploded in flames.  A thousand miles away the first battle began and the first wizards began to die.  As they came together moments later, the war began in earnest.  But as they clung to each other in the sweet aftermath of orgasm, panting and stained both in body and soul, there was only this.  Pleasure in a small darkened room where the whole world was locked out and far away and for a few brief moments, didn't matter at all.  

Ron and Hermione had come and found them some time later: dressed, straightened, somber, and silent; if looking a bit worse for wear.  They'd gone their separate ways and Harry had returned to his room to stare up at the ceiling, replaying those moments in the dark closet as the storm moved in.  

Thunder crashed over his tower room and heralding the coming storm as the door to his room opened some time later.  Draco stood there, dressed in his flannel pants and t-shirt, looking as if he'd been out in the rain.  His blond hair was plastered against his forehead, his white t-shirt molded against his chest as he lingered in the doorway.  

There had been no words as he'd closed the door and Harry had welcomed him with open arms and hungry lips.

Later the storm would rage with violent fury through the night skies outside Harry's tower room, pouring rain and raging thunder.  Later the sex would become rougher, more desperate, as if they sensed that this night was the last chance and perhaps they did.  Perhaps Harry felt Voldemort's wand unleash that first deadly spell and perhaps Draco felt the insistent burn of the Deatheaters' mark upon his wrist.  Whatever the case, neither made mention of their thoughts or fears.  There were no confessions whispered in the darkness of that night.


He rode alone in the small carriage, his burden laid across his legs so that he would be able to tell when and if it awoke.  The others had said there was no chance that he would awaken before they arrived at their hiding place, but he knew better.  Just as he had been doubtful when his informants had told him of Malfoy's illness.  Even when he'd read the doctor's private notes he'd had his doubts.  He knew Draco Malfoy.  Knew him far better then he ever should have.  And the Draco Malfoy he knew could not, would not have been brought low by some ridiculous imagined trauma. 

Harry trailed fingertips across the pale skin of Malfoy's bare arm, tracing the outline of the cut there.  Fresh blood welled to the surface as he touched the wound, warm and red.  They'd stripped him of his coat, leaving him in the trousers and shirt sleeves he'd been wearing beneath.  Hardly suitable protection from the cold, bitter rain, but it couldn't be helped.  They'd needed the coat for other purposes.  It had been left, ripped and stained with this Malfoy's dark blood on the floor of his apartment as a message so that another Malfoy would know that his son was theirs.  Or, in simpler terms, so that Lucius Malfoy would know that his son's life now belonged to Harry Potter.  Harry found a private humor in that.  For hadn't Draco Malfoy been his since that night, whether he wanted him or not?  Just as he himself had belonged to Draco Malfoy since that night.

That night.  

That one disastrous night which had bound their fate completely and irrevocably.    

The ridiculous irony of his particular situation did not escape his notice.  

In fact, there were very few things which escaped Harry Potter's notice these days.  Especially things which involved Draco fucking Malfoy.

Oh, how he hated him.

No, hate was not nearly strong enough a word to describe his feelings for Draco Malfoy.  

He hated the rain.  

He hated Voldemort, the stick of rotting corpses, the taste of day-old water, and he also rather hated shag carpeting as well.  

Yet none of those began to compare for the burning, all-consuming detestation he felt for Draco Malfoy.   

At least nothing that he had any control over, that is, as he'd long ago come to the realization that he had absolutely no control over the desires of his body.

And so he let his fingers play across bare skin and memorize the texture of the rough woolen bag they'd tied over his head to hide his identity as much as to keep him blind if he should awaken.  Of course, the others didn't know why he had insisted upon the bag rather then the typical blindfold and hood they had used when capturing those two numbskulls last week.  But they hadn't questioned him, never questioned him.  He was after all the great Harry Potter.  The man who would lead them to victory and salvation.


It was a terrible joke that so many people should believe in him with such fervor after his last meeting with Voldemort.  Then again, he had... risen from the dead, so to speak, and that did seem to inspire no small amount of awe.  Risen from the dead.  


Funny.  It was all very funny.  It had to be.  He'd learned that during that first year.  If he didn't find the humor he might just run screaming into the night.  

But he didn't want to think about that now.  He didn't want to think about any of that.  Better to focus on the present.  Better to occupy his mind with thoughts of tactics and torture then to think of those first dark years after his... death.

Harry shook himself from his thoughts as he felt Malfoy stir against his legs.  He'd allowed the others to bind Malfoy's hands behind his back with rope and he knew that after lying in that same position for the past hour that the bastard's shoulders were probably beginning to cramp like mad and that was funny too.  He chuckled softly as the man awoke, and laid a hand against Malfoy's head as he attempted to raise up, "Be still."


Draco Malfoy was not happy.  Not by any stretch of the imagination.  His shoulders were screaming bloody mercy from being bound in the same position for the Dark Lord only knew how long and there was something over his head.  Something rough and woolen, probably a bag.  As soon as he realized that, it became difficult to breath.  He tried to sit up, but a hand came down against his head, holding him in place.  

"Be still."

That voice.  That dead man's voice again.  It was impossible, but he knew instinctively that it was true.  He could smell him.  Sense him like magic.  This was Harry Potter.

"Take this bloody bag off my head.  You're fucking up my hair, you ignorant prat."

"Oh, my deepest apologies," Potter replied, and Draco could hear the smile in the snide bastard's voice.

"Potter. Get. This. Bag. Off. My. Head,"  Draco spat, his breathing deep and ragged.  He knew Potter wouldn't fail to notice the note of fear in his voice.  He'd never managed to conquer this particular fear.  Pathetic, but true.  He'd learned to control it to a certain extent.  He could handle small places for limited amounts of time without freaking out, but he still wasn't in love with having bags tied around his fucking head.  Of course, he doubted anyone was in love with the idea of having a bag tied around their head. 

"Oh, that's right.  I'd completely forgotten your dislike for small spaces."

"Lying bastard.  You remember that night as well as I do.  The only reason it happened at all was because I don't like small spaces."

"You're right."

"Potter.  I would really... appreciate it if you were to take this bag off my head.  Blindfold me, whatever, but take the damn bag off." Draco growled, his teeth grinding together painfully.

"Close your eyes."


He felt Potter's fingertips against his neck, cool skin roughened by hard labor smoothed across and around to find the ties which held the bag in place.  The ties loosened and the bag was lifted away slowly and Draco followed it, drawing himself into a sitting position.  He kept his eyes wide open as the bag slipped free of his head.  He wanted to see this man.  He wanted to see for himself that his ears and skin and senses weren't lying.  That Harry Potter was truly alive.

Nothing.  He could see nothing but darkness, but he could feel eyes upon him.  It was long moments before his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he began to see.  Dark hair, hanging carelessly across his scarred forehead.  Skin which seemed too pale, such a contrast to the tan he'd held during his Hogwarts days.  And his eyes... his green, green eyes.  How those eyes had changed.  They seemed to glow with an almost unearthly light.  And there was something there, dark and restless, something merciless and deadly. The same thing he saw when he let his own guard down in front of the bathroom mirror.  He could feel the darkness in his own soul bubbling to the surface, seeking this strange mirror. 

"Do you like what you see, Malfoy?"  He murmured, observing the stunned blond through the lazy eyes of a lounging predator.  It was disturbed, unnerving, and also intriguing.  Dangerous.  Harry Potter looked bloody dangerous.  He wondered what demons Potter had seen in the years since the war had taken his soul, if not his life.  He wanted to plunge into that body and discover if it burned just as he remembered or if it would be hotter still for the fires of hell within.

"You look good for a dead man,"  Draco commented finally, finding himself both unable and unwilling to pull up the mask he'd hidden behind for so many years in front of this lovely, dangerous man.  Potter smiled, seeming to think this over for a few long moments during which Draco's brain slowly began to take in other things.  Other things such as his surroundings. Such as the fact he was somewhere small and dark.  He managed to stomp down his panic by concentrating on the details of his small prison while he awaited Potter's response.  It was a carriage or a coach, perhaps, because they were moving along a bumpy road.  Probably not paved, but it was hard to tell with carriages as they had a tendency to bump a bit no matter what type of road they went along. 

"I suppose you could say that I'm well-preserved,"  Harry replied finally, a thin smile curving his pale lips.

"Still playing the savior, Potter?"

"Still playing the lapdog, Malfoy?"

"I'm no one's lapdog, Potter."

"Funny, that's not I heard.  Do Voldemort's boots taste nice?"

"Wouldn't know.  What does the earth look like from the underside, Potter?"

"Black.  It's black, because everything is black when you're surrounded by darkness.  But then I don't have to tell you that, do I?"

"No, I suppose you don't.  I've always known that.  What do you want from me, Potter?"

"Are you as addled as they say, Malfoy?  You seem sensible enough to me."

"You've always brought out the best in me, Potter."

"Hmm.  If that's true then that's pretty damn sad.  You do seem to have a tendency to come and go quickly."

"Could say the same of you, Potter."

"Well, you always did bring out the worst in me, Malfoy."

"Death seems to have sharpened your wits as well."

"You could say it was a life changing experience."

"Where are we going, Potter?"

"My home.  Which also happens to be the last home you'll ever see."


"Hm.  I'm afraid I can not possibly allow you to leave there alive.  It would endanger my people.  However, I'll make sure you do some good before I put you out of your misery."

"How... generous of you.  I'm surprised you didn't try and convince me to join your side.  Fight the good fight and all that."

"I might have before...."

"Before what, Potter?"

"Just... Before. But it's been a long time since I've been quite so foolish.  Maybe you'll discover the way that death changes your view of things."

"How did you survive, Potter?  I saw him kill you."

A sly, wicked smile slipped across Harry's lips and he leaned forward, pressing cool lips against Draco's ear as he had in his apartment.  His breath was as cool as his touch as he spoke words which chilled Draco's darkened soul, "Whoever said I survived?"


~ to be continued ~


Author's Notes:

I do so love writing this story.  I was actually astonished by the amount of positive response I've been receiving for this fic since both the story content and the writing techniques I'm using in this one are so different from what I use in the majority of LS.  *grin*
Big kudos to those who manage to catch all the biblical, fairy tale, and mythological references floating about in this story.  (Why?  Because I just edited this chapter and realized that this story is rather seeped in them.)  

This chapter owes much to the music I was listening to while writing it which was mainly Poe (Hey Pretty, Haunted, Control, and Not a Virgin- Poe makes excellent HxD mood music, I tell ya) and System of the Down (Chop Suey).

Fic Rec!

Okay, I needed to put a fic rec in here.  If you haven't read it already, I would definitely suggest reading the wonderful Abaddon's Moon River sequence of stories: <a href="">i've got you under my skin</a>, <a href="">something stupid</a>, <a href="">love's been good to me</a>, <a href="">moon river</a>, and <a href="">what now my love?</a>.  They're all fabulous, though most have an NC-17 rating so if that's a problem for you then you've been warned.  I have a particularly great love for the third story in the sequence, by the way.  Just wonderful.  ^__^ 


Many thanks to: Kay, Anne Phoenix, Lyansidde, Sparks, MistWalker (*grin* It only gets darker from here on out, love), Crimson Nightmare (I love your pen name, btw. Plus that horror movie comment had me giggling for quite a goodly amount of time ^_-), Radical Ed, Moonchild, Sideproject, Jinsei (*hugs* Yep, I'm still alive and writing. Who knew? *grin*), Demeter (Yep, no sappyfool!Draco around these parts. *grin*), Katma (Heh.  He's been mostly dead all day. *cough* Sorry, huge Princess Bride fan here. -_-), bwaybaby79 (*grin* I do so love questions. See below for answers), ChibiWhiteFerret, Maya (Naive, perhaps, but you could never be stupid. ^_-  I thought your review was just lovely and I thank you very much for taking the time to write it *beams and feels very special*), Cher, Jen, Arwena (Here's more of this and you'll be getting more of that in just a few days *grin*), Darklites (You do know much I look forward to your reviews, don't you?  *grin*), Tariel, Jessica, Lucinda K, Amalin, IckleRonnikins (I love your pen name. *grin*), Someonesgurl, Clayr (Heh. I certainly can.  Just give me time. ^_-), black_ink, Connelly (*glomp* Here's one update and the other will be up in a few days. Promise. ^_^), Abaddon (*huge hugs*), and Kristina.


(Posed by Darklites) Why is it that Draco has to hide his persona as a Hunter if Voldemort is ruling the whole of Great Britain?
You always ask the most fun questions. *beams*  Actually there's a whole slew of reasons for that, but I'll give you the most  general purpose reason for now since I'll be covering the more specific reasons within the next few chapters. 
The Fear Factor. 
Fear, as we all know, is a very powerful motivator and thus a terribly useful weapon if one wields it properly.  Voldemort being rather intelligent for an evil dark lord, recognized this and selected a few skilled operatives to become his Hunters.  In the beginning, the identities of Hunters were concealed mainly to increase the population's fear of them by utlizing man's instinctive fear of the unknown.  They were Voldemort's enforcers, his Hunters.  Silent killers who always hit their mark.  They were creatures of darkness as no one was certain whether they were humans or demons and the people were terrified that these Hunters would come for them.  These were the Hunters in their purest definition and form.  Over the years the definition has changed somewhat as the main opposers of the Dark Lord's reign died out and many ambious men began to take on the guise of the Hunter in order to make their living in the slave trade.  It is unknown how many original Hunters there were, though many believe that there was originally just one.  Death incarnante. (After all, how many would have cowered in fear if they'd known that beneath that mask was a nineteen-year-old boy?)

(Posed by Bwaybaby79) Did Draco choose the Dark Side because Harry died or would he have joined Voldemort anyway? 
Draco was on the dark side from day one.  The fact that Harry died didn't have a gosh darn thing to do with it.  Draco is a very naughty boy.

(Posed by Bwaybaby79) So (if Harry didn't) who was it that died?  Or was a body never found? 
An excellent couple of questions.  I'm afraid at this point, you'll have to draw your own conclusions. ^_-

(Posed by Moonchild) How could Harry possibly know about Draco's free-time occupation?
Well, frankly, he doesn't know a darn thing about that.  What Harry is commenting on is the message left by Lucius on Draco's answering machine.  As far as the world (and Harry's informants) are concerned Draco is completely useless in a magical sense and can not be trusted with a wand.  As such, Lucius telling him to apparate to the Manor seems a bit off.

Typical Policies: (It just blows my mind on a daily basis that I even have a policies section. -_-)
Archive Policy- If you want to archive this fic somewhere please e-mail me first.  I have yet to turn anyone down, but I do like to know where my stories are. :) 
Update Notification- If you wish to be notified when I update this or any of my other stories, drop me a line either by e-mail or by leaving a note in the review section with your e-mail address and what stories you would like to be notified about.  Thanks!

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