It was a Saturday. A Hogsmeade day in November. November thirteenth, 1993 to be precise.
The memory is solid in his mind, he remembers every detail, right down to the colour of the necklace tied around Pansy's neck (silver) and the pattern in Blaise's shoelaces (green and black stripes).
He had been with his usual clique; Greg, Vincent, Pansy, Blaise and Theo. Daphne was also with them, and she had Pansy had wandered off somewhere for a girl's day. He had stayed with the boy's until Greg and Vincent went into Honeydukes, Blaise and Theo going to admire the brooms in a window display.
Draco remembers being bored and walking through Hogsmeade alone, sneering at anybody who wasn't Slytherin. He remembers suddenly noticing that he had broke away from the shops and was wandering down a snowy path leading to nowhere. He had turned, as if to go back, when someone whispered Imperio and Draco was done for.
The man, he had never learnt his name, was experienced with the curse. Draco walked alongside him in silence, the forefront of his mind filled with pleasant thoughts, while a small part of him deep down screamed to break the spell. Draco didn't. He didn't even know how.
They walked a long way away from Hogsmeade, until the small village was just a blur in the distance. Real fear started to uncurl in his belly, stronger than the curse on his mind. The man didn't notice, or he didn't care, because he grabbed Draco's forearm and Apparated them rapidly, Draco's stomach flipping over with more than fear.
When they came to the final stop Draco found himself frozen, barely able to breathe. The man's wand jabbed into the side of his neck and he whispered Stupefy -
Draco woke up in darkness so black he was sure he was still unconscious. He shifted minutely, and was suddenly hyper aware of the cool air biting at his skin, and his obvious nudity.
"Oh, Salazar!" He cried, realising that he was very awake and not in a nightmare, and that he wasn't in his dormitory like he should of been. Hysteria clawed its way up his throat, making him retch, but his body didn't have anything inside it to vomit and he was left gagging, the horrible burning staying in his throat. He did nothing to try to stem the tears that slipped down his face as he pushed himself to a stand and began banging on the walls, shrieking wildly. He yelled for what felt like hours, but might of not even been one. But no matter how loud he screamed, or how hard he punched, he was met with only deafening silence. It was the true meaning of trapped.
Eventually, he slid down the wall, sobbing hysterically in the dark, knees to his chest with his arms wrapped around them, burdened with the awful knowledge that it was only going to get worse.
The second time he woke it was to the sound of metal sliding along metal. It took him a moment to recognise it as the sound a latch makes when it's unlocked, and by that time the man had already stepped into the room and closed the door with an ominous thud.
Draco shook in his corner. He heard the man take another step towards him, and then felt rough fabric brush against his leg. Draco yelped and instinctively scrambled away, but there was nowhere he could run. The man simply reached out a hand and dragged him into his lap. Draco whimpered as he felt something hard beneath him through the man's trousers.
"Please, my father has money-" He tried, voice breaking in despair. "he-he would get you a-anything if you let me go!" He pleaded. The man huffed into his neck, and it took Draco a second to register that the man was laughing at his desperate attempt for a bargain.
"You think I'm stupid, pretty boy?" The man said huskily, his sweaty hands rubbing along his thighs. Draco swallowed, completely paralysed by his fear.
"Why do I need money when you'll sell like a diamond?"
And then Draco really understood how very, very, very fucked he was.
He thrashed and bucked wildly in the man's lap, screaming as loud as he could and biting down on the man's horrible-tasting fingers when he shoved them in Draco's mouth to silence him. Tiring of Draco's fighting, the man punched him in the side of his head, making his vision blur, and his limbs go limp. The man took this opportunity to pull him into a deep kiss. The feeling of the wet tongue in his mouth made him start struggling again, so the man slapped him and grabbed him by the back of the neck. He pushed Draco's body off of his and shoved him so he was lying flat on his belly. The man pressed Draco's face into his crotch as his hands roamed over the backs of his thighs. Draco jumped and let out a squeak as the hand trailed over his buttocks, dipping between them for a moment. The man pressed his face down harder and he had to fight to draw in breath.
And then, as quickly as it started, it ended. The man pulled Draco's head up and slapped him one more time, before he stood and kicked him in the ribs.
Draco let himself sob when he heard the latch slide into place and the click of the lock. He knew from the moment he woke up without his clothes what was likely to happen - but his thoughts becoming reality was something so much more terrifying than he could ever imagine.
He was a Malfoy. Things like this just didn't happen to people like him. He was supposed to grow up dating Pansy Parkinson and fussing over his robes, not this. Never this.
He was meant to be the one who heard about it happening to others. Girls who were tricked into going with bad men; it wasn't meant to be him. He wasn't supposed to be the one experiencing it.
Maybe someone, by some miracle, had seen Draco go with the man. Maybe someone had noticed the blank look on his face as he willingly followed a stranger out of Hogsmeade. The Aurors had to of been alerted of his disappearance by now. Perhaps they were here (wherever 'here' actually was) right now, hexing the man to a pulp and looking at the doorway that blocked Draco off from the rest of the world. Perhaps they were about to burst in any second.
He waited, almost expectantly, and all he received was the same deafening silence.
They'll come, he whispered to himself, Father will make them come,
He held on to that strand of hope with all his mind, trying his hardest not to think about when it would happen or if it would hurt badly or not.
He wasn't sure if he had been sleeping between the man's visits, because suddenly the latch was sliding out of place again. Draco pressed his face into his knees, not even wanting to see the silhouette of the man.
The man placed something on the floor and Draco looked up, smelling something greasy and salty.
"It's for you." The man said. "Either you sit in my lap and eat it, or I fuck you dry and lend you out to the rest of my friends." He said it so casually that Draco blinked at him in the dark, not understanding for half a minute. Even when he did he made no move towards the man.
"Ten seconds." He snapped. "Ten. . . Nine. . . Eight. . . Seven. . . Six-"
"N-Nothing else? Just sitting?" He asked hesitantly, knowing what he was going to do. Take the easy option. Take the option that would get you hurt less.
"Nothing else, just sitting." The man confirmed. Draco swallowed, taking a deep breath as he shuffled from the corner, blindly reaching out a hand. The man grabbed his arm and pulled him into his lap, hooking his ankles under Draco's legs and spreading them crudely.
"You said. . ."
"Do you want to be fucked dry?" It shut him up instantly. Part of him was aware that it could easily be an idle threat, but a larger part of him was too scared to find out. If the man was lying about being able to 'lend' him to his friends, he certainly wasn't faking the threat of fucking him dry. Just the words themselves sent him into shivers.
Draco let the man hand feed him breaded chicken and something potato-ey with copious amounts of salt. The man kept his fingers inside his mouth longer than necessary, but Draco was reluctant to point it out; he didn't want to irk him anymore than he had already.
When the food was gone, the man stayed holding Draco. Draco held himself stiffly in the man's grip, one of his hands snaking down to his navel. Draco swallowed around the lump growing in his throat. The clammy hand stayed where it was, making the threat of dipping lower without actually doing it.
After an unmeasurable amount of time, the man pushed Draco off of him and gathered up the food box.
Draco waited until the latch had slid closed and the lock had clicked into place before he cried.
Everyday, or what he assumed was a day, the man would come with food. It was always the same greasy, low quality food, that Draco was slowly getting used to. Today, the man reached for the bucket in the corner, which Draco had found after some desperate search to keep his dignity, and placed it outside the room, leaving a different one in its place.
The week had passed dauntingly. Every time Draco ate, the man had pushed him further. One day it was just sitting, then it was fondling, then it was fingering with one finger, then with two, then three, then it was choking on the man's cock in the dark.
Draco really had thrown up after that one. It was worse than the others, because he was the one doing it, it wasn't someone doing it to him. He knew that the man was leading up to real sex. It was something that Draco couldn't think about without falling into hysteria.
His hope in the Aurors and his Father was slowly dwindling down to nothing. Surely, they must of have something by now? His Father would never let them drop the case, he knew. And he couldn't of been missing for more than a week or two. They would have to find a lead soon. They had to. He didn't know how much more he could take.
Draco never heard the door shut. The man stepped towards him and he shuddered.
"Please," He whispered, "not today. Please, j-just leave me alone." He begged.
The man didn't reply and for a hopeful second Draco actually believed he was considering it.
Then something sharp was stabbed into his neck and he gasped, the man yanking on a chunk of his hair when he tried to get away. His efforts were quickly stopped by the sudden heavy feeling in his limbs, his punches turning into nothing but weak taps, his legs going numb beneath him -
He groaned as he blinked in the harsh, blurred light of the room. His head felt as if someone had stuffed it with cotton, and his mouth felt dry. He made to sit up, but found he couldn't move. Frantically, he tried again and managed to move his arm a little, but not enough to be helpful.
His vision of the ceiling was suddenly obscured by a masked man leaning over him. Draco resumed his struggles more violently, however the drug was still wearing him down. The man left his vision and he froze completely when he heard the soft buzz of voices above him.
"New. . .Broken in. . . Deal. . ." Were the only words he could make out.
His breath caught in his throat as he felt a hand on his ankle, too soft to be the man's. Someone spoke, voice less rough then the ones before, and Draco realised it was because it was a woman. Her hand stroked the underside of his leg, up to his upper thighs. When her face came into view Draco tried to catch her eye, a futile attempt to garner her sympathy. She was a woman, sure she would help him, right?
Her other hand joined the first, rubbing over his legs in sync. She then placed one hand on his chest and tweaked his nipples with her fingers, making his face burn scarlet. He knew it was going to get worse, that her touches would become more intimate. He wished he hadn't of gained consciousness. It would be so much easier if he didn't have to know about the awful things happening to him.
Her hands left his body, and for a hopeful moment he thought she might of changed her mind, but then they were back with something cold smeared across them. He jolted where he lay as her hand wrapped around his penis and stroked it. He closed his eyes and bit his lip so hard that he drew blood, which dripped from his lips and down his chin, making a small pool of red in his collarbone.
A sharp smack to his inner thigh made his eyes open. The woman was leering at him, showing off full lips and white teeth.
"Look. At. Me." She ordered, punctuating each word with a slap to his legs. Draco snivelled but did as she commanded, keeping his eyes on her as he, mortifyingly quickly, got hard. He tried to tell himself it wasn't his fault, it was the first time anyone had ever touched him there, it was just his body's reaction, not his mind's. It didn't make it any less humiliating.
Her hands left his penis and his legs flopped as she pushed them up to his chest, running a finger around his hole. Draco made a small noise in the back of his throat when her finger breached his entrance. She worked in another three fingers, while tears made his vision blur once more.
It wasn't exactly painful - more humiliating than anything else. It was very clinical, as if she was inspecting him, making sure he was just right. That was exactly what she was doing, he supposed.
She suddenly crooked her fingers inside of him and he yowled as a burst of pleasure shocked him. Her fingers rubbed over that spot, and he found himself involuntarily snapping his hips up to meet her fingers.
He was on the verge of a humiliating orgasm when she abruptly stopped and pulled her fingers out of him. She wiped her sticky fingers on his leg.
"He's good, I like him. Pretty, too. Inexperienced, though." She said. The drug seemed to be wearing off him now that he could made out what they were saying more clearly.
"I only got him a few weeks back. Took him right out of Hogsmeade. Made sure no one saw me, I'd have hell to pay if anyone found out."
"What are we supposed to do about his magic?" The other man, the one who he hadn't seen but had heard before, asked.
"I've had him under dampening spells in the basement, they'll take a while to wear off. I have a nice collar or a bracelet for him that'll supress his magic when you have him, if, that is, we can agree on a price."
Draco's mind drifted somewhere else as they discussed costs. He would do anything, anything, to be able to just go home. To go home and appreciate his Father's sarcasm over the breakfast table, or his Mother's relentless fussing on the day he went to catch the train, to hang around with Goyle and Crabbe in the Slytherin Common room, to whisper to Pansy during potions or hex Potter at any given chance.
Instead of any of those things, he was stuck in what he was sure muggles would call hell. Wizards didn't have a particular name for it, so he guessed he had earned the right to call it something muggle.
There was a clink of glass and someone patted his foot before he heard them leave the room, leaving him and the masked man, his kidnapper, alone.
"You did good, boy." The masked man said casually, as if he was talking about the weather and that he had just watched him be molested. Draco rolled over and curled up on the bed, trying to ignore him. He just wanted to go home. Another tear leaked out of his eye when he was painfully reminded that he likely would never go home, that he was going to be sold to somebody. It was humiliating in everyway, being treated as less than human. Like he wasn't Draco Malfoy, like he was just some thing to be brought and sold with no consequence.
"Oh no, you're not done for today." The man snarled, making Draco swallow around the lump pushing its way through his throat.
"Please," He whispered. "T-Tomorrow, not today. Please j-just leave me alone" He knew that it would change nothing about what the man had planned, but he couldn't stop himself from begging.
The man grabbed him by his shoulder and forcibly turned him over. Draco gasped in fright at the fury in his eyes. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, and he impulsively kicked his foot into the man's crotch. The man's grip on him loosened slightly, and Draco hit him in the face and broke free of his hold. His legs collapsed underneath him so he dragged himself across the floor to the door, the man's footsteps slowly thudding behind him. Draco threw himself against the door and desperately tried to turn the door knob, but it was locked. Draco sobbed, knowing the man would be smirking behind the mask, just waiting for Draco to accept that he had no choice in what he did, that he had no way out of this no matter how hard he tried. Draco refused to give in easily, and hammered his fists against the door as he screamed for help.
The sound of his screams and his fists pounding against the door blocked out the man's footsteps, and Draco screamed even louder out of shock when his hands' seized him around his waist and tossed him back onto the bed like a ragdoll.
Draco's screams died down into sobs as the man flipped him over onto his stomach and then pulled him up so he was on all fours. The man stood behind him on the mattress and lined himself up. Draco cried out when he pushed into him without no further preparation. He set a quick, hard pace as he slammed in and out of Draco. Draco cried harder with each thrust, wanting it to just be over.
It seemed to last for days, yet logically he knew it only could of been a few minutes. The man paused and groaned, and then emptied himself into Draco. Draco collapsed onto his stomach from pain and exhaustion, feeling sticky and horrible.
The man flipped Draco over again. Draco instantly curled up, not wanting the man to get any more ideas about what to do with him.
"It's really too bad you put up a fight, pet. I guess I'll have to dish out that punishment."
Draco's blood ran cold, and the lump in his throat grew to such a size that he struggled to breathe.
"N-No! Y-You s-said I d-d-did go-good!" He stammered. He regretted his failure of an escape attempt.
"Before you fought me. And I told you if you refused, I'd get my friends to fuck you dry. I'm feeling nice so today I'll let you have some prep. But if you anger me. . ." He left the clear threat hanging between them.
"I-I'm s-sorry." Draco pleaded.
"You're not." The man said. "But you will be."
Before Draco could react a cuff had been snapped around his wrist and then around the bedframe. Draco stared at it in shock, his mouth opening and closing, and the man snapped another one in place. Draco struggled, but the metal cuffs held.
While Draco had been in shock the man had poured some lube on his fingers. Draco jerked as they circled his hole, still well stretched. The man worked his fingers inside until all four of them were in to the knuckle and Draco was whimpering into the pillow, unused to the feeling. He then slowly took out his fingers, wiped them on the sheets and grabbed a blindfold from somewhere Draco couldn't see and wrapped it around his eyes, leaving him in total darkness. He then left, and Draco heard the lock click into place.
He waited. And waited. And waited. Draco felt relieved - maybe the man had just been threatening him to scare him, maybe he wouldn't actually go through with it. Draco waited some more, and it seemed more and more likely than the man really had been lying.
The lock clicked again. Draco feigned sleep and hoped the man had just been coming to take him back to the room. Someone closed the door locked it behind them.
"Well, aren't you a pretty thing?" A different voice said.
"No." Draco whispered. "Please, don't." The man hadn't been lying, and Draco mentally cursed him with all the dark curses he knew. "Please, leave me alone-" He was silenced by a sharp slap to his cheek. Draco didn't try to beg to that man again.
The first man wasn't exactly rough, but he certainly wasn't gentle. He worked Draco open and then pushed inside slowly, moaning at the feel. Draco moaned too, for a completely different reason. The man set his paces long and slow, making Draco feel every inch of him as he slowly opened him up. Draco was glad that the man didn't try to force his own orgasm, he was glad that the first man didn't try to humiliate him further.
After the first man, memories of that night were hazy and thrown together in a jumble. One man sat on his chest and choked Draco with his cock, another placed his legs over his shoulders and fucked him hard, another throttled him as he came inside him, one stroked Draco in time with his thrusts and made him come, a woman bounced on his cock while he tried and failed to stop another orgasm, another one filled him with his fingers whilst he was stretched around the man's penis.
After them all, Draco had waited in fear of another and another and another. He didn't make a sound as the door opened again and someone went over to the bed. His bloody wrists were grabbed and the cuffs dropped off of them with a click. His lay listlessly on the bed, whimpering when he was lifted into someone's arms, the blindfold still in place.
He couldn't move - his bones had turned to liquid. The man, the masked man, didn't seem to care. He groaned as he was placed down heavily on a hard surface. There was the squeak of a dial turning and then freezing cold water hit his back, making him gasp. He still couldn't move, trapped under the freezing spray, shivering with more than just sorrow.
Hands in his armpits lifted him onto shaky legs, but didn't let him stand on his own. The man held him up with a bruising grip as he scrubbed Draco clean, scrubbed any traces of his 'friends' off of his body. The man scrubbed until Draco's skin was raw and the only reminder than remained were bruises.
The water suddenly stopped and Draco was pulled out of the shower, shivering. A scratchy towel was roughly rubbed over his shoulders, wiping the water from his skin. Draco was too exhausted to move. He let the man dry him slowly and didn't struggle when he was lifted up and carried from the room. His shivering didn't stop; he was too terrified for it to stop anytime soon.
He flinched as he heard the thud of the metal door being kicked open, but made no sound. He was too exhausted, too hurt, to fight. He was laid down heavily onto the cold floor, the lock clicking into place moments later.
Alone for what felt like the first time in years, he cries. It starts with a silent shudder after he rips the blindfold off (even though it made little difference to the darkness surrounding him). He curls up in a corner, shuddering and shaking until his silent tears turned into gasping, wet sobs of grief. Grief because he is mourning, for he knows his old life is as good as dead.
The small light of hopefulness had been burnt out as soon as the other men walked through the door. Even if they did find him now, the damage had been done.
The man came for him the next morning. Or was it the afternoon? Night? Evening? He couldn't tell.
Draco didn't fight as a cloth was forcibly pressed over his mouth and nose, only struggled weakly when his eyes started to droop close. He was only slightly aware of a bracelet being snapped around his ankle.
He woke in on a cold, hard surface. He rolled over and groaned quietly, his limbs spasming. He was on a tiled floor, he realised. And completely nude. He stood shakily and swayed on his feet, whatever had been pressed into his face still effecting him.
The door opened with such suddenness that he almost fell over. The woman, the same one as before, stood in the doorway watching him. Draco's hands immediately moved to cover himself, though he felt silly for doing so. This woman had already seen all of him. She had taken his pride and chewed it up and spat it in his face.
"We have house rules," She said with an accent he hadn't noticed before. But if she had an accent then. . . What if he wasn't even in England any more? He could handle being in muggle England for a bit, he could find some way to contact his parents, but in another country? He didn't even know about Aurors in other countries.
The woman snapped her fingers and he flinched, snapping himself back to reality. Fucks sake, Draco, pay attention.
"Did you just ignore everything I say?" Draco said nothing. The woman rolled her eyes.
"My name is Rosa. You listen to me, and do whatever I tell you, hmm? You please me and the visitors. No crying. No talking unless I ask. This is your room, and you get rewards when you do good. Matías will be up later, and you'll please him, yes?"
Draco swallowed and nodded. She gave him a once over, making him squirm, reminding him of how very vulnerable he was. She seemed satisfied by what she saw, and left him standing in the cold room, locking the door behind her.
Draco counted to ten before he let a tear escape his eye. He wiped it away quickly. He couldn't break down, he couldn't, he couldn't. He had to find some way out. And fast.
Rosa. The name derived from the Latin and botanic name of the Rose shrub, and also refers to the colour pink in languages like French, Latin and Dutch. Roses have stems with thorns on them and soft petals.
Rosa, the real Rosa, was all thorns and no petals. There was nothing soft about the terrifying woman. If he was forced to choose, he could truthfully say he feared her more than Matías, whom he guessed was her husband. He didn't know how could marry her. Than again, he hurt him too, so he didn't know how either of them could live with each other.
He had come to the conclusion that some people were just evil.
Not just Rosa and Matías, but every other person who had forced themselves on him, even through his begging and pleading. They had been sending him customers ever since he had arrived, had had sex almost daily, all before he was fourteen. How had his life managed to spiral out of control so much? If only he hadn't of strayed from his friends that day in Hogsmeade. If only. He wondered if they were still looking for him and then felt stupid. They wouldn't give up just because he had been gone for more than a month (he knew it was either early January or late December because he had glimpsed a calendar while being taken for a shower a few days ago). His parents especially would keep looking for him until they died. Not that they would have to. He would get out of here somehow. He couldn't give up. There must be some way.
He has lost the use of even accidental magic - the bracelet is some sort of suppresser, he has never seen anything like it before. It's impossible to get off.
He stiffened on the bed when he hears footsteps outside his door. Surely not, the other one had barely left. . .
The swung open and a girl stumbled inside and closed it behind her. She had a bundle of items in her hands that he put on the floor before turning to him. Once again Draco was crudely reminded of his nudity. The girl herself was clothed in a pair of jeans and a top that looked too big for her. Draco was startled to realise she looked even younger than him.
"I'm here to. . . your face." She nodded towards the bleeding cut on his forehead. Draco relaxed and didn't even wince when she wiped the blood from the cut.
"What's your name?" He rasped, his voice having gone unused for days. The girl glanced at the door, as if she thought Rosa would burst through the door at any second.
"Elena." She whispered, dabbing at the cut. "Are they. . . are they h-hurting you?" She asked hesitantly. Draco felt defensive, even though he had no idea why. She only looked to be around ten.
"Are they hurting you?" He asked instead of answering. Elena shrugged.
She finished her work in silence, and for a while Draco was glad to have company that didn't demand anything of him. Draco caught her writ with his fingers when she moved to leave.
"Do you live here?" He asked. Elena nodded. Before he could ask her anything more she quickly scurried through the door and locked it behind her.
A part of him knew he couldn't be the only one (even if it felt like that) in the house. He knew that others were here, doing exactly what he was. He wondered how they had gotten here, and if they had people searching for him.
People think that because he is a Malfoy, he doesn't care for other people. But they were wrong because he does, even if now he wishes he didn't. He wishes he could stop the niggling worries about Elena. She would be fine, she had only left a few minutes ago.
Trying to push Elena out of his mind, he lay down on his bed, trying to get some rest. He would need it.
The next time he saw Elena was when he had been pulled from his room, limping awkwardly down the stairs with Rosa barking at him to go faster. He was pushed into the dining room. He looked around in shock as he saw other people his age. Two girls and a boy. They looked just as shocked to see him as he did them.
"We're having a meeting tonight, so I expect -" Matías gaze lands on him. "you to be on your best behaviours. You know what happens if you're not." Draco didn't, but was certain that he didn't want to find out. Matías waved his hand and dismissed them.
"Not you." He pointed to Draco when he made to leave with them. Draco froze, watching the other three leave out of the corner of his eye. The boy gave him a look of what he thought was sympathy.
Matías cupped his face with his hand, his fingers brushing over the soft skin of his cheeks. Draco looked anywhere but his eyes. He was nothing on Rosa, but Draco was fully aware of how much pain he could cause if he felt like it.
"Pretty boy, you're the star attraction." Draco's eyes snapped up to meet his for a fraction of a second.
"What?" He gasped. He thought he understood what Matías was insinuating, but he hoped he was wrong.
Matías smirked, and Draco shivered.
It went on for hours and hours and hours. It started with gentle touches, moving him until he was in the position best to humiliate him. He had steeled himself best he could - he knew what was coming the moment he saw the gathering of men and woman in the dining room.
Matías was right about him being the star attraction. They still had the two girls and the other boy, but he was their main target. And they made sure that he feared them by the time the sun had risen.
He still can't move. His bones felt too heavy, as if they're made out of rocks. Every part of him aches. No inch of skin was spared. He is covered in bruises, from his head to his toes.
He hurts too much to even cry. He just doesn't see the point. He's never going to go home. Why would they let him when they like hurting him so much?
He squeezes his eyes shut as the lock clicks, covering his face with his hands, bottom lip trembling. He wants to scream; he can't, not today, they'll kill him.
"It's me, Elena." A small voice croaks. Draco lets out a breath of relief, but he can't stop trembling. Elena wipes a warm washcloth over his arms and legs, and then runs it over his hair. While she works Draco lets his mind drift. He wonders if she does this for all of them or if it's just him.
Elena doesn't speak anymore that day and he is grateful. He doesn't think he can handle even a simple conversation. Elena takes his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. Draco squeezes back so hard he's surprised her bones don't break. She settles on the bed next to him, stroking his hair. It reminds him so much of his mother that he has to swallow a sob. She leans against him and whispers words in a language he doesn't understand. Draco thinks that she's praying for him.
It's odd how he used to be a respected heir of a wealthy pureblood name. How the mighty have fallen, and all that crap. He doesn't like thinking about it much, because it makes him think about his friends and parents, and he thinks that they've probably given up by now. What he thought earlier was wrong. It's been months and months and he hasn't even been outside. He's started forgetting things, too. He can't remember his middle name, which is stupid because it's such a miniscule thing to forget, which is why it worries him so. He thought it was Lucius but that's his father's name so he isn't sure.
His fourteenth birthday has come and gone. He's been in this rotten house so long. He only knew about it because he told Elena his birthday and she informed him in a sombre tone that the fifth of June was a fortnight ago.
Elena is the only thing keeping him sane. He almost snorts at the thought, a proud Malfoy relying on a ten-year-old muggle. Except he isn't so proud anymore. His pride has been stood on and spat on too many times for it to still exist.
The meetings, the parties as he calls them, still happen. The other boy isn't here anymore, and one of the girls told him in a hushed tone that he had been sold to one of the women who frequented the parties. It was the first (and only) times he had spoken to either of them. The boy's absence means that he is still the main attraction, that it is still him that gets pulled in five different direction and choked and fucked (though he knows that the girls both sport bruises by the time that party has been dispersed).
Rosa hangs the threat of being sold over his head. In no way does he enjoy what happens on a daily basis, but at least he knows what is coming. He knows what to expect. He knows Rosa's punishments, and even if they send terror racing through him, at least he knows what's coming. He doesn't think he could bare it if they sold him. It has become a need now, he needs to have a routine and know what's coming.
Rosa refuses to let him out of his room, but she brings him books at his request. He thought she was joking when she asked if he wanted anything, and was half tempted to ask her to off herself, but he caught himself. Disrespectfulness would get him nothing except more pain.
He reads Dracula, Picture of Dorian Grey, A Study In Scarlet. Mostly classics, but anything he can get his hands on he'll read.
There's no window in his room so it's impossible for him to know how long he has been awake. Sometimes it feels like he has been awake for days and days, other times it feels as if he hasn't slept in a year.
When he's lucky, his 'visitors' won't demand anything of him, and will just let him lay there and stare at the ceiling, or the floor, or the bed sheets. That way he can convince himself that this is just one long continuous nightmare which he hasn't woken up from yet. It's easier to deal with if he can convince himself that it's not happening.
Many of them come in just wanting to fuck a cheap hole, and don't care for any reaction. But many of them do, and will go even further just to get one out of him. He hates himself for giving them one, but he can't help it. He was never good with pain.
One day Rosa barges into his room and tosses a pair of jeans and a jumper to him. Draco clutches them in his hands and stares at her in bewilderment.
"Hurry up and get dressed!" She barks. Draco jumps and hurriedly pulls the clothes on, flushing as she watches him.
The clothes feel scratchy against his skin, but he relishes in the feeling of having something covering him. It is the first time he has been given actual clothes in over a year.
There is a man and two women in the foyer, one of the women whispering to the man and the other one reading over a form. Draco, with Rosa holding his arm in an iron-like grip, is marched over to them.
"Here he is, the one that has been in the recent videos. He's a good fuck, so the price will be high, especially if you want to mark him-"
Draco positively burns with shame when she mentions the videos. Mostly at the parties, the men had started filming them. He knows how he looks in them, naked and on his knees covered in another man's seed. There are videos of him being fucked, him fucking someone, sucking someone off. There is all sorts in those tapes.
"Any other aversions?" It takes Draco a second to realise that they are actually speaking to him and not Rosa. He glances at her, and she glares at him. He shakes his head, wanting to shout that yes, he had an aversion to anything and everything, but he couldn't. Not with Rosa's fierce gaze watching him.
They talk for a few more minutes while he stands there and wrings his hands, wondering with a sudden jolt of fear if the change is permanent.
"Bring him back in one week. Seven days is the limit." Rosa says. The woman scribbles what Draco assumes is her signature on the contract and then gestures for him to follow the trio. Draco does so with trepidation.
He is shoved against the rear door of a car. The man holds him there for a moment, his grip already forming bruises on his delicate skin. Then he shoves Draco into the boot and slams the door behind him.
One week. Seven days. One hundred and sixty eight hours. He can get through this. He reminds himself that whatever they do to him, there are always worse things. That's his mantra. It could be worse.
When his seven days are up and he is returned back to Rosa, he is almost glad to see her. Now isn't that a terrifying thought?
The woman comes in with him, and the guard (he hadn't even noticed him before) let's her through. Rosa seems to be waiting for him. She raises an eyebrow when she sees his dishevelled state, at the pink bite marks on his neck and the way his wrists have been rubbed raw.
The woman signs another form and then Matías takes him by the arm and leads him to the showers, leaving the business end of things to Rosa. Matías doesn't even make his staring subtle as he pulls off the jumper and toes off the jeans. He wishes he could keep on wearing them.
He showers quickly, wanting Matías to stop staring at him already. He turns off the water and makes a grab for the clothes, but Matías kicks them out of his reach.
"Pretty boy," Matías mutters. He grabs Draco by the shoulders and pushes him back against the tiled wall. Draco looks at him lifelessly. Fighting wouldn't get him anywhere. Then again, neither did lying down and taking it.
Matías reaches down and takes his limp penis in his hand. Draco closes his eyes and his head falls back against the tiles as Matías starts to stroke him. It's humiliating, but Draco supposes that that's rather the point.
He comes silently, his penis wilting as Matías' hand leaves him. To Draco's immense relief, Matías doesn't push him further, instead takes him from the shower and back up into his room, the click of the lock informing him that for now, he is alone.
For the first time in literal days, he curls up beneath thin sheets and sleeps.
He cannot say that he is immensely surprised when Rosa informs him casually one morning that he is leaving, that today will be his last day. He simply nods in acceptance. She waits for a few seconds, as if waiting for more of a reaction, and he refuses to give her one.
But soon as she closes and locks the door behind her, Draco collapses onto the floor in a heap. He sobs into his hands, struggling to breathe around the lump in his throat. New people, new expectations, new punishments.
Maybe they'll be better? Maybe. . . this is all a ploy and he is secretly being rescued. He tells himself that yes, they must be being rescued. He knows it's a pitiful excuse for hope, but he can't help it. He is so, so desperate. He would do anything to see his parents.
Elena comes up a few minutes later, and ignores his red rimmed eyes and stuttered breaths.
"You're leaving." She says matter-of-factly. Her eyes are red rimmed too, he notices.
Draco nods. "I don't know where, but Rosa told me." He manages to keep his voice even. Elena swallows. She knows something he doesn't.
"I heard. . . it's with the people that took you a few weeks ago, they want you permanently." Elena says.
"Oh." He says after a moment of silence, all hope drained from him. Hope is a foolish thing. There is an awkward silence that Elena fills with making his bed. When she is finished she curls down next to him in the corner of the room.
"I. . ." He starts and then shuts up when he realises he has absolutely nothing to say. They stay like that until he hears heavy footsteps approaching his room. Elena jumps up and pulls him up with her.
"I'm sorry!" She whispers.
"I know." Draco whispers back and the door is opened and Matías storms in. He grabs Draco's arm and hauls him from the room and down the stairs.
The same man and two women are in the foyer of the house. The each smile at him, and he stares at the carpet, shivering. Rosa sighs and throws the same clothes he wore a few weeks ago at them. He puts them on quickly, and then feels a sharp stab to the side of his neck. He winces stumbles away from Matías. He makes it all of three steps before he collapses onto the carpet.
At least he knew what was coming.
He tried to reassure himself that it wasn't too bad, that it could be worse, even as tears of humiliation and pain leaked from his eyes. Humiliation, that's what they liked. They also liked filming it. Every. Single. Time.
A hand forces his face into the surface of the desk, the man pounding into him, the tartan skirt flipped up to showcase his arse. He knows just enough about muggles to know that it's a muggle school girl outfit, complete with the knee-high white socks. Apparently they get paid more if he wears it. They have a special buyer that has a kink for humiliation.
Draco moans as he feels a hand wrap around his cock. One of the woman is under the desk, the other filming. He gasps as she wraps her mouth around him, and he is unable to control himself as he is thrust forward, legs trembling as he is rocked between them. They- They haven't ever done this before.
The man pounds into him a few more times and then his hips stutter to a stop, still inside him. Draco keeps thrusting into her mouth, trying to no avail to stop. He doesn't want them to make him enjoy it.
But his wants get him nowhere, and she sucks him down until he comes into her throat. He leans heavily against the desk, panting. The woman turns the camera towards him and he looks directly into the lens, glaring and pleading and screaming with his eyes. It will do nothing but bring more than them.
He has given up.
He dreams of being back in one of the parties, legs spread crudely while the men jerk off on his exposed body. He can hear the rumble of chatter in the background, the breathy moans of the men above him, his own, shaking breaths. He would do anything, anything to go back to his room.
A splatter of come hits his face and he wakes to reality with a gasp, alone in the sleeping bag in the smallest room in the house. There is no light in the room, and for a minute he can pretend he is in his bedroom in the manor, in his King sized bed with his silk pyjamas on and a soft duvet over his skin. He can only manage it for a minute until the cold, harsh reality kicks in.
They have ruined him.
He rarely speaks anymore, he feels as if he has forgotten how. At first one of the women, the blond one, had tried to speak to him, but his mouth couldn't move well enough to answer. The only sounds he can make coherently are breathy whimpers and moans. The other two seem to like that, anyhow.
He goes out more often than he did when he was at the house under Rosa's stern eye, only because he sees more. . . clients. He meets them on street corners and in alleyways, and then fucks them or gets fucked by them, and then dumped back on the street corner for either another client or one of them to pick him up.
They give him drugs sometimes, and cigarettes. It doesn't do much for him, but they it tends to hurt less that way, so he doesn't fight the needles and the lighters.
He found out the hard way that the bracelet on his ankle doubles as a tracking device. He had tried to run, once, and had hidden in a different alley, planning a way to get back to his parents. He was definitely in still in England. He was making a plan on how to contact the Aurors, knowing that that was the only way, when he had been seized from behind and punched repeatedly in the face until his vision had blurred and he had stumbled away from the alley with the man.
He has missed so much schooling, missed so much of everything, that a part of him thinks that this must be all that he is good for. His clients constantly tell him this, and it makes it worse when it's true.
When he finally gets a look at a calendar, the date reads February 1996. He is nearly sixteen. It seems unreal. Time doesn't have much of a meaning anymore. There's no consistently to his days apart from the constant ache of his arse and his mouth, no real routine apart from look at the camera and suck his cock.
He wonders if he has any horrible diseases now. Most of his clients use a condom, but some of them refuse. If he's on top he always uses one. He doesn't want to make this messier than it already is.
He hurts all over. He can feel his eye throbbing from the vicious slap one of his regular, more violent, clients gave him. He can still feel the man's hands squeezing his throat, making him kick weakly. He had a special place in his hatred for that man, among everyone else who had dragged him into this hell.
He goes still when he hears a thump from within the house. He holds his breath and hears another, and a shout muffled by the door. He hears footsteps approaching his tiny room and sucks in a breath just as the door is thrown open.
He lets out his breath in a long sob as he sees what type of robes the man is wearing.