Chapter Text
“No! No! No! No! No!” A man shouted, banging his fists on the table in front of him, increasingly becoming more violent as his frustration and anger grew for the young man sitting opposite to him. “You have to do it right! If you don’t get it right, then I can’t practice! And if I can’t practice then how can I hope to get it right when it’s the real deal!” The man yelled hysterically as he paced in front of the table, simultaneously rubbed his temple hoping to rid himself of a growing headache with the butt of his handgun.
The surroundings weren’t much to mention, mainly consisting of four blank concrete walls with numerous boxes and shelves lining them, as well as a single drain in the center of the room. Each shelf contained piles of unorganized clutter made up entirely by random pieces of junk, scrap metal and mismatching pieces of old car parts. In the center of the small room sat a card table, a slightly stained but white tablecloth draped over it. The table was set for two with the theme being that of a more romantic dining experience then casual; complete with a couple of battery powered candles, a clear plastic bottle filled with fake roses, and a cheap matching dinning set. What was being served for dinner was a poor rendition of the British dish, Bangers and Mash, which was accompanied by a cheap, red box wine.
On one end of the table was an ajar wooden chair and a frantic man pacing behind it; on the other end, a different wooden chair was occupied by the slight, lean frame of a young adult male.
The man was bound tightly to the arms and legs of the chair by a few layers of duct tape. He had ear length dark brown almost black hair, pale skin, and a pair of dark green eyes. Resting on his nose was a pair of old circular wire frame glasses with the lenses popped out. On his forehead, was a still bleeding wound, having just recently been carved into the skin. It had the appearance of a lightning bolt and stood predominantly to the right side of his forehead. His heart was beating wildly in his chest; his eyes blown wide with fear and anxiety.
“We have to try again! We must get it perfect this time! Once we get it right, we can finally move on from dinner and get to the main event already.” The man growled, stopping his wild pacing to face the other man. “We must get it perfect if we want it to work on the real deal! And not some weak doppelgänger.” The man scowled whilst locking eyes with his victim, his expression half crazed half cold steel.
With a quick haste, he bent at the waist to pick the wooden chair back up before promptly sitting back down again. “Now let’s try this again.” He growled, “And for your sake, I hope you get it right this time.” Resting his right hand on the table, holding the handgun steady as he pointed it at the other individual with his finger held firmly against the trigger, a glare in his cold eyes. The young man whimpered slightly as he grasped the arms of the wooden chair he was strapped too as if it were a lifeline. He briefly scrunched his eyes closed and lowered his head as he was trying and failing to keep his breathing even and his tears at bay. He wanted to be brave, he really did; he didn’t want to be seen vulnerable in front of his kidnapper but being in a situation like this in real life is a whole lot different than how it is in movies or your imagination. He quickly raised his head again and locked eyes with his kidnapper before starting out in a weak and shaky voice, poorly trying to imitate a British accent.
“Thank you for inviting me to dinner. I’m afraid that I must warn you that I haven’t gone out like this in quite some time, so you must forgive me if I make a fool of myself.” The young man whimpered.
“Hush now, I’m sure you’ll do just fine. Just be yourself and I’m sure that nothing could ever go wrong.” The crazed man cooed calmly, almost friendly in nature with a warm smile on his face, completely contrasted by the handgun that was still aimed at the young man in front of him. “Now, why don’t we get started with our dinner.”
•
The time was close to midnight and the surrounding area was a mix of quiet apartment buildings, empty businesses, and the occasional car driving down the streetlight lit road. In one studio apartment, tossed a sweat ridden lean figure, rolling around in a pathetic attempt to run from the individuals dreams or rather their nightmares.
Every night it always started the same, the agonizingly silence and long-drawn-out walk that he took to his death. The same deep breath in and the shaky breath out before the forbidden forest materialized before him. Not long after starting the long walk to his next great adventure. He could feel every pebble that bit into the bottoms of his feet through the soles of his worn sneakers. He could still hear the sound that every twig made when they snapped under foot. He could feel the sting of the bitter fall winds as they brushed against the exterior of his invisibility cloak, it didn’t do much in keeping out the cold and the growing chill that was incapsulating his soul.
He could still remember the way that the shadows in between the trees made him jump with nerves at the promise of Death Eaters and the slight fear that they suddenly gained the ability to see through the protection that his father’s cloak gave him. He could still hear and feel his heart beating against his chest. For the longest time the only sound that he could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat and the rush of blood in his ears.
He was so nervous for what was to come next, but as he got closer his resolve became more solid and he unexplainably became calm in what would undoubtedly be his last peaceful moments that he’ll ever have while alive.
But then in a rush of maddening moments, came the insidious voice that still haunted his dreams and lurked deep in his mind, “Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived. Come to die?” Then all that came was darkness, a never-ending blackness, inky and infinite in its reaches; the very same darkness that he saw before he awoke in the pure white train station. In his dreams, however, he never reaches the station, instead he is visited by the faces of those that died and even from some that were still alive.
They blamed him for their untimely deaths, for their futures cut short, for the pain that he caused their loved ones, and for the trouble that he caused them when they were alive. Then came those that still lived. They blamed him for the pain, for the unnecessary deaths, for what could have been, and for the broken apart families. It was always so suffocating, but the worst part was when he’d wake up to his small cupboard at the Dursley’s and not knowing if it was part of the dream or if it always was just a dream. He’d work his way through the day like he always did before he received his letter from Hogwarts. The constant chores and berating from his Aunt and Uncle, the chases from his cousin and his gang. Then when he was at the peak of his almost nightly beatings from his Uncle, he would finally wake up. Always covered in sweat, the bed drenched with it and the sheets thrown about the room with a thick heavy exhaustion that followed him for hours after and the inability to go back to sleep and rest his weariness away.
•
“Come now, don’t be like that. You’ll like it I promise.” The man smirked, leering into the eyes of his prey that laid bound tightly below him. The young man had his arms tied behind him with a combination of zip-ties and duct tape. His dark green eyes wide with fear as he slowly came out of his drug fueled haze and realized his situation. His vulnerability at being bound, unclothed, gagged and weak from the sedative that he had been force fed after finally getting whatever his crazed kidnapper wanted right.
He was in the same room as before, the set up was different however, he could still see the card table and chairs at the other side of the room, and what appeared to be his clothes as well. But now it appeared that the man had pulled out an old plastic wrapped mattress – the kind that belonged to a small folding cot for when one had guests over – which they were now situated on. The man was shirtless now, but still retained some dignity as his jeans were merely pushed down a bit whilst also being unbuttoned and unzipped, allowing his semi-hard length to freely hang. All that the young man had were the same beat-up and old circular wireframe glasses from before.
“If not ... well, good thing I have you to practice on. After all I have a young Lord to impress.” The man stated sinisterly before prying open the young man’s legs with little difficulty. He drunk up the pale unblemished and toned skin beneath him, racking his fingers up from the young man’s belly to his chest, enjoying the racing pulse under his fingertips and the breath that hitched in fear because of his touch. He chose to imagine it as the young man being simply just as excited as he was instead of seeing it as it was.
The man firmly held his preys’ legs apart as he leaned in. The young man flinched away, turning his head to the side trying with all his might to escape his grasp and move away, whimpering as the man pressed his lips into the skin of his exposed neck, gently kissing him. He cringed with a weak cry as he heard his kidnapper take in a deep sniff, his nose pressed into the crook of his neck. The man let out a low moan before breathing in deeply once more. “Hmmm. Harry, you smell so good.” He groaned, not even really minding that it wasn’t quite Harry’s scent or that this body below him wasn’t even Harry’s to begin with.
The man eventually pulled away to kneel between his preys’ legs and ended up sitting on his haunches with his thumbs rubbing the skin of the young man’s inner thighs. This, however, did not mean that his grip was anything but painfully tight.
“Don’t be so nervous Harry, you’re in good hands. I’ve done this plenty of times before now.” The gentle smile that appeared across the man’s face did nothing to ease the growing fear in the young man’s stomach, if anything it caused him to become even more worried. That man was completely delusional now, and the growing erection between the man’s legs, as well as the lust in his eyes, didn’t spell anything good. “And I’m sure that if you don’t enjoy it this time, I’ll make sure to get it right next time.”
‘Next time?’ The young man thought, he wasn’t even sure if he could survive this time. But the look in his kidnapper’s eyes had his stomach twist itself into knots because something told him that when the man mentioned a ‘next time’ that he didn’t necessarily mean a next time with him, but rather with someone else that looked like him. Or rather someone who looks like this Harry guy that the man kept mistaking him as and making him pretend to be.
The young man was broken from his anxieties when a finger was driven into him knuckle deep with one fluid motion. It hurt and burned, for the most part it was uncomfortable and just felt weird, but most importantly, it felt like violation. Along with it came whole new levels of wrongness that had him feeling nauseous, and more scared than ever before. He couldn’t help but rear up and try to move away, to escape its menstruations. Then with little time to acclimate came the second finger, pushing in just as fast and increasing the burning sensation and pain tenfold. The young man curled his feet and arched his back trying to move away from the unwanted intrusion, unrestrained tears fell from his eyes and countless cries tried to escape his throat but were muffled into small whines.
The predator only saw these actions as incentive to continue, he saw his curled toes and arched back as actions of pleasure, and the tears and whines as the products of pure ecstasy. So, with a wide grin, lust filled eyes, and a clouded mind, he decided it was about time that he got to chase his own pleasure at the cost of using little to no lube to aid in his actions.
So, the man withdrew his fingers and shifted his stance before steadying the head of his penis at the pink puckered gates of his prey. Without any warning, he thrusted his full length in, which elicited a muffled but still loud scream from the young man he was now deeply connected with. The man shuddered in ecstasy at the hot tight sensation that captured him, the smell of copper filling the air. A thin layer of blood coating their connection was all that was needed for evidence should there ever be a need to explain the sudden smell of sour metal.
With little hesitance, the man began thrusting in and out of his prey. At first moderately slow but quickly picking up pace and becoming more violent with his thrusts, as he was now simply just chasing his own pleasure. Caring little for the mess and more so taking advantage of the free-flowing blood as lubricant than anything else.
The young man’s whole world at that moment was consumed by pain and a harsh burning sensation. It felt like he was being ripped in two whilst his insides were being brutally rubbed raw and pounded into. All he could do was scream and cry as pain incapsulated his mind, the painful grip of fingernails digging into his thighs felt like nothing now. His mind not even capable of hearing and understanding the load moans that were coming from above him. All that he could concentrate on was the pain and the hope/need for it all to be over soon.
When the man finally did come to the end of his rope, he shamelessly pumped his prey full of his seed and grunted as he ground his hips into the young mans as he rode out the end of his orgasm. When his brain finally did catch up to the current moment, it caused him to be feel a teeth-mashing kind of frustration at noticing that yet again his practice doppelgänger didn’t cum, let alone become at least semi-hard. In that anger fueled state, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out an older switch blade. With little thought and no hesitation, he grabbed a hold of his preys’ face, steadying them before half hazardously slicing their throat wide open and watching them chock on their own blood, struggling to breathe and making muffled gargling noises which caused air bubbles to form in the blood that seeped out of the deep and fatal wound.
“Why do his doppelgängers always have to be so defective?” The frustration was clear on the man’s face as he stared straight into the eyes of the dying young man that he was still connected to. When the spark of life eventually left the young man’s eyes, the man was suddenly pelted with the feeling of guilt for killing yet another doppelgänger. Now he’d have to find another one, so that he could continue practicing before he could try it out on the real deal. He doesn’t mean to keep killing them, he just got so frustrated when they don’t do things right, especially when they turned out to be defective in the end. Maybe he should start going back to using escorts for practice, they always did do a better job in the end. The downside of the idea however was in how much harder it always was to find one that looked even a little bit like his Harry. It was so much easier when he could look for one out of the whole rather than looking at just a small portion. Before that though, it was about time to get cleaned up and get rid of the body, after all he didn’t want to fall behind schedule and risk missing his daily dose of Harry.