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kennahijjaThe Smutmas reveals have happened. Many thanks, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gmth, for putting the fest together, for your patience with my deadline troubles, and for the rec!
ze_dragon was the lovely person who wrote my gift Conjugating Latin Verbs. Thanks so much, love! *hugs*
My own piece was written for the ever-brilliantamanuensis1, a measly, humble attempt to repay her for the incredible kick her fics gave me over the years!
Title: Spinning Off Course (1 of 3)
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Harry/Sirius, Harry/Rabastan
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, breathplay, voyeurism, bondage, assorted darker kinks
Summary: "Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time..."
Notes: Written foramanuensis1 in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
merry_smutmas 2006. Thanks to annephoenix, bellonablack, hummelchen and lazy_neutrino for beta, concrit and hand-holding! You guys rule!
"No, Harry, don't!"
Harry heard Hermione's cry just as the Time Spinner started to whirr between his fingers, its chain as cold as ice-mice feet around the nape of his neck.
The world slowed to a crawl – Hermione storming out of the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, a small shadow scurrying down the steps before her in an uneven gait: three furry paws, one silver clicking on stone. The horror on Hermione's face twisting in slow motion just as the spinning of the artefact fell out of rhythm. A silver wire was coming loose from the perfect circle as if it had been ripped out... or bitten off, by a rat.
A knot of fear tightened in Harry's stomach. He lifted his hand to still the whirring Spinner, then paused. The world outside had already turned to a blur that washed out Hermione, and the rat, and whirled around him like a top spun by a mad deity. Streaks of silver cut through the buzz, like a raw wire scraping at the edge of reality.
Vibration rather than noise thrummed through his body right up to the roots of his teeth. It went on and on, bouncing him about like a leaf. He'd expected the trip to take longer than his travel by Time Turner in third year, but this was wrong. The aggressive, jerky rumble that threatened to turn his brain to mush and sent painful jolts through every nerve in his face was nothing like Professor McGonagall had said time travel would feel. The Spinner was broken, out of joint and-
And then it stopped.
Harry swayed and fell to his knees on a hard surface. His mind was still spinning, but his body was not; vertigo made his mouth water, and bile bubbled up from his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to draw short, careful breaths. Nausea retreated just below the danger zone, and when Harry cracked an eye open, the world did not tilt out of order again.
He found himself kneeling on the dirty pavement of Grimmauld Place, only a few dozen feet from where he'd started out. Looking down, he saw that he'd landed between a spat-out wad of chewing gum and a greasy chip wrapper. His wand was tucked safely into his pocket, he discovered after a frantic grope. The Time Spinner, however...
Inactive, it looked like a hand-sized talisman or a piece of exotic jewellery. Dozens of silver wires circled each other inside a broad ring stamped with runes and magical symbols. Activated, the silver rings fanned out into an oval, egg-sized structure, spinning inside each other, each ring smaller than the last, the smallest being no bigger than a fingernail.
Now, thanks to Pettigrew, the Spinner's delicate shape was dented, and one of the fragile wires had been bitten right through. The two ends stuck out like shrivelled metal worms.
"Fucking bastard!" Harry cursed, voice raw. They had known that the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place had ended with Albus Dumbledore's death, but that Voldemort had his foot – his rat! – inside the place already...
As soon as his legs had stopped shaking, Harry retreated into the shadow of a barricaded-up kiosk, more inconspicuous than kneeling in full sight – and robes – in the middle of the pavement. It was later in the day than when he'd set off in the early afternoon. Lengthening shadows were already turning the side streets into sinister tunnels. The signs of destitution in the neighbourhood, however, were not as glaring as Harry was used to. There were fewer broken windows, and the three-storey tenement of number ten Grimmauld Place that had always dominated the street like a giant eyesore sported less graffiti. Even its fire ladders didn't look like the lethal rust traps they'd become over time.
Flickering lights danced behind one window, open rather than smashed, as if the inhabitants were burning candles. A huge bed sheet sporting a peace sign hung from an iron balcony railing. The kiosk behind Harry, barred up behind a metal grille for the night, hadn't been there in his time, replaced by a stained and spray-painted concrete wall to hide the nightmare sight of number ten's back garden from the eye.
Harry stared at the small gap between eleven and thirteen Grimmauld Place and closed his fingers around his wand. Perhaps the Time Spinner, damaged as it was, had brought him to the right place after all. He slipped the silver chain under his robe and t-shirt, cradling it protectively against his skin. Perhaps it would even carry him back.
His eyes probed the length of the street for passers-by before he crossed, wand hidden in the sleeve of his robe. There was a barely man-sized passage between the two houses, strewn with rubbish, and there, like a long-forgotten bit of plumbing, the rusty iron pipe which announced that there was, indeed, a world hidden beyond the debris. A cat streaked past him, dust-coloured and disappearing through the fence of number thirteen in pursuit of its own agenda.
Harry touched the pipe with the tip of his wand, and the aged, dirty walls of both houses rippled, making room for the gloomy facade of the place Harry had just left. The dark front of number twelve bent backwards to make room for the flight of stairs that tumbled from the entrance, groaning and twitching one last time before laying itself down at Harry's feet.
Harry stared at the elaborate snake doorknocker. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Sirius, not really, even while they had made their plans for his trip. So much could go wrong; too much to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. If Harry walked into this house, his godfather might not recognise him – hell, he couldn't recognise him – but worse, he might not even believe him. Perhaps he wouldn't be there at all. Harry hadn't allowed Sirius's death to shatter him the first time, and it had cost every ounce of strength he'd possessed. He'd shoved the wound to the back of his mind and let it fester there, determined not to look. To get Sirius back now, only to lose him again... Harry wasn't sure he could bear it.
Both Ron and Hermione had offered to make the trip in his place. But even if it hadn't been for the danger, Harry was the only one Sirius might recognise. People kept telling him how much he resembled James. Sirius just had to believe his best friend's lookalike.
Stop wasting time, Harry growled at himself. The Time Spinner's calibrations allowed him little time to return to the present. Seven hours, no more, or McGonagall's and Hermione's complex calculations would all be worthless and he might spin around in-between past and future forever. He sounded the knocker, and the way it filled the room behind with a melodious boom told Harry beyond any doubt that he was demanding entrance to a wizarding dwelling.
Harry hoped it wouldn't be Kreacher who opened the door, because he didn't think he'd be able stop himself from cursing the infernal creature on sight. If it hadn't been for Kreacher, he would already have Slytherin's locket and wouldn't have to sneak around in the past with a broken Time Spinner. The creepy little monster had hidden the locket Regulus Black had kept at Grimmauld Place, then bewitched the Black family axe to send him the same way as his mother, traditional style. Hermione, who'd found the pieces on the living room carpet the next morning, had fainted on the spot.
Only a true son of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, had been scrawled on the mocking note still clutched between Kreacher's spindly, bloodstained fingers, would be able to find it. And those, of course, were all dead, even poor Malfoy who'd been discovered, ripped to shreds by werewolf teeth, in a filthy side street of Knockturn Alley. Since Harry didn't have time to wait for Tonks and Remus to breed, it had ultimately brought him to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, twenty years removed.
The door swung open, perfectly noiseless despite being solid wood, and Harry recoiled. It wasn't a house-elf sticking its nose out, but a young man, lounging against the doorjamb with an expectant expression that turned to surprise when he saw Harry.
Harry stared back, encountered blue eyes and tousled black hair that fell in a purposeful way rather than Harry's own mess. "Sirius?" he blurted out stupidly.
The boy's eyebrows curved up. "Not likely," he drawled. Now Harry realised that his eyes were a darker shade than Sirius's sharp grey-blue, the mouth fuller and drawn in a slight pout. His expression – and even more so the drawl – reminded Harry of Malfoy, colouring notwithstanding. "Who are you?"
"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter."
If anything, the boy's sneer deepened. "Are you trying to make fun of me in my own house?" he snapped. "I know Potter. You're not him."
"Look," Harry interrupted before the boy could throw the door shut in his face, "could I talk to Sirius? Is he here?"
The boy gave him a speculative look. "Of course he's here. But the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is entertaining tonight – and you have not been invited."
"Please, just a few minutes," Harry pleaded. He had to get in there! "It's really important. Couldn't you just... fetch him for a moment?" The last thing he wanted was to get Sirius in trouble with his mother.
The boy had to be Regulus Black, although he looked older than Harry had pictured Sirius's little brother - about Harry's own age. But even if he was Regulus, asking 'Did you by any chance hide a piece of Voldemort's soul somewhere around here?' might not go over well, especially if the young man had not yet made a move in that direction.
"As I said – we're entertaining." A thin smile appeared on Regulus's face. "But you may come in, if you're so desperate."
Harry gulped in a lungful of air in relief. The hall beyond was lit by a large candelabra and gaslights along the wall, and looked alive in a way that the Grimmauld Place Harry knew - hurling itself along the pathway to decay with gusto – had not. The troll-leg umbrella stand was gone, and while the curtains that had hid Mrs Black's painting from view were still there, they were neatly bound back with silver cord to display the still life of a wizard's astronomy study. The tiles were gleaming and smelling of Mrs Skower's Enchanted Floorwax.
Behind him, the heavy door closed as soundlessly as it had opened, and a blue glow that Harry had no intention of coming into contact with spread over the inside. The boy stuck out his hand.
"Your wand, 'Potter'." Harry clenched his fingers around the wand in his hand.
Regulus shook his head. "Where are your manners, for Merlin's sake? You don't enter a wizarding home uninvited without offering your wand! What are you, a Mudblood with no clue about etiquette? Or are you planning to attack us?"
Cursing inwardly because he so did not want to let go of his wand in this place, Harry thrust it at the boy. Regulus took it, looked it over curiously for an instant, and let it disappear into his robe with a smirk. Then he waved Harry forward, gesturing at the doorway. "After you, 'Potter'."
Harry entered the broad corridor indicated, bypassing the closed drawing room door. He peered up the stairwell to the first floor. To his relief, the house-elf head collection was nowhere in sight. They passed the dining room and followed the main corridor towards the ballroom. Harry's mouth went dry at the thought of walking right into a wizarding occasion in old school robes over battered jeans and trainers.
But the boy led him past the elaborate ballroom doors, towards the smaller sitting room at the very back of the house, where Mrs Weasley had stored most of the knick-knacks that weren't outright dangerous after they'd cleaned the place. The corridor in front of the door was framed by two gargoyle statues wielding what looked like pikes. Harry was sure he had never seen them before, and they were way too huge for Dung to have carried off.
He slowed a little before passing between the twin statues, even though they didn't move. The Time Spinner under his shirt burned for a split second as he walked between the two pikes before returning to its normal skin-warm temperature. Perhaps he'd imagined it, Harry thought, resisting the urge to rub his chest. The boy following behind him certainly did not show any discomfort.
There was a murmur of voices inside the door, lapping like waves over the stark walls. Unease prickled down Harry's back – he felt like a mouse scurrying into the maze, its nose full of cheese and oblivious to the steel jaws of the trap. Regulus, who seemed plainly amused by Harry's discomfort, pulled open the leather-padded door and offered Harry a mock bow. Heart pounding, Harry dragged his feet across the threshold.
The room was too small to hold a full-blown gathering but provided ample room for the group that was assembled. Harry's nervous gaze caught a blur of young faces and felt an irrational hope blossom. Perhaps Sirius had invited his friends – what if he came face to face with his father? A rapid glance around the dimly-lit room, however, turned up no trace of messy hair or glasses. He could make out several groups of settees and a handful of people hugged by the shadows of floating candles: a girl with hair too dark to be red curled up on a divan between two men, a solitary figure brooding over a glass to the right. Narrow marble coffee tables bore plates with finger foods and trays loaded with bottles and glasses.
It was the figure in the broad leather armchair opposite the door, however, that drew Harry's attention at the expense of everything else. Familiar grey-blue eyes met his under a shock of black hair. Sirius Black raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Harry stared and flushed when he caught himself at it - he'd seen that young man before, smiling and mischievous in the old photographs Hagrid had given him. He'd had longer hair in those pictures, and had looked more expressively carefree, but it was the same man.
Sirius.
A somewhat older Sirius than the school-age Marauder Harry had expected. Suddenly, Regulus's age made sense too. Bugger! The Time Spinner must have miscalculated after all, running more slowly with its damaged wire, not travelling backwards as far as it should have. All because of that bloody sneak Wormtail!
The door shut behind Harry with an ominous sound.
"Sirius, may I present Harry Potter," Sirius's bastard of a brother announced, drawing all eyes to Harry. "He needs to talk to you very badly." There was a downright obscene ring to the boy's drawl that made Harry's face heat and Sirius's brow quirk up.
"That's not Potter," came a protest from the right.
Harry turned his head, and his jaw dropped. The last time they'd met, this young man's older self had fled from him through the darkened Hogwarts grounds. To find a young Snape – even a rather well-dressed one who seemed to have fought the grease in his hair to a stalemate – at a party with Sirius was mind-boggling.
"I know," Regulus replied. "Even if someone had filled up old man Harold Potter with de-aging potion, I doubt he'd develop an overwhelming passion for my dear brother." Snickers travelled around the room.
"I wouldn't rule out the possibility completely, though," Sirius offered, and Harry heard Regulus's soft groan behind his back. "But he does look like James, doesn't he? Are you sure there's no Potter minor at Hogwarts, Reg?"
"You bloody well know there isn't. James is an only child – it's a miracle Harold and Calpurnia managed even one, at the age they married."
"He could have been born on the wrong side of the bed," a dark-haired man of about twenty-five commented from the couch he shared with the girl and another male. "The half-blood product of a sordid affair with a Muggle?" He tsked. "Old Harold having a bit on the side - who'd have imagined."
"He's also carrying a magical artefact around his neck, the gargoyles told me," Regulus added, in such a light tone that Harry reacted a split second too late. He raised his hand to clutch the circular shape of the Time Spinner when a beam of light struck him, accompanied by, "Petrificus Totalus!"
Instant heaviness hardened Harry's limbs; his face petrified, although he was able to hear and see everything. He swayed on stony feet and would have fallen over if Regulus Black's hand on his back had not kept him upright.
"Allow me, Black?" the spellcaster asked, wand still in hand as he strolled up from where he'd been standing in the shadows behind Sirius's armchair. Harry's heart sped up painfully against his ribs. It wasn't the immaculate black robes with elaborate silver stitching that fuelled his dread, but the long pale braid that snaked over the man's shoulder. Ice-grey eyes wandered over Harry with detached interest. Even in his mid-twenties, with a somewhat less angular face, there was no mistaking Lucius Malfoy.
Harry watched Malfoy pause, fingers touching Sirius's robed arm on the armrest, and saw Sirius nod. "Be my guest, Lucius."
They shared a quirky grin that screamed three dozen levels of wrong to Harry. What was going on here – why was Sirius holding court in the midst of a gaggle of Death Eaters? Had they put him under Imperius? Or had he been infiltrating them? Was that why Sirius had refused to act as his parents' Secret Keeper? Harry was suddenly painfully aware of how little he knew about the goings-on of the first war.
Malfoy sauntered up to him, and Harry was grateful that the petrification kept the panic off his features. Putting two fingers under Harry's chin, Malfoy dipped his head back to study his face. His thumb swept over Harry's scar. So much for Hermione and McGonagall telling him to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry wailed mutely. Malfoy would hardly forget that he'd seen Harry's scar before. Was that why he'd grabbed and studied him so carefully in Flourish and Blotts? What was Harry to do – get free and Obliviate the lot of them?
Malfoy let go of Harry's chin and unhooked the front of his robe until it hung loose around his shoulders. Regulus pulled it off him altogether and dumped it over the back of a chair. Malfoy wrinkled his nose at Harry's old school shirt, tucked haphazardly into very battered jeans.
Disgust didn't stop him from unbuttoning the whole way down Harry's shirt, even though the first two buttons would have been enough to reveal the Time Spinner. A twist, and the shirt tails slid free from the loose grasp of his belt. They flapped aimlessly around his hips before Malfoy slid the fabric off him. It fluttered to the ground like a dying bird. Only then did he lift the filigree silver disk off Harry's chest, studying it between thumb and index finger for a moment while his other fingers remained splayed on Harry's skin. Malfoy ran the chain through his fingers until he'd found the clasp, and undid it with a quick move. The Spinner lay on his palm, its silver chain curled around it like a sleeping serpent.
"What is it?" the woman inquired eagerly and leaned forward. Now that she was no longer obscured by the bulk of her companions did Harry recognise the night-black hair and languid eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. She looked barely older than Harry himself, regal and deadly in a set of dark-red robes and full skirt.
Harry's chest felt very tight. He had indeed walked in on his godfather in the midst of a Death Eater gathering, and his only means of escape lay in the object that was being carried out of reach.
"It looks familiar, doesn't it?" Sirius mused as he scrutinised the Time Spinner on Malfoy's palm. A lock of black hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back impatiently.
"It's a Time Spinner." The older of the two males with Bellatrix stretched his long legs and pointed his chin at the disk on Malfoy's hand. "Possession and use are under strict Ministry control. Dumbledore keeps one in his office."
Harry knew that, of course. Professor McGonagall had fetched it from that very office before the Ministry could get its hands on the Headmaster's possessions. Even if they could have found a Time Turner after Harry's misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, trying to set it back more than a week or so at one turn per hour would have overtaxed the fragile hourglass neck. Time Spinners, on the other hand, used complex Arithmantic calculations to transport their users back, but only to a time before their birth to prevent endangering the time stream. Harry's fondest wish – going back two years to Sirius at Grimmauld Place and warning him of his impending fate - was out of the question.
"No wonder Sirius recognised it then." Bellatrix laughed, low and without the familiar shrill note of madness. "He was up in Dumblebore's office to collect detention at least twice a week."
Sirius swept her a mocking bow. "I didn't have your talent at simpering and hiding behind my love slaves, Bella."
Bellatrix's laugh turned rough as her eyes travelled over him, then pointedly lingered on Malfoy. "You're right, cousin. You didn't have any love slaves."
"And what's a half-breed whelp with a priceless magical artefact doing on your doorstep, Black?" This came from the second man in Bellatrix's group, who looked too much like the other for them to be anything but brothers.
A faint smile slid to life on Sirius's lips. "I'm quite curious about that myself, Rabastan."
Damn! Harry thought bleakly. The Lestrange brothers.
Sirius got up from his armchair and swiped the Time Spinner from Malfoy's fingers. For a split second, Harry saw a glint of anger on the man's face, but he didn't object.
"I think I'll find out," Sirius added lightly. He walked up to Harry's petrified form and drew his wand – the original one which Harry had never seen before. He tapped it against Harry's cheek. A rush of pins and needles spread through Harry's face, and he could move his head again.
"Wand?" Sirius inquired. Regulus passed Harry's wand to his brother over Harry's still-petrified shoulder. Sirius weighed it and whistled softly. "Quite powerful." He smiled again, a lopsided grin that provoked a sudden hopeful flip in Harry's stomach. Sirius crooked his index finger and used it to lift Harry's chin just like Malfoy had before.
"Now, Harry, isn't it? What do you want from me?"
Harry bit his lip. He didn't know anything about Sirius's agenda with these people – he could hardly discuss Horcruxes in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. Sirius's fingers were very warm on his face.
"I..." he stuttered, throwing his godfather-to-be a look of sheer despair. "Can I talk to you alone, please?"
An amused, near-heartless twinkle sparked in Sirius's eyes. "I have no secrets before my friends." The hold on Harry's chin turned into a caress. "Ignore them, Harry. Tell me."
"It's about your house-elf, Kreacher," Harry blurted out. "He's hidden something in my... where I come from. Something only a Black might know about-"
A frown appeared on Sirius's forehead. "Kreacher? My parents' creepy old elf?" he asked. "The one we sent back to the House-Elf Relocation Office after their deaths because it had gone a bit soft in the head?" He shook his head in bemusement. "I'm afraid if you want him, you're a few years too late." He leaned in so close that Harry could smell his breath, sweet with a hint of alcohol that Harry was sure wasn't butterbeer. "And here I'd hoped you'd come to see me, Harry."
"I..." Harry gulped, feeling horribly stupid.
"Are you sure you're not here for me?"
A low chuckle travelled up from behind Sirius's back. Malfoy. "You think He sent him?"
"Well," Sirius shrugged, still stroking Harry's cheek. "He did promise to come, and excused himself on very short notice... And he'd be easily able to pick up some pretty kid and befuddle him."
"Even a real Potter, plucked out of the time stream?" Malfoy smirked. "Yes, He would know how much that would please you and Severus... Nobody can say He is not generous in his withdrawals."
"Especially considering how badly he wants the House of Black..." Sirius threw Malfoy a pointed look.
"Oh, I'd say He already has most of Black," Malfoy replied. His eyes wandered over to Bellatrix, who observed them with predatory amusement and slowly licked her lower lip. "Am I right, Regulus?" Malfoy asked. "Or why were you so eager to greet a late visitor in person?"
The boy behind Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "What about it?"
"He won't fuck you, Reg," Sirius said without turning his head. "What goes on in a wizarding household is nobody's business, but a Hogwarts professor? He won't take such a risk."
Harry could feel Regulus's nails digging into his back. "Perhaps unlike you, I can think of other things once in a while?"
"I'm crushed!" Sirius clutched at his chest and swayed as if receiving a mortal wound.
"At least I did not crawl into my guardian's bed and tied myself naked to the bedpost for him to find," Regulus snapped. Harry could feel the boy's rage radiating through him.
Malfoy snickered in honest amusement and glanced at Sirius, whose cheekbones tightened. "Telling sordid bedroom secrets to your sweet, innocent brother, Sirius? I'm shocked."
A mad smile lit up Sirius's face. "Ah, but neither of us is your ward any longer, Lucius. You're here as a guest. Honoured guest," he amended. He cocked his head in such a Padfoot-like loll that Harry's chest ached. "Unlike this pretty child who's travelled through time to find me, hm?" Sirius pressed his cheek against Harry's, smooth and with the merest hint of stubble, and Harry's chest ached worse. "You are a gift for me, aren't you, Harry?"
There was a part of Harry that wanted to fall into Sirius's embrace, shut his eyes and never come out again. His adult half, however, could see pretty clearly where his godfather's younger self was heading. And yet... perhaps Sirius was trying to protect Harry – or himself - by steering the topic away from things like Death Eaters and Voldemort?
Harry expelled the breath he'd been holding, aware that Sirius opened his mouth a little as if to drink in the puff of air, and whispered, "Yes."
He sounded embarrassingly breathless, but he'd wanted them to read it wrong, hadn't he?
Sirius's arms came round Harry's petrified body, taking his weight off Regulus, who let go and stepped away with his lips in a contemptuous curve. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry watched him walk over to Snape, who handed him a glass with a dark-red liquid. Then Sirius's face filled Harry's entire vision.
Harry had been kissed before. He'd snogged Ginny in dark corners and empty classrooms a lot over the past year. And Ginny had known how to kiss. But not like this. It wasn't that Sirius was a boy – man – whatever. It was the sheer self-confidence with which he kissed Harry in front of an audience of Death Eaters.
A first brush of lips, so soft it was almost a dream, then a more firm press that set Harry's pulse to hammer. Sirius's teeth dug in sharp, lazy pricks into Harry's plumping bottom lip. Harry would have swayed if the curse and Sirius hadn't held him spellbound until...
"No!" Harry arched his head back like a cat encountering a strange smell. "This isn't... you're my godfather!"
He didn't need to hear the laughter to know that he'd let slip something seriously stupid. He could hear Bellatrix's voice above the others, high and scornful. Sirius, at least, didn't laugh out loud, but his eyebrow travelled upwards in a spitting imitation of Malfoy.
"Now I know that you're Confunded," he said. "No Potter would ever make a Black godfather of their child. They think all Slytherins are practitioners of the Dark Arts or worse." His lips brushed Harry's in the midst of a sensuous chuckle. "You'll have to do better than that."
Harry stood frozen under the gentle lips, barely conscious of being kissed any longer. Sirius, a Slytherin? That wasn't an act he could put on to bamboozle the Death Eaters, not with Snape having been in his year!
"But... you're Gryffindor!" The words hissed off Harry's tongue, instinctive like Parseltongue. The laughter they provoked was even louder this time. Bellatrix's shriek of mirth hurt his ears, and Snape, who had sat there straight-faced so far, gave a bellow and grimaced, disgusted but also slightly wistful.
Sirius craned his neck to stare at his company with a superior tilt of the head. "I'll have you know that the Sorting Hat tried long and hard to convince me of the advantages of Gryffindor house." He looked as if it was a fond memory. "I nearly went for it."
Malfoy commented, in a very salacious tone of voice, "Well, there's no disputing your courage," while Regulus, putting his wine glass down on the table very rapidly, protested, "Mother and Father would have died!"
A cold expression stole onto Sirius's face. "That's exactly why." His brother shot him a scandalised look, but Malfoy ran his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Sirius's neck in a possessive gesture that made Harry's insides writhe.
"What stopped you?"
Sirius shrugged. "I found the Slytherin Head of House more interesting."
"Then why are you withholding your allegiance?"
Sirius stared at him defiantly. "I like him. I respect him. But as you pointed out, he has enough toadies among my relatives already. The House of Black will remain unaligned."
"You owe the unbroken continuation of your 'House' to one of those toadies." There was no shred of humour left on Malfoy's face now.
"I came of age with all my debts paid, Lucius." Harry had rarely seen pure steel coming out in his godfather, but he saw it now. "You're my guest, and my friend, but no longer my guardian to determine my family's allegiances."
Like a chameleon, Malfoy seemed to shrug off his anger. His expression relaxed and he stroked his finger along the curve of Sirius's chin in an eerie parallel of the way Sirius had touched Harry before. "You must of course follow your own path," he said.
"I was about to." Sirius turned his head and winked at Harry, who blushed fiercely. This Sirius was only a few years older than him, and yet his expression could make Harry feel as if ants were crawling all over him. And make him like it.
Sirius's wand was in his hand so suddenly that Harry had no idea where it had come from. He pressed it to Harry's sternum with a casual "Finite!", awakening the pins and needles all over Harry's limbs. Harry fought the urge to double up and cradle his tingling legs. Sirius put his arm around his neck and pulled him close.
Before Harry could react, a silky voice interrupted. "Before we move to after-drinks entertainment, Black..."
Unwilling, Sirius raised his head over Harry's shoulder to stare at the knot of Lestranges lounging on the broad couch.
The speaker was the other Lestrange brother, not Bellatrix's tall, black-haired husband. He looked, Harry decided from his hiding place in Sirius's arms, like a washed-out version of his brother: dark brown hair, more compactly built than Rodolphus, sprawled on the cushions like a bored cat. Most noticeable were the half-lidded grey eyes, several shades darker than Malfoy's. They made him look relaxed, sleepy.
"You recall owing me a substantial debt after losing that race against Bagman's broom last week?"
A spot of colour appeared on Sirius's face as Bellatrix snickered and pulled one slippered foot onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her knee. "Your own fault for thinking that enchanted Muggle hell machine could outfly a racing broom, Sirius - and betting on it."
"What about it?" Sirius growled at Rabastan, not gracing his cousin with a look. "I thought we'd settled the terms?"
"Discussed them, not finalised them." From the speculative glance the young man ran over Sirius, Harry got a pretty good idea of what those terms had entailed. Rabastan inclined his head at Harry. "I'll settle for him instead."
Instinctively, Harry pressed himself a little closer to Sirius, and felt Sirius's grip tighten on his upper arm.
"I'm sorry, Rabastan, but I don't think it would make a good impression if I rejected a gift from my former Head of House."
Lestrange's lazy shrug did not bode well. He leaned back against the leather upholstery. "That's just conjecture, and even if it were true, I'm sure He wouldn't mind. Not for a debt of honour."
"If I were inclined to favour a guest, I'd offer him to Snape," Sirius shot back. "He's the one who hates James Potter most, and deserves a gift for making Potions Professor at Hogwarts."
Snape snorted, fingers playing with one of the jet-black buttons at his wrist. "I'm merely going to be interviewed by the Headmaster."
"He'd be mad not to take you," Bellatrix threw in. "You've been better at Potions than old Slughorn since fifth year. And He recommended you personally!"
Huh? Harry thought. Who was 'He', if not Slughorn?
Snape smiled thinly and gave Harry's bare chest inside the frame of Sirius's arms a curt once-over. "Yes; but I'm about to be interrogated by the most powerful Legilimens in the country. If I'm found to have done nasty things to school-age boys, I'll end up jobless and in Azkaban. Thanks for the offer, Black, but no."
Rabastan shrugged. "How about it then, Black? Are you going to be selfish? Or do you want to admit that you know the boy after all?"
"If I'd had him in my bed before, I would certainly remember that lurid scar." Sirius tightened his arms around Harry for a moment, then pressed a kiss to his temple. "I'm sorry, Harry – this is a debt of honour. Will you do this for me?"
"Do I have a choice?" Harry ground out, his voice cracking.
"I'd give you one if I could."
Lestrange rose from the couch faster than his languid posture had promised. Sirius didn't quite steer Harry in his direction, but didn't object when Rabastan took hold of Harry's wrist.
"Have him, then," he snapped. "But he's mine and will remain undamaged, Lestrange. Don't presume too much."
The man offered a sleepy grin and stroked his thumb over the pulse point on Harry's wrist. Harry flinched.
Lestrange turned to Snape. "How about a bottle of your special draught, Severus? Since it seems as if we won't get to use it on Black or his pretty brother tonight?"
Sirius didn't react to the gibe, although Harry could sense his anger like a storm cloud. Regulus crinkled his nose in disgust.
"Ah, you wouldn't look so contemptuous if it was Him, would you, Regulus?" the elder Lestrange mocked from the sofa, one arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She giggled and a pink flush spread over Regulus's cheeks. He was pretty, Harry realised, with his delicate features and curly black hair and no trace of Malfoy's pointy-faced pallor.
To his surprise, it was Snape who spoke up rather than Sirius. "I think it's bad manners to insult your host's family," Snape commented, taking an unobtrusive step forward to hover next to the younger boy like a protective vampire bat. He pulled a small, bulbous glass bottle out of his robe and shoved it into Rabastan's hand. The man took it and held it up against the light. The fluid inside was divided into layers like an exotic cocktail – pale jade, golden brown, and dark green.
Pulling Harry close, Lestrange quickly flicked his wrist once, twice, shattering the layers and creating a homogeneous green mix with an oily golden residue. He pulled out the stopper and lifted the bottle to Harry's mouth. "Drink."
Reflexively, Harry clamped his lips shut and shook his head.
"Oh well, I don't mind starting with an Unforgivable, boy..." A look into Lestrange's dark eyes made it clear that he wasn't joking. He reached for his wand.
Harry threw a frantic look at Sirius, but it was Snape who grabbed his shoulder, black eyes glinting. "Drink, Potter, if you know what's good for you!"
"Do it, Harry," came Sirius's voice from behind, and the fact that Sirius was helping Snape to gang up on him almost brought tears to Harry's eyes. He had to be able to trust Sirius, or he'd go mad. "Drink," the soft voice insisted. "It's going to make things easier. I promise I won't let him harm you."
Rage and the urge to shatter the fragile little bottle - or throw its contents right into Lestrange's placid face - bubbled up inside Harry. But the odds were five against one, of whom only the one had no wand. He had to play along for now. Anything to get out of here and back home.
He brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of fluid. It blossomed on his tongue like liquid daybreak - a sweet yet fresh burst of peppermint, dancing around the burnt-sharp malt taste of expensive toffee, and below it a coil of liquor-soaked herbs rescued from bitterness by the sweetness of the other two layers. It was the finest thing Harry had ever tasted, better even than his first sip of butterbeer.
The potion burned in Harry's throat, spreading in a hot wave into his stomach where it sat like an independent entity. The taste clung to Harry's mouth and throat, and pepperminty streaks seemed to surge upward to swirl inside his head. He swayed, and Lestrange grabbed him tighter while Snape corked the bottle again and put it back into his pocket.
"Lust and obedience." Lestrange nodded at him. "You are truly a master among potion makers, Severus."
Snape snorted again, surprisingly loud to Harry's sensitised ears. "I've set my ambitions higher than creating the perfect rape drug, Rabastan."
Unruffled, Lestrange pulled Harry's clumsy body against his own. The world tilted and smelled like burned peppermint and Harry leaned against the robed form for balance. His stomach roiled and the vapours were clouding his mind. He wasn't sure whether he was about to throw up or fall unconscious.
"Deep breaths, little changeling," Lestrange murmured into his ear. "You'll want to get some now – there won't be many later."
Before Harry could process the words, Lestrange put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his knees, the fumes in his brain making Harry too lethargic to resist. Lestrange reached down and pulled Harry's glasses off his nose, tossing them to his brother. Rodolphus caught them with a Seeker's ease, and put them down on the coffee table in safe distance from his drink.
Rabastan pointed his wand at the floor behind him, and a slender, man-high stele erupted from the stone tiles where the carpets underneath the sitting areas left a few feet of bare floor. Then a long piece of fabric spilled from the tip of the man's wand. A strip of soft cloth snaked over Harry's chest before wrapping itself tightly around his wrists and pulling them together behind his back.
The fabric lengthened and crept upwards, circling in a loop around Harry's throat before knotting itself around the stone pillar as well. Gooseflesh prickled all over Harry's skin. He couldn't help but pull on the ribbon that bound his hands, primal fear and the memories of being bound in the Riddle graveyard tearing through his mind. The struggle did nothing to loosen his bonds, only tightened the fabric around his neck ever so slightly. Harry stilled.
"Bright boy," Lestrange commended, messing Harry's hair in a patronising caress that threw his potion-addled mind into terrible confusion. "Now, little Potter," he crooned and nestled at the row of buttons on the lower half of his robe, "you won't think about hurting me, and you very desperately want to please me, don't you?"
Harry stared at the robes parting in front of him, at loose, silk underpants below that slipped off Lestrange's hips. Blinked in numb horror at the flushed, half-hard erection that bounced out, almost slapping Harry's chin. Harry had seen something like this only once, after hours in the washroom: Lee Jordan kneeling before a Weasley twin Harry had fled too fast to identify. The wood-sharp scent rising up from the hem of Rabastan's robes and clinging to his skin reminded Harry of the incense he'd smelled when Aunt Petunia had dragged him along to church as a small child.
"Entertain me, boy." Lestrange leaned down and rubbed the top of his cock over Harry's bottom lip. Harry wanted to recoil from the sheer abnormity of putting somebody's prick into his mouth but didn't, rooted to the spot. "Better I do this to you than doing worse to your beloved... godfather, was it?"
The strength of his protective impulse for Sirius had Harry close his lips around the tip of Lestrange's cock. Warm flesh, salty and bitter-wet at the tip, assaulted Harry's taste buds. He tried to think about biting, but the thought frayed and slipped right out of his mind even as Harry was still trying to grasp for it.
Lestrange breathed roughly above him and leaned back against the headrest of the sofa, forcing Harry forward along with him. The cloth hugged Harry's neck, and fear crawled up his spine. He twisted forward to tongue Lestrange's prick, feeling the fabric around his throat pull taut. A puff of precious air escaped his lips, moistening Lestrange's flesh which was hardening against his tongue. The pressure sparked tiny flashlights before Harry's eyes and he drew back for air.
All he managed were two frantic gulps before Lestrange's hand shot out and buried itself in his hair. This time when he was dragged forward, Harry's throat constricted completely. The cord had to be charmed, Harry realised, cutting off his air supply without bruising the skin of his throat or his Adam's apple. It would make the perfect murder weapon– strangling its victim without leaving a mark.
Then his mouth was filled with cock and his ears with the roar of blood trying to stamp its rhythm onto his lungs by pulse if not by breath. Harry's tongue licked a shuddering lattice onto widening flesh, shoulder blades knotting with the effort not to struggle free. His face throbbed, ruddy like the slippery flesh of Lestrange's erection as the man loosened his grip and let Harry draw back, wheezing for breath.
"This is how you do it, boy," Lestrange told his sweat-plastered fringe. "And you better do it well, because you'll work until you get me off, and I won't help you out again."
Harry almost sobbed in distress, short-sighted eyes fixed on the darkening erection before his eyes and yet so hopelessly far away. He hoped for Sirius's voice, telling the monster that this travesty had gone far enough and ordering to set him free, but it never came.
Harry forced his mouth to wrap around the fat width of Lestrange's cock, lips stretched to shield vulnerable flesh from his teeth. Ridges, bumps and swells were traced, mapped and forgotten. Harry licked around the length, tongue fluttering as if it could wring air instead of salty-bland fluid from that cruel crown. His head started to hammer, a dull ache closing his ears, and his limbs twitched in a scream for breath. And still he sucked till darkness threatened, then let the prick slip form his mouth and surged back to the shores of air.
He pressed his back against the stone pillar for a moment; he was hot all over, the skin of his face and neck a puffed mess. Staring at the cock swaying towards him with pure hatred, he tried to lean into the stranglehold once more, hoping the dark red head and the way it stood out from Lestrange's stomach meant that it would be over soon.
Lestrange lifted his foot a little, bringing his cock an inch closer to Harry's gaping mouth, and ran the side of his boot over Harry's groin. The sensation cut right through Harry's first tentative lick, a crawl of need that had him buck his hips in shocked delight. His moan travelled up Lestrange's length, who threw back his head and groaned in pleasure.
Even knowing it was Snape's potion that had him reacting so, Harry drowned in shame. He forced his neck forward into the magical choker, taking in cock as far as he could until pubic hair tickled his nose. Blood howled inside his head, and yet Harry strained forward, determined to end the nightmare on his terms even if it killed him!
The sound that clawed its way out of his throat was neither human nor propelled by breath, a dying whine of protest as the cord dug into his windpipe like a red-hot wire. Harry gagged, and the black spots in front of his eyes flowed together to form an inky pond that blanked out Harry's vision for an endless moment. And then, miraculously, his mouth was free of flesh and salt and his head snapped back, the murderous constriction easing around his throat.
Harry gasped for breath like a dying fish and felt something warm spray his face and hair. The stink of it engulfed him as he fell to the side, wheezing and sucking in air too fast and feebly trying not to heave. To have Lestrange spilling himself on his face – in front of Snape and Bellatrix and, oh god, Sirius! – was a hundred times more humiliating than being forced to swallow. He huddled on the ground in a miserable heap, hands still bound to the stele and trying to keep the tears that hovered in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks and adding to the mess.
Then a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and a spell vanished his bonds. He squinted up weakly at Sirius, and stiffly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees ached, and the movement tightened his trousers uncomfortably around the persistent hardness in his groin.
Sirius studied Harry's smeared face, a finger on his chin preventing Harry from turning his head to the side in a fresh burst of shame.
"Crude, Lestrange," he admonished, although his mouth quirked. "To do something like that, to such a virginal child!"
Lestrange, who was closing the last button of his robe and looked for all the world like the cat who'd mutilated the bird and was now looking for more fluttery entertainment, flopped back onto the couch next to his brother and grinned.
"You'd have worn it even better, Sirius." Behind him, the stele melted back into the floor, which shuddered once and then re-formed into chequered stone tiles.
Sirius clucked his tongue and conjured a warm washcloth that he proceeded to rub over Harry's smeared face and fringe. The touch was soothing and too gentle. Harry felt a shattering sob well up in his throat, painful against the invisible bruising.
"Hush," Sirius murmured before pressing a kiss to his scar. "You did very well, Harry."
~ Part 2 ~
gmth, for putting the fest together, for your patience with my deadline troubles, and for the rec! ze_dragon was the lovely person who wrote my gift Conjugating Latin Verbs. Thanks so much, love! *hugs*My own piece was written for the ever-brilliant
amanuensis1, a measly, humble attempt to repay her for the incredible kick her fics gave me over the years!Title: Spinning Off Course (1 of 3)
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Harry/Lucius, Harry/Sirius, Harry/Rabastan
Warnings: non-con, dub-con, breathplay, voyeurism, bondage, assorted darker kinks
Summary: "Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time..."
Notes: Written for
amanuensis1 in merry_smutmas 2006. Thanks to annephoenix, bellonablack, hummelchen and lazy_neutrino for beta, concrit and hand-holding! You guys rule!"No, Harry, don't!"
Harry heard Hermione's cry just as the Time Spinner started to whirr between his fingers, its chain as cold as ice-mice feet around the nape of his neck.
The world slowed to a crawl – Hermione storming out of the front door of number twelve Grimmauld Place, a small shadow scurrying down the steps before her in an uneven gait: three furry paws, one silver clicking on stone. The horror on Hermione's face twisting in slow motion just as the spinning of the artefact fell out of rhythm. A silver wire was coming loose from the perfect circle as if it had been ripped out... or bitten off, by a rat.
A knot of fear tightened in Harry's stomach. He lifted his hand to still the whirring Spinner, then paused. The world outside had already turned to a blur that washed out Hermione, and the rat, and whirled around him like a top spun by a mad deity. Streaks of silver cut through the buzz, like a raw wire scraping at the edge of reality.
Vibration rather than noise thrummed through his body right up to the roots of his teeth. It went on and on, bouncing him about like a leaf. He'd expected the trip to take longer than his travel by Time Turner in third year, but this was wrong. The aggressive, jerky rumble that threatened to turn his brain to mush and sent painful jolts through every nerve in his face was nothing like Professor McGonagall had said time travel would feel. The Spinner was broken, out of joint and-
And then it stopped.
Harry swayed and fell to his knees on a hard surface. His mind was still spinning, but his body was not; vertigo made his mouth water, and bile bubbled up from his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to draw short, careful breaths. Nausea retreated just below the danger zone, and when Harry cracked an eye open, the world did not tilt out of order again.
He found himself kneeling on the dirty pavement of Grimmauld Place, only a few dozen feet from where he'd started out. Looking down, he saw that he'd landed between a spat-out wad of chewing gum and a greasy chip wrapper. His wand was tucked safely into his pocket, he discovered after a frantic grope. The Time Spinner, however...
Inactive, it looked like a hand-sized talisman or a piece of exotic jewellery. Dozens of silver wires circled each other inside a broad ring stamped with runes and magical symbols. Activated, the silver rings fanned out into an oval, egg-sized structure, spinning inside each other, each ring smaller than the last, the smallest being no bigger than a fingernail.
Now, thanks to Pettigrew, the Spinner's delicate shape was dented, and one of the fragile wires had been bitten right through. The two ends stuck out like shrivelled metal worms.
"Fucking bastard!" Harry cursed, voice raw. They had known that the Fidelius on Grimmauld Place had ended with Albus Dumbledore's death, but that Voldemort had his foot – his rat! – inside the place already...
As soon as his legs had stopped shaking, Harry retreated into the shadow of a barricaded-up kiosk, more inconspicuous than kneeling in full sight – and robes – in the middle of the pavement. It was later in the day than when he'd set off in the early afternoon. Lengthening shadows were already turning the side streets into sinister tunnels. The signs of destitution in the neighbourhood, however, were not as glaring as Harry was used to. There were fewer broken windows, and the three-storey tenement of number ten Grimmauld Place that had always dominated the street like a giant eyesore sported less graffiti. Even its fire ladders didn't look like the lethal rust traps they'd become over time.
Flickering lights danced behind one window, open rather than smashed, as if the inhabitants were burning candles. A huge bed sheet sporting a peace sign hung from an iron balcony railing. The kiosk behind Harry, barred up behind a metal grille for the night, hadn't been there in his time, replaced by a stained and spray-painted concrete wall to hide the nightmare sight of number ten's back garden from the eye.
Harry stared at the small gap between eleven and thirteen Grimmauld Place and closed his fingers around his wand. Perhaps the Time Spinner, damaged as it was, had brought him to the right place after all. He slipped the silver chain under his robe and t-shirt, cradling it protectively against his skin. Perhaps it would even carry him back.
His eyes probed the length of the street for passers-by before he crossed, wand hidden in the sleeve of his robe. There was a barely man-sized passage between the two houses, strewn with rubbish, and there, like a long-forgotten bit of plumbing, the rusty iron pipe which announced that there was, indeed, a world hidden beyond the debris. A cat streaked past him, dust-coloured and disappearing through the fence of number thirteen in pursuit of its own agenda.
Harry touched the pipe with the tip of his wand, and the aged, dirty walls of both houses rippled, making room for the gloomy facade of the place Harry had just left. The dark front of number twelve bent backwards to make room for the flight of stairs that tumbled from the entrance, groaning and twitching one last time before laying itself down at Harry's feet.
Harry stared at the elaborate snake doorknocker. He hadn't allowed himself to think about Sirius, not really, even while they had made their plans for his trip. So much could go wrong; too much to get his hopes up only to have them dashed. If Harry walked into this house, his godfather might not recognise him – hell, he couldn't recognise him – but worse, he might not even believe him. Perhaps he wouldn't be there at all. Harry hadn't allowed Sirius's death to shatter him the first time, and it had cost every ounce of strength he'd possessed. He'd shoved the wound to the back of his mind and let it fester there, determined not to look. To get Sirius back now, only to lose him again... Harry wasn't sure he could bear it.
Both Ron and Hermione had offered to make the trip in his place. But even if it hadn't been for the danger, Harry was the only one Sirius might recognise. People kept telling him how much he resembled James. Sirius just had to believe his best friend's lookalike.
Stop wasting time, Harry growled at himself. The Time Spinner's calibrations allowed him little time to return to the present. Seven hours, no more, or McGonagall's and Hermione's complex calculations would all be worthless and he might spin around in-between past and future forever. He sounded the knocker, and the way it filled the room behind with a melodious boom told Harry beyond any doubt that he was demanding entrance to a wizarding dwelling.
Harry hoped it wouldn't be Kreacher who opened the door, because he didn't think he'd be able stop himself from cursing the infernal creature on sight. If it hadn't been for Kreacher, he would already have Slytherin's locket and wouldn't have to sneak around in the past with a broken Time Spinner. The creepy little monster had hidden the locket Regulus Black had kept at Grimmauld Place, then bewitched the Black family axe to send him the same way as his mother, traditional style. Hermione, who'd found the pieces on the living room carpet the next morning, had fainted on the spot.
Only a true son of the Noble and Ancient House of Black, had been scrawled on the mocking note still clutched between Kreacher's spindly, bloodstained fingers, would be able to find it. And those, of course, were all dead, even poor Malfoy who'd been discovered, ripped to shreds by werewolf teeth, in a filthy side street of Knockturn Alley. Since Harry didn't have time to wait for Tonks and Remus to breed, it had ultimately brought him to the doorstep of Grimmauld Place, twenty years removed.
The door swung open, perfectly noiseless despite being solid wood, and Harry recoiled. It wasn't a house-elf sticking its nose out, but a young man, lounging against the doorjamb with an expectant expression that turned to surprise when he saw Harry.
Harry stared back, encountered blue eyes and tousled black hair that fell in a purposeful way rather than Harry's own mess. "Sirius?" he blurted out stupidly.
The boy's eyebrows curved up. "Not likely," he drawled. Now Harry realised that his eyes were a darker shade than Sirius's sharp grey-blue, the mouth fuller and drawn in a slight pout. His expression – and even more so the drawl – reminded Harry of Malfoy, colouring notwithstanding. "Who are you?"
"Harry," Harry said. "Harry Potter."
If anything, the boy's sneer deepened. "Are you trying to make fun of me in my own house?" he snapped. "I know Potter. You're not him."
"Look," Harry interrupted before the boy could throw the door shut in his face, "could I talk to Sirius? Is he here?"
The boy gave him a speculative look. "Of course he's here. But the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black is entertaining tonight – and you have not been invited."
"Please, just a few minutes," Harry pleaded. He had to get in there! "It's really important. Couldn't you just... fetch him for a moment?" The last thing he wanted was to get Sirius in trouble with his mother.
The boy had to be Regulus Black, although he looked older than Harry had pictured Sirius's little brother - about Harry's own age. But even if he was Regulus, asking 'Did you by any chance hide a piece of Voldemort's soul somewhere around here?' might not go over well, especially if the young man had not yet made a move in that direction.
"As I said – we're entertaining." A thin smile appeared on Regulus's face. "But you may come in, if you're so desperate."
Harry gulped in a lungful of air in relief. The hall beyond was lit by a large candelabra and gaslights along the wall, and looked alive in a way that the Grimmauld Place Harry knew - hurling itself along the pathway to decay with gusto – had not. The troll-leg umbrella stand was gone, and while the curtains that had hid Mrs Black's painting from view were still there, they were neatly bound back with silver cord to display the still life of a wizard's astronomy study. The tiles were gleaming and smelling of Mrs Skower's Enchanted Floorwax.
Behind him, the heavy door closed as soundlessly as it had opened, and a blue glow that Harry had no intention of coming into contact with spread over the inside. The boy stuck out his hand.
"Your wand, 'Potter'." Harry clenched his fingers around the wand in his hand.
Regulus shook his head. "Where are your manners, for Merlin's sake? You don't enter a wizarding home uninvited without offering your wand! What are you, a Mudblood with no clue about etiquette? Or are you planning to attack us?"
Cursing inwardly because he so did not want to let go of his wand in this place, Harry thrust it at the boy. Regulus took it, looked it over curiously for an instant, and let it disappear into his robe with a smirk. Then he waved Harry forward, gesturing at the doorway. "After you, 'Potter'."
Harry entered the broad corridor indicated, bypassing the closed drawing room door. He peered up the stairwell to the first floor. To his relief, the house-elf head collection was nowhere in sight. They passed the dining room and followed the main corridor towards the ballroom. Harry's mouth went dry at the thought of walking right into a wizarding occasion in old school robes over battered jeans and trainers.
But the boy led him past the elaborate ballroom doors, towards the smaller sitting room at the very back of the house, where Mrs Weasley had stored most of the knick-knacks that weren't outright dangerous after they'd cleaned the place. The corridor in front of the door was framed by two gargoyle statues wielding what looked like pikes. Harry was sure he had never seen them before, and they were way too huge for Dung to have carried off.
He slowed a little before passing between the twin statues, even though they didn't move. The Time Spinner under his shirt burned for a split second as he walked between the two pikes before returning to its normal skin-warm temperature. Perhaps he'd imagined it, Harry thought, resisting the urge to rub his chest. The boy following behind him certainly did not show any discomfort.
There was a murmur of voices inside the door, lapping like waves over the stark walls. Unease prickled down Harry's back – he felt like a mouse scurrying into the maze, its nose full of cheese and oblivious to the steel jaws of the trap. Regulus, who seemed plainly amused by Harry's discomfort, pulled open the leather-padded door and offered Harry a mock bow. Heart pounding, Harry dragged his feet across the threshold.
The room was too small to hold a full-blown gathering but provided ample room for the group that was assembled. Harry's nervous gaze caught a blur of young faces and felt an irrational hope blossom. Perhaps Sirius had invited his friends – what if he came face to face with his father? A rapid glance around the dimly-lit room, however, turned up no trace of messy hair or glasses. He could make out several groups of settees and a handful of people hugged by the shadows of floating candles: a girl with hair too dark to be red curled up on a divan between two men, a solitary figure brooding over a glass to the right. Narrow marble coffee tables bore plates with finger foods and trays loaded with bottles and glasses.
It was the figure in the broad leather armchair opposite the door, however, that drew Harry's attention at the expense of everything else. Familiar grey-blue eyes met his under a shock of black hair. Sirius Black raised an eyebrow in an unspoken question. Harry stared and flushed when he caught himself at it - he'd seen that young man before, smiling and mischievous in the old photographs Hagrid had given him. He'd had longer hair in those pictures, and had looked more expressively carefree, but it was the same man.
Sirius.
A somewhat older Sirius than the school-age Marauder Harry had expected. Suddenly, Regulus's age made sense too. Bugger! The Time Spinner must have miscalculated after all, running more slowly with its damaged wire, not travelling backwards as far as it should have. All because of that bloody sneak Wormtail!
The door shut behind Harry with an ominous sound.
"Sirius, may I present Harry Potter," Sirius's bastard of a brother announced, drawing all eyes to Harry. "He needs to talk to you very badly." There was a downright obscene ring to the boy's drawl that made Harry's face heat and Sirius's brow quirk up.
"That's not Potter," came a protest from the right.
Harry turned his head, and his jaw dropped. The last time they'd met, this young man's older self had fled from him through the darkened Hogwarts grounds. To find a young Snape – even a rather well-dressed one who seemed to have fought the grease in his hair to a stalemate – at a party with Sirius was mind-boggling.
"I know," Regulus replied. "Even if someone had filled up old man Harold Potter with de-aging potion, I doubt he'd develop an overwhelming passion for my dear brother." Snickers travelled around the room.
"I wouldn't rule out the possibility completely, though," Sirius offered, and Harry heard Regulus's soft groan behind his back. "But he does look like James, doesn't he? Are you sure there's no Potter minor at Hogwarts, Reg?"
"You bloody well know there isn't. James is an only child – it's a miracle Harold and Calpurnia managed even one, at the age they married."
"He could have been born on the wrong side of the bed," a dark-haired man of about twenty-five commented from the couch he shared with the girl and another male. "The half-blood product of a sordid affair with a Muggle?" He tsked. "Old Harold having a bit on the side - who'd have imagined."
"He's also carrying a magical artefact around his neck, the gargoyles told me," Regulus added, in such a light tone that Harry reacted a split second too late. He raised his hand to clutch the circular shape of the Time Spinner when a beam of light struck him, accompanied by, "Petrificus Totalus!"
Instant heaviness hardened Harry's limbs; his face petrified, although he was able to hear and see everything. He swayed on stony feet and would have fallen over if Regulus Black's hand on his back had not kept him upright.
"Allow me, Black?" the spellcaster asked, wand still in hand as he strolled up from where he'd been standing in the shadows behind Sirius's armchair. Harry's heart sped up painfully against his ribs. It wasn't the immaculate black robes with elaborate silver stitching that fuelled his dread, but the long pale braid that snaked over the man's shoulder. Ice-grey eyes wandered over Harry with detached interest. Even in his mid-twenties, with a somewhat less angular face, there was no mistaking Lucius Malfoy.
Harry watched Malfoy pause, fingers touching Sirius's robed arm on the armrest, and saw Sirius nod. "Be my guest, Lucius."
They shared a quirky grin that screamed three dozen levels of wrong to Harry. What was going on here – why was Sirius holding court in the midst of a gaggle of Death Eaters? Had they put him under Imperius? Or had he been infiltrating them? Was that why Sirius had refused to act as his parents' Secret Keeper? Harry was suddenly painfully aware of how little he knew about the goings-on of the first war.
Malfoy sauntered up to him, and Harry was grateful that the petrification kept the panic off his features. Putting two fingers under Harry's chin, Malfoy dipped his head back to study his face. His thumb swept over Harry's scar. So much for Hermione and McGonagall telling him to be as inconspicuous as possible, Harry wailed mutely. Malfoy would hardly forget that he'd seen Harry's scar before. Was that why he'd grabbed and studied him so carefully in Flourish and Blotts? What was Harry to do – get free and Obliviate the lot of them?
Malfoy let go of Harry's chin and unhooked the front of his robe until it hung loose around his shoulders. Regulus pulled it off him altogether and dumped it over the back of a chair. Malfoy wrinkled his nose at Harry's old school shirt, tucked haphazardly into very battered jeans.
Disgust didn't stop him from unbuttoning the whole way down Harry's shirt, even though the first two buttons would have been enough to reveal the Time Spinner. A twist, and the shirt tails slid free from the loose grasp of his belt. They flapped aimlessly around his hips before Malfoy slid the fabric off him. It fluttered to the ground like a dying bird. Only then did he lift the filigree silver disk off Harry's chest, studying it between thumb and index finger for a moment while his other fingers remained splayed on Harry's skin. Malfoy ran the chain through his fingers until he'd found the clasp, and undid it with a quick move. The Spinner lay on his palm, its silver chain curled around it like a sleeping serpent.
"What is it?" the woman inquired eagerly and leaned forward. Now that she was no longer obscured by the bulk of her companions did Harry recognise the night-black hair and languid eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange. She looked barely older than Harry himself, regal and deadly in a set of dark-red robes and full skirt.
Harry's chest felt very tight. He had indeed walked in on his godfather in the midst of a Death Eater gathering, and his only means of escape lay in the object that was being carried out of reach.
"It looks familiar, doesn't it?" Sirius mused as he scrutinised the Time Spinner on Malfoy's palm. A lock of black hair fell into his eyes and he swept it back impatiently.
"It's a Time Spinner." The older of the two males with Bellatrix stretched his long legs and pointed his chin at the disk on Malfoy's hand. "Possession and use are under strict Ministry control. Dumbledore keeps one in his office."
Harry knew that, of course. Professor McGonagall had fetched it from that very office before the Ministry could get its hands on the Headmaster's possessions. Even if they could have found a Time Turner after Harry's misadventure in the Department of Mysteries, trying to set it back more than a week or so at one turn per hour would have overtaxed the fragile hourglass neck. Time Spinners, on the other hand, used complex Arithmantic calculations to transport their users back, but only to a time before their birth to prevent endangering the time stream. Harry's fondest wish – going back two years to Sirius at Grimmauld Place and warning him of his impending fate - was out of the question.
"No wonder Sirius recognised it then." Bellatrix laughed, low and without the familiar shrill note of madness. "He was up in Dumblebore's office to collect detention at least twice a week."
Sirius swept her a mocking bow. "I didn't have your talent at simpering and hiding behind my love slaves, Bella."
Bellatrix's laugh turned rough as her eyes travelled over him, then pointedly lingered on Malfoy. "You're right, cousin. You didn't have any love slaves."
"And what's a half-breed whelp with a priceless magical artefact doing on your doorstep, Black?" This came from the second man in Bellatrix's group, who looked too much like the other for them to be anything but brothers.
A faint smile slid to life on Sirius's lips. "I'm quite curious about that myself, Rabastan."
Damn! Harry thought bleakly. The Lestrange brothers.
Sirius got up from his armchair and swiped the Time Spinner from Malfoy's fingers. For a split second, Harry saw a glint of anger on the man's face, but he didn't object.
"I think I'll find out," Sirius added lightly. He walked up to Harry's petrified form and drew his wand – the original one which Harry had never seen before. He tapped it against Harry's cheek. A rush of pins and needles spread through Harry's face, and he could move his head again.
"Wand?" Sirius inquired. Regulus passed Harry's wand to his brother over Harry's still-petrified shoulder. Sirius weighed it and whistled softly. "Quite powerful." He smiled again, a lopsided grin that provoked a sudden hopeful flip in Harry's stomach. Sirius crooked his index finger and used it to lift Harry's chin just like Malfoy had before.
"Now, Harry, isn't it? What do you want from me?"
Harry bit his lip. He didn't know anything about Sirius's agenda with these people – he could hardly discuss Horcruxes in front of a bunch of Death Eaters. Sirius's fingers were very warm on his face.
"I..." he stuttered, throwing his godfather-to-be a look of sheer despair. "Can I talk to you alone, please?"
An amused, near-heartless twinkle sparked in Sirius's eyes. "I have no secrets before my friends." The hold on Harry's chin turned into a caress. "Ignore them, Harry. Tell me."
"It's about your house-elf, Kreacher," Harry blurted out. "He's hidden something in my... where I come from. Something only a Black might know about-"
A frown appeared on Sirius's forehead. "Kreacher? My parents' creepy old elf?" he asked. "The one we sent back to the House-Elf Relocation Office after their deaths because it had gone a bit soft in the head?" He shook his head in bemusement. "I'm afraid if you want him, you're a few years too late." He leaned in so close that Harry could smell his breath, sweet with a hint of alcohol that Harry was sure wasn't butterbeer. "And here I'd hoped you'd come to see me, Harry."
"I..." Harry gulped, feeling horribly stupid.
"Are you sure you're not here for me?"
A low chuckle travelled up from behind Sirius's back. Malfoy. "You think He sent him?"
"Well," Sirius shrugged, still stroking Harry's cheek. "He did promise to come, and excused himself on very short notice... And he'd be easily able to pick up some pretty kid and befuddle him."
"Even a real Potter, plucked out of the time stream?" Malfoy smirked. "Yes, He would know how much that would please you and Severus... Nobody can say He is not generous in his withdrawals."
"Especially considering how badly he wants the House of Black..." Sirius threw Malfoy a pointed look.
"Oh, I'd say He already has most of Black," Malfoy replied. His eyes wandered over to Bellatrix, who observed them with predatory amusement and slowly licked her lower lip. "Am I right, Regulus?" Malfoy asked. "Or why were you so eager to greet a late visitor in person?"
The boy behind Harry sucked in a sharp breath. "What about it?"
"He won't fuck you, Reg," Sirius said without turning his head. "What goes on in a wizarding household is nobody's business, but a Hogwarts professor? He won't take such a risk."
Harry could feel Regulus's nails digging into his back. "Perhaps unlike you, I can think of other things once in a while?"
"I'm crushed!" Sirius clutched at his chest and swayed as if receiving a mortal wound.
"At least I did not crawl into my guardian's bed and tied myself naked to the bedpost for him to find," Regulus snapped. Harry could feel the boy's rage radiating through him.
Malfoy snickered in honest amusement and glanced at Sirius, whose cheekbones tightened. "Telling sordid bedroom secrets to your sweet, innocent brother, Sirius? I'm shocked."
A mad smile lit up Sirius's face. "Ah, but neither of us is your ward any longer, Lucius. You're here as a guest. Honoured guest," he amended. He cocked his head in such a Padfoot-like loll that Harry's chest ached. "Unlike this pretty child who's travelled through time to find me, hm?" Sirius pressed his cheek against Harry's, smooth and with the merest hint of stubble, and Harry's chest ached worse. "You are a gift for me, aren't you, Harry?"
There was a part of Harry that wanted to fall into Sirius's embrace, shut his eyes and never come out again. His adult half, however, could see pretty clearly where his godfather's younger self was heading. And yet... perhaps Sirius was trying to protect Harry – or himself - by steering the topic away from things like Death Eaters and Voldemort?
Harry expelled the breath he'd been holding, aware that Sirius opened his mouth a little as if to drink in the puff of air, and whispered, "Yes."
He sounded embarrassingly breathless, but he'd wanted them to read it wrong, hadn't he?
Sirius's arms came round Harry's petrified body, taking his weight off Regulus, who let go and stepped away with his lips in a contemptuous curve. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry watched him walk over to Snape, who handed him a glass with a dark-red liquid. Then Sirius's face filled Harry's entire vision.
Harry had been kissed before. He'd snogged Ginny in dark corners and empty classrooms a lot over the past year. And Ginny had known how to kiss. But not like this. It wasn't that Sirius was a boy – man – whatever. It was the sheer self-confidence with which he kissed Harry in front of an audience of Death Eaters.
A first brush of lips, so soft it was almost a dream, then a more firm press that set Harry's pulse to hammer. Sirius's teeth dug in sharp, lazy pricks into Harry's plumping bottom lip. Harry would have swayed if the curse and Sirius hadn't held him spellbound until...
"No!" Harry arched his head back like a cat encountering a strange smell. "This isn't... you're my godfather!"
He didn't need to hear the laughter to know that he'd let slip something seriously stupid. He could hear Bellatrix's voice above the others, high and scornful. Sirius, at least, didn't laugh out loud, but his eyebrow travelled upwards in a spitting imitation of Malfoy.
"Now I know that you're Confunded," he said. "No Potter would ever make a Black godfather of their child. They think all Slytherins are practitioners of the Dark Arts or worse." His lips brushed Harry's in the midst of a sensuous chuckle. "You'll have to do better than that."
Harry stood frozen under the gentle lips, barely conscious of being kissed any longer. Sirius, a Slytherin? That wasn't an act he could put on to bamboozle the Death Eaters, not with Snape having been in his year!
"But... you're Gryffindor!" The words hissed off Harry's tongue, instinctive like Parseltongue. The laughter they provoked was even louder this time. Bellatrix's shriek of mirth hurt his ears, and Snape, who had sat there straight-faced so far, gave a bellow and grimaced, disgusted but also slightly wistful.
Sirius craned his neck to stare at his company with a superior tilt of the head. "I'll have you know that the Sorting Hat tried long and hard to convince me of the advantages of Gryffindor house." He looked as if it was a fond memory. "I nearly went for it."
Malfoy commented, in a very salacious tone of voice, "Well, there's no disputing your courage," while Regulus, putting his wine glass down on the table very rapidly, protested, "Mother and Father would have died!"
A cold expression stole onto Sirius's face. "That's exactly why." His brother shot him a scandalised look, but Malfoy ran his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Sirius's neck in a possessive gesture that made Harry's insides writhe.
"What stopped you?"
Sirius shrugged. "I found the Slytherin Head of House more interesting."
"Then why are you withholding your allegiance?"
Sirius stared at him defiantly. "I like him. I respect him. But as you pointed out, he has enough toadies among my relatives already. The House of Black will remain unaligned."
"You owe the unbroken continuation of your 'House' to one of those toadies." There was no shred of humour left on Malfoy's face now.
"I came of age with all my debts paid, Lucius." Harry had rarely seen pure steel coming out in his godfather, but he saw it now. "You're my guest, and my friend, but no longer my guardian to determine my family's allegiances."
Like a chameleon, Malfoy seemed to shrug off his anger. His expression relaxed and he stroked his finger along the curve of Sirius's chin in an eerie parallel of the way Sirius had touched Harry before. "You must of course follow your own path," he said.
"I was about to." Sirius turned his head and winked at Harry, who blushed fiercely. This Sirius was only a few years older than him, and yet his expression could make Harry feel as if ants were crawling all over him. And make him like it.
Sirius's wand was in his hand so suddenly that Harry had no idea where it had come from. He pressed it to Harry's sternum with a casual "Finite!", awakening the pins and needles all over Harry's limbs. Harry fought the urge to double up and cradle his tingling legs. Sirius put his arm around his neck and pulled him close.
Before Harry could react, a silky voice interrupted. "Before we move to after-drinks entertainment, Black..."
Unwilling, Sirius raised his head over Harry's shoulder to stare at the knot of Lestranges lounging on the broad couch.
The speaker was the other Lestrange brother, not Bellatrix's tall, black-haired husband. He looked, Harry decided from his hiding place in Sirius's arms, like a washed-out version of his brother: dark brown hair, more compactly built than Rodolphus, sprawled on the cushions like a bored cat. Most noticeable were the half-lidded grey eyes, several shades darker than Malfoy's. They made him look relaxed, sleepy.
"You recall owing me a substantial debt after losing that race against Bagman's broom last week?"
A spot of colour appeared on Sirius's face as Bellatrix snickered and pulled one slippered foot onto the couch, wrapping her arms around her knee. "Your own fault for thinking that enchanted Muggle hell machine could outfly a racing broom, Sirius - and betting on it."
"What about it?" Sirius growled at Rabastan, not gracing his cousin with a look. "I thought we'd settled the terms?"
"Discussed them, not finalised them." From the speculative glance the young man ran over Sirius, Harry got a pretty good idea of what those terms had entailed. Rabastan inclined his head at Harry. "I'll settle for him instead."
Instinctively, Harry pressed himself a little closer to Sirius, and felt Sirius's grip tighten on his upper arm.
"I'm sorry, Rabastan, but I don't think it would make a good impression if I rejected a gift from my former Head of House."
Lestrange's lazy shrug did not bode well. He leaned back against the leather upholstery. "That's just conjecture, and even if it were true, I'm sure He wouldn't mind. Not for a debt of honour."
"If I were inclined to favour a guest, I'd offer him to Snape," Sirius shot back. "He's the one who hates James Potter most, and deserves a gift for making Potions Professor at Hogwarts."
Snape snorted, fingers playing with one of the jet-black buttons at his wrist. "I'm merely going to be interviewed by the Headmaster."
"He'd be mad not to take you," Bellatrix threw in. "You've been better at Potions than old Slughorn since fifth year. And He recommended you personally!"
Huh? Harry thought. Who was 'He', if not Slughorn?
Snape smiled thinly and gave Harry's bare chest inside the frame of Sirius's arms a curt once-over. "Yes; but I'm about to be interrogated by the most powerful Legilimens in the country. If I'm found to have done nasty things to school-age boys, I'll end up jobless and in Azkaban. Thanks for the offer, Black, but no."
Rabastan shrugged. "How about it then, Black? Are you going to be selfish? Or do you want to admit that you know the boy after all?"
"If I'd had him in my bed before, I would certainly remember that lurid scar." Sirius tightened his arms around Harry for a moment, then pressed a kiss to his temple. "I'm sorry, Harry – this is a debt of honour. Will you do this for me?"
"Do I have a choice?" Harry ground out, his voice cracking.
"I'd give you one if I could."
Lestrange rose from the couch faster than his languid posture had promised. Sirius didn't quite steer Harry in his direction, but didn't object when Rabastan took hold of Harry's wrist.
"Have him, then," he snapped. "But he's mine and will remain undamaged, Lestrange. Don't presume too much."
The man offered a sleepy grin and stroked his thumb over the pulse point on Harry's wrist. Harry flinched.
Lestrange turned to Snape. "How about a bottle of your special draught, Severus? Since it seems as if we won't get to use it on Black or his pretty brother tonight?"
Sirius didn't react to the gibe, although Harry could sense his anger like a storm cloud. Regulus crinkled his nose in disgust.
"Ah, you wouldn't look so contemptuous if it was Him, would you, Regulus?" the elder Lestrange mocked from the sofa, one arm wrapped around his wife's waist. She giggled and a pink flush spread over Regulus's cheeks. He was pretty, Harry realised, with his delicate features and curly black hair and no trace of Malfoy's pointy-faced pallor.
To his surprise, it was Snape who spoke up rather than Sirius. "I think it's bad manners to insult your host's family," Snape commented, taking an unobtrusive step forward to hover next to the younger boy like a protective vampire bat. He pulled a small, bulbous glass bottle out of his robe and shoved it into Rabastan's hand. The man took it and held it up against the light. The fluid inside was divided into layers like an exotic cocktail – pale jade, golden brown, and dark green.
Pulling Harry close, Lestrange quickly flicked his wrist once, twice, shattering the layers and creating a homogeneous green mix with an oily golden residue. He pulled out the stopper and lifted the bottle to Harry's mouth. "Drink."
Reflexively, Harry clamped his lips shut and shook his head.
"Oh well, I don't mind starting with an Unforgivable, boy..." A look into Lestrange's dark eyes made it clear that he wasn't joking. He reached for his wand.
Harry threw a frantic look at Sirius, but it was Snape who grabbed his shoulder, black eyes glinting. "Drink, Potter, if you know what's good for you!"
"Do it, Harry," came Sirius's voice from behind, and the fact that Sirius was helping Snape to gang up on him almost brought tears to Harry's eyes. He had to be able to trust Sirius, or he'd go mad. "Drink," the soft voice insisted. "It's going to make things easier. I promise I won't let him harm you."
Rage and the urge to shatter the fragile little bottle - or throw its contents right into Lestrange's placid face - bubbled up inside Harry. But the odds were five against one, of whom only the one had no wand. He had to play along for now. Anything to get out of here and back home.
He brought the bottle to his lips and swallowed a mouthful of fluid. It blossomed on his tongue like liquid daybreak - a sweet yet fresh burst of peppermint, dancing around the burnt-sharp malt taste of expensive toffee, and below it a coil of liquor-soaked herbs rescued from bitterness by the sweetness of the other two layers. It was the finest thing Harry had ever tasted, better even than his first sip of butterbeer.
The potion burned in Harry's throat, spreading in a hot wave into his stomach where it sat like an independent entity. The taste clung to Harry's mouth and throat, and pepperminty streaks seemed to surge upward to swirl inside his head. He swayed, and Lestrange grabbed him tighter while Snape corked the bottle again and put it back into his pocket.
"Lust and obedience." Lestrange nodded at him. "You are truly a master among potion makers, Severus."
Snape snorted again, surprisingly loud to Harry's sensitised ears. "I've set my ambitions higher than creating the perfect rape drug, Rabastan."
Unruffled, Lestrange pulled Harry's clumsy body against his own. The world tilted and smelled like burned peppermint and Harry leaned against the robed form for balance. His stomach roiled and the vapours were clouding his mind. He wasn't sure whether he was about to throw up or fall unconscious.
"Deep breaths, little changeling," Lestrange murmured into his ear. "You'll want to get some now – there won't be many later."
Before Harry could process the words, Lestrange put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him to his knees, the fumes in his brain making Harry too lethargic to resist. Lestrange reached down and pulled Harry's glasses off his nose, tossing them to his brother. Rodolphus caught them with a Seeker's ease, and put them down on the coffee table in safe distance from his drink.
Rabastan pointed his wand at the floor behind him, and a slender, man-high stele erupted from the stone tiles where the carpets underneath the sitting areas left a few feet of bare floor. Then a long piece of fabric spilled from the tip of the man's wand. A strip of soft cloth snaked over Harry's chest before wrapping itself tightly around his wrists and pulling them together behind his back.
The fabric lengthened and crept upwards, circling in a loop around Harry's throat before knotting itself around the stone pillar as well. Gooseflesh prickled all over Harry's skin. He couldn't help but pull on the ribbon that bound his hands, primal fear and the memories of being bound in the Riddle graveyard tearing through his mind. The struggle did nothing to loosen his bonds, only tightened the fabric around his neck ever so slightly. Harry stilled.
"Bright boy," Lestrange commended, messing Harry's hair in a patronising caress that threw his potion-addled mind into terrible confusion. "Now, little Potter," he crooned and nestled at the row of buttons on the lower half of his robe, "you won't think about hurting me, and you very desperately want to please me, don't you?"
Harry stared at the robes parting in front of him, at loose, silk underpants below that slipped off Lestrange's hips. Blinked in numb horror at the flushed, half-hard erection that bounced out, almost slapping Harry's chin. Harry had seen something like this only once, after hours in the washroom: Lee Jordan kneeling before a Weasley twin Harry had fled too fast to identify. The wood-sharp scent rising up from the hem of Rabastan's robes and clinging to his skin reminded Harry of the incense he'd smelled when Aunt Petunia had dragged him along to church as a small child.
"Entertain me, boy." Lestrange leaned down and rubbed the top of his cock over Harry's bottom lip. Harry wanted to recoil from the sheer abnormity of putting somebody's prick into his mouth but didn't, rooted to the spot. "Better I do this to you than doing worse to your beloved... godfather, was it?"
The strength of his protective impulse for Sirius had Harry close his lips around the tip of Lestrange's cock. Warm flesh, salty and bitter-wet at the tip, assaulted Harry's taste buds. He tried to think about biting, but the thought frayed and slipped right out of his mind even as Harry was still trying to grasp for it.
Lestrange breathed roughly above him and leaned back against the headrest of the sofa, forcing Harry forward along with him. The cloth hugged Harry's neck, and fear crawled up his spine. He twisted forward to tongue Lestrange's prick, feeling the fabric around his throat pull taut. A puff of precious air escaped his lips, moistening Lestrange's flesh which was hardening against his tongue. The pressure sparked tiny flashlights before Harry's eyes and he drew back for air.
All he managed were two frantic gulps before Lestrange's hand shot out and buried itself in his hair. This time when he was dragged forward, Harry's throat constricted completely. The cord had to be charmed, Harry realised, cutting off his air supply without bruising the skin of his throat or his Adam's apple. It would make the perfect murder weapon– strangling its victim without leaving a mark.
Then his mouth was filled with cock and his ears with the roar of blood trying to stamp its rhythm onto his lungs by pulse if not by breath. Harry's tongue licked a shuddering lattice onto widening flesh, shoulder blades knotting with the effort not to struggle free. His face throbbed, ruddy like the slippery flesh of Lestrange's erection as the man loosened his grip and let Harry draw back, wheezing for breath.
"This is how you do it, boy," Lestrange told his sweat-plastered fringe. "And you better do it well, because you'll work until you get me off, and I won't help you out again."
Harry almost sobbed in distress, short-sighted eyes fixed on the darkening erection before his eyes and yet so hopelessly far away. He hoped for Sirius's voice, telling the monster that this travesty had gone far enough and ordering to set him free, but it never came.
Harry forced his mouth to wrap around the fat width of Lestrange's cock, lips stretched to shield vulnerable flesh from his teeth. Ridges, bumps and swells were traced, mapped and forgotten. Harry licked around the length, tongue fluttering as if it could wring air instead of salty-bland fluid from that cruel crown. His head started to hammer, a dull ache closing his ears, and his limbs twitched in a scream for breath. And still he sucked till darkness threatened, then let the prick slip form his mouth and surged back to the shores of air.
He pressed his back against the stone pillar for a moment; he was hot all over, the skin of his face and neck a puffed mess. Staring at the cock swaying towards him with pure hatred, he tried to lean into the stranglehold once more, hoping the dark red head and the way it stood out from Lestrange's stomach meant that it would be over soon.
Lestrange lifted his foot a little, bringing his cock an inch closer to Harry's gaping mouth, and ran the side of his boot over Harry's groin. The sensation cut right through Harry's first tentative lick, a crawl of need that had him buck his hips in shocked delight. His moan travelled up Lestrange's length, who threw back his head and groaned in pleasure.
Even knowing it was Snape's potion that had him reacting so, Harry drowned in shame. He forced his neck forward into the magical choker, taking in cock as far as he could until pubic hair tickled his nose. Blood howled inside his head, and yet Harry strained forward, determined to end the nightmare on his terms even if it killed him!
The sound that clawed its way out of his throat was neither human nor propelled by breath, a dying whine of protest as the cord dug into his windpipe like a red-hot wire. Harry gagged, and the black spots in front of his eyes flowed together to form an inky pond that blanked out Harry's vision for an endless moment. And then, miraculously, his mouth was free of flesh and salt and his head snapped back, the murderous constriction easing around his throat.
Harry gasped for breath like a dying fish and felt something warm spray his face and hair. The stink of it engulfed him as he fell to the side, wheezing and sucking in air too fast and feebly trying not to heave. To have Lestrange spilling himself on his face – in front of Snape and Bellatrix and, oh god, Sirius! – was a hundred times more humiliating than being forced to swallow. He huddled on the ground in a miserable heap, hands still bound to the stele and trying to keep the tears that hovered in his eyes from spilling down his cheeks and adding to the mess.
Then a pair of arms wrapped around his shoulders and a spell vanished his bonds. He squinted up weakly at Sirius, and stiffly allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. His knees ached, and the movement tightened his trousers uncomfortably around the persistent hardness in his groin.
Sirius studied Harry's smeared face, a finger on his chin preventing Harry from turning his head to the side in a fresh burst of shame.
"Crude, Lestrange," he admonished, although his mouth quirked. "To do something like that, to such a virginal child!"
Lestrange, who was closing the last button of his robe and looked for all the world like the cat who'd mutilated the bird and was now looking for more fluttery entertainment, flopped back onto the couch next to his brother and grinned.
"You'd have worn it even better, Sirius." Behind him, the stele melted back into the floor, which shuddered once and then re-formed into chequered stone tiles.
Sirius clucked his tongue and conjured a warm washcloth that he proceeded to rub over Harry's smeared face and fringe. The touch was soothing and too gentle. Harry felt a shattering sob well up in his throat, painful against the invisible bruising.
"Hush," Sirius murmured before pressing a kiss to his scar. "You did very well, Harry."
