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kennahijjaTitle: Spinning Off Course (3 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
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amanuensis1 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!
Part 1, Part 2
Before Harry could do anything but dig nails into his palms above the rope, the air behind him filled with a multi-tongued hiss, and a hail of thin strips rained down on his arse. A loud breath escaped his mouth but surprise spared him the shame of crying out.
Digging teeth into his lip, Harry bore out the stings as three, four, five more blows landed on his rump. Clenching his teeth did not help against the blooming fire, and a whine escaped his mouth when Malfoy focussed his attention on the back of his thighs and bottom, purposefully striping every inch of skin until Harry felt like a lobster being dunked into boiling water. His bum was blazing as if Malfoy had ripped the skin right off. The flogger's strands had to be made either of very supple leather or quite stiff cloth. There had to be magic worked into the bloody things too, Harry thought, to sting this much without drawing blood.
The tap of Malfoy's boots made Harry feel like a blinded dolphin with blood-thirsty sharks circling all around him. The flogger hit him in uneven intervals, sometimes a single thwack across his shoulders or the front of his thighs, bearable but shocking in its sudden intensity, sometimes a flurry of blows on his back or arse. Harry squirmed under the latter, his face a pained grimace. Flinching out of the way was futile since Malfoy seemed to follow up every attempt with a particularly insidious blow, and it put an awful strain on Harry's bound wrists. His skin burned all over, every new blow making the pain flare hotter.
The strips hissed around his limbs like serpents and Malfoy excelled at finding and exploiting the most vulnerable spots: whipping the flogger around the skin of his hips, and over his trembling calves again and again until tears shot into Harry's eyes. He lifted a foot to protect his other calf, wobbling precariously. It didn't stop the bastard from laying another, harder blow in the same spot that snapped across his ankle. The sharp ends left stinging welts on the sole of his foot. Hissing, Harry rested the burning sole back on the stone tiles.
His arm muscles started to knot and ache from the unnatural position he was tied in, and the continuous struggling abraded the skin at his wrists. Quite like Lestrange's magical bonds, the rope very carefully did not cut off the blood flow in his wrists, but bound him securely without permitting serious injuries.
Mercilessly, Malfoy abused every part of Harry's body, sparing only face, neck and groin. Still, Harry cringed whenever the flogger came near his lower front.
Finally, the bastard seemed to develop an aversion to Harry's chest. The first whack cut across Harry's left nipple, two or three strands pummelling the nub at once. Malfoy started out lightly, and the first few blows were almost stimulating. But Malfoy kept hitting them, increasing in force until he had Harry twitching and whimpering and wondering if his nipples were still there or had been reduced to bloody pulp already. He couldn't even hear Malfoy breathing faster, or if he did, it was drowned out by Harry's own frantic panting.
"Don't fucking slice them off!" he hissed when he couldn't bear it any longer. His chest boiled as if he'd been flayed alive.
"Are you-" Malfoy started, but Harry cut him short.
"No! I'm not begging out, you sick fuck! Just..." He went silent, quavering with pain. Just stop!
"Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of words? I think you may need a more... incisive lesson." Malfoy didn't even sound angry, but Harry's stomach plunged. Suddenly, the rope gave a little, and Harry pitched forward.
"Spread your legs and lean forward," Malfoy ordered, the strands of the flogger whispering a sibilant melody on the marble floor. Panting with dread, Harry did as he was told, not knowing what he feared more: an assault of Malfoy's cock, or the flogger.
"Wider." Malfoy's hard voice commanded until Harry was spread as far as he could go without falling over. His buttocks clenched, sending a stab of agony through the scattering of welts that decorated them.
Then the flogger hissed between his legs, hugging the inside of his left thigh before snapping to the right in an identical move. There was less room for Malfoy to swing the handle, but it burned like hell on one of the least exposed parts of Harry's anatomy. Two strokes there were enough to make him whine, and then an underhanded blow whacked upwards into the cleft of his arse, landing like liquid fire over his still-sore hole. Harry went limp in his bonds for a moment until the burn of the rope and the strain in his arms forced him to wobble back onto his feet. A second lash followed right on the heels of the first, harder and petering out in a promise of evil to come over his perineum.
This time, Harry screamed out loud, the pain too intense and immediate to bear in silence. There was shock, too – he'd never imagined Malfoy would hit him anywhere near his genitals. Another stroke had him writhing in his bonds again, air driven out of his lungs by terror.
Malfoy stepped around him once more, and before Harry could catch his breath, the flogger whistled, hitting his straining cock without warning. Harry howled so loud the sound echoed through the room; it hadn't been a hard stroke, but his over-stimulated and trapped erection would have turned a mere touch into agony. He stumbled until the rope caught him, mouth open and bone-dry. Malfoy gave his prick another thwack, then another, evidently enjoying Harry's screams. It hurt worse than anything Harry had ever felt this side of Cruciatus. Tears spilled from his eyes and were soaked up by the blindfold; his cock, unable to flag thanks to the Obstringo, could only burn until it felt as if it was going to burst any second.
"I'm sorry, sorry!" he sobbed, hating himself but unable to stay silent, even if this wasn't begging. Yet. But if Malfoy struck him there again...
"Yes, I'm sure you are," Malfoy said coldly.
Pain had erased every hint of curiosity from Harry's mind, but now he madly grabbed for another question as a straw of relief. He had to distract Malfoy, or he would break.
"Why... why'd Sirius call you his guardian?" Harry forced the words out around his parched tongue.
"It's a legal term, you ignorant child." Malfoy sighed with no little exaggeration, and Harry's heart pounded with relief. As long as Malfoy talked, he couldn't hurt him.
"Orion and Walburga Black's thestral carriage collided with a rogue Hebridean Black over the Scottish Highlands when Sirius had only just turned fifteen," Malfoy went on. "A terrible tragedy." There was an ominous ring to that, and Harry wondered if the note of amusement he'd heard was truly there or just pain-induced hallucination.
"Cygnus Black – Bellatrix's father – demanded custody of the Black heirs, but since Cygnus had his own designs on the Black heritage and is an ultra-conservative pureblood to boot, I raised the matter with Professor Riddle, and we both decided Orion's sons would be safer someplace else. Since I had already been betrothed to Cygnus's younger daughter, and taken control of my own house without any designs on Black, we convinced the Wizengamot to name me guardian instead." He chuckled. "Not even Dumbledore contested the arrangement, although he certainly did not approve."
"He'd have approved even less if he'd known you would take Sirius into your bed barely a month after being made our guardian," Regulus threw in poisonously.
Sirius sighed. "Let it go, Reg. It was my decision, I seduced him."
"Because he made you think you owed him for taking us in and protecting our claims!"
"No, Reg, because he was beautiful; and because I wanted to make sure not to owe him – or Tom Riddle – any debt for the future." Sirius's voice grew sharp. "Jealousy in such matters does not suit a pureblood, Reg."
"Ah, but I think this jealousy is not about me, Sirius," Malfoy threw in, so spitefully gentle that if Harry had been Regulus, he'd have hexed the bastard to kingdom come right there on the spot. "Your brother has set his sights on a higher goal than me, I'm afraid."
Although Harry only grasped fragments of the implications floating around, he couldn't help but think that the Blacks' deaths had been very convenient for everybody involved.
A sudden silence fell over the room, and Harry realised with a jolt that he'd spoken aloud. He cringed, then shrieked as Malfoy closed his hand roughly around his burning cock.
"Not even my most outspoken adversaries have dared to suggest this to my face, boy," he snarled, fingers digging in until Harry writhed.
"Is it true?" Regulus asked, almost lost.
"It's nothing but a vile rumour," Sirius answered. "Set in motion by our dear uncle, for the obvious reasons. I'm surprised you haven't heard it before." Malfoy's punishing grip, and with it Harry's urge to shriek at the top of his lungs, relaxed a little as if mollified by Sirius's calmness.
"But you wouldn't care!" Regulus protested. "They hated you, for always embarrassing them, and being in and out of Muggle London. And you hated them."
"I did. But I didn't kill them, and neither did Malfoy. If you're in doubt, go and speak to Professor Riddle when you're back at Hogwarts."
"I think this has gone far enough," Malfoy said. "I'm not done with this troublemaker, and-" He gave Harry's prick a last brutal squeeze before letting it bounce back, "I did not care for your insinuation at all, boy. Spread your legs again."
Panic shot up Harry's nerves. "You said I'd get to ask a question after handling something, not that you'd do it again!" A note of fear shrilled in his voice; he was almost hyperventilating.
"I didn't say I'd whip you again, Potter. I said to spread your legs!"
Shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, Harry obeyed. He didn't manage to get his thighs apart as wide as before. He was anything but steady on his feet and his cleft burned from the whipping. The welts were screaming at every move.
Impatiently, Malfoy grabbed his buttocks and forced them apart to expose Harry's entrance, indifferent to the way they were quivering with pain under his fingers. Harry's body froze as the flogger whistled through the air again. The strands didn't touch his skin, but whirred around in shortening circles until they fell silent. Then Harry felt something hard and unwieldy push against his cleft; he hissed and tried to twist his bottom out of the way, but Malfoy seized his hip with one hand and forced him into place. Another push and twist, and the thing was right at the throbbing pucker of his opening. Through the ache, Harry could feel the distinct pattern of the flogger straps, wound tightly around their handle.
His mind blanked out with panic when Malfoy pushed the handle forward. It distended the ring of muscle only a little, but felt as if he'd stuffed his fist in there.
"Come on, Potter, bear down on it," Malfoy ordered. "Let's see how much of a fighter you are."
Harry gritted his teeth, smelling his own cold sweat, and tried to press himself onto the handle. Dull, ripping pain flared through his arse. He'd had Sirius's cock up there, but he'd been drugged out of his mind and more than well prepared. This was nothing but violation of the crudest sort. Still, it drowned out the ache of his cock clamouring for release. He managed to work the thing into himself about half an inch before Malfoy murmured wetly into his ear, "Would you rather fuck yourself on this or take my cock, Potter?"
Heart thumping hopefully that he might be offered a way out of this nightmare, Harry wished he had the strength to snub Malfoy and take the flogger, but knew he didn't. He'd be seriously hurt if he tried.
"You," he ground out. The handle inside him seemed to grow with every second it kept stretching his protesting channel.
"Pardon me?" Malfoy said.
"I'd prefer to take your cock," Harry rushed out in one breath before suspicion hit him. "Unless you think it's begging."
"I didn't say it was, boy." Malfoy ripped the handle free without a warning, and Harry screeched and sagged against the rope. It wouldn't have surprised him to feel blood running down his thighs, but there was none.
"But first, something to improve your appearance."
Malfoy stepped around him and took hold of Harry's cock again, which was lying nearly flat against his belly, but was so swollen that the head stuck out at an awkward angle. He felt the crown being squeezed until the slit gaped; something dug into the sides of the tip, like tiny metal claws. Then something long and pointed came down right over the slit.
Harry twitched frantically, trying to dislodge it, but the point buried itself a few millimetres into the small opening of his urethra and he froze because the slightest movement hurt like hell. The flesh around the slit was smeared with precome inside and out, but if it eased the intrusion at all, Harry couldn't feel it. The metal burned inside him, making him jowl and sob into the blindfold. The thing went in with a sharp push, then pulled back a little, only to shove deeper. It seemed to move by itself, as one of Malfoy's hands was still around Harry's length and the other clamped down on his hip to stop him from flailing. Harry's head went beet-red as if he was running a lethal fever.
The thing seemed to reach its limits when it had forced itself into about a quarter of Harry's cock; it dug its metal claws into the sides of the head and proceeded in its push-withdraw rhythm with vigour.
"It is pure silver cast in the form of a stork, Potter – a very fine piece of craftsmanship." Malfoy's voice was tinged with amusement.
Harry could imagine the long beak of the little monster clicking inside his prick as if to hunt for microscopic frogs. Agony seared up every time it poked its minuscule head up and down, and Harry continued to wriggle and whimper in Malfoy's grip. Not because it hurt less that way – it didn't! – but because he couldn't possibly keep still.
"If you can't bear it, beg out, but stop that infernal squirming," Malfoy snapped and gave what had to be the stork's behind a little push that sent it hurtling forward another few millimetres into Harry's poor slit.
Harry sobbed, throat congested and his nose clogging up with tears. He couldn't even wipe off the snot, bound as he was. Salt-tinged fluid ran into his mouth although he tried to sniffle it away like a child. Defeated, he sagged against Malfoy, even though keeping still meant that he had to feel the burrowing of the silver bill like a red-hot iron being dragged over flesh.
"I'm going to fuck you in a moment," Malfoy threatened softly, "so if you have a last question to ask, do it now; you won't be in any shape later."
"Question," Harry croaked when he had his voice back, dying to get Malfoy's fingers away from the horror on his prick.
"Be my guest, boy," Malfoy whispered into his neck.
Deciding to throw all care out of the window because what more could they do to him apart from killing him - which sounded like a perfectly reasonable option at the moment – he slurred, "What'd'you know about Horcruxes?"
"Horcruxes?" Malfoy echoed as if he couldn't quite place the term.
"One of the means of attaining immortality that came up in Seventh Year Defence," Rabastan Lestrange replied, followed by the sound of a glass being put down on a table. "Splitting the soul with a human sacrifice and storing it in an artefact. Professor Riddle dismissed it as much inferior to the creation of a Philosopher's Stone. Just as great a risk to the mind as using Sumerian snake root would be to the body. Illegal too, of course."
"You learned about it at Hogwarts?" Harry gasped.
"Well of course," Lestrange said as if that were perfectly self-evident. "Riddle's one of the world's most famous experts on immortality research. He's been studying under Nicolas Flamel to create a Philosopher's Stone for a decade now. I don't even want to know what he did to make Dumbledore recommend him. It'll take twice as long to complete the Stone – it requires half a wizard's lifetime and immense power, but the outcome is worth everything. Horcruxes are nothing compared to a Philosopher's Stone."
"And," Harry heard Snape speak for the first time since his blindfold had come on, "Professor Riddle is a genius when it comes to magical innovation; once he's studied the process, he'll shorten and simplify it and the Chosen will benefit."
"Immortality," Malfoy said, almost dreamily. "Don't you think that's something to strive for, Sirius?"
"It depends on the price," Sirius said.
"Tom Riddle is the most powerful and famous wizard in Britain, and once Dumbledore dies, he'll have his pick between Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minister of Magic. Hell, they'll probably give him both." Malfoy paused. "Would you really reject such an ally?"
Another pause, before Harry heard Sirius reply, in a bored tone, "I thought you'd promised us a show, Lucius? Not a lecture."
"Oh, I'll try to make it both," Malfoy snarled.
Harry heard the distinct rustle of Malfoy's robes sliding to the ground, but found himself enveloped in the folds of Malfoy's long cloak. It fell over Harry's shoulders, framing his front while shielding Malfoy's own body from sight.
Malfoy brushed up against Harry's arse again, and this time there was no layer of cloth between them. Malfoy's cool skin rubbed against Harry's broiled back, obviously enjoying the heat radiating from Harry's flesh. Harry moaned when the length of Malfoy's cock pressed against his bruised crack, less rough but by no means any less insistent than the flogger handle had been.
Then Malfoy pushed between his legs for real, lifting him onto his toes before wrapping an arm around his middle to pull him close. Harry's legs spread involuntarily as the man's cock slid into him, slicked with something, but nowhere as much as Sirius had been.
Harry's breath hitched as Malfoy opened him and forced his way past groaning muscles in two deep thrusts that shook Harry's entire frame. It burned, but the persistent ache in Harry's cock drowned out the worst of it just like the potion and Sirius's care had before. His pelvis jutted forward as Malfoy pounded into him in long, greedy strokes that reverberated in his throat.
Malfoy's arm around him slipped and Harry heard a metallic click when the bastard flicked his nail against the stork-thing a split second before fire shot up Harry's slit. Answering Harry's frantic groan with one of his own, Malfoy wrapped his finger around Harry's prick, which by now had to be a garish shade of purple and was so hard that Harry was glad he couldn't see it.
He let out another scream, feeling rawness in his throat that told him he'd screamed too much already. He struggled madly against Malfoy, unmindful that the bastard used the momentum to impale him even deeper on his cock. But Malfoy only massaged Harry's prick until every touch was pure agony, and the silver bill pushed down harder the more its sheath was stimulated.
"You can beg out," Malfoy hissed, breathless in the spiral of his own pleasure, but Harry's nerves were so fired, the pressure so all-encompassing, that he couldn't have found the strength to speak even if his mind had supplied the words.
He cried and held on, letting Malfoy's thrusts shake him like a rag doll until even that added to his desperate arousal. He only wanted to come, or die.
"Finite Incantatem!" he heard Malfoy roar and the constriction around the root of his prick vanished in an endless moment of bliss.
Harry felt his pelvis pump the air in a spasm of liberation; his balls drew up and seized, and he could actually feel them discharge, the sense of relief was so all-compassing. His cock started to twitch, and Harry threw his head back onto Malfoy's shoulder and screamed as the spill caught around the stork's beak and slowed, trying to push out between the metal and the bruised walls of his slit. Pressure surged, and a few hot drops squeezed out around the wider end of the bill, but not enough to offer the sense of release he craved above all else. Fighting madly against the rope and Malfoy's brutal hold, he hardly felt Malfoy spill himself inside his arse with a satisfied hiss. If anything, he held Harry even tighter for endless moments in which Harry saw colours bursting against the insides of his eyelids.
"Please," he whimpered, but the sound died in a wet gurgle in his throat while Malfoy rode out his pleasure in tiny jabs inside Harry's arse, too preoccupied to notice Harry going mad under his hands.
A scrape of nail over metal was all the warning Harry got before the silver stork tugged its bill out of his slit with a few nasty jerks, followed by a spurt of come, before first one, then the other minuscule foot released Harry's crown. A last push and a squeak of silver wings before it took flight like a helicopter taking off right before a volcano eruption. It felt like one too; Harry's body spasmed as his cock released the held-up come in a burst so intense it was painful. A delirious pain, wild and mad and leaving Harry to twist in his bonds like a hanged man in his death convulsion as his cock sprayed his belly and, undoubtedly, the tiles before him with sticky liquid. He sobbed with relief although the ropes cut the skin of his wrists to raw shreds. In some vague backroom of his mind he was aware of the sloppy squelch of Malfoy pulling out of him.
Then Malfoy caught him around the waist and the rope vanished from his wrists. He collapsed against Malfoy, shoulder muscles aching so abysmally when he eased his arms down that, for a moment, he thought they'd been transfigured into knives. He cradled his arms against his chest, trying to avoid his abused nipples in the process, and let the man pull him down onto the discarded cloak.
The cloak was warm and cushioned him from the tiles, and at first Harry didn't notice the hand on his cock, the way Malfoy painted circles of come on the exhausted length. Then a warm mouth closed around the wet head and Harry realised that he hadn't gone flaccid yet, and that Malfoy was actively making sure it wouldn't happen any time soon either. Harry grimaced. He was sore and totally drained, and Malfoy had had his pleasure, so why would he want to manipulate him again? He lay there, discomfort mounting as Malfoy took his mouth off Harry's prick but didn't stop stroking. Instead, he squeezed insistently and slipped his other hand down to brush Harry's balls.
Harry gave an unwilling "Hng!", too winded to actually move. It stung, but then Malfoy's fingertips strayed to his perineum and gently stroked away the remaining redness the flogger had left there, until Harry felt his cock tingling and rising up once more. Malfoy petted it, lavishing attention on the fattening head while keeping away from the bruised slit.
Arousal crawled into Harry's belly, a detached feeling of want that was nothing like the overwhelming ache he'd felt before. His cock responded, and there was even a flush of warmth in his balls, but all he really wanted was for Malfoy to let go of him and fuck off. There was just no sense in doing this.
Malfoy knelt down next to him and scooped Harry up into his lap, keeping his hand on Harry's cock and tugging without mercy until Harry squirmed and felt his spine arch a little, pushing into the come-spattered palm even as all his muscles protested. Digging a rounded nail between foreskin and crown, Malfoy coaxed the head out again to full prominence, interspersed with hard tugs on the length, a steady stimulation that finally made Harry's balls tighten a little.
His cock jerked, a short, painful contraction, and a little bit of spunk shot out, adding another stain to the sticky mess on Harry's chest. Harry groaned as he rode out the sensation. It was quick and unfulfilling, and his body sagged into Malfoy as if he'd been clubbed over the head.
The man chuckled and hooked a finger into Harry's blindfold, tugging it off with a quick move and examining it. The vile grin told Harry that it had to be soaking wet, and that Malfoy was pleased he'd made him cry.
Propping himself up on his arms, Harry squinted around and crinkled his nose when he saw the mess he'd made of himself – splattered with come, sticky with sweat, his prick still a bright red from whipping and over-stimulation. There were pink and red welts all over his chest and legs.
He groaned and tried to crawl off Malfoy's lap, but the bastard held him back. "You're not done yet, boy."
Smirking at Harry's uncomprehending frown, Malfoy leaned down to place a mocking kiss on the tip of Harry's prick, followed by a thorough suck. Harry wailed inwardly. This was too much and it hurt! He tried to push Malfoy's head away, wishing he could just grab the snobbish blond braid and pull. Malfoy reared up, thwacked Harry's knuckles and bent him backwards to bite at his throat. "Or do you want to beg?"
Teeth clenched as if under a jaw-locker curse, Harry allowed Malfoy to bend him forward, exposing his arse again. A finger poked his balls from behind; they shrank back into their skin, as unwilling to be touched Harry himself. Malfoy's wand brushed his hole, eliciting a momentary shudder of fear before a viscous glob of liquid filled his channel and ran down his thighs. Malfoy urged him forward on hands and knees; but instead of the blunt head of his cock as Harry had feared, Malfoy shoved two fingers into him at once, slippery with gel and pushing through the distended channel without resistance. The stuff was warm and pleasant, probably laced with a painkilling potion since Harry experienced no discomfort whatsoever.
Malfoy's fingers twisted deeply inside him, and suddenly brushed that spot again that had made Harry flail before. Having found it, Malfoy made very sure not to touch it again directly – he brushed by it, past it, around it until Harry's breath began to wheeze from the jolts of exquisite pleasure, rolling his hips back into the touch and all the while wishing it had no effect on his prick.
He hung his head and sobbed as Malfoy reached around with his unoccupied hand, first stroking Harry's perineum, then tickling his uncooperative balls a little, before wrapping around his cock again.
The heat Malfoy kindled in his prostate shot up his spine and seemed intent on exploding his head from the inside; but Harry's balls hurt, his cock ached, raw and bruised and so far beyond wanting that Harry couldn't have hated Malfoy more if he'd just ripped the bloody thing off. There was nothing left to give, and still it tried, fuelled by the intense stimulation in Harry's depths.
Harry dug his nails into the expensive fabric of Malfoy's cloak. His spine arched under the slick press of Malfoy's fingers inside him until he pleaded and whimpered to be allowed to come, not to be forced to come.
Orgasm shot white-hot through his skull, a mad burst of ecstasy in his arse that enveloped his groin in a flood of heat without wringing more from his prick than a feeble twitch and two or three drops of come. They struggled out of the slit and dried there, painful even in such minuscule quantities.
"Good boy," Malfoy murmured and tugged his fingers free, rolling Harry, who had collapsed in total exhaustion, onto his back.
There was such a wild look of mirth on Malfoy's face that Harry shivered despite being too worn to lift a finger. The man's face was flushed, his braid coming loose at the loops.
Harry's eyes went wide with horror when Malfoy cheerfully inspected his flaming groin, then stuck out a fingertip to stroke the gaping red slit.
"No!" he protested, knowing that being stimulated there once more would probably kill him for real. Wouldn't his heart give out under so much strain?
"No?" Malfoy asked, cocking his head and teasing the crown of Harry's prick until his entire groin seemed to draw inwards, away from the touch.
"Please, I'm begging you!" Harry whispered brokenly. Tears filled in his eyes again.
Malfoy hummed and ran his nail down the length of Harry's cock, petting a swollen vein with a regretful expression. Then he took his hand away and stood up. Harry curled up into a protective ball around his prick, unable to cup it with his hands, but feeling better for it nonetheless.
Malfoy reached for his wand and cast a cleaning charm which first rushed over him and then, after a moment's consideration, over Harry as well. Harry shuddered, because even magic was too much sensation on his inflamed bits, then crawled to his feet like a thousand-year-old man, pain lacing his entire lower body.
"Not so tough after all," Malfoy commented dismissively after another spell had his robes re-form around his limbs without the inconvenience of dressing. Even his much-abused cloak looked pristine again.
"He still won his freedom," Sirius said, and Harry thought he could see a touch of pride in his expression.
"Perhaps not."
Malfoy swung around in one fluid move, laying his wand across Harry's throat where it shuddered and blurred and shortened until it wasn't a piece of wood any longer but a long, wicked knife that kissed the hollow of Harry's throat.
Harry held himself rigid, more still than he'd been under Petrificus. He could feel the sharp tingle of the blade, not cutting, just threatening, deceptively innocent.
The room filled with dead silence. Regulus crouched at the very edge of his seat, a hand on his wand, Snape stopping him cold with a hand on his arm. Sirius sat in his armchair without moving a muscle. Only Rabastan leaned back comfortably on the couch and crossed his legs. None of them looked as if they planned to interfere any time soon.
"I think the moment has come for you to make a decision, Sirius." Malfoy said. "Do you want your dear 'godson's' blood spilled just to spite your Head of House and benefactor? Or will you join Slytherin's Chosen after all."
"There was a promise made to the boy," Sirius said.
"There were other promises made and broken," Malfoy shot back. "You know all about it."
"I never broke a promise!" Harry could see Sirius's affected calm cracking, and rage welling up.
"There is such a thing as loyalty to be expected from a protégé, even more so from a lover."
"You presumed too much, didn't you?" Sirius asked, all silky threat. "You told Him that you had lured your prize into your web beyond any thought of escape, that He wouldn't even have to ask, that you'd deliver me on a silver platter? And now you have nothing to show, and are getting desperate."
Pulling Harry's head back to expose his throat, Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Hardly. And don't forget that it was you who lured me into bed. You don't want to commit to anyone because you want to be your own little centre of the universe, don't you, Black? That's why you're so fond of this little fool here." The knife dug in a little deeper, and Harry felt a single drop of blood run down his neck. "You love being adored."
"No," Sirius said coldly. "I think Dumbledore and Riddle have been playing their game with our world – and against each other - for decades. And I won't become a chess piece for either of them." Visibly struggling for control, he added, "I will support Riddle's policies as the Head of the House of Black. I won't work against him unless he forces my hand. And at the end of the year he'll have my brother, because Regulus wants to be His so badly – but he won't have me."
"It's not enough," Malfoy snapped, pink with anger. "This is not about Riddle; it's about you."
Sirius's face turned mask-like in a way that made Harry's heart chill in a mixture of dread and pity.
"Then no, Lucius. I will not join him, whether you kill this child or not."
"You'll value your freedom over an innocent's life?" Malfoy smiled thinly.
"Yes. Like any good Slytherin would."
"Do you hear that, boy?" Malfoy asked, rubbing his cheek against Harry's and tightening his hold. "That's Sirius Black for you."
"I wouldn't want him to." Harry felt his breath slither over Malfoy's arm at his throat, stirring near-invisible blond hairs. He was cold with fear. "I wouldn’t want anyone to join Vol- Tom Riddle for my sake."
"So much do you love him?" Malfoy's breath tickled Harry's neck as he whispered into his ear. Softly, but not softly enough for Sirius to miss.
"I love my godfather," Harry said flatly. "Not this." And all the while calling himself a liar and wishing it were that easy. He did not look at Sirius to see whether his words had left an impression.
Malfoy laughed knowingly. The blade at Harry's throat transformed back into wood, and then Harry felt himself flung forward, away from Malfoy, to struggle for balance in the middle of the room.
"Have it your way, Sirius, if you are so determined. I doubt it will bring you happiness." Malfoy turned and held a hand out to Snape, summoning his cloak with the other. "It seems our business here is concluded. Will you join me for a nightcap, Severus?"
There was no way of misreading the awareness that he was used to make a point on Snape's ugly face. He hovered in his chair for a second, then he rose, went up to Malfoy and took his hand without a glance at Regulus or anybody else.
Malfoy fastened his cloak at his throat, and inclined his head to Rabastan Lestrange. The Apparition pop that vanished both him and Snape rang far too loud in the suddenly over-large room.
Sirius's face had turned into an icy mask that in itself revealed how badly he must hurt. Finally, he nodded at Harry. "You're free to go, Potter. But I think you'd better take your clothes."
Flushing brightly and ignoring the multiple aches in his body, Harry dashed over to the empty chair his clothes, robe and glasses had been piled on. He stumbled into pants, trousers and shirt with trembling fingers, struggling with his trainers and finally pulling his robe around his shoulders, all without looking up once.
When he was dressed, his eyes dashed through the room and found Sirius standing next to Lestrange, who held the disk of the Time Spinner in both hands. Regulus hovered behind the sofa, watching them.
Sirius crooked his finger at Harry. Careful not to come too close to any of them, Harry made his way over.
"We put a reverting time film around the thing that may keep the damage at bay if you use it again," Lestrange said, very matter-of-factly now. "At least it won't get worse. Who knows – you might get lucky."
Handing the Spinner to Harry, Sirius smiled thinly. "Never fear – he's a perverted bastard, but extraordinarily good with magical artefacts."
Harry pulled the chain back over his head, almost unable to take his hand off the Spinner's filigree circles. He nodded, once.
After a tense moment of silence, broken only when Lestrange leaned around Sirius to pick up his champagne flute, Sirius said, "Good-bye, then, Harry Potter. My brother will escort you out."
Without another nod, without even a final glance at Sirius Black who wasn't Sirius, but could have been oh-so-easily, Harry turned on his heel and walked to the door.
~ * ~ * ~
Walking was agony. Even managing the three hundred feet or so through the length of Grimmauld Place behind Regulus sent stabs of agony through Harry's lower body with every step. His prick and balls felt raw, chafing against his jeans. He could smell them on him still, and the sticky oil on his buttocks and thighs, the welts on his arse, the throbbing nipples. Soiled all over.
Regulus led him to the entrance hall without a backward glance. Then, just before Harry could step into the hall, the boy turned, both hands coming up against the sides of the wall, trapping Harry in the corridor. The smooth face was determined.
"What is it?" Harry snarled, feeling a burn in his eyes that only fuelled his anger. "You want a piece of me too? Do you think that matters now – one more or less?" His innards clenched at the thought, but rage came spilling out too strong. He let the robe he'd clutched to his throat spill open and gave a dark laugh when Regulus recoiled. "What, don't you want to be like them?"
Regulus's features congealed into an unreadable mask. "I am like them, Potter."
Facing him directly, Harry realised that this was very much the young man who, in Harry's past, had joined Voldemort only to betray him and steal a piece of his soul right out of a death trap before his 'friends' caught up with him. He recalled the way he'd stood alongside Snape, hand on his wand, and wondered. Not so much like Malfoy after all, who wouldn't have managed this poker face without malice spilling out at the seams.
"I want a kiss from you, Potter." The words were cool, disdainful even, but the meaning made Harry blink. "Like you gave my brother. Like you mean it."
Harry didn't bother to suppress his snort even as he refused to ponder the implications. "I want an answer in return," he challenged.
"Of course." Regulus nodded coolly.
Determined not to be made a victim again, not even for something so minor in comparison, Harry stepped right into Regulus's personal space until his body was pressed against the other boy's. He took Regulus's face between his hands and crushed his mouth against his. There was no shred of softness; Harry's lips were rigid with rage, stony with the effort of holding unwanted sobs at bay, and Regulus's stiff with pride. Harry forced the boy's lips apart with his tongue, and felt Regulus open his mouth in what might be shock. Harry shoved his tongue into the warm cavern, aware that he had to taste of other people's come, but finding quite a bit of satisfaction in acquainting Sirius's brother with it.
He slid his hand from Regulus's cheek to his neck, feeling the bony curve of his skull and wrapping fingers into the soft curls there before tugging at them sharply just as his tongue licked a scornful swipe along Regulus's own. If nothing else, it made Regulus kiss back at last, his nose crinkled in anger like Crookshanks's when someone petted him too roughly.
The weight of Regulus's body stung his abraded skin in strategic places, and yet Harry felt a triumphant swoop in the pit of his stomach as the boy's lips softened. He scraped his teeth along the side of Regulus's tongue, fusing their mouths together with a grip on Regulus's neck that had to bruise. He could taste wine and an un-spoiledness he'd never be able to match again. He let go abruptly, leaving Regulus to stumble back a step with dark, wide eyes.
Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that was calculatedly cruel.
"If you had to hide something worth your life and more in this place, where would you put it?"
A frown appeared between the boy's dark brows. Lucius Malfoy, Harry knew, would void their 'deal' for delivering anything but the kiss that had been requested. Regulus just asked, "How big?"
Instinctively, Harry touched the Time Spinner around his neck. "Small. Way smaller than this."
The frown deepened. "I'll not have you snoop around my house-"
"Not now!" Harry snapped impatiently before adding, "Not here!" for good measure, fingers still curved around the delicate layers of the Spinner.
"There's a portrait of my mother," Regulus said hesitantly. "In an ancient gold frame..."
Harry nodded impatiently. Mrs Black's portrait wasn't something you would forget.
"There's a secret compartment at the back of the frame where mother kept her heirloom jewels." Regulus's face took on an absent look as if he, too, was lost in time. "I used to sit on her bed and watch her getting ready to go out. She showed me how to open it, and let me keep my gold gobstones inside." He smiled, a bit wistfully.
"And Kreacher knew about it?" Harry asked.
"That elf? Well, he was my mother's personal servant, he must have."
Hope glowed warmly inside Harry's stomach like a draught of butterbeer on a winter's day. He clutched the Time Spinner tighter.
"Does the payment satisfy you?" Regulus asked, very formally.
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "I guess it's the best I can get."
"And you paid dearly for it, didn't you." Regulus leaned forward and caught Harry's lips in another kiss, a feather-soft, supremely chaste brush of mouths, before standing aside. He held out Harry's wand.
Harry glared into the boy's face, so secure and smug in the shelter of his home, so like his brother, and all but ripped the wand from his fingers. He recalled Hermione's earnest admonitions for secrecy, and discarded them with a sneer. This was not his past! His godfather would never have raped him just because he'd walked in, or fed him to his bored friends like a bone of contention tossed before a litter of wrangling dogs.
"I wouldn't join him, if I were you," he said coldly as the door swung open to a gush of icy night wind and the twinkle of a snake fang in the lamp light. "Riddle," he clarified when Regulus's forehead twisted into a frown. "Where I come from, he killed you."
And then he stepped outside into the cold, leaving Regulus's confused face and disturbed questions behind. He walked down the three stairs and onto the pavement of Grimmauld Place without looking back, not listening whether the door closed or not behind him. It didn't matter.
He walked up the road until he found a dark entryway littered with rubbish, and stepped into the shadows.
~ * ~ * ~
Ten hours, twenty years and an unknown number of time and reality fragments later, the portrait of Walburga Black, banished to the attic of number twelve Grimmauld Place by the combined efforts of Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody, quietly observed the half-blood boy kneeling beside her frame among dust and spiderwebs, holding the small ebony box he'd taken from its back with shaking hands.
Perhaps the grief that shook the boy's slender shoulders was too strong, too self-contained to interrupt with recriminations. Or perhaps some vague maternal instinct, soaked into the canvas along with its magical paint, told her that some of these tears were shed for her own favourite child, and more for the other.
The mechanism clicked open under his dirty fingers. He lifted out the heavy gold locket that her mad house-elf, Kreacher, had put inside a few weeks ago amidst crazy muttering. She hadn't seen the creature for quite some time; perhaps it had lost its mind altogether and forgotten its old mistress. They really should be culled once they were too old to be of use.
The boy's face was raw as he stared at the locket, torn between what looked like the fulfilment of his heart's desire and the revulsion one reserved for a poisonous toad. Tears shone on his face, leaving tracks on his cheeks he seemed perfectly unaware of.
Of course this impure abomination could never equal the honest depth of a pureblood's grief, but it touched her somehow, reminding her of the loss of her own son who once, in happier times, had played with the jewels inside her treasure box while laughing and bouncing on her bed.
She could honour the young man's anguish in this moment of privacy; if not in spirit, then at least in silence.
~ finis ~
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
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
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!Part 1, Part 2
Before Harry could do anything but dig nails into his palms above the rope, the air behind him filled with a multi-tongued hiss, and a hail of thin strips rained down on his arse. A loud breath escaped his mouth but surprise spared him the shame of crying out.
Digging teeth into his lip, Harry bore out the stings as three, four, five more blows landed on his rump. Clenching his teeth did not help against the blooming fire, and a whine escaped his mouth when Malfoy focussed his attention on the back of his thighs and bottom, purposefully striping every inch of skin until Harry felt like a lobster being dunked into boiling water. His bum was blazing as if Malfoy had ripped the skin right off. The flogger's strands had to be made either of very supple leather or quite stiff cloth. There had to be magic worked into the bloody things too, Harry thought, to sting this much without drawing blood.
The tap of Malfoy's boots made Harry feel like a blinded dolphin with blood-thirsty sharks circling all around him. The flogger hit him in uneven intervals, sometimes a single thwack across his shoulders or the front of his thighs, bearable but shocking in its sudden intensity, sometimes a flurry of blows on his back or arse. Harry squirmed under the latter, his face a pained grimace. Flinching out of the way was futile since Malfoy seemed to follow up every attempt with a particularly insidious blow, and it put an awful strain on Harry's bound wrists. His skin burned all over, every new blow making the pain flare hotter.
The strips hissed around his limbs like serpents and Malfoy excelled at finding and exploiting the most vulnerable spots: whipping the flogger around the skin of his hips, and over his trembling calves again and again until tears shot into Harry's eyes. He lifted a foot to protect his other calf, wobbling precariously. It didn't stop the bastard from laying another, harder blow in the same spot that snapped across his ankle. The sharp ends left stinging welts on the sole of his foot. Hissing, Harry rested the burning sole back on the stone tiles.
His arm muscles started to knot and ache from the unnatural position he was tied in, and the continuous struggling abraded the skin at his wrists. Quite like Lestrange's magical bonds, the rope very carefully did not cut off the blood flow in his wrists, but bound him securely without permitting serious injuries.
Mercilessly, Malfoy abused every part of Harry's body, sparing only face, neck and groin. Still, Harry cringed whenever the flogger came near his lower front.
Finally, the bastard seemed to develop an aversion to Harry's chest. The first whack cut across Harry's left nipple, two or three strands pummelling the nub at once. Malfoy started out lightly, and the first few blows were almost stimulating. But Malfoy kept hitting them, increasing in force until he had Harry twitching and whimpering and wondering if his nipples were still there or had been reduced to bloody pulp already. He couldn't even hear Malfoy breathing faster, or if he did, it was drowned out by Harry's own frantic panting.
"Don't fucking slice them off!" he hissed when he couldn't bear it any longer. His chest boiled as if he'd been flayed alive.
"Are you-" Malfoy started, but Harry cut him short.
"No! I'm not begging out, you sick fuck! Just..." He went silent, quavering with pain. Just stop!
"Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of words? I think you may need a more... incisive lesson." Malfoy didn't even sound angry, but Harry's stomach plunged. Suddenly, the rope gave a little, and Harry pitched forward.
"Spread your legs and lean forward," Malfoy ordered, the strands of the flogger whispering a sibilant melody on the marble floor. Panting with dread, Harry did as he was told, not knowing what he feared more: an assault of Malfoy's cock, or the flogger.
"Wider." Malfoy's hard voice commanded until Harry was spread as far as he could go without falling over. His buttocks clenched, sending a stab of agony through the scattering of welts that decorated them.
Then the flogger hissed between his legs, hugging the inside of his left thigh before snapping to the right in an identical move. There was less room for Malfoy to swing the handle, but it burned like hell on one of the least exposed parts of Harry's anatomy. Two strokes there were enough to make him whine, and then an underhanded blow whacked upwards into the cleft of his arse, landing like liquid fire over his still-sore hole. Harry went limp in his bonds for a moment until the burn of the rope and the strain in his arms forced him to wobble back onto his feet. A second lash followed right on the heels of the first, harder and petering out in a promise of evil to come over his perineum.
This time, Harry screamed out loud, the pain too intense and immediate to bear in silence. There was shock, too – he'd never imagined Malfoy would hit him anywhere near his genitals. Another stroke had him writhing in his bonds again, air driven out of his lungs by terror.
Malfoy stepped around him once more, and before Harry could catch his breath, the flogger whistled, hitting his straining cock without warning. Harry howled so loud the sound echoed through the room; it hadn't been a hard stroke, but his over-stimulated and trapped erection would have turned a mere touch into agony. He stumbled until the rope caught him, mouth open and bone-dry. Malfoy gave his prick another thwack, then another, evidently enjoying Harry's screams. It hurt worse than anything Harry had ever felt this side of Cruciatus. Tears spilled from his eyes and were soaked up by the blindfold; his cock, unable to flag thanks to the Obstringo, could only burn until it felt as if it was going to burst any second.
"I'm sorry, sorry!" he sobbed, hating himself but unable to stay silent, even if this wasn't begging. Yet. But if Malfoy struck him there again...
"Yes, I'm sure you are," Malfoy said coldly.
Pain had erased every hint of curiosity from Harry's mind, but now he madly grabbed for another question as a straw of relief. He had to distract Malfoy, or he would break.
"Why... why'd Sirius call you his guardian?" Harry forced the words out around his parched tongue.
"It's a legal term, you ignorant child." Malfoy sighed with no little exaggeration, and Harry's heart pounded with relief. As long as Malfoy talked, he couldn't hurt him.
"Orion and Walburga Black's thestral carriage collided with a rogue Hebridean Black over the Scottish Highlands when Sirius had only just turned fifteen," Malfoy went on. "A terrible tragedy." There was an ominous ring to that, and Harry wondered if the note of amusement he'd heard was truly there or just pain-induced hallucination.
"Cygnus Black – Bellatrix's father – demanded custody of the Black heirs, but since Cygnus had his own designs on the Black heritage and is an ultra-conservative pureblood to boot, I raised the matter with Professor Riddle, and we both decided Orion's sons would be safer someplace else. Since I had already been betrothed to Cygnus's younger daughter, and taken control of my own house without any designs on Black, we convinced the Wizengamot to name me guardian instead." He chuckled. "Not even Dumbledore contested the arrangement, although he certainly did not approve."
"He'd have approved even less if he'd known you would take Sirius into your bed barely a month after being made our guardian," Regulus threw in poisonously.
Sirius sighed. "Let it go, Reg. It was my decision, I seduced him."
"Because he made you think you owed him for taking us in and protecting our claims!"
"No, Reg, because he was beautiful; and because I wanted to make sure not to owe him – or Tom Riddle – any debt for the future." Sirius's voice grew sharp. "Jealousy in such matters does not suit a pureblood, Reg."
"Ah, but I think this jealousy is not about me, Sirius," Malfoy threw in, so spitefully gentle that if Harry had been Regulus, he'd have hexed the bastard to kingdom come right there on the spot. "Your brother has set his sights on a higher goal than me, I'm afraid."
Although Harry only grasped fragments of the implications floating around, he couldn't help but think that the Blacks' deaths had been very convenient for everybody involved.
A sudden silence fell over the room, and Harry realised with a jolt that he'd spoken aloud. He cringed, then shrieked as Malfoy closed his hand roughly around his burning cock.
"Not even my most outspoken adversaries have dared to suggest this to my face, boy," he snarled, fingers digging in until Harry writhed.
"Is it true?" Regulus asked, almost lost.
"It's nothing but a vile rumour," Sirius answered. "Set in motion by our dear uncle, for the obvious reasons. I'm surprised you haven't heard it before." Malfoy's punishing grip, and with it Harry's urge to shriek at the top of his lungs, relaxed a little as if mollified by Sirius's calmness.
"But you wouldn't care!" Regulus protested. "They hated you, for always embarrassing them, and being in and out of Muggle London. And you hated them."
"I did. But I didn't kill them, and neither did Malfoy. If you're in doubt, go and speak to Professor Riddle when you're back at Hogwarts."
"I think this has gone far enough," Malfoy said. "I'm not done with this troublemaker, and-" He gave Harry's prick a last brutal squeeze before letting it bounce back, "I did not care for your insinuation at all, boy. Spread your legs again."
Panic shot up Harry's nerves. "You said I'd get to ask a question after handling something, not that you'd do it again!" A note of fear shrilled in his voice; he was almost hyperventilating.
"I didn't say I'd whip you again, Potter. I said to spread your legs!"
Shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs, Harry obeyed. He didn't manage to get his thighs apart as wide as before. He was anything but steady on his feet and his cleft burned from the whipping. The welts were screaming at every move.
Impatiently, Malfoy grabbed his buttocks and forced them apart to expose Harry's entrance, indifferent to the way they were quivering with pain under his fingers. Harry's body froze as the flogger whistled through the air again. The strands didn't touch his skin, but whirred around in shortening circles until they fell silent. Then Harry felt something hard and unwieldy push against his cleft; he hissed and tried to twist his bottom out of the way, but Malfoy seized his hip with one hand and forced him into place. Another push and twist, and the thing was right at the throbbing pucker of his opening. Through the ache, Harry could feel the distinct pattern of the flogger straps, wound tightly around their handle.
His mind blanked out with panic when Malfoy pushed the handle forward. It distended the ring of muscle only a little, but felt as if he'd stuffed his fist in there.
"Come on, Potter, bear down on it," Malfoy ordered. "Let's see how much of a fighter you are."
Harry gritted his teeth, smelling his own cold sweat, and tried to press himself onto the handle. Dull, ripping pain flared through his arse. He'd had Sirius's cock up there, but he'd been drugged out of his mind and more than well prepared. This was nothing but violation of the crudest sort. Still, it drowned out the ache of his cock clamouring for release. He managed to work the thing into himself about half an inch before Malfoy murmured wetly into his ear, "Would you rather fuck yourself on this or take my cock, Potter?"
Heart thumping hopefully that he might be offered a way out of this nightmare, Harry wished he had the strength to snub Malfoy and take the flogger, but knew he didn't. He'd be seriously hurt if he tried.
"You," he ground out. The handle inside him seemed to grow with every second it kept stretching his protesting channel.
"Pardon me?" Malfoy said.
"I'd prefer to take your cock," Harry rushed out in one breath before suspicion hit him. "Unless you think it's begging."
"I didn't say it was, boy." Malfoy ripped the handle free without a warning, and Harry screeched and sagged against the rope. It wouldn't have surprised him to feel blood running down his thighs, but there was none.
"But first, something to improve your appearance."
Malfoy stepped around him and took hold of Harry's cock again, which was lying nearly flat against his belly, but was so swollen that the head stuck out at an awkward angle. He felt the crown being squeezed until the slit gaped; something dug into the sides of the tip, like tiny metal claws. Then something long and pointed came down right over the slit.
Harry twitched frantically, trying to dislodge it, but the point buried itself a few millimetres into the small opening of his urethra and he froze because the slightest movement hurt like hell. The flesh around the slit was smeared with precome inside and out, but if it eased the intrusion at all, Harry couldn't feel it. The metal burned inside him, making him jowl and sob into the blindfold. The thing went in with a sharp push, then pulled back a little, only to shove deeper. It seemed to move by itself, as one of Malfoy's hands was still around Harry's length and the other clamped down on his hip to stop him from flailing. Harry's head went beet-red as if he was running a lethal fever.
The thing seemed to reach its limits when it had forced itself into about a quarter of Harry's cock; it dug its metal claws into the sides of the head and proceeded in its push-withdraw rhythm with vigour.
"It is pure silver cast in the form of a stork, Potter – a very fine piece of craftsmanship." Malfoy's voice was tinged with amusement.
Harry could imagine the long beak of the little monster clicking inside his prick as if to hunt for microscopic frogs. Agony seared up every time it poked its minuscule head up and down, and Harry continued to wriggle and whimper in Malfoy's grip. Not because it hurt less that way – it didn't! – but because he couldn't possibly keep still.
"If you can't bear it, beg out, but stop that infernal squirming," Malfoy snapped and gave what had to be the stork's behind a little push that sent it hurtling forward another few millimetres into Harry's poor slit.
Harry sobbed, throat congested and his nose clogging up with tears. He couldn't even wipe off the snot, bound as he was. Salt-tinged fluid ran into his mouth although he tried to sniffle it away like a child. Defeated, he sagged against Malfoy, even though keeping still meant that he had to feel the burrowing of the silver bill like a red-hot iron being dragged over flesh.
"I'm going to fuck you in a moment," Malfoy threatened softly, "so if you have a last question to ask, do it now; you won't be in any shape later."
"Question," Harry croaked when he had his voice back, dying to get Malfoy's fingers away from the horror on his prick.
"Be my guest, boy," Malfoy whispered into his neck.
Deciding to throw all care out of the window because what more could they do to him apart from killing him - which sounded like a perfectly reasonable option at the moment – he slurred, "What'd'you know about Horcruxes?"
"Horcruxes?" Malfoy echoed as if he couldn't quite place the term.
"One of the means of attaining immortality that came up in Seventh Year Defence," Rabastan Lestrange replied, followed by the sound of a glass being put down on a table. "Splitting the soul with a human sacrifice and storing it in an artefact. Professor Riddle dismissed it as much inferior to the creation of a Philosopher's Stone. Just as great a risk to the mind as using Sumerian snake root would be to the body. Illegal too, of course."
"You learned about it at Hogwarts?" Harry gasped.
"Well of course," Lestrange said as if that were perfectly self-evident. "Riddle's one of the world's most famous experts on immortality research. He's been studying under Nicolas Flamel to create a Philosopher's Stone for a decade now. I don't even want to know what he did to make Dumbledore recommend him. It'll take twice as long to complete the Stone – it requires half a wizard's lifetime and immense power, but the outcome is worth everything. Horcruxes are nothing compared to a Philosopher's Stone."
"And," Harry heard Snape speak for the first time since his blindfold had come on, "Professor Riddle is a genius when it comes to magical innovation; once he's studied the process, he'll shorten and simplify it and the Chosen will benefit."
"Immortality," Malfoy said, almost dreamily. "Don't you think that's something to strive for, Sirius?"
"It depends on the price," Sirius said.
"Tom Riddle is the most powerful and famous wizard in Britain, and once Dumbledore dies, he'll have his pick between Headmaster of Hogwarts and Minister of Magic. Hell, they'll probably give him both." Malfoy paused. "Would you really reject such an ally?"
Another pause, before Harry heard Sirius reply, in a bored tone, "I thought you'd promised us a show, Lucius? Not a lecture."
"Oh, I'll try to make it both," Malfoy snarled.
Harry heard the distinct rustle of Malfoy's robes sliding to the ground, but found himself enveloped in the folds of Malfoy's long cloak. It fell over Harry's shoulders, framing his front while shielding Malfoy's own body from sight.
Malfoy brushed up against Harry's arse again, and this time there was no layer of cloth between them. Malfoy's cool skin rubbed against Harry's broiled back, obviously enjoying the heat radiating from Harry's flesh. Harry moaned when the length of Malfoy's cock pressed against his bruised crack, less rough but by no means any less insistent than the flogger handle had been.
Then Malfoy pushed between his legs for real, lifting him onto his toes before wrapping an arm around his middle to pull him close. Harry's legs spread involuntarily as the man's cock slid into him, slicked with something, but nowhere as much as Sirius had been.
Harry's breath hitched as Malfoy opened him and forced his way past groaning muscles in two deep thrusts that shook Harry's entire frame. It burned, but the persistent ache in Harry's cock drowned out the worst of it just like the potion and Sirius's care had before. His pelvis jutted forward as Malfoy pounded into him in long, greedy strokes that reverberated in his throat.
Malfoy's arm around him slipped and Harry heard a metallic click when the bastard flicked his nail against the stork-thing a split second before fire shot up Harry's slit. Answering Harry's frantic groan with one of his own, Malfoy wrapped his finger around Harry's prick, which by now had to be a garish shade of purple and was so hard that Harry was glad he couldn't see it.
He let out another scream, feeling rawness in his throat that told him he'd screamed too much already. He struggled madly against Malfoy, unmindful that the bastard used the momentum to impale him even deeper on his cock. But Malfoy only massaged Harry's prick until every touch was pure agony, and the silver bill pushed down harder the more its sheath was stimulated.
"You can beg out," Malfoy hissed, breathless in the spiral of his own pleasure, but Harry's nerves were so fired, the pressure so all-encompassing, that he couldn't have found the strength to speak even if his mind had supplied the words.
He cried and held on, letting Malfoy's thrusts shake him like a rag doll until even that added to his desperate arousal. He only wanted to come, or die.
"Finite Incantatem!" he heard Malfoy roar and the constriction around the root of his prick vanished in an endless moment of bliss.
Harry felt his pelvis pump the air in a spasm of liberation; his balls drew up and seized, and he could actually feel them discharge, the sense of relief was so all-compassing. His cock started to twitch, and Harry threw his head back onto Malfoy's shoulder and screamed as the spill caught around the stork's beak and slowed, trying to push out between the metal and the bruised walls of his slit. Pressure surged, and a few hot drops squeezed out around the wider end of the bill, but not enough to offer the sense of release he craved above all else. Fighting madly against the rope and Malfoy's brutal hold, he hardly felt Malfoy spill himself inside his arse with a satisfied hiss. If anything, he held Harry even tighter for endless moments in which Harry saw colours bursting against the insides of his eyelids.
"Please," he whimpered, but the sound died in a wet gurgle in his throat while Malfoy rode out his pleasure in tiny jabs inside Harry's arse, too preoccupied to notice Harry going mad under his hands.
A scrape of nail over metal was all the warning Harry got before the silver stork tugged its bill out of his slit with a few nasty jerks, followed by a spurt of come, before first one, then the other minuscule foot released Harry's crown. A last push and a squeak of silver wings before it took flight like a helicopter taking off right before a volcano eruption. It felt like one too; Harry's body spasmed as his cock released the held-up come in a burst so intense it was painful. A delirious pain, wild and mad and leaving Harry to twist in his bonds like a hanged man in his death convulsion as his cock sprayed his belly and, undoubtedly, the tiles before him with sticky liquid. He sobbed with relief although the ropes cut the skin of his wrists to raw shreds. In some vague backroom of his mind he was aware of the sloppy squelch of Malfoy pulling out of him.
Then Malfoy caught him around the waist and the rope vanished from his wrists. He collapsed against Malfoy, shoulder muscles aching so abysmally when he eased his arms down that, for a moment, he thought they'd been transfigured into knives. He cradled his arms against his chest, trying to avoid his abused nipples in the process, and let the man pull him down onto the discarded cloak.
The cloak was warm and cushioned him from the tiles, and at first Harry didn't notice the hand on his cock, the way Malfoy painted circles of come on the exhausted length. Then a warm mouth closed around the wet head and Harry realised that he hadn't gone flaccid yet, and that Malfoy was actively making sure it wouldn't happen any time soon either. Harry grimaced. He was sore and totally drained, and Malfoy had had his pleasure, so why would he want to manipulate him again? He lay there, discomfort mounting as Malfoy took his mouth off Harry's prick but didn't stop stroking. Instead, he squeezed insistently and slipped his other hand down to brush Harry's balls.
Harry gave an unwilling "Hng!", too winded to actually move. It stung, but then Malfoy's fingertips strayed to his perineum and gently stroked away the remaining redness the flogger had left there, until Harry felt his cock tingling and rising up once more. Malfoy petted it, lavishing attention on the fattening head while keeping away from the bruised slit.
Arousal crawled into Harry's belly, a detached feeling of want that was nothing like the overwhelming ache he'd felt before. His cock responded, and there was even a flush of warmth in his balls, but all he really wanted was for Malfoy to let go of him and fuck off. There was just no sense in doing this.
Malfoy knelt down next to him and scooped Harry up into his lap, keeping his hand on Harry's cock and tugging without mercy until Harry squirmed and felt his spine arch a little, pushing into the come-spattered palm even as all his muscles protested. Digging a rounded nail between foreskin and crown, Malfoy coaxed the head out again to full prominence, interspersed with hard tugs on the length, a steady stimulation that finally made Harry's balls tighten a little.
His cock jerked, a short, painful contraction, and a little bit of spunk shot out, adding another stain to the sticky mess on Harry's chest. Harry groaned as he rode out the sensation. It was quick and unfulfilling, and his body sagged into Malfoy as if he'd been clubbed over the head.
The man chuckled and hooked a finger into Harry's blindfold, tugging it off with a quick move and examining it. The vile grin told Harry that it had to be soaking wet, and that Malfoy was pleased he'd made him cry.
Propping himself up on his arms, Harry squinted around and crinkled his nose when he saw the mess he'd made of himself – splattered with come, sticky with sweat, his prick still a bright red from whipping and over-stimulation. There were pink and red welts all over his chest and legs.
He groaned and tried to crawl off Malfoy's lap, but the bastard held him back. "You're not done yet, boy."
Smirking at Harry's uncomprehending frown, Malfoy leaned down to place a mocking kiss on the tip of Harry's prick, followed by a thorough suck. Harry wailed inwardly. This was too much and it hurt! He tried to push Malfoy's head away, wishing he could just grab the snobbish blond braid and pull. Malfoy reared up, thwacked Harry's knuckles and bent him backwards to bite at his throat. "Or do you want to beg?"
Teeth clenched as if under a jaw-locker curse, Harry allowed Malfoy to bend him forward, exposing his arse again. A finger poked his balls from behind; they shrank back into their skin, as unwilling to be touched Harry himself. Malfoy's wand brushed his hole, eliciting a momentary shudder of fear before a viscous glob of liquid filled his channel and ran down his thighs. Malfoy urged him forward on hands and knees; but instead of the blunt head of his cock as Harry had feared, Malfoy shoved two fingers into him at once, slippery with gel and pushing through the distended channel without resistance. The stuff was warm and pleasant, probably laced with a painkilling potion since Harry experienced no discomfort whatsoever.
Malfoy's fingers twisted deeply inside him, and suddenly brushed that spot again that had made Harry flail before. Having found it, Malfoy made very sure not to touch it again directly – he brushed by it, past it, around it until Harry's breath began to wheeze from the jolts of exquisite pleasure, rolling his hips back into the touch and all the while wishing it had no effect on his prick.
He hung his head and sobbed as Malfoy reached around with his unoccupied hand, first stroking Harry's perineum, then tickling his uncooperative balls a little, before wrapping around his cock again.
The heat Malfoy kindled in his prostate shot up his spine and seemed intent on exploding his head from the inside; but Harry's balls hurt, his cock ached, raw and bruised and so far beyond wanting that Harry couldn't have hated Malfoy more if he'd just ripped the bloody thing off. There was nothing left to give, and still it tried, fuelled by the intense stimulation in Harry's depths.
Harry dug his nails into the expensive fabric of Malfoy's cloak. His spine arched under the slick press of Malfoy's fingers inside him until he pleaded and whimpered to be allowed to come, not to be forced to come.
Orgasm shot white-hot through his skull, a mad burst of ecstasy in his arse that enveloped his groin in a flood of heat without wringing more from his prick than a feeble twitch and two or three drops of come. They struggled out of the slit and dried there, painful even in such minuscule quantities.
"Good boy," Malfoy murmured and tugged his fingers free, rolling Harry, who had collapsed in total exhaustion, onto his back.
There was such a wild look of mirth on Malfoy's face that Harry shivered despite being too worn to lift a finger. The man's face was flushed, his braid coming loose at the loops.
Harry's eyes went wide with horror when Malfoy cheerfully inspected his flaming groin, then stuck out a fingertip to stroke the gaping red slit.
"No!" he protested, knowing that being stimulated there once more would probably kill him for real. Wouldn't his heart give out under so much strain?
"No?" Malfoy asked, cocking his head and teasing the crown of Harry's prick until his entire groin seemed to draw inwards, away from the touch.
"Please, I'm begging you!" Harry whispered brokenly. Tears filled in his eyes again.
Malfoy hummed and ran his nail down the length of Harry's cock, petting a swollen vein with a regretful expression. Then he took his hand away and stood up. Harry curled up into a protective ball around his prick, unable to cup it with his hands, but feeling better for it nonetheless.
Malfoy reached for his wand and cast a cleaning charm which first rushed over him and then, after a moment's consideration, over Harry as well. Harry shuddered, because even magic was too much sensation on his inflamed bits, then crawled to his feet like a thousand-year-old man, pain lacing his entire lower body.
"Not so tough after all," Malfoy commented dismissively after another spell had his robes re-form around his limbs without the inconvenience of dressing. Even his much-abused cloak looked pristine again.
"He still won his freedom," Sirius said, and Harry thought he could see a touch of pride in his expression.
"Perhaps not."
Malfoy swung around in one fluid move, laying his wand across Harry's throat where it shuddered and blurred and shortened until it wasn't a piece of wood any longer but a long, wicked knife that kissed the hollow of Harry's throat.
Harry held himself rigid, more still than he'd been under Petrificus. He could feel the sharp tingle of the blade, not cutting, just threatening, deceptively innocent.
The room filled with dead silence. Regulus crouched at the very edge of his seat, a hand on his wand, Snape stopping him cold with a hand on his arm. Sirius sat in his armchair without moving a muscle. Only Rabastan leaned back comfortably on the couch and crossed his legs. None of them looked as if they planned to interfere any time soon.
"I think the moment has come for you to make a decision, Sirius." Malfoy said. "Do you want your dear 'godson's' blood spilled just to spite your Head of House and benefactor? Or will you join Slytherin's Chosen after all."
"There was a promise made to the boy," Sirius said.
"There were other promises made and broken," Malfoy shot back. "You know all about it."
"I never broke a promise!" Harry could see Sirius's affected calm cracking, and rage welling up.
"There is such a thing as loyalty to be expected from a protégé, even more so from a lover."
"You presumed too much, didn't you?" Sirius asked, all silky threat. "You told Him that you had lured your prize into your web beyond any thought of escape, that He wouldn't even have to ask, that you'd deliver me on a silver platter? And now you have nothing to show, and are getting desperate."
Pulling Harry's head back to expose his throat, Malfoy let out a harsh laugh. "Hardly. And don't forget that it was you who lured me into bed. You don't want to commit to anyone because you want to be your own little centre of the universe, don't you, Black? That's why you're so fond of this little fool here." The knife dug in a little deeper, and Harry felt a single drop of blood run down his neck. "You love being adored."
"No," Sirius said coldly. "I think Dumbledore and Riddle have been playing their game with our world – and against each other - for decades. And I won't become a chess piece for either of them." Visibly struggling for control, he added, "I will support Riddle's policies as the Head of the House of Black. I won't work against him unless he forces my hand. And at the end of the year he'll have my brother, because Regulus wants to be His so badly – but he won't have me."
"It's not enough," Malfoy snapped, pink with anger. "This is not about Riddle; it's about you."
Sirius's face turned mask-like in a way that made Harry's heart chill in a mixture of dread and pity.
"Then no, Lucius. I will not join him, whether you kill this child or not."
"You'll value your freedom over an innocent's life?" Malfoy smiled thinly.
"Yes. Like any good Slytherin would."
"Do you hear that, boy?" Malfoy asked, rubbing his cheek against Harry's and tightening his hold. "That's Sirius Black for you."
"I wouldn't want him to." Harry felt his breath slither over Malfoy's arm at his throat, stirring near-invisible blond hairs. He was cold with fear. "I wouldn’t want anyone to join Vol- Tom Riddle for my sake."
"So much do you love him?" Malfoy's breath tickled Harry's neck as he whispered into his ear. Softly, but not softly enough for Sirius to miss.
"I love my godfather," Harry said flatly. "Not this." And all the while calling himself a liar and wishing it were that easy. He did not look at Sirius to see whether his words had left an impression.
Malfoy laughed knowingly. The blade at Harry's throat transformed back into wood, and then Harry felt himself flung forward, away from Malfoy, to struggle for balance in the middle of the room.
"Have it your way, Sirius, if you are so determined. I doubt it will bring you happiness." Malfoy turned and held a hand out to Snape, summoning his cloak with the other. "It seems our business here is concluded. Will you join me for a nightcap, Severus?"
There was no way of misreading the awareness that he was used to make a point on Snape's ugly face. He hovered in his chair for a second, then he rose, went up to Malfoy and took his hand without a glance at Regulus or anybody else.
Malfoy fastened his cloak at his throat, and inclined his head to Rabastan Lestrange. The Apparition pop that vanished both him and Snape rang far too loud in the suddenly over-large room.
Sirius's face had turned into an icy mask that in itself revealed how badly he must hurt. Finally, he nodded at Harry. "You're free to go, Potter. But I think you'd better take your clothes."
Flushing brightly and ignoring the multiple aches in his body, Harry dashed over to the empty chair his clothes, robe and glasses had been piled on. He stumbled into pants, trousers and shirt with trembling fingers, struggling with his trainers and finally pulling his robe around his shoulders, all without looking up once.
When he was dressed, his eyes dashed through the room and found Sirius standing next to Lestrange, who held the disk of the Time Spinner in both hands. Regulus hovered behind the sofa, watching them.
Sirius crooked his finger at Harry. Careful not to come too close to any of them, Harry made his way over.
"We put a reverting time film around the thing that may keep the damage at bay if you use it again," Lestrange said, very matter-of-factly now. "At least it won't get worse. Who knows – you might get lucky."
Handing the Spinner to Harry, Sirius smiled thinly. "Never fear – he's a perverted bastard, but extraordinarily good with magical artefacts."
Harry pulled the chain back over his head, almost unable to take his hand off the Spinner's filigree circles. He nodded, once.
After a tense moment of silence, broken only when Lestrange leaned around Sirius to pick up his champagne flute, Sirius said, "Good-bye, then, Harry Potter. My brother will escort you out."
Without another nod, without even a final glance at Sirius Black who wasn't Sirius, but could have been oh-so-easily, Harry turned on his heel and walked to the door.
Walking was agony. Even managing the three hundred feet or so through the length of Grimmauld Place behind Regulus sent stabs of agony through Harry's lower body with every step. His prick and balls felt raw, chafing against his jeans. He could smell them on him still, and the sticky oil on his buttocks and thighs, the welts on his arse, the throbbing nipples. Soiled all over.
Regulus led him to the entrance hall without a backward glance. Then, just before Harry could step into the hall, the boy turned, both hands coming up against the sides of the wall, trapping Harry in the corridor. The smooth face was determined.
"What is it?" Harry snarled, feeling a burn in his eyes that only fuelled his anger. "You want a piece of me too? Do you think that matters now – one more or less?" His innards clenched at the thought, but rage came spilling out too strong. He let the robe he'd clutched to his throat spill open and gave a dark laugh when Regulus recoiled. "What, don't you want to be like them?"
Regulus's features congealed into an unreadable mask. "I am like them, Potter."
Facing him directly, Harry realised that this was very much the young man who, in Harry's past, had joined Voldemort only to betray him and steal a piece of his soul right out of a death trap before his 'friends' caught up with him. He recalled the way he'd stood alongside Snape, hand on his wand, and wondered. Not so much like Malfoy after all, who wouldn't have managed this poker face without malice spilling out at the seams.
"I want a kiss from you, Potter." The words were cool, disdainful even, but the meaning made Harry blink. "Like you gave my brother. Like you mean it."
Harry didn't bother to suppress his snort even as he refused to ponder the implications. "I want an answer in return," he challenged.
"Of course." Regulus nodded coolly.
Determined not to be made a victim again, not even for something so minor in comparison, Harry stepped right into Regulus's personal space until his body was pressed against the other boy's. He took Regulus's face between his hands and crushed his mouth against his. There was no shred of softness; Harry's lips were rigid with rage, stony with the effort of holding unwanted sobs at bay, and Regulus's stiff with pride. Harry forced the boy's lips apart with his tongue, and felt Regulus open his mouth in what might be shock. Harry shoved his tongue into the warm cavern, aware that he had to taste of other people's come, but finding quite a bit of satisfaction in acquainting Sirius's brother with it.
He slid his hand from Regulus's cheek to his neck, feeling the bony curve of his skull and wrapping fingers into the soft curls there before tugging at them sharply just as his tongue licked a scornful swipe along Regulus's own. If nothing else, it made Regulus kiss back at last, his nose crinkled in anger like Crookshanks's when someone petted him too roughly.
The weight of Regulus's body stung his abraded skin in strategic places, and yet Harry felt a triumphant swoop in the pit of his stomach as the boy's lips softened. He scraped his teeth along the side of Regulus's tongue, fusing their mouths together with a grip on Regulus's neck that had to bruise. He could taste wine and an un-spoiledness he'd never be able to match again. He let go abruptly, leaving Regulus to stumble back a step with dark, wide eyes.
Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand in a gesture that was calculatedly cruel.
"If you had to hide something worth your life and more in this place, where would you put it?"
A frown appeared between the boy's dark brows. Lucius Malfoy, Harry knew, would void their 'deal' for delivering anything but the kiss that had been requested. Regulus just asked, "How big?"
Instinctively, Harry touched the Time Spinner around his neck. "Small. Way smaller than this."
The frown deepened. "I'll not have you snoop around my house-"
"Not now!" Harry snapped impatiently before adding, "Not here!" for good measure, fingers still curved around the delicate layers of the Spinner.
"There's a portrait of my mother," Regulus said hesitantly. "In an ancient gold frame..."
Harry nodded impatiently. Mrs Black's portrait wasn't something you would forget.
"There's a secret compartment at the back of the frame where mother kept her heirloom jewels." Regulus's face took on an absent look as if he, too, was lost in time. "I used to sit on her bed and watch her getting ready to go out. She showed me how to open it, and let me keep my gold gobstones inside." He smiled, a bit wistfully.
"And Kreacher knew about it?" Harry asked.
"That elf? Well, he was my mother's personal servant, he must have."
Hope glowed warmly inside Harry's stomach like a draught of butterbeer on a winter's day. He clutched the Time Spinner tighter.
"Does the payment satisfy you?" Regulus asked, very formally.
Harry hesitated, then nodded. "I guess it's the best I can get."
"And you paid dearly for it, didn't you." Regulus leaned forward and caught Harry's lips in another kiss, a feather-soft, supremely chaste brush of mouths, before standing aside. He held out Harry's wand.
Harry glared into the boy's face, so secure and smug in the shelter of his home, so like his brother, and all but ripped the wand from his fingers. He recalled Hermione's earnest admonitions for secrecy, and discarded them with a sneer. This was not his past! His godfather would never have raped him just because he'd walked in, or fed him to his bored friends like a bone of contention tossed before a litter of wrangling dogs.
"I wouldn't join him, if I were you," he said coldly as the door swung open to a gush of icy night wind and the twinkle of a snake fang in the lamp light. "Riddle," he clarified when Regulus's forehead twisted into a frown. "Where I come from, he killed you."
And then he stepped outside into the cold, leaving Regulus's confused face and disturbed questions behind. He walked down the three stairs and onto the pavement of Grimmauld Place without looking back, not listening whether the door closed or not behind him. It didn't matter.
He walked up the road until he found a dark entryway littered with rubbish, and stepped into the shadows.
Ten hours, twenty years and an unknown number of time and reality fragments later, the portrait of Walburga Black, banished to the attic of number twelve Grimmauld Place by the combined efforts of Remus Lupin and Alastor Moody, quietly observed the half-blood boy kneeling beside her frame among dust and spiderwebs, holding the small ebony box he'd taken from its back with shaking hands.
Perhaps the grief that shook the boy's slender shoulders was too strong, too self-contained to interrupt with recriminations. Or perhaps some vague maternal instinct, soaked into the canvas along with its magical paint, told her that some of these tears were shed for her own favourite child, and more for the other.
The mechanism clicked open under his dirty fingers. He lifted out the heavy gold locket that her mad house-elf, Kreacher, had put inside a few weeks ago amidst crazy muttering. She hadn't seen the creature for quite some time; perhaps it had lost its mind altogether and forgotten its old mistress. They really should be culled once they were too old to be of use.
The boy's face was raw as he stared at the locket, torn between what looked like the fulfilment of his heart's desire and the revulsion one reserved for a poisonous toad. Tears shone on his face, leaving tracks on his cheeks he seemed perfectly unaware of.
Of course this impure abomination could never equal the honest depth of a pureblood's grief, but it touched her somehow, reminding her of the loss of her own son who once, in happier times, had played with the jewels inside her treasure box while laughing and bouncing on her bed.
She could honour the young man's anguish in this moment of privacy; if not in spirit, then at least in silence.
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.