Word count: 5008 (this chapter; over 15K overall)
Warnings for this chapter: Ginny abuse, blowjobs. <3
Story summary: Draco Malfoy seeks revenge on Harry Potter for Sectumsempra by use of a forbidden love potion. Harry is desperately infatuated with Draco, who exploits his newfound power to control and torture his greatest archnemesis.
Draco’s silver eyes were half-lidded as he drew close, his lithe form pressing flush against Harry in the full-sized bed tucked away on the second floor of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry’s heart was pounding in his throat as Draco’s hands slid sensually up from Harry’s arse to his lower back, his fingers pulling the hem of his shirt up and away from the skin so his fingertips could trace tiny circles just above his tailbone. “I could stay right here forever,” Draco breathed, his mouth pressed right up against Harry’s ear, and Harry moaned shakily as he felt his body giving in to Draco. “You like when I tease you, don’t you, Harry?”
“Say it again,” Harry suddenly choked out in a quavering whisper, green eyes wide with want. “Call me by my name again, Draco...” Draco never called him ‘Harry’, never had, and so the whisper of it against his skin sent desperately aching shivers down his spine. He felt Draco shake his head, his lips brushing against Harry’s neck, and Harry’s mouth opened as two pale fingers pressed to his lips and then inside his mouth, probing his tongue. His tongue complied and swirled around them, tasting sugar and a hint of lemon from their evening tea, and when Draco’s fingers disappeared from his mouth and made their appearance suddenly known sliding back the hem of Harry’s sleeping pants and wrapping around the base of his pulsing cock, Harry whimpered and pressed their foreheads together.
“Harry, Harry...” Draco whispered Harry’s name with every movement of his hand in Harry’s underwear, trailing kisses down from the hollow of his throat towards his bellybutton. The black-haired boy rolled onto his back and spread his legs and he felt his pants being pulled off, his hips arching up instinctively as he felt Draco’s luscious lips suckling on his jutting hip. The was the lightly alarming sensation of Draco’s teeth scraping the pale flesh, of neatly-manicured fingernails finding a special spot to the left of Harry’s scrotum that just undid him, and he knew the moment that Draco’s wet, slutty little mouth latched onto the head of his dick that he was not long for this world. “Come for me, Harry...Come all over me...”
Harry did not to be told twice. His hips jerked suddenly off the bed and he yelped into Draco’s palm, which was suddenly over his mouth, and he kissed it madly as Draco pulled his cock from his mouth and let him come all over his face and neck, messing up that pretty hair and––
Harry jolted awake in the early hours of the morning with a strangled yelp just as he felt a hot burst of sticky moisture erupt in his underwear. “Fuck,” he whispered, his hand immediately shooting to his erection and squeezing it with a hitch of his breath before he fell back onto the mattress and gasped for air. He half-expected to turn his head to see Draco lying beside him, blond hair spread out over the pillow in fitful early-morning sleep, but the bed was empty. He opened his mouth to groan to himself, but he found that he did not even have the strength for that. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table and flicked it at himself, nonverbally casting a cleaning spell before he forced himself to sit up and plant both feet on the floor.
Four days had passed since he and Draco had had sex in Draco’s room...At least, Harry liked to think of it as sex. Technically, he knew, he and Draco had just gotten off together, but he certainly felt as though his virginity had been taken. His arse was still incredibly sore from the unlubricated forced entry of the leather rod into his most intimate of places, so he had been limping all over the house ever since. Not even Ron had asked questions, and he had the sneaking suspicion that Draco had left the Silencing Charms off of the room when they were making such a racket during their sexual escapades. Wincing, he rose to his feet and strode shakily to the wardrobe, his finger popping into his mouth as he considered which outfit out of the old, dusty wardrobe would impress Draco the most this morning.
Whenever he made his way downstairs to the kitchen dressed in a plain black t-shirt and denim trousers, however, he was disappointed to find that Draco was not at the table. His face fell slightly, though he was careful to school his expression so he just appeared tired. Barefoot, he padded across the kitchen floor and pulled back a chair, smiling at Mrs. Weasley, who was cooking at the stove. “Good morning, dear,” she greeted with a small smile, though Harry knew that he saw worry lining her brow. He crossed his legs at the ankles and swallowed hard, nervous for some inexplicable reason as she placed a glass of orange juice in front of him. “How did you sleep, Harry?”
“Fine,” he muttered into his juice glass, which magnified his voice in the nearly-empty kitchen. He took several deep gulps before setting the glass down and resting his chin on his forearms atop the table, suddenly regretting coming down so early. Mrs. Weasley was shooting him strange looks that made his stomach flutter uncomfortably, and he found that he wanted Ron to show up in a flurry of morning energy. Ron was absent, however, and so when Molly placed a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him then sat down in the chair to his left, he took a deep breath and vowed to tell her nothing. “Yes, Mrs. Weasley?” he inquired in a tone he hoped was as jovial as he had intended.
As if on cue, Arthur appeared in the kitchen and sat across from Harry, leaning forward and glancing at his wife, who nodded. “Good morning, Harry,” he said with a yawn that betrayed the fact that he had been up all the previous night. “I see that Molly was about to get started without me. We wanted to ask you, Harry...Well, I mean to say––” He cut himself off and looked awkwardly to his wife, his freckled hand resting tensely on the tabletop. Harry wanted nothing more than to get up and run in that moment, but he held back, clenching his jaw when Arthur carefully avoided his gaze.
Molly sighed and rolled her eyes before she reached over and took one of Harry’s hands. “Harry, dear, we’ve become quite concerned with the Malfoy boy,” she said quietly, as though Draco were waiting just outside the door to the kitchen and spying on them. “He’s been rather malicious towards you especially, and I know, dear, that you try to see the good in everyone––” Harry snorted loudly. “––You do, Harry, and it’s a wonderful quality, but we thought we heard you begging for...for mercy the other night, and you’ve been limping, and we wonder if maybe he didn’t hurt you? Did he do something––”
“No.” Harry was shocked at the conviction in his voice as he pulled his hand away from Molly’s. “He hasn’t done anything to me, Mrs. Weasley. I wholly trust him with my life and the lives of those around me, and I think everyone else should, too,” he whispered groggily, wishing that he was back in bed, though with Draco curled up in his arms. “He’s a good person, Mrs. Weasley. Malfoy––Draco––is different in his thinking, yes, but he deserves a second chance from everyone, I think.”
Arthur gave Molly a strange sort of look before he cleared his throat a little. Harry looked genuinely unabashed by the thought of Draco, and he knew that the two had been getting along quite well in the recent weeks, but he had not expected anything like this. “Well, Harry, as long as you are okay...I mean, this is your house, but you know that Molly and I have your very best interests at heart. If there’s anything we could do at all to help you...Perhaps the, er, meetings you had with Dumbledore last year could shed some light––”
Harry shook his head firmly and stared resolutely down at the table. He was reluctant to make eye contact with most people now, if only for the sake of Occlumency. He was also paranoid that they would see inside of him, see the images running through his head of his and Draco’s tryst a few evenings previous, and that was certainly the last thing he wanted his pseudo-parents to see flickering across his eyelids. “I’ve told you before,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the grain of the tabletop, “that what happened last year is between Dumbledore and me. Ron and Hermione know, and Draco will know, but no one else can have any idea what’s going on. What if the Death Eaters got hold of you? They could discover my plan that not even Voldemort knows about, and I’m not taking that risk.” He could see the looks of disbelief on their faces, and he knew that they had not appeared because of the fact that he would not tell them, but because he was to reveal the plan to Draco.
“You’ll tell Draco?” Mrs. Weasley asked sharply, a hint of fear in her eyes now. “Harry, you know he’s a––”
“If I believed him to be a Death Eater, Molly, then I would not permit him in my house!” It was the first time Harry had ever called Mrs. Weasley by her first name, and it dropped from his tongue like venom dripping from the snake’s fang. “At any rate, Draco, Ron, Hermione, and I need to make a visit to Gringotts this week. It’s urgent, and we need to go alone.” He, Ron, and Hermione had been discussing Hepzibah Smith for several weeks, and the three had determined that the best course of action was to go to Gringotts and demand to see her vault in order to verify whether or not her ‘prized possessions’––Ravenclaw’s and Hufflepuff’s artifacts––were still in there. It was, Harry supposed, a great place to start looking for the Horcruxes, and they needed to start soon. The sooner the Horcruxes were found and destroyed, the better for everyone. “So will you alert the Order? Let them know to be on alert for my signal?”
Molly looked as though she wanted to argue, but Arthur rested his hand on her shoulder and smiled before giving him a nod. “Of course we will, Harry.”
Ginny was furious. Her parents had informed her three days ago that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and––to her great horror––Draco would be doing something top-secret at Gringotts, and she had not been invited! Having grown tired of stomping about with no one paying her any mind, she decided on a new course of action and turned to hurry up the stairs and down the corridor at the top, which ended in Malfoy’s room. This part of the corridor was not lit well at all, and it gave her the creeps in the best of times. Now that she was heading there for a sordid reason, it seemed even darker, and she felt her heart pounding in her throat as she lifted her hand and rapped sharply on the polished door. There were footsteps inside, a pause, then the door swung open to reveal Malfoy, looking quite tired with bags under his eyes and a red robe she recognised as Harry’s wrapped around his waist. “Oh, look,” he purred silkily, and he leaned against his doorframe with an air of hubris about him. “It’s the baby weasel. Come to gaze at what you’ll never have, Weasley?”
“Shut up, Malfoy,” Ginny hissed, and she looked around to make sure no one––especially Narcissa Malfoy––was not around to hear her. “You need to clear off. Harry’s been completely different ever since you got here, and we’re all sick of you acting like you own the place!” It was true—Draco had acquired quite the strut in the past few days, and Ginny was sickened by his display. He was like a horny male peacock, and she needed to knock him down a few pegs.
Draco’s eyes skirted over the youngest Weasley’s body, and he gave a little sneer at her second-hand robes and face filled with freckles before he stepped out into the hallway and shut the door behind himself with a soft click. He knew what this sound would do, and sure enough, he heard heavy footsteps in a closed room down the hall, and he smiled at Ginny before leaning in very close to her. “Harry wants me here, Ginevra,” he stressed to her, and he leaned even closer. “And I daresay he wants more than that with me, so why don’t you poke that bulbous little nose of yours into someone else’s business?”
An unmistakeable look of scepticism overcame Ginny’s face, and she cocked a sassy eyebrow at Malfoy. “He wants you here, does he? I seem to recall him throwing quite a fit when he walked in a few months ago and found you here. What possibly could have changed in that time, ferret? You certainly haven’t...” She heard the door behind her open, but instead of turning around, she found herself being seized by Malfoy and drawn quickly to him. She noted in the split second’s pause that Malfoy had the flattest stomach she had ever felt, then her lips were being forcibly violated by Malfoy’s and she froze in horror. His lips were much too harsh against hers, and she saw through outraged, wide eyes that he was not looking at her at all, but over her shoulder. Fire kindled in her chest, and she found strength somewhere deep inside of herself to shove hard against the blond’s chest, but he held fast to her a moment before she felt a hard grip on her upper arms, and she was ripped from the kiss painfully by callous hands.
Harry heard Draco’s door close in the hall, and his heart leapt into his mouth. Draco was just outside the door, in his hallway! His feet hit the floor with a hard thump, and he moved swiftly across the room to press his ear against the door. Yes, Malfoy was definitely outside, but there was someone else with him, too, and he recognised Ginny’s voice. He made a face as she realised that she was insulting Draco, and he wanted more than anything in that moment to walk right out there and punch her for talking to Draco like he was somehow beneath her. Yes, that sounded like a perfect idea! He seized the doorknob and twisted it, pushing the door open before stepping out into the corridor and seeing, horror of horrors, HIS Draco being kissed against his will by Ginny! A fury unlike any Harry had ever known bubbled in his stomach, and he saw crimson as he strode over to the pair, seeing a plea for help in Draco’s gorgeous silver eyes, and he grabbed Ginny’s arms just beneath the shoulders and jerked her away from Draco.
“What the fuck, Ginny?!” he growled, his eyes consumed with rage, and he pushed her hard against the closest wall. He saw fright in her eyes, but it did not register with his brain for some reason, and he pressed close to her, his finger pressing painfully into the middle of her chest. “What the fuck are you thinking?! Leave Malfoy the hell alone!” His voice was dripping with venom as he poked her hard in the chest again, sparking the sudden swell of tears in her eyes.
Her gaze darted back and forth between Harry and Malfoy, who was now striding over in his robe to stand beside Harry. She, who had been in love with Harry for so long, did not miss the subtle shifting of Harry’s weight to his right as Malfoy came to that side, and she certainly did not miss the sudden possessive presence of Malfoy’s hand on Harry’s opposite hip. “Yeah, Weasley,” Draco drawled nastily, and to her surprise, Harry melted into his arms, looking possessed as he indulged in placing his hands on Malfoy’s chest and back. The blond had the audacity to look pleased, and Ginny wanted to hex him, but she was paralyzed with shock. She watched Harry’s green eyes flicker to Draco’s face in almost reverence, and she knew that something was horribly wrong. “What’s wrong? Precious Harry not in love with you anymore? How tragic…”
Ginny found it in herself to tear away then, running down the corridor without chancing a glance back at them. Harry looked into Draco’s face and shook his head a little, his hands sliding forward so his arms encircled the blond. His heart was hammering loudly, being so close to Draco, and without even thinking, he leaned in and pressed the softest kiss to Malfoy’s lips. The potion throbbing in his veins caused him to lose control of himself at that moment, and he was suddenly pressing Malfoy up against the wall, his hands divesting him of the Gryffindor robe wrapping his pale frame. Draco’s pale eyes widened in surprise as Potter molested him, his rough hands sliding all over his bare chest and back, slipping lower with every passing moment, and he felt his dick stiffen as a probing tongue violated his lips and pressed into his mouth.
God, this felt wonderful! Every dream he had about Draco, every moment’s passing thought, was nothing compared to actually touching him, kissing him and pressing closer. He felt Draco become aroused, and he hungrily broke off the one-sided kiss before dropping to his knees right there in the middle of the corridor of the Headquarters for the Order and pushed the robe to either side of Malfoy’s hips. He eyed the bobbing erection with a whimper, and he hazarded a glance up to Malfoy’s face, which was mildly surprised but nonetheless entertained, and he shot him a seductive grin before wrapping his mouth around the cock before him.
Draco’s knees went weak. He had certainly not anticipated this reaction at all, but he was certainly not complaining. He leaned heavily back against the wall, his legs spread wantonly as Potter’s right hand slid up cup his testicles and massage them gently while his mouth—his hot, damp mouth—fucked itself on his prick. He could hear conversations in a room a few doors down and Mrs. Weasley bustling around in the kitchen at the foot of the stairs, but he did not suppress a moan of satisfaction as Harry’s knuckles pressed into his taint and sent a shiver based at his prostate up his spine. His hands tangled in Potter’s unruly hair and gripped it tightly as they balled into fists, and he pumped his hips in rhythm with the other boy’s mouth as he felt himself nearing completion.
Harry worshipped the cock in his mouth with his tongue, mapping every velvety fold and bump with care and awe. His left hand lifted up, and he buried his fingertips in the tight blond curls at the base of Draco’s penis, and he committed the texture to memory a moment before Draco thumped his head hard against the wall and yelped with pleasure. A salty warmth flooded into Harry’s mouth, and he moaned gently, swallowing the thick liquid before beginning to lick the remnants from Draco’s twitching cock, but there were footsteps hurrying up the stairs, and Draco shoved him back before tying the robe around himself and disappearing into his room, all colour drained from his face.
It was only Mrs. Weasley, coming to make sure that Harry was all right. “I heard…Well, nevermind,” she said with a smile before she moved forward and helped Harry to his feet. “Be careful of the old floorboards, Harry…” He nodded to her before casting Draco’s bedroom door a longing look, but he knew that Draco would not surface again, and he followed Mrs. Weasley downstairs.
Ginny was sobbing in Hermione’s arms, shaking her head when the older girl asked what was wrong. “It’…It’s nothing, Hermione,” she choked out, but she was overtaken again by tears, and she buried her face in Hermione’s neck. Ron and Hermione had been sitting together discussing plans for Gringotts when Ginny had burst in, tears streaming down her face, and for five minutes they had been completely unable to do anything about it. Hermione shot Ron a pleading look before pushing Ginyn back slightly and taking her by the shoulders, but Ginny winced and cried out softly in pain.
“Ginny, what’s happened to you?” Ron asked, bewildered, as he came over and lifted the sleeves of her Muggle t-shirt. Yellowish skin glared back at him—the beginnings of what would be spectacular bruises, and Ron positively bristled at the sight of them. “Ginny, what the hell? Who did this to you?” He kicked into protective mode and seized the part of her left arm that was not bruised, pulling it up and inspecting in closely. “These look like fingerprints, Ginny! Was it Malfoy?!”
“N-no,” she whispered, “but he…he KISSED me, then Harry…Harry…” She gestured towards the arm Ron held captive and broke down again. An expression of shock overtook Hermione’s face, but Ron simply looked utterly outraged.
“Harry did this to you?!” he snapped, and he stamped his foot hard on the wooden floor, glaring at Hermione. “Goddamnit, Hermione, what the hell is going on with him? Last year he was fucking in love with Ginny, and now…Now he’s hurting her! What the hell is he thinking? I tell you, something’s fucking wrong!” Ginny nodded her tearful agreement from Hermione’s shoulder, and, in that moment, Harry opened the door and walked in, a look of indignation painted across his face.
“Or maybe I’m just not comfortable about finding her accosting Draco in the corridors. She was forcing herself on him, like some…some tramp!” he exclaimed, his presence so sudden yet instantly filling the room. Hermione looked affronted, and Ron looked as though he might punch Harry as he strode over to him and seized him by the shirt collar.
“Where do you get off bruising my little sister?!” Ron snarled, and Harry rolled his eyes a moment before shoving Ron back away from him and going to sit on the bed in the room. He pushed up his sleeves and kicked off his shoes before leaning against the wall and sneering. Ron watched him, aghast. “You can’t honestly believe that Ginny kissed Malfoy…”
“I saw it!” Harry huffed, irritated. “And damn it, I’m not going to stand around and watch him be violated like that! He wasn’t enjoying it, Ginny! He was begging me for help!” But it did not seem as though Hermione and Ron were listening to him anymore. They were staring, transfixed, on his wrists and ankles, and he cocked an eyebrow at them. “What?” he asked, following their gazes to see that he had revealed the myriad of bruises on his joints from being tied up last week. They were still an angry green-black, and he wondered for a moment with a smile on his face whether Draco had cursed the bruises to be long-lasting. It would be just like him. His heart fluttered in his chest.
Hermione cleared her throat a little, looking troubled. “Harry, we thought we heard someone screaming last week, but…but it wasn’t like a scared screaming or…or anything,” she muttered, clearly embarrassed. Ron had not seemed to have caught on yet, and he was giving Hermione a strange look. “Harry, if it’s not what I’m going to ask you, it’ll sound really weird, but don’t get mad. Erm…Did someone have you tied up?” She gestured to the bruises, and Harry covered his wrists almost protectively from her gaze. She frowned and heaved a heavy sigh. “Yes, then. Was it Malfoy?”
Ron had caught on now, and he looked utterly horrified. “Don’t be stupid, Hermione,” he said quietly, seriously, and he tried to meet Harry’s eyes, but the other would not look up at him. “Harry, tell her she’s being thick. Like you could ever let Malfoy do anything like that to you, especially in your own home…It’s laughable, isn’t it, Harry?” He tried to give a few short laughs, but Harry still did not look up. Ginny was staring at Harry in horror as well, and she did not notice as Hermione eased her out of her arms and went to the bed. She sat down at Harry’s feet and lifted his trouser leg before gasping quietly. The bruises were not thin—it appeared as though the ropes had been wrapped around Harry’s leg several times—and there were several impact bruises on his shin.
“Leave it, Hermione,” Harry commanded seriously, and he pushed the leg of his trousers back down. He did not like looking into the freaked-out faces of his best friends or the hurt eyes of his ex-girlfriend; he would much rather have been back in Draco’s room, curled up in bed with him and kissing. As his friends began to fuss over him, yelling at each other and him in alarm, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sink into that blissful world where Draco was his love and they were inseparable. Draco would come in here and push everyone away before seizing Harry’s hands. Harry would grin and stand, ignoring everyone’s protests as Draco pulled him from the room, his beautiful smile melting Harry’s heart, and they would flee the Headquarters and into the night together. It did not matter that it was only late August—it was snowing in Harry’s world—and Draco would initiate a childish game of chase before Harry caught up to him and whirled him around, pressing close. “Je t’aime,” Draco would whisper in his ear in French, and the two would laugh before indulging themselves in a kiss unrivalled by any Harry had received before. Harry smiled to himself and sighed deeply, content.
It was obvious that their words were bouncing right off of Harry, and so Ron, Hermione, and Ginny frowned and left the room, fully intending to have a talk with Molly. If anyone could talk some sense into him, she could.
Draco knocked quietly on his mother’s bedroom door and smiled as she opened it, allowing her son entrance. “Hi, Draco,” she whispered, and she closed the door after him as he strode into the top-floor bedroom. Narcissa Malfoy stayed hidden in the Headquarters more often than not, more comfortable alone than in the company of men she had been trying to kill for so long. She had to admit, she enjoyed Mrs. Weasley’s company more than she had anticipated, but she despised most of the Order members flocking in and out of the house at random intervals. “Your father sent us a letter to the post office, and my niece picked it up for me while she was in town.” She was, of course, alluding to Tonks.
“Father?” Draco asked, and he settled himself in a comfoetable armchair resting by the window of his mother’s bedchamber. He took the letter as it was offered to him, and he unfolded it with a small smile.
Narcissa and Draco,
I hope the both of you are well. I heard talk that the two of you fled into hiding immediately following the headmaster’s death, and while I wish I had been able to see my son’s moment of greatest triumph over Dumbledore, it seems as though I will be here for a while. I apologise for my absence.
I am not sure how I feel about the two of you hiding from the Dark Lord. While I understand that there was potential danger for you both, I feel that he would have been merciful, for the deed was done and our plans can now commence without meddling from the old fool. Speculations of the reason you fled are running wild, but there is no pattern between the stories, and so I am writing to ask you myself what your motives were.
As for life here, it is as dull as it has always been. Without the dementors, it is not unbearable, but the guards—a team of Aurors that are as rude as they could possibly be considering I funded much of their training—are right gits, honestly. When I break out of here, it won’t be a moment too soon.
Draco frowned and refolded the letter before handing it to his mother. “Snarky as ever, I see,” he sighed, and the unhappiness on his face was quite apparent. Narcissa frowned and placed her hand on his shoulder with a slight nod.
“You can’t blame him, Draco…He’s tired of being locked up. I can’t say I blame him. He feels very left out of our flight, though if he knew where we were…I shudder to think what would happen. He would try to disown you, divorce me…It would be the end of the name ‘Malfoy’ for me, I’m afraid…” There was distinct sadness in her voice, and Draco lay his hand atop hers. “But we have more pressing matters, Draco. You have this big secret Gringott’s visit…What’s that about?”
Draco shrugged and stared blankly out the window over London. “Potter’s got some crush on me or something and wants me to come with him, the Weasel, and the Mudblood. It sounds thrilling really,” he snorted, and he frowned up at his mother. “What should I do?” He had to keep up appearances, after all. If Narcissa knew that he had forcefed Potter a love potion to bend him to his will…Well, his father would have been proud, but not Narcissa. She would have been furious.
The blond woman frowned deeply and looked out the window as well. “You must not get caught up in such trivial matters, Draco. We have much more important concerns, like…well, surviving.” Draco supposed she would have been right, had the situation been appropriate.
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