
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13320768.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Lucius_Malfoy, Draco_Malfoy
  Stats:
      Published: 2018-01-09 Words: 9884
****** Sleepwalking with the Damned ******
by Hijja
Summary
     "Don't sneak out alone, Harry," they keep telling him...
Notes
     Written in summer 2005. This was me trying to break through my
     remaining non-con barriers, so it's one of my scarier stories.
     Serious non-con, unapologetic PWP, underage in Australia.
     Dedicated to Anne Phoenix for the lightning speed, quality and
     patience of her beta, and of course for the inspiration! Title has
     been filched from 'There's a Need' by Runrig.
'Don't sneak out alone, Harry,' they keep telling him. Mr and Mrs Weasley,
Hermione, sometimes Ron, gesticulating with too-lanky limbs and embarrassment;
even Snape, with concern diluted in a cauldron full of vitriol. Harry never
listens. Going out alone is like a heavy invisible duvet being lifted from his
shoulders. Alone means Harry doesn't have to watch and worry about endangering
others, like Sirius, or Cedric, or his friends in the Department of Mysteries.
Endangering himself - well, that's just fine. In fact, it's his calling, isn't
it?
He keeps the most careful of eyes on Draco Malfoy ever since the Daily
Prophet's headlines screamed NEW AZKABAN BREAKOUT - DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW
ENFORCEMENT IN DISGRACE!
When a panicked wizard reports the sighting of Lucius Malfoy near Hogsmeade,
Harry uses his Invisibility Cloak during the nights to keep trace of Draco
Malfoy's movements. An endeavour that leaves him giddy and light-headed with
fatigue, but ultimately leads to the desired result. When he notices the ferret
sneaking out of the dungeons under a concealment charm so shoddy that it would
elicit a mournful sigh from Professor Flitwick, Harry smiles grimly, grips his
wand more firmly, and summons his Firebolt.
He maintains a careful distance between Malfoy's broom and his own as they soar
over the wide-open slopes that lead down from the castle towards Hogsmeade. To
his surprise, Malfoy skirts around the village proper, aiming for the soft
rolling hills beyond which are mostly bare except for sturdy grass, some few
trees and the occasional flock of blackfaced sheep. Harry steers closer in
order not to lose sight of his enemy as Malfoy weaves in and out of the rows of
trees before him.
Then, from one second to the next, Malfoy is gone. Harry bites back a curse and
brings his broom to a halt, hovering behind a measly chestnut sapling. He
stares at the group of trees into which his nemesis has just disappeared, and
not come out. Has Malfoy realised he's being followed? He can't have Apparated
or used a Portkey from a broom in mid-flight - the momentum alone would have
killed him.
Harry is almost prepared for an attack. If he wasn't so tired, and if the bolt
of light that speeds at him out of the trees was green instead of sickly
yellow, he might have reacted a split second faster. As it is, he jerks his
broom handle to the left and ducks, and the curse hits the side of his neck and
sizzles over his shoulder instead of striking him squarely in the chest.
'Not the Killing Curse', is Harry's next to last thought, and 'now I know how
Buckbeak would have felt under Macnair's axe' his last as agony spikes through
his neck and forks up into his head. Then it spreads out to paralyse his entire
side, and he drops like a stone.
                                      ***
Harry is pulled back to consciousness when a hand grabs his hair and wrenches
his head back with only slightly less force than would be necessary to break
his neck. He moans and scrabbles for purchase under his hands to alleviate the
brutal pull.
"I just knew it was you!" a hatefully familiar voice hisses behind his ear.
Groggily, Harry tries to make sense of why he is flat on the ground, his left
side hurting as if he had one gigantic bruise from his cheek to his scraped
arms and legs. And why Draco Malfoy is trying to rip his head off.
The chase - the spell! Malfoy brought him down with a spell. Just when it comes
back to him, another spill of yellow light floods over him, and he flops back
down on the grass he's been trying to rise from. A lick of agony scalds his
spine and he loses any kind of feeling in his extremities. He doesn't freeze as
with Petrificus, but the spell saps every bit of strength from his body,
leaving him numb.
He's surprised that he's still alive - the ferret could have cursed him to
death while he lay there unconscious. Hell, Harry wouldn't have been surprised
if Malfoy had tried to bash his head in with a stone!
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Harry feels himself being hoisted up, and then dumped, weightless and immobile,
across the front of Malfoy's broomstick. His head hanging down, he can see
bright spellcords securing his wrists to his ankles as the broom begins to
rise. Wobbling under the extra weight, it increases speed towards the farther
hills.
Though Harry loses all sense of orientation with the blood pooling painfully in
his head, he catches a glimpse of a steep hill and then of a primitive stone
hut when the broom finally, mercifully begins to slow down. He has just enough
time to recognise the place when Malfoy brings the broom down and pitches
Harry's limp body over the handle without any care. The impact with rocky
ground nearly knocks him out again.
But Harry knows this place - the hut Hagrid built for Grawp before they both
returned to Norway to bring as many giants as possible to their side. It has
been empty and forgotten ever since.
Harry is still too groggy from the spell resist as Malfoy pulls him roughly to
his feet, cords vanished. His legs wobble as if they were filled with
buttermilk. The ferret himself is swaying under the weight of a leather bag,
two brooms and one prisoner as he drags Harry through the massive stone door.
At first sight, Harry isn't sure whether the tall, pale-haired figure in front
of the hearth is the fugitive elder Malfoy or just a reflection of Draco in a
wall-length mirror. But the figure is wearing grey Azkaban prison garb, not a
proper Hogwarts outfit like the son. And his hair is even longer than before,
fine and tangled as if he'd just come in from washing off the prison grime in
the rivulet behind the hut where Hagrid tried to teach Grawp to bathe.
"Father." Despite his dizziness, Harry can hear the wealth of emotion in that
single word.
"Draco," Lucius acknowledges, voice still smooth but with a rough edge that
indicates long disuse.
"I've brought your spare wand and robes and food," Draco gushes, and then his
hand fists in the hair at Harry's neck as he pushes him forward. Harry's legs
crumble under him, and he tumbles to his knees on the rough hearthrug.
"I brought you this present too," Draco triumphs above the ringing in Harry's
head. "He followed me from school, but I took him down on the way."
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees the ferret presenting his wand to his
father. He longs for it so badly it hurts and has to turn his face away.
The huge stone hearth is untouched, the single shelf above it empty but for a
few spiderwebbed containers. There is no furniture apart from the rough-hewn
table and two vastly oversized armchairs that Hagrid showed off proudly when he
introduced Harry, Ron and Hermione to this place. And there is the dent in the
table top, left behind by Grawp when he was happy to see "Hagger!"
Lucius Malfoy, who should look ridiculously dwarfed by the surrounding but
doesn't, seems to have left no impact on the place.
Draco steps up and produces another wand from his bundle, which he proceeds to
hand to his father. It looks old and darkened by use - a family heirloom
perhaps. The Aurors would have snapped Lucius' wand before taking him to
Azkaban - Harry knows they snapped Sirius'. Lucius snatches the wand quickly,
almost greedily, and waves it once. It produces a shower of little sparks which
rain down on the wooden planks of the floor. One singes the rug next to Harry's
foot, and he twist away from it reflexively.
When he seems satisfied by the restoration of his power, Lucius turns to Harry,
scrutinising his battered form intently.
"Harry Potter." There is satisfaction and an ominous feeling of... longing in
his tone, and Harry licks his dry lips. He is wandless, too groggy to even
move, with the ferret armed at his back. This is bad. No prophecy, no friends,
no witnesses at all, and nobody who knows where he might be...
"I have longed to see you again, Harry," Lucius says, and Harry can see how the
ferret preens himself proudly at his father's words.
"Why, Malfoy?" Harry challenges, because he can't see a way of talking himself
out of this. "Did all those months in Azkaban give you a taste for boys?" He
throws a poisonous look over his shoulder. "Better be careful about sleeping
arrangements, then, ferret boy."
He doesn't hear the actual words of the spell the ferret hisses behind his
back, only feels the flame slice down his spine again. He wrestles the scream
that's trying to escape his lips down into a whimper. Draco lashes out with his
wand as if to curse Harry again, but stops when his father holds up his hand
and takes a step forward.
Harry is prepared for a second dose of pain, not for the hand that touches his
cheek almost tenderly; bony knuckles brush over his flushed skin.
"Gryffindor's daring little Harry," Lucius murmurs so very softly. "Such a
brave, foolish child." He smiles, eerie and ghost-like. "You've met your match
tonight, you just don't know it yet."
Harry fishes for a cutting retort, but something in Lucius' face makes his
throat close up. An alarming sincerity - as if he already knows Harry will
break, and even mourns the fact a little.
"I'll take up your challenge, then." Lucius' smile deepens. "Undress for me,
Harry."
Harry gasps aloud. Mad! The man is perfectly mad. Azkaban has obviously cracked
him, absence of Dementors or not. And everything from that gentle tone to that
insane smile scares Harry to death.
"You heard me, child," Lucius says. "Remove your clothes."
Harry takes a step back, unmindful that the ferret must be somewhere behind
him, and shakes his head. "No."
Lucius' mouth curls up, and Harry's stomach clenches. "I knew you would say
that." He smiles. "Crucio!"
It's like a bath of fire, all his nerve ends sliced open, his muscles
contorting, twisting impossibly, an iron drill splitting open his head, blood
boiling in his veins...
For a moment Harry is dimly aware of the shrill screeching that fills the
little hut, and for an even shorter moment is hit by the awareness that it's
his own voice which is making these terrible, alien sounds. But then the bone-
melting ripping agony proceeds to tear him apart, until even his soul is
melting into an oily puddle, like a smudge on somebody's outhouse floor. Half-
strange faces dance in front of him - 'Mum, Dad, Cedric, Sirius!' He pleads
with them, knowing in the tiny fragment of his mind that has not yet dissolved
into the magma sea of pain that with them beckons salvation. And then he just
cries out for help, and then for mercy, and the faces dissolve into flickers of
light that dance away, and away, and there is nothing to save him.
When the curse ends, he finds himself splayed out on the wooden planks of the
hut, every muscle gnarled and aching. Clammy fear is still encasing his body in
a sheath of ice that refuses to thaw. Dread pants against his neck, the feral
dragon's breath of a monster that has mauled him once, and can do it again.
"I gave you an order."
He just stares ahead, a spun-glass figure afraid of another sound that would
simply shatter him into a million iridescent slivers. He wants to remember,
more than anything so the fire won't come back - not that, not ever! - but he
can't even remember his name. Flitting glimpses and recollections dance through
his mind, laughing down at him when he grasps for them, hoping they will turn
into some solid shape instead of just scattering. Very slowly, as if pulled
down by just a touch of gravity, they begin to settle.
Harry. He is Harry Potter. Son of James and Lily. Hogwarts student. Wizard.
Malfoy captured him. Lucius Malfoy ordered him to take his clothes off, and he
didn't, and then-
Harry starts to shiver. Enduring another touch from the abomination of the
Curse is unimaginable. Nothing that Malfoy can do will come even close to... to
that.
He realises in vague astonishment that his fingers, quicker by far than his
mind, have already moved up and begun to comply with Malfoy's orders, unhooking
the fastenings of his robe. He watches them undo the last hooks, and the black
cloth of his winter robe rustles down to pool around his feet. His shivering
intensifies although he's still clad in trousers, boots and an overlarge blue
turtleneck. They go, one after the other, without his brain actually realising
what he's doing.
And then he stands before Malfoy, bare and trembling with the aftershocks of
the curse still spasming in his nerves. Lucius he reaches up and plucks Harry's
glasses off his nose, tossing them carelessly on the pile of clothes, smiling
at the way Harry's eyes widen .
Lucius lets his gaze wander over Harry's form, unhurried and undeterred by the
knobbly knees, the too-visible ribs, and the Quidditch bruises that the last
Gryffindor-Slytherin game left on his side.
There's a hot burn of shame at being naked, but a wholly different sting at
being naked and ugly. The ferret chortles behind him, and Harry jumps when the
little bastard pinches the skin of his hip. Lucius' lips quirk indulgently, but
instead of touching him, as Harry feared, he walks over to the table and sits
down in one of the oversized wooden chairs. Although there are several inches
between the outside of his thighs and the armrests, the chair does not manage
to dwarf him.
Lucius favours the ferret behind Harry with a thin smile. "You may wait outside
if you wish, Draco."
It only serves to fuel Harry's panic, that sentence. Lucius wouldn't say that
if he planned to kill Harry, or just to curse him a bit - he's got to have
something even worse in mind!
"If it's all right with you, Father, I wouldn't mind staying." The ferret is
too close; Harry can feel his breath on his neck, and the hungry greed in his
tone makes Harry's skin crawl.
"Oh, no, I don't mind at all." Lucius smiles thinly. "Perhaps it's time for you
to toughen up a little, and who would serve as a better object lesson than a
hated rival? Come over here, then, Harry."
The few steps over to Lucius' chair feel like wading through morass. The wooden
floor planks are cold, the knots of the raffia hearthrug dig into Harry's bare
soles as he comes to stand before the chair. Malfoy looks him over again, wand
still casually aimed in Harry's direction, and his eyes seem to leave slimy
slug trails on Harry's skin.
Then Lucius leans back comfortably against the headrest, parts the shabby grey
robes at his middle and begins to unbutton the rough, equally grey trousers
underneath. Harry freezes in shock at the unhurried exposure. He is struck by
the impulse to run, but there are two wands against him, and the unspoken
threat of more Cruciatus. He can't even look away as Malfoy's erection is
revealed button by button, rising up in an aggressive pink-flushed curve from
the cloth, red chafing indentations still visible from where it has been
pressed against the scratchy fabric.
Goosebumps break out all over Harry's skin. It feels fundamentally wrong that
anyone should expose himself like this, least of all in front of his own son!
It should be laughable to see Malfoy sitting there with his prick out, but it's
only terrifying.
"Now, kneel at my feet, Harry," Lucius orders, and Harry starts back, not
catching himself in time to suppress a headshake of denial. If Malfoy tries to
make him touch that prick with his mouth he'll be sick all over the floor, and
then his brain will melt under Cruciatus...
"Is it really worth the pain?" Lucius asks with that steel-laced kindness of
his. The memory of the curse nearly chokes Harry, and he has to shut his eyes
for a moment because the room tilts dangerously. The rug digs into Harry's
knees before he has consciously decided to obey.
"Very good, Harry." Lucius' satisfaction drips into Harry's ears like poisonous
balm.
Lucius strokes himself a few more times, almost demonstratively as if he was
enjoying Harry's scared eyes on his erection. Then he waves his wand, summons a
small clay bottle from the shelf, and peers inside before pressing it into
Harry's hands. It's full of oil, most likely provided by Hagrid, even though
his brother wasn't much into cooked food. Harry stares at it, frozen, until
Malfoy leans down, twists some of his hair around his finger, and pulls his
head up sharply.
"I don't quite trust that pretty mouth of yours yet. Oil me up."
It takes another punishing tug to pull Harry out of his paralysis. But even as
he tilts the bottle and lets a trickle of sticky oil run onto his palm, the
thought of actually touching that insidious body scares him breathless. He can
hardly look!
"Do get it over with, Harry," Lucius advises in a sickeningly kind tone. "You
will thank me later." He tuts when Harry's hand trembles so much that half of
the oil drips onto the rug, then grabs Harry's hand and pulls it towards his
lap, almost but not quite touching hard, ruddy flesh. "Now, Harry!" he snaps,
letting go and leaning back with a haughty tilt of his head when Harry's shaky
fingers flutter against his cock.
Although it looks a bit like a blind, thick snake, it doesn't feel like one,
more like Trevor the toad, firm but damp and slightly spongy where Lucius'
foreskin still shadows the head. Harry's fingers leave a glistening trail on
Lucius' erection, and he gingerly moves to smear the oil over the surface.
Lucius just stares down at him with an expression of disdainful superiority
that leaves no room for enjoyment, not even for the suppression of enjoyment.
Just... triumph.
"Use both hands now, and more oil," he just commands after observing Harry's
feeble attempts for a few moments. "I could not care less about hurting you,
but I have no interest in bruising myself while taking you."
An unintelligible sound escapes Harry's throat, almost swallowed up by Draco's
gleeful titter. He's heard that people do that, well, that some people do, but
he can't believe that the ever-hardening prick in his hands will possibly fit
anywhere inside his body. Malfoy couldn't... He's a wizard, he should resort to
curses for his revenge, not to this kind of... animal thing. But here Harry
kneels, cradling the very weapon he's being threatened with, and would Malfoy
let himself be seen like this if he wasn't serious about-
"No," Harry protests with icy lips.
"Oh, yes, Harry. You've shown me several times how well you can wriggle out of
tight holes. Surely you don't want to deny me the pleasure of wriggling into
one for once?"
If Harry wasn't so deeply in shock, he would probably burst into tears, but his
mind goes numb with alarming speed. Even the feel of Lucius' slick cock in his
hands doesn't quite seem to register any more.
It takes a sharp poke of Lucius' wand against his cheekbone to jolt him back to
life.
"If you pass out, I will have to revive you with the Cruciatus, and I dare say
you won't enjoy it," Lucius warns.
Harry swallows bitter bile and tries to force back the grey veils at the corner
of his vision. Obviously content that his threat has proved sufficient, Lucius
pulls his wand back.
"Very good; now stand up." Harry quickly lets go of Lucius' cock, now rigid and
standing up from the man's groin with the head fully emerged, and steps back.
His knees threaten to buckle, but he manages to keep upright, unconsciously
leaning away from Lucius.
He's unprepared for Lucius' sudden wand flick and the "Scourgify!" that snaps
through his body, scraping painfully over every fibre and leaving him with the
desperate urge to scratch his insides raw. Somehow he doubts this kind of spell
is intended to be used internally.
Oblivious to Harry's discomfort, Lucius points at his still-oily fingers. "Now,
use those on yourself." Harry's mouth opens in involuntary shock. "Now, Potter,
or I'll make you do it and have you beg me to fuck you on top of it."
A low, repulsive snicker cuts into the spiral of terror whirling in Harry's
mind. "Yes, why don't you, Father?"
Lucius lifts his head to look past Harry, a thin smile evident around his
mouth. "Because it's unsubtle, Draco. Our young friend will learn his place
well enough without." He turns that pitiless gaze on Harry, who is still
staring helplessly at his slippery fingers. "And you will, won't you, Harry? Or
do you require another lesson in obedience?"
Lucius is still lounging comfortably in the chair, his hand half-curled around
his cock as he speaks, as if the prospect of torturing Harry evoked only
pleasurable anticipation.
Harry bites his lip so hard it draws blood before he shakes his head very
faintly and tries to reach behind him. It's an awkward, impossible angle and
his fingers stop at the crease between his buttocks like a spider drying out in
mid-crawl. Draco snickers again as Harry tries to press slick fingers between
his cheeks, feeling for all the world like he's trying to wipe his arse on the
toilet. Even knowing that the cleaning spell has probably left his insides more
pristine than they've ever been, it's still disgusting. He smears excess oil
over his pucker, a terribly acute feeling of tightness, and Harry knows that
there is no way that rigid jumble of muscles will ever take something as big as
Malfoy's cock. He'll kill him if he tries!
"Put that finger inside," Lucius orders, sharp but with an amused undertone.
His wand rises ever so slightly in warning. And you talked of subtle? Harry
thinks bitterly, stabbing his index finger forward because there's no help for
it. His fingernail scrapes over the tender skin of his pucker and he winces,
almost falling over and too aware of what a humiliating display he's putting on
for the ferret.
The leftover oil makes the feeling of violation hardly more bearable, and every
one of his muscles resists the uncomfortable pressure. Lucius chuckles as he
watches Harry struggle, and finally clicks his tongue when Harry has worked the
tip of his index finger into his unyielding hole. He leans forward and seizes
Harry's arm, yanking it free, then grabs the scruff of Harry's neck and pulls
him first against Lucius' body, then neatly into his lap. Harry tastes the
salt-iron of blood in his mouth and swallows a small cry of protest, because he
doesn't know whether his enemy will take offence at the sound.
"Enough, Harry. You've had your chance of making this easier for yourself.
Wingardium Leviosa!"
At full consciousness, it's a weird feeling, like having tiny air balloons
under his skin and inside his stomach. Lucius wraps both hands around Harry's
middle and lifts him up easily, turning him to face the room and the ferret's
open-mouthed leer.
"Hold on to the armrests," Lucius hisses into his ear, and Harry blindly gropes
for them, desperate to hold on to something. "Very good. Now spread your legs
and hook them over the armrests as well."
It takes a few moments for Harry to process the command and then his face
scrunches up at the implications. The giant-chair is so wide that the mere
thought of it makes his muscles ache, and it will leave him so utterly open in
every way imaginable...
When he moves at last, his limbs feel leaden, and spreading his legs that wide
cramps up the muscles in his inner thighs. He has to slide his hands further
back on the wood to make room for his legs, which brings his bare back in
contact with the rough shirtfront of Lucius' Azkaban-issue robe. He bites his
tongue in order not to jerk away in panic. The hard wood of the armrest digs
into his thighs and calves as he swings them over. Leaving Harry to stem his
own spell-decreased weight, Lucius lowers his hands to sharply pinch Harry's
lifted arse cheeks, before positioning his cock at Harry's entrance.
Fear hammers wildly in Harry's chest as the blunt head nudges his opening, hot,
slick and so much bigger than his fingertip. It'll never fit. It'll rip him
apart!
Lucius reaches up to pull Harry's feeble hands from the armrests before
shifting into a more comfortable position with Harry still perched above his
cock. At the same time as he releases Harry's arms altogether, he commands,
"Finite Incantatem!"
A screech rips from Harry's throat as he is impaled on the unmovable prick by
his own weight. The sheer pain is worse than he feared, but then it's been such
an abstract threat that nothing could have prepared him for it. It feels as if
he's been ripped open, wounded to the very core. And feeling such an intrusion
in his arse makes it a million times worse than when the Basilisk fang bit into
his arm way back. That was a wound - this is an abomination. And the pain just
drags on as Lucius' prick delves deeper into him. Harry tries to squirm,
blindly desperate to get off, to get away, but the hands are back around his
hips, pulling him onto Malfoy's cock until his arse cheeks are pressed flush
against the bastard's groin, the small dent of his balls evident in between
them.
Harry screeches again, faint and helpless, a watery vision of the ferret
visible through the tears brimming in his eyes. He blinks and the bastard
slides into focus, not sneering so much as slack-mouthed in instinctive lust.
Harry screws his eyes shut again, because that sight is too much to bear. He
feels Lucius' lips against his ear, even as his hands are guided back onto the
armrests.
"Very impressively vocal, little Harry. Now, move."
"Wha-" The rasp of his shrieks still colours his voice, and Harry just can't
get the command to make sense in his fevered brain.
"I said 'move'," Malfoy hisses. "You're here for my satisfaction - so work for
it."
It's incomprehensible - Harry is almost unconscious from the pain already, and
moving anything is practically beyond him.
"I gave you an order, Harry. Or do you insist on a more vivid incentive?
Cruciatus will get you moving for sure."
Lucius' hands skim over Harry's side as he sneers, not offering any support,
only seeming to enjoy the chilled, bruised skin under his fingers. No,
Cruciatus would kill him. Harry gives a sob that shakes his whole frame and
bites down on his already bleeding lower lip before hoisting himself up by the
arms. The pain in his arse flares as he gradually pulls himself off Malfoy's
cock, a raw, incredible burn that hurts even more slipping out of him than
going in.
"Enough," Lucius orders when only the tip of his prick remains lodged inside
Harry's hole, and Harry's shoulder muscles start to tremble under the strain.
He eases himself back down again, throwing his head back with a whimper when
the burning sensation flashes through him anew. It feels like he's doing pull-
ups in hell.
He manages to lift and impale himself on Lucius' prick two or three times, so
awkward and jerkily that he's sure it has to be hurting the bastard as well.
His face is wet, and the tears start to clog up his nose, reducing him to
snivelling, hitched breaths that don't draw enough air into his lungs. Just
when he's about to collapse from sheer exhaustion, Lucius reaches for his hips
again to pull him into a more comfortable position. Harry screams and goes
limp.
"Honestly, Potter," Lucius snipes, so very much like his ferrety offspring. "Is
that what they sell as Gryffindor bravery nowadays? I could get better service
from a first-year Slytherin." Harry thinks of Cruciatus and keeps his head
hanging down and his snarl of rage locked inside. "Would you prefer me to fuck
you, Harry?"
Lucius' voice reminds Harry of the sugared violets Aunt Petunia keeps using on
cakes and puddings. He's nicked one of them once, all sickly artificial
sweetness and the tang of dead leaves underneath. But he can't keep this up,
and finally Lucius will lose patience and hurt him worse... He nods, mutely.
"I would like an answer, Harry!" The grip on Harry's hips turns from hard to
bruising, hinting at tightly-wound restraint that Harry doesn't want to see
breaking.
"Yes, Mr Malfoy," he whispers, his tongue dry and bloated in his mouth.
Malfoy actually chuckles! "Ah, considering how closely acquainted we've
become," - he emphasises the words with a shallow thrust inside Harry's depths
- "you may address me by my first name, Harry."
"Please fuck me, Lucius!" Harry spits out each word with effort just to shorten
the travesty of this 'conversation'. He hears Draco's tittering laugh, high as
a bird's, and squeezes his eyes shut again quickly.
"Yes, I think I can do that for you, my little hero," Lucius murmurs against
the shell of Harry's ear, catching the lobe between his teeth for a moment. The
small sting sends shivers all over Harry's clammy skin.
Then he grips Harry's hips with both hands, lifting him nearly off his cock
before slamming in again as if he's trying to kill something inside Harry. It
does relieve the strain in Harry's poor shoulders, but it also allows Lucius to
thrust into him deeper and faster, until a red haze surges in front of Harry's
vision. His nose is clogged up so badly that his breath is reduced to wheezing.
He's jerked up and down on Malfoy's lap, faintly aware of how his limp prick
and balls are bouncing from the force of the thrusts, but he's in too much pain
to feel humiliated at the sight. Although Lucius has shown him no kindness
apart from the initial bit of preparation, at least he does not try to touch
Harry's groin while slamming him onto his cock again and again.
When Lucius comes inside him, it's with a last excruciating thrust followed by
a sickening wetness, and he digs his nails into Harry's hips hard enough to
break the skin. He pulls free from Harry's arse without much pause, practically
shoving him off his cock in a move that feels as cruel to Harry's bruised
channel as the former intrusions. He can't suppress a pathetic mewl at the
blunt pain.
Frantically disentangling his legs from the armrests, he lands hard on the
floor when Lucius gives him another shove to pitch him off his lap. His knees
smart, but the explosion of agony in his abused arse eclipses the minor bruises
immediately. He curls into an instinctive ball on the rug, not wanting to hear
or see; perhaps Malfoy will just kill him now. At the moment, it would seem
like a mercy!
Harry hears Lucius' robes rustle as the bastard rearranges his clothes behind
him, and then he feels his boot digging into his naked hip.
"Not quite the Gryffindor hero any more, are you, Harry?" Harry refuses to
react; he just curls tighter. "Now, Draco, would you like to sample him as
well?"
Harry's whole body twitches. He jerks his head up to stare at Lucius in
incredulous horror. The monster is properly buttoned up again, but a few fine
stands of hair have come loose from his braid to snarl about his face like a
halo in the dim light of the hut.
"Just kill me," he rasps, half surprised to hear his frantic thought uttered
aloud. But he means it.
Lucius prods him again, a bit sharper this time. "We're not here to do you
favours. Well, Draco?"
"Hm..." The younger Malfoy's gleeful indecision drifts down to Harry, and his
legs twitch again. It feels as if someone had sloshed the insides of his arse
with acid whenever he moves. If the ferret tries to stick his thing in there,
Harry will die, or break down and blubber even more pathetically than he
already has.
"I'm not sure," the smaller bastard drawls. "Do you think he's domesticated
enough to use his mouth now, Father?"
Harry wants to sink miserably into the floor at the thought. He knows the
ferret hates him, but this... It's bad enough that the bastard has been
watching! Lucius' foot strokes along Harry's flank, and he can feel his smile
radiating down on him like a warm patch on his back.
"Oh, he should be, my dragon," Lucius answers. "Although maybe refreshing his
memory won't hurt..."
Harry's foggy brain fails to make sense of the words until it's too late.
Lucius flicks the wand casually, aiming at Harry's naked back.
"Crucio!"
Harry wheezes and twists as the curse hits, splashing him with molten lava as
if he's even more vulnerable without clothing. The pain should drown out the
rawness inside him to a mere insignificance, but it doesn't, seeking out
bruised, torn skin to claw into a mass of already thrumming nerves. It feels
like being split open and ripped apart, and this time Harry actively hears his
own scream, shrill and high like a dying bird bashing itself against the
windows. His body twists on the rug to get away from an agony there is no
escape from.
He doesn't hear the counter-curse and for an endless minute can't even feel its
effect because his nerves can't calm down quickly enough. Even as the pain
recedes, he's afraid to move. Surely the curse must have scorched the skin
right of his back and left him torn wide-open and bleeding. The echo of his
scream still seems to dance along the walls of the hut; he can see it reflected
in the pale, shocked mask of Draco's face.
When Lucius takes a step closer to him, Harry's head snaps up in terror. His
body cringes at the mere sight of the monster's wand. For the first time, the
truth that one piece of wood and a word can destroy him entirely sinks in for
real. Harry shakes his head frantically, eyes almost impossibly wide.
"Please don't!" he pleads, tongue dry and swollen, lips cracked.
"You'll service my son without fuss now, won't you, Harry?" Lucius inquires,
peering down at his shaking prisoner with detached curiosity.
"Yes." Harry pledges because he'd agree to anything right now, even to slitting
his own throat. And then "Yes!" again, for reassurance and because, really,
what's putting his mouth on the ferret compared to the Cruciatus Curse?
"Very well." Lucius nods, and gives Harry's sweat-soaked hair a careless
tousle; it takes all of Harry's remaining willpower not to scream and hurl
himself away from the fleeting touch. "Come over to us, Draco."
Harry supposes he should be grateful that he's not being made to crawl over to
where the ferret is standing, because he's by no means sure his legs would obey
him. Even rising up to his knees sends a wave of fire through his abused arse
and draws a few pained gasps out of him. When he drags himself up onto his
haunches, his arm brushes his hip and the clammy cold of his own skin almost
makes him jump. As if Lucius had stolen away his body and left his mind a
stranger inside...
The ferret seems reassured by the pathetic sounds Harry makes, because the
spiteful sneer has sneaked back onto his features as he saunters over,
swaggering almost. Despite everything Lucius has done, kneeling to the ferret
with his face right in front of his crotch soaks Harry's neck in scarlet heat.
He has to be a miserable sight - bruised, his face smudged with tears, and
terrified out of his wits.
He hears Lucius step up behind him and jerks, falling against Draco's side. The
ferret laughs.
"All right, Potter!" There is a breathless quality to Draco's voice, as if he
can't quite believe this is really happening. He runs his hand suggestively
over his front.
With an unsteady hand, eyes glued to Malfoy's thighs so that they will not
stray to his face, Harry pushes the unbuttoned robes behind Malfoy's hips and
out of the way, and tugs on the belt of Malfoy's school trousers. He hears the
ferret's breath quicken as he fumbles with the buttons, his prick straining
against the cloth that imprisons it. Oh God, Harry does not want to see that!
He can feel Lucius observing him from behind, and nearly jumps out of his skin
when a booted foot nudges the inside of his left knee.
"Proceed, Harry," the elder Malfoy commands mildly even as he urges Harry's
thighs to spread further. "I'm sure my dragon is eager for your attentions."
Harry presses the flat of his palm over the opened buttons of Draco's trousers,
awash in terror as Lucius' foot slips between his legs; his pucker contracts
feebly, trying to close against invasion, and the new burn in his arse sends
trails of fire right up into his spine. But Lucius does not press against his
opening. His foot merely nudges Harry's knees apart, then slides forward to
brush aside Harry's dangling balls until it slithers against the underside of
his shrivelled prick. It does not hurt, but it leaves Harry hyperaware and
scared.
"Stop stalling, four-eyes!" The ferret impatiently grinds his crotch against
Harry's face.
Taking a deep breath, Harry decides to disregard Lucius' insidious probing of
his cock from behind and to focus on more pressing matters. He pulls aside the
flaps of Malfoy's trousers and shoves down his underpants. The ferret's prick
springs out, almost is if it had a life of its own and was determined to seek
out Harry's mouth. It's already hard and angrily red, shining wetly at the tip.
Harry clenches his teeth as he reaches out to pull it away from where it is
stuck to a wet patch of underwear. Just how could anyone become this aroused
from watching a schoolmate being raped, sworn enemy or not?
This close, the strong smell of the ferret's arousal fills his nose - sharp and
animalistic, like some woodland predator cooped up asleep in his den for too
long. The aromatic scent of the oil had masked Lucius' smell before. Harry is
familiar with the smell of his own arousal, of course, having sniffed his
fingers after a round of wanking in the protection of his four-poster, but his
own scent is more... mellow, less aggressive.
Forlornly, he wraps his hand around Malfoy's shiny prick, tugging back the
foreskin with his palm, and touches it gingerly with his tongue. The taste is
just as sharp as the smell, but he's tasted worse - Skele-Gro, or some of
Snape's more vile concoctions in Potions class. As long as he doesn't think
about what he's putting in his mouth, he can deal with it. His tongue trembles
along the side of Malfoy's stiff prick, and the ferret inhales shakily and
grabs the tabletop for balance.
"You want to pay special attention to the head," Lucius throws in from behind,
giving Harry's own prick another slow stroke with his boot. It makes the hairs
stand up on Harry's neck.
He gives the blunt, fleshy tip of Malfoy's prick a lick and a tentative suckle,
and another small burst of salty wetness collects under his tongue. Malfoy
groans when Harry probes the slit with the tip of his tongue, and then stabs
his hips forward to bury more of himself in Harry's mouth. Harry gives a
muffled noise of protest when the flesh fills his mouth, first poking into his
cheek, then threatening his throat as Malfoy tries to burrow deeper. Harry
gasps for air, which is a bad idea since Malfoy's cock unerringly shoves deeper
and chokes off his oxygen supply. Harry gags at the pressure at the back of his
throat and tries to pull away.
He doesn't even manage to slip free of Malfoy's cock because Lucius' hand comes
to press against the back of his head.
"Take him in, Harry," the hateful voice instructs. "A loudmouthed little slut
like you should not have any problems."
Harry feels tears pricking his eyes at the cruel jibe, but he doesn't dare to
refuse when his head is pressed forward again. Draco leans down possessively
and winds his hand in Harry's sweaty hair. But he fills Harry's mouth more
slowly this time, as if to savour the experience.
"Suck, Potter," he orders hoarsely, seemingly holding himself back from pulling
on Harry's hair with effort.
Harry does, trying to ignore the slow, insistent massage Lucius keeps giving
his prick with his boot. This time, Draco lets him suck on the top half of his
cock for a couple of moments, diluting the bitter-salt drops he receives with
his saliva. Malfoy breathes heavily in a way his father hasn't done during
Harry's entire ordeal, wobbling on his feet although most of his weight is
supported against the table. Seated would be more comfortable, no doubt, but
Harry is pretty sure that towering over his enemy like this gives the ferret an
extra kick.
Then his fingers tighten in Harry's hair again, pulling his head forward. It
leaves Harry with his nose pressed into Malfoy's pubic hair, which is as pale
as his head, but wiry and rather rough. Harry tries to relax his throat, tries
not to gag, and gags nonetheless. It doesn't stop the ferret from giving
another thrust, though. He can't last long like this, Harry prays frantically,
trying to suck in air through his nose and wriggling his tongue in hope of
making the bastard toss faster. He's just a boy, he'll come any time now. Oh
Merlin please!
"You swallow, Potter!" Malfoy growls in a voice roughened by lust just a second
before he jerks deep into Harry's throat once more and spills himself. Harry
coughs and splutters, trying to swallow the bit of wet without choking on
Malfoy's cock. It does soften quickly, which makes it no less unpleasantly
there, but not quite so obstructing.
When Malfoy pulls out, Harry gives his prick a few more licks to clean it off;
he knows he'd end up being forced to do it anyway, and would rather not be
coerced.
"Very nice, Harry," Lucius approves behind him. "You see, Draco, how supremely
well he can express his humility without words?"
The ferret laughs, breathless and giddy as he pulls away completely, leaving
Harry to take a few rapid breaths while ignoring the unpleasant taste that
lingers in his mouth.
Now that he's not in danger of choking at any moment, he can feel the light but
insistent press of Lucius' boot against his prick again, not hurting, just
insidiously present. Harry feels himself harden ever so slightly - which should
be impossible in his situation, kneeling on the ground with raw insides and the
ferret's come still bitter at the back of his throat.
He tries to tell himself that it's not his fault - that he's as much a slave to
adolescent hormones as the ferret - but it doesn't help. His mind is still a
quagmire of pain and vile images of what Lucius did to him, and reacting to his
touch means betraying himself in the worst way possible. Even knowing that
that's why the bastard is doing it can't lessen the corroding flush of shame.
Lucius keeps stroking Harry's prick, and Harry swallows a terrified sob as he
feels it filling out further and curving slightly upward. He tries to press his
knees together, but Lucius' boot swings aside in a light but warning kick at
his balls, so he leaves his trembling thighs spread as they are, trying to will
down his erection, eyes fixed down at the knots of the rug so he won't have to
see the ferret's flush-faced admiration of his father's malevolence. He can't
shut out their voices, though.
"He is quite responsive in spite of all his protestations, isn't he?" Lucius
muses, his sickening smile evident in his tone.
For the first time since Lucius tortured him with Cruciatus, Harry feels the
chill in his body replaced by heat as both Malfoys stare down at his
inappropriate half-hard prick with terrible amusement. Somehow it makes his
pulsing flesh throb almost harder.
Then Lucius' provoking foot is suddenly gone from Harry's testicles, but before
he can draw breath, the man walks around him and presses his boot against
Harry's bare shoulder, forcing him down onto his back onto the mat with enough
force to leave the beginnings of yet another bruise. Lucius' pale, sharp eyes
bore into Harry's. Only a strand of hair coming loose from his braid and
snaking down the side of his face belies his professed nonchalance.
"If you can get hard under my foot, you can give us a little spectacle as well.
Go ahead and stroke that greedy cock of yours, Harry." Lucius' mouth twists
into an ugly sneer. "You've pleased us both well enough tonight - let it not be
said that Malfoys would deny gratification to their whores."
Harry stares up at him, trying very hard not to let the tears spill over that
burn in his eyes. He can't bring himself to touch his cock, which seems to
deflate more with every second it goes without stimulation. Lucius' expression
hardens, and a long-fingered hand comes to rest on the dark wood of his wand.
He doesn't even need to raise it - Harry feels his hand creeping down to touch
his prick, which lies alien between his fingers as if Lucius had made it a part
of himself just by touching it.
"Better," Lucius sneers again. "As much as I'd enjoy watching you scream that
pretty little throat raw again under Cruciatus, having the famous hero of the
wizarding world tamed to my hand is no less satisfying."
Harry swallows hard and wraps his fingers more tightly around his cock, just
cradling it protectively for a moment. Then he tugs at the hardening flesh as
if it belonged to someone else - which it does, he realises. He only notices
he's crying soundlessly when a salty drop runs into the corner of his mouth.
He's too miserable to care about showing his weakness any longer. He works
himself - long, tight stroke up, a twist to the head, a tickling thumb-brush
over the slit to spread the moisture - realising that even if Lucius was not
going not kill him tonight, he'd never be able to enjoy doing this for his own
satisfaction again. The revulsion of this travesty would remain ingrained in
his very nerves.
His cock hardens obediently if sluggishly under the familiar rhythm,
unconcerned about the display it's making. Harry feels the warmth and pleasure
as if through cotton. His breath comes harder as he pushes the foreskin down
with a circle of thumb and index finger, exposing the darkening head and
swirling his fingers over it.
He thrusts his hips up weakly into his hand, the deep ache in his arse - and
shame - leaving him too shattered to move with vigour. Their eyes are on him,
staring greedily down at him like vultures on fresh carrion, as if to pull at
his soul with invisible claws. He screws his lids shut.
"Look at me, Harry!" comes Lucius' voice, cold and satisfied. "I told you there
would be no escape, so open your eyes."
Harry obeys, all resistance burned away under Malfoy's acidic gaze, allowing
his tears to flow freely now as he rubs and pulls himself to climax like a
machine. Oh, he understands perfectly how this will suit Lucius: perform a bit
of crude revenge to prove to himself - and to his son! - that he won't be
bested by a mere boy, and then force Harry to debase himself to face up to the
fact that he's not special, and worth less than nothing.
Harry gasps as the rush begins to build, reluctant but inevitable. There is a
moment of blinding heat as his cock jerks and spurts over his fingers, leaving
drops all over his belly and chest. After a second, pleasure translates into
bland nothingness and then into searing revulsion. Harry feebly tries to wipe
his fingers on the rug before he rolls to his side, not daring to turn his back
to Lucius, but covering his sticky, limp prick with his knee for the most
meagre of protections. His face rests wet in the curve of his arm, and hopeless
sobs try to tear him apart.
Oh God, please, just let it be over!
"Are you going to kill him, father?"
Lucius stares down at Harry with a thoughtful expression on his face, and Harry
tries to turn his head away. He can only imagine what he must look like, face
stained with tears and sweat, spattered with his own come. He's too worn to
spare a sharp thought for the ferret's bloodthirstiness, although there may
have been a tremor of apprehension in Draco's voice. Years back, in the Riddle
graveyard, he'd wanted to survive at any cost, running high on adrenaline and
fear. Now, death seems more like a blessing, if it can blot out the memory of
the last hour. And he's safely beyond fear now.
Lucius gives his hip yet another prod. "What do you say?" he inquires, a
terrible glint of humour in his eyes. "Are you broken, Harry? Would you like to
die now?"
Harry just keeps looking away, his cheek resting on the rough knots of the mat,
letting the discussion wash over him without caring.
"No, my dragon, I think not," Lucius answers at last. "I have had everything I
wanted from our little hero."
"But... won't he tell if we let him go? Or am I to come with you, Father?"
"Not this time, Draco. You've taken enough risks to meet me here already. I'll
make sure young Harry will pose no danger to you."
"A memory charm?" the ferret pipes up with a hint of interest.
Yes, Harry thinks tiredly, erasing the past hours from his brain might be
almost as kind as death.
"A Dark Arts variant." Lucius runs his foot along the curve of Harry's thigh
without breaking eye contact with his son. A whimper escapes Harry's throat,
but he doesn't dare to move. "He will not remember what you - what we - did to
him, but when he looks at you, the feelings will be there. They'll creep up on
him in his subconscious and in his nightmares - the trauma, without the
memories. Will that vindicate you, Draco?"
Harry sees the sneering curve of Malfoy's mouth as he gloats at him, and wants
to dissolve into the floorboards.
"Yes, Father. I think it will." They've never sounded so alike to Harry before.
Then Draco clears his throat. "But what about the Dark Lord? Wouldn't he want-"
Lucius puts a hand on his son's shoulder that silences him in mid-sentence. "My
Lord, Draco, has not deemed it necessary to expand any effort to rescue his
loyal servants imprisoned in his cause." He pauses, a hard cast to his face.
"Which is why I don't see why I should dispose of his little nemesis for him
right now." He smiles at Harry. "Not that it looks like such a threat any
longer."
Yes, for all that he's supposed to be the saviour of the wizarding world, it
has not taken much to crack him. Harry laughs bitterly to himself. A few flicks
of Cruciatus, and he'd been ready to suck Malfoy's prick just to escape the
pain. How could he ever have dared hope that he could take on Voldemort when he
already faltered before one of his henchmen like this?
Lucius waves his wand, once, twice, and Harry feels the rough scrape of the
cleaning charm wash over him again, followed by the filmy warmth of a healing
spell. He can practically watch the bruises fading from his skin, right down to
the half-healed Quidditch injury on his side. The bulk of the charm settles
between his legs, knitting the raw skin of his channel. No evidence... The
healing seems to remain on the surface, though - dulling the bluntest edge of
pain, but nothing more.
Smile still firmly in place, Lucius waves his wand again and summons the pile
of Harry's clothes and glasses until they rain down on Harry's prone form.
"You look like a Knockturn Alley whore, Harry. Cover yourself unless you want
me to take you a second time."
Harry grabs his trousers in a heartbeat, struggling to his feet although the
pain nearly tears him apart when he bends forward to force his legs inside. His
fingers feel like the gout-gnarled claws of an old man. He manages the buttons
of his trousers, seeking safety above all else, but his shaking hands fail at
the shirt buttons, so he just pulls the flaps tightly over his chest and wraps
himself up in the shelter of his robe, hunched over and hugging himself
tightly. It doesn't stop the tremors, but he's not quite in as much danger of
falling back to his knees now.
"He'll be docile for a few hours after the casting," Lucius tells his son.
"I'll take your broom Draco; take Potter back to Hogwarts on his Firebolt and
send him to bed. That will allow the memory charm to settle and take full
effect."
Draco nods, and they embrace, quick but tightly, and for once utterly unmindful
of Harry's trembling form beside them.
"Very well," Lucius comments, releasing his son from his arms and turning to
Harry. "Now, look at me."
Seeing the wand aimed at his face, Harry flinches backwards involuntarily, all
of his nerves screaming in fear. Another glint of hilarity ghosts over Lucius'
features. He knows what he's done - that Harry would do almost anything not to
feel the hell of his Cruciatus ever again. Harry bites his tongue and fixes his
eyes obediently on Lucius' face.
"You want me to make you forget, don't you, Harry?"
Harry does nod then, because anything that'll stop the acuteness of images
flashing before his inner eye will be mercy. And dealing with nightmares is
something he's used to.
Lucius' hand fists in his hair, pulling him up onto his toes and still Harry
can't manage to meet his eyes, so he stares at the man's pointed chin instead.
He can't help cringing as the wand comes up, and feels Lucius' satisfaction at
his weakness sluicing over him. The tip of the wand comes to rest under Harry's
left eye, digging into thin skin. Harry shuts his eyes against the sight of
Lucius' face one last time, but he feels the man's breath on his lips, warm and
spicy and far too close. He forces himself not to retch dryly.
"Good-bye, Harry Potter," Lucius hisses. "It was a pleasure having you, and
although you will not remember this night, I promise that you'll never forget
me."
Something like a sheet of ice touches Harry's cheek, spreading quickly to his
forehead while bypassing the eyes entirely, and then the same icy hand cups the
back of his skull. His head goes numb so quickly that he never even hears the
words of the spell that freezes his mind.
                                      ***
It is one of the worst mornings in Harry's whole memory, he reflects as he sits
in the Great Hall at breakfast, playing with a triangle of dry toast. It's
never been so hard just to wake up. Opening his eyes to a head pounding as if
goblins were digging for treasure inside, with every muscle stiff and aching,
his first impulse had been to hide right back under the duvet. No surprise
there, really - he must have fallen asleep on the stone steps while keeping
watch for Malfoy... Hell, he could not even remember how he got up and into
bed! Still, nearly jumping out of his skin and falling out of bed just because
Ron touched his bare shoulder was, well, stupid. And now his whole body feels
like one gigantic bruise over unblemished skin.
If he could remember any details, he'd suppose that Voldemort had been amusing
himself with his mind all night. But all Harry can remember is a halo of pale
hair around a grey Dementor's hood... Oh well, sneaking about chilly dungeons
all night, plotting to capture Lucius Malfoy, is enough to give anyone
nightmares.
He tries to mumble something noncommittal in response to Hermione's nattering -
he does also feel like death warmed over, thanks very much! - and gives his
toast another push around the plate when a group of Slytherins enters in a
tight knot. Harry raises his head and sees Draco Malfoy among them. There is
nothing whatsoever unusual about it, of course - even bastards eat breakfast.
But then Malfoy stops while his cronies rush to their table, and looks straight
at Harry. There's nothing unusual about that, either, Harry tries to tell
himself even as the breath is knocked right out of his lungs by a wave of sheer
terror. Harry sees Ron's lips moving, mouthing a question Harry can't hear over
the rush of blood in his ears.
Malfoy's mouth curves into a smile of distilled malevolence, pale eyes
glittering. Harry's chair raps back and falls over as Harry leaps to his feet,
leaving crumpled bits of toast to litter his plate. He dashes from the hall
like a frightened cat, primal terror coiling in his stomach, and doesn't quite
stop running until he's reached the courtyard of the castle, where he slides to
the ground in the shelter of a narrow marble wall.
He draws his knees up against his chest, and hugs them tightly with both hands
for good measure. Just why did he run from Draco Malfoy as if he'd been a
Dementor under Polyjuice? He's still shivering in the watery early morning sun
which seems to chill rather than warm him. Even now, alone and safe, he knows
he'd run right off if Malfoy smiled at him like that again. Cold, irrational
fear chokes his breaths. He feels as if a piece of the dry toast he didn't eat
was stuck in his throat, trying to make him sick.
It's nothing, he tells himself. Just a stomach bug or a spot of the cold. If it
persists, he'll go to Madam Pomfrey for a dose of Pepperup Potion. He's safe
and protected at Hogwarts, and neither Draco Malfoy nor his horrible father can
do anything to him here.
And, Harry promises himself as irrational tears run down his face and spill
coldly into the collar of his shirt, he'll surely not be stupid enough to sneak
out of the castle alone.
                                   ~ finis ~
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