
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7871824.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J.K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Draco_Malfoy/Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy, Ron_Weasley
  Additional Tags:
      Drama, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, BDSM, Multiple_Partners
  Collections:
      Ink_Stained_Fingers
  Stats:
      Published: 2005-05-12 Words: 15187
****** Turnabout ******
by Hijja
Summary
     "We’ll do nothing he hasn’t done to us. And it’ll still be far less
     than he deserves".
Notes
     This story was originally archived at Ink_Stained_Fingers, which was
     created in 2002 as a home for Harry Potter slash fiction. To preserve
     the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an
     Open Doors-approved project in January 2015. We e-mailed all authors
     about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached
     everyone. If you are (or know) this author or artist, please contact
     me using the e-mail address at the Ink_Stained_Fingers_collection
     profile.
     Author's notes: Abject thanks to Amanuensis for her wonderful beta,
     to Thea for the midnight discussions, and to Icarus for her input on
     the beginning and Ron’s character. I’ve been fiddling with and
     procrastinating over this for over a year, so I’d be ecstatic about
     any kind of feedback.
Turnabout




  "Bye, Harry. Great flying! See you at the party."
  Harry waved to Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloan and peeled off his sweaty
  Quidditch robes before stepping into the shower. He preferred to have the
  shower room to himself, especially lately. Outside the Quidditch changing
  rooms, the shouting match between Ron and Ginny was still in full swing.
  Ron had fouled Malfoy savagely during the match, and the penalty had almost
  cost Gryffindor the lead in a very close game.
  "A fine team captain you are," he heard Ginny yell at her brother. "...
  almost lost... all because of your ridiculous feud with Malfoy... solve
  that off the pitch, you git!"
  Harry grinned, hit the lever and let the spray drown out the arguing
  voices. He winced as the hot water cascaded over his back. Only that bloody
  Slytherin Death Eater brat would come up with a healing charm that took
  away the bruises, but not the pain. And he'd gone pretty sparingly on the
  healing itself this time, in order to gain some extra leverage in the
  Gryffindor-Slytherin match. But he'd caught the Snitch nonetheless, Harry
  thought smugly. Oh, he knew he would pay for it, and quite likely for Ron's
  stunt as well, but it had been more than worth it to watch the ferret's
  rage-filled face as he dropped onto his arse on the pitch, empty-handed and
  ten feet away from his broom.
  He reduced the heat, leaned his forehead against the tiles and lost himself
  in the luxury of the warm spray. It enveloped him, relaxing his muscles and
  emptying his mind. It also drowned any outside noise, which was why he
  jumped when a finger tapped against his shoulder. Harry whirled round,
  water splattering in all directions, only just in time restraining himself
  from diving for his wand. This was Hogwarts, after all, but his reflexes
  were all too often quicker than his thoughts.
  "Ron!" he exclaimed, turning off the water and angling for his towel.
  "What's that on your shoulder?" Ron asked.
  "Er... that..." Harry stalled, painfully aware of how bad a liar he was.
  Damn that Slytherin bastard! "I went flying yesterday and skirted a bit too
  closely to the Whomping Willow." He shrugged, throwing on his robes
  quickly. He did so not want to talk about this with Ron.
  "The Whomping Willow?" Ron asked, eyes narrowed.
  "Yeah. It probably remembered me all right." Harry's laugh sounded
  artificial even in his own ears.
  "Why didn't you go see Madam Pomfrey?"
  "It's just a scratch, really. I didn't want to get another lecture about
  being an injury magnet."
  "I see." Ron watched him dress dispassionately, and then slapped him on the
  back when he was busy towelling his dripping hair. It wasn't even a hard
  slap, but the sudden stinging pain made Harry yelp and almost sent him to
  his knees on the floor. Tears stung in his eyes.
  "Just a scratch from the Whomping Willow, hm?" Ron's voice was dangerously
  low. "Care to try the truth, mate? Someone hurt you, or cursed you. Who?"
  Don't go there, Ron!
  "I said it was an accident," Harry snapped. "Look, can we just not talk
  about it?"
  A year or so ago, his tone might have been enough to send his best friend
  off in an angry huff, but becoming first a prefect, then Quidditch captain
  had given Ron a degree of self-possession he had lacked before. He would
  never make a great Keeper, but his game strategies were inspired. In
  general, Harry was happy about this development, since it diminished the
  potential for clashes when Ron was confronted with his best friend's fame
  as the 'Boy Who Lived'. Now, however, was a particularly bad time for Ron
  to display his newfound maturity.
  The redhead just shook his head resolutely.
  "No, we can't," he stated matter-of-factly, then turned and glowered at
  Euan Abercrombie and Marius Crockford, Gryffindor's new junior chasers, who
  had stormed in raucously, brooms still in hand.
  "Get your sticks into the broom shed, for Merlin's sake," Ron barked. "Do
  you have any idea what humidity does to a fine-tuned racing broom?"
  They darted back out of the door as if they'd been hit with a Reductor
  Curse. Ron's Quidditch coach command voice tended to provoke snickers at
  best from Harry or Ginny, Jack and Andrew, but it still impressed the heck
  out of the newbies. Ron shrugged.
  "Looks like this isn't the best place to sort this out." He pulled his
  gloves off and threw his robe after them. "I'll see you in half an hour in
  our dormitory." He gave Harry a hard look. "And don't try to hide from me,
  mate. If I have to get Hermione to help hunting you down, I'll throw you
  into detention with Filch for so long you'll wish someone trying to turn
  your sorry hide into hash was your only problem."
  Had he felt a little less miserable, Harry would have grinned at that, but
  so he just nodded dejectedly and left, feeling more anxious than he ever
  had this year, which was saying something.
                                      ***
  Half an hour later, Harry was lingering indecisively in front of Gryffindor
  Tower's portrait hole, pondering what to do. He didn't really think Ron
  would give him detention if he backed out of this 'appointment', and even
  if, he'd take almost anything over that particular talk. But it wasn't as
  if he could avoid Ron forever - they slept in the same room, for God's
  sake! It would only piss him off more.
  A hand closing around his arm solved his dilemma.
  "Don't even think about running!"
  Heart plummeting, Harry stared into Ron's determined eyes, but put up no
  resistance as his friend marched him into the seventh-year boys dorm before
  him. Dean and Seamus were on their way out, loaded down with sweets and
  butterbeer for the victory party. Only Neville was left, sitting cross-
  legged on his four-poster and munching on a chocolate frog while watering
  his Mimbulus mimbletonia, which had grown to breath-taking proportions
  since their fifth year. It was now occupying Neville's whole bedside table
  and was making forays onto Harry's next to it.
  Ron waited until Dean and Seamus had left with their load, then turned to
  Neville.
  "Neville, Harry and I need to have a talk in private - would you mind?
  We'll be down for the party in a bit."
  Neville gave them a wide-eyed look and swung his legs off the bed.
  "You're going to yell, aren't you?"
  "Of course not," said Harry.
  "Quite likely," said Ron serenely.
  Neville grinned and nodded, levitating his watering can away before pulling
  the door shut behind him.
  Harry slumped down on his bed. He still had no idea about how to steer Ron
  off his perilous course. There was a steely glint in his best friend's
  eyes, and if he looked this angry now, he would fly off the handle in
  spectacular fashion if Harry let him in on the truth.
  Ron flopped down on the end of the mattress, one lanky foot tucked under.
  "Now spill. Who did it?"
  "Ron, I hate keeping things from you, but this is extremely personal.
  Believe me, you don't want to know."
  "You mean You-Know-Who has found a way to take over your mind again and is
  using it to slowly torture you to death?"
  Harry gaped in shock.
  "No!"
  "Good," Ron replied. "Because that's the worst thing I could think of." A
  tight knot was forming in Harry's throat. "Now don't take this personally,
  all right," Ron continued doggedly, "but... are you letting someone beat
  the stuffing out of you because you get off on it?"
  "No!" Harry yelled again.
  "So what the heck's going on?"
  Harry fiddled with a corner of his pillow to cover up the furious whirring
  of his brain. Well, Ron kept preaching at him that attack was better than
  defence at wizard chess... Attack it is, then.
  "How come you're jumping to conclusions like that?" he asked, one eyebrow
  pulled up provocatively. "Have had any first-hand experience with getting
  your jollies that way recently?"
  Harry winced at the way Ron's lips thinned, but there was something deeply
  suspicious about the way his friend's face went first white, then bright
  red.
  "We're not talking about me!" Ron sputtered after a few seconds' struggle
  to swallow around his tongue.
  "No?" Harry settled for his most innocent expression and let a bit of steel
  come out in his voice. "Perhaps we should?" Yes, there was something to be
  said for taking the offensive.
  "You're trying to weasel out of this," Ron complained.
  "Yep," Harry nodded, suppressing the impulse to go for the pun. "But you're
  hiding something just the same. Don't try to deny it - you're a lousy
  liar."
  Ron bit his lips. He looked supremely awkward. "All right. You'll tell me,
  I'll tell you."
  "Fair enough," Harry agreed. "You first."
  Swallowing yet another protest, Ron tucked under his other foot as well to
  sit cross-legged, and took a deep breath. Then another.
  "Look, Harry," he began very hesitantly. "It just kind of... looked like we
  might have a similar problem." He turned slightly and pulled his robe down
  from his shoulder. The pale, freckled skin was marred by an angry red line
  that made Harry's own scratch sting in commiseration. Icy rage flooded
  through Harry, but when he opened his mouth - to curse most vilely - Ron's
  raised hand stopped him.
  "No, let me finish, otherwise I'll never work up the courage to start
  again." Harry nodded and relaxed fragmentarily.
  "Remember when we came back to school this year? You'd been cooped up with
  the bloody Dursleys all summer, and you were still so miserable about
  Sirius?"
  Harry nodded again. Yes, Wormtail Polyjuicing himself into Sirius come back
  from the Veil had been the distinct lowlight of his sixth year, and dashing
  that illusion had thrown Harry back into the grip of a depression as severe
  as the one after his godfather's first 'death'. Recent... developments had
  eclipsed some of his self-pity and replaced it with furious adrenaline, but
  it had been the most miserable start of a school year ever.
  "Well, you... I... you were more downcast than usual one evening, staring
  out at the lake all alone, and..." Ron floundered, the tinge of his face
  slowly approaching the colour of his hair. Harry frowned. He remembered
  sitting out by the lake a lot, but...
  "Well, I kind of went over to keep you company, and patted you on the arm,
  and then you kind of-" Ron's voice sunk down to a pained whisper, "-you
  kind of kissed me, and I thought what the heck, if it gets you out of your
  misery-"
  "What?" Harry yelped, overcome by surprise and a deep, horrible sense of
  dread. This could not be! "I've never..."
  "I know you didn't!" Ron yelled back and ran an agitated hand through his
  hair, systematically reducing it to a mess to rival Harry's. "Just listen,
  all right! Well, we... hell, you get the picture, don't you?" Harry nodded,
  white with terror. Ron's mouth set in a thin line, and his hand twisted in
  the bedclothes as if he were strangling an invisible enemy.
  "Let's just say that when we were... done... the Polyjuice wore off and you
  turned into something else altogether." A strange flicker ran over his
  face, like the residual pain from an old injury, and Harry squashed the
  urge to pull him into a consoling hug. Considering the topic they were on,
  this would be the worst possible response. Fierce anger coiled in his
  stomach, but he didn't want Ron to think it was directed at him.
  "Draco Malfoy," he said.
  Ron's gaze dropped to the floor.
  "He threatened to tell you. He said he could record it in a Pensieve and
  project the images all over Hogwarts."
  "Ron..."
  "I didn't even know you could do that with a Pensieve. I went to the bloody
  library to check-"
  "Ron."
  "He swore he wouldn't tell you if I agreed to..." A convulsive swallow.
  "Ron!"
  "And then he just told you anyway, that bastard, and blackmailed you too,
  for my own bloody stupidity!"
  "Ron, dammit!" Harry grabbed his upper arms and forced him to look up. "He
  did not tell me."
  "That bloody fucking bastard - what?" Ron paled until his freckles looked
  like a drizzle of blood on his face. "But you... I saw... I thought..." He
  hid behind his hands and flopped face-down onto the mattress like a warrior
  who had been dealt a death blow. "Just kill me now."
  "No," Harry snarled through his teeth. "I'm quite ready to kill somebody,
  but it isn't you." He bit his lip, almost glad that Ron couldn't see him.
  "Let me tell you a little story myself."
  Ron nodded faintly into the bedding, or maybe his shoulders were just
  shaking.
  "Remember our first game this year, when Ravenclaw flattened us with their
  new line-up of Chasers even though I got the Snitch?" Ron groaned
  painfully. "Yes, I've never seen you this miserable." For a while, Harry
  had expected Ron to try and drown himself in the lake, broomstick,
  Quidditch gear and all. "Well, Ginny and Dean were trying to throw that
  consolation party, and you were hiding in our dorm..."
  "Huh?" Ron's head came up, and Harry swatted it down again firmly.
  "Well, I stuck my head through your curtains to ask if you wanted to come
  down, and then you just pulled me in and kissed me and put a silencing
  charm on the bed curtains and..."
  "I was hiding in the Quidditch supplies shed with a half a bottle of
  Firewhisky blend," Ron said flatly.
  "I know."
  Ron surged up with all the vehemence of a Grindylow coming at its prey from
  the depths of its pond.
  "Fucking Merlin on a broomstick! He did both of us with the same trick, and
  then blackmailed each with the threat of telling the other?"
  "Oh yes," Harry nodded bitterly.
  Ron paused, mouth hanging slightly open for almost a minute before
  expelling the breath he'd been holding.
  "You know, aside from the fact that I'd love to slowly disembowel him with
  a blunt quill, that is almost brilliant."
  "You're not kidding! If that stunt ever becomes public, it'll catapult him
  right among the top entries of the Slytherin Encyclopaedia of Evil."
  They pondered it quietly, until Harry forced his tongue around the question
  that burned inside him, but did not really want to come out.
  "What... what did he do to you?"
  Ron's face went blank. He didn't blush, or flinch, or turn away, which made
  it worse somehow. His voice, too, was schooled in concentrated calm.
  "Put me down a bit. Lashed me a lot. Fucked me, of course." The calm turned
  to brittleness at the end, and Harry felt an overwhelming surge of rage at
  Malfoy, who couldn't have kept this between the two of them, who had to do
  it to his best friend as well. He, Harry, could deal with whatever Malfoy
  threw at him and then some, but to use Ron like this, whose self-confidence
  had always been so fragile... A sharp punch to the arm knocked him out of
  his fretting.
  "If you start going all guilt-ridden hero on me I'll hex you," Ron warned.
  "I'm dealing. It's you I'm worried about. You've got enough on your plate,
  You-Know-Who and the bloody prophecy and all, without playing sex toy for
  the fucking ferret!"
  Harry couldn't suppress a snort at that. There was something ultimately
  hilarious about the whole thing, well, if the universe had a very sick
  sense of humour. Which, judging from his past experiences, probably was the
  case.
  "Well," he said, allowing the corner of his mouth to curl upwards as it
  wanted to, "he told me at the end of our fifth year that he'd have me. I
  just didn't expect that he meant it that way."
  Ron returned his wry grin. "We're pretty ridiculous, aren't we?"
  "Pretty!"
  "Harry?"
  "Hm?"
  "You know I love you, right? I mean you're my best friend, but... it's not
  that I'd mind shagging you, but if you don't... you know? It's not as if
  there's anything wrong with shagging guys, of course, but you... Well,
  you're almost my brother. That's just weird."
  Harry broke into the first relieved grin of the day and took a deep,
  liberating breath.
  "Yes, definitely weird. I'm really glad that you don't... I mean... with
  me... you know."
  Ron returned the grin and nodded empathically. "I know." Then his brows
  start to furrow again. "Mate... if he did that with us - do you think he
  might have tried it on Hermione as well?"
  His hands balled into fists at the thought, and his neck turned an alarming
  shade of red. Harry pondered it, though with far less apprehension. He
  shook his head.
  "I doubt it. He'd never seduce a Muggleborn, given that endless pureblood
  crap he's spouting all the time. And she'd never fall for it. She wouldn't
  jump into bed with one of us just on impulse, and she would have ripped
  Malfoy's balls off if he tried anything."
  Ron's breath calmed slightly.
  "You're right. She's brighter than us. Although ripping the bastard's balls
  off sounds pretty good to me."
  "It does, doesn't it?" Harry agreed fervently. "Which brings us to the
  point... what are we going to do with Malfoy?"
  "I say we kill him, pull a Crouch and Transfigure his body into a bone, and
  feed it to Fang," Ron proposed with feeling. "On second thought, let's
  Transfigure it into a fish head and feed it to Mrs Norris - if she chokes
  on him, we'll have hit two Doxies with one spray."
  "Have you..." Harry hesitated. "Have you ever thought about... how it would
  be if the roles were reversed?" He felt heat creeping into his face, and
  observed the scarlet quilt on his bed to avoid looking at Ron. A quiet
  chuckle made him look up.
  "Quite a bit," Ron answered with an ominous smile curving about his lips.
                                      ***
  Harry pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement a quarter of an hour
  after his scheduled 'appointment' with Draco Malfoy. If he opened the door
  a little wider than usual, or held it open a second longer than necessary,
  it wasn't pronounced enough for his pale-haired nemesis to notice. Malfoy's
  eyes were focused on his person in gleeful anticipation. He smiled, which
  lent his face the impression of a small woodland predator - feral and
  ferociously attached to whatever part of its prey it had managed to dig
  teeth into. He liked it when Harry was late.
  At the beginning of their... meetings... Harry had felt the desperate need
  to make Malfoy wait just to prove he had a mind of his own. Never to stand
  him up altogether - he couldn't risk that for fear that the Slytherin would
  call off their deal and expose Harry's secret. But in the end, it just
  hadn't been worth the additional pain. So usually, he showed up before his
  enemy, knowing well enough that Malfoy also liked to make him wait on his
  knees on the hard stone floor, pondering his fate.
  "You're late, Potter," Malfoy stated darkly. "Is it the time of the month
  when you're trying to prove that there's still a fight in you?" Harry
  didn't quite manage to prevent a smile ghosting over his lips at that.
  "Oh, you have no idea, Malfoy," he murmured to himself.
  "Perhaps not," Malfoy replied. "But I will give you a very good idea about
  what I think of it. Take off your robe."
  Harry kicked off his shoes without extra prompting, undid the silver
  fastenings and folded the dark fabric carefully before depositing it on the
  floor. Underneath, he only wore a pair of frayed black Muggle jeans that
  Dudley had cast off when he was twelve. They had played this game long
  enough for Harry to know that Malfoy liked that, too.
  "Kneel, Potter," the Slytherin commanded lazily and flicked an appreciative
  look over Harry when he complied.
  Malfoy murmured his request to the Room in a tone too low for Harry to
  hear, and despite his knowledge that things would turn out differently this
  time, he felt nervous heat pooling in his stomach.
  "Remember what I told you would happen if you caught the Snitch in a
  Slytherin game again?" A finger trailed down the nape of Harry's neck and
  coaxed his hairs to stand up in its wake.
  "Remember how I told you to go to hell?"
  The sudden, cruel blow that fell on his shoulder made his eyes water even
  though he'd been waiting for it. Then a finger trailed over the welt,
  inflaming the sting even more.
  "I remember. And I think we'll deal with that attitude of yours once and
  for all tonight."
  Harry could hear Malfoy raising the whip for a second, harsher blow, and
  heard him yelp in surprise when an angry voice said, "Oh no, you don't!"
  He craned his head back and saw Malfoy's hand immobilised by an invisible
  grip in mid-air, and then watched Ron throw back the hood of the
  Invisibility Cloak to reveal an apologetic face between red-tipped ears.
  Ron pulled the whip out of Malfoy's grip while Harry dove at the Slytherin
  to divest him of his wand.
  "Sorry I didn't react in time," Ron apologised with a sheepish look. Harry
  lifted an eyebrow at him and suppressed a grin. He'd had enough time to
  develop subtle ways of getting to Malfoy, and it was amusing - and slightly
  flattering - to see that his purposefully-seductive pose had had its effect
  on his friend as well. Ron reached into his robe, produced Harry's wand and
  threw it to him.
  It had taken Malfoy a satisfying number of seconds to get over the shock of
  suddenly being disarmed and looking right at two wands pointed at him. When
  the mask of sneering self-confidence fell over his features again, it
  showed the strain at the seams like an old canvas restored with inferior
  paint.
  "Hello, Malfoy, fancy meeting you here," Ron called out cheerfully, only a
  hint of canines showing in his smile. "It looks like Harry and I figured
  out some things after yesterday's match."
  "Oh, did you?" Malfoy replied with an almost normal Dracoesque sneer. "And
  you've decided to gang up on me together to intimidate me into keeping your
  shame secret?"
  "Not really," Ron replied, still with an amused undertone. "You see, at
  first we just planned to kill you..." Ron did a disconcerting wiggle with
  his wand and Harry gleefully watched Malfoy flinch. "But then we realised
  that there might be trouble if someone stumbled over your mutilated
  corpse..."
  "... trouble you're just not worth," Harry inserted, happy to let Ron do
  most of the talking. He was just a lot better at intimidation than Harry
  could ever dream of being. It probably came with Quidditch captaincy; Wood
  had had the same gift. Ron flicked a quick grin at him and continued.
  "So we just decided to go to the Headmaster and let justice take its
  course. But well, being honourable Gryffindors and all, we thought we'd
  give you a chance..." He paused and frowned at the glimpse of hope that
  ignited on Malfoy's face. "You place yourself into our hands for one night
  - we get to turn the tables on you. And we'll find out how well you'll
  handle being at an enemy's mercy for once."
  In amazement, Harry watched Malfoy's face close off from one second to the
  next, as if he had pulled shut the door to his mind, leaving nothing but a
  blank wall in its wake.
  "No." The response came immediately, with an underlying hint of anger. "You
  can trot right off to whine about your plight on Dumbledore's shoulder."
  "Why?" Ron's voice had acquired a distinctly mocking tone. "You're afraid?
  Can't take what you like to dish out?"
  "I'm a Malfoy. We don't put ourselves at the mercy of lesser wizards, least
  of all halfbloods and poor-as-dirt Muggle lovers."
  "Because you're better than us." Ron's voice was deceptively calm.
  "Exactly," Malfoy confirmed flatly.
  With a grim smile, Ron took a step forward, purposefully invading Malfoy's
  personal space.
  "Nice try, Malfoy. But it won't work. We're not going to hex you so you can
  make it look like we wronged you. You're not getting out of this the easy
  way."
  Harry threw Ron a wicked smile of approval over Malfoy's averted shoulder,
  and stepped closer as well.
  "And if you're concerned about family reputation, imagine what further
  damage this would do to the Malfoy name," Harry insinuated. "Blackmail,
  torture, sexual assault... even if it's not enough for a life sentence,
  it'll get you a couple of years in Azkaban for sure. But well, perhaps you
  could share a cell with your father..."
  "Don't you dare mention my father, Potter!" Malfoy spat.
  "Though I dare say he won't be too impressed with your achievements," Harry
  continued, unperturbed. "And neither will Voldemort. What are you going to
  tell daddy dearest? 'I tried to take revenge on Potter by blackmailing him
  into having sex with me'? Won't look too impressive on your Death Eater CV,
  I'm afraid."
  Malfoy's eyes were icy, his mouth one thin, knife-edged line.
  "I really should have cut your throat when I had you on your knees with
  your hands tied behind your back instead of making you suck me off." Harry
  felt blood stinging his cheeks, a tremor in his hands, and the almost
  unbearable urge to strike out. He restrained himself - barely.
  "And there's no way I'll believe you'll go to Dumbledore with that story."
  Malfoy added with a spiteful sneer when no attack was forthcoming. "You'd
  be humiliated to the dust if that gets out to the press."
  "But it won't," Ron pointed out confidently. "Remember when Edgecombe tried
  to snitch on us in fifth year? Dumbledore shut her right up and made sure
  she wouldn't say anything to implicate us. He'll do the same with you for
  sure. He'd never allow Harry to be publicly humiliated - he's the bloody
  Boy Who Lived, after all."
  "Hey!" Harry complained with a touch of hurt.
  "Oh, you know what I mean." Ron waved his protest away carelessly and
  turned his attention back to Malfoy with the air of a duellist who had
  inflicted a series of lethal wounds and was now moving in for the coup de
  grace.
  "And remember, you don't have your father to hide behind any more - being
  the son of an incarcerated Death Eater won't win you any favours with the
  Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So - still think you'd stand a
  better chance with wizarding justice than with us?"
  Even through the mask of arrogance a palpable air of panic showed on
  Malfoy's pointed face at having his escape routes cut off one by one. He
  hesitated for a long, painful moment in which Harry sincerely doubted he
  would agree to it. Of course, he and Ron hadn't seriously considered
  telling Dumbledore. They would put as much pressure as possible on Malfoy
  instead, and they could always hex him into an oozing stupor if he refused.
  Of course, Malfoy didn't know that.
  "One night?" he repeated, in a decidedly strangled voice.
  "Tonight," Ron clarified. "And after that, we'll never even think of it
  again."
  For a moment, Harry saw defeat and a glimpse of honest fear flicker over
  Malfoy's half-averted face behind those loose strands of hair. Malfoy at
  night was less rigidly styled than Malfoy during the day, as if he was a
  different kind of animal altogether. Less restrained, not a bit less
  vicious. That flash of panic was almost enough to make Harry relent, but
  then he remembered the scalding terror that had gripped him when he'd first
  understood what ensuring Malfoy's silence would entail, and imagined how
  Ron must have felt. No, he told himself sternly. We'll do nothing he hasn't
  done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
  "I'm supposed to trust you?" There was nothing left but a last-ditch
  attempt at stalling the ultimate defeat now.
  "We trusted you," Ron pointed out. "And you're a slimy Slytherin bastard."
  And, Harry thought fervently, it was good that they were Gryffindors.
  Because Malfoy was outnumbered and wandless, and if they were any less
  honourable, they could force him to submit to their every devious and
  destructive fantasy with the Imperius Curse... As soon as Harry realised in
  which direction his thoughts were meandering off, he fitfully ejected the
  images from his mind. What had he been thinking? Was that even himself, or
  the mental barbs Malfoy had left to fester in his brain?
  It was, Harry told himself forcefully, not the same as what his father and
  Sirius had done to young Snape. James and Sirius had attacked Snape for no
  reason at all, much as it pained him to admit, while Malfoy had done things
  to them that he - and in particular Ron - might never entirely recover
  from.
  Ron flicked his wand and Accio!-ed the whip he had carelessly dropped to
  the floor during the struggle before, and held it out to Harry with an
  almost pleading expression. It seemed as if Harry wasn't the only one to
  walk into their little game of retribution with some trepidation. Harry
  took it gingerly and glanced down at the nasty piece of darkened leather.
  The mere sight made the welt on his shoulder throb nastily. It wasn't the
  heaviest that Malfoy had ever used on him, and thankfully the strap was
  short enough so he wouldn't make a bloody fool of himself trying to use it.
  Still, it looked more dangerous than what he would have felt comfortable
  using. And that was a truly disturbing thought. The carved handle lay
  smooth in his hand, as if Malfoy's body warmth was still seeping from it
  right into Harry's bloodstream, poisoning him enough to make the word
  'comfortable' run smoothly with this madness.
  Then he thought of humiliation, and pain, and Ron, and stepped forward,
  running the handle gently along Malfoy's cheek and pointed chin, and
  finally nudged his head up a fraction to study his eyes. The grey gaze met
  his very coldly, though a small furrow drew together Malfoy's brows as if
  he was still expecting them to call off the hoax before it got too far.
  Harry felt a flash of temptation to reach up and smooth out that wrinkle
  with his fingertips. He slapped down the irrational impulse and instead
  quoted Malfoy's earlier words back at him.
  "Take off your robe."
  The Slytherin obeyed without retort, but with sharp, jerky movements that
  could betray either fear or fury. Perhaps both, but his feelings were again
  stuffed behind a mask of arrogance.
  "The shirt too," Harry added coolly when he saw that Malfoy wore a matching
  ensemble of black shirt and slacks, embroidered at the hems and waist with
  symbols that looked like runaways out of Hermione's Advanced Runes
  textbook.
  Malfoy undid the string fastenings with stiff fingers and threw the shirt
  on top of his robes. A fine sheen of sweat dotted the pale skin on his
  collarbone, and his neck muscles stood out more pronounced. He must be
  rigid with tension. Harry knew the feeling - intimately, from experience -
  but wondered how those muscles would feel under his hand. Then he realised
  that nothing would stop him from finding out and he lightly ran his fingers
  over Malfoy's neck. The Slytherin shivered and snapped his head around with
  a ferocious snarl.
  "Keep your bloody hands off me, you Muggle-blooded shit!"
  Harry was almost thankful for the insult. It certainly made easier what he
  had in mind.
  "Oh, I'll do far worse with my hands, Malfoy," he drawled, imitating Malfoy
  so accurately that Ron had to bite back a laugh. If anything, it only
  aggravated the fury on Malfoy's face. Harry flicked the whip and eyed his
  enemy with a calculating expression.
  "Twelve lashes each for that attitude of yours would be appropriate, I
  think."
  "Why don't you just shut up and do your worst, you-"
  Harry tapped the handle against Malfoy's lips, gentle but insistent, and
  cut off the intended profanities.
  "Because you wouldn't want to see my worst," Harry murmured, a flash of
  Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus Curse dancing before his inner eye.
  "Believe me, you don't.".
  He waved his wand and conjured a familiar contraption - a simple cast-iron
  ring attached to the ceiling, and, linked to it, two lines of chains ending
  in heavy leather cuffs.
  For the first one or two times Malfoy had conjured metal cuffs, until he
  realised that the resulting abrasions went beyond their combined skills
  with charms and potions to repair. The pain had been about the worst Harry
  had ever experienced this side of Cruciatus, and he'd feared he'd never be
  able to get rid of the marks they had left. Wherever Malfoy had got that
  Heal-All Potion from - breaking into Snape's storage or a trip down
  Knockturn Alley - he'd been almost as panicked as Harry. Yes, doing
  permanent damage would have exploded his little game immediately.
  This time, however, it was Malfoy who raised his arms for the magical
  bindings to curl themselves around his wrists tightly. The chains were
  short enough to leave him wobbling on tiptoes, and Harry lengthened them
  with a wand's flick so he would be able to stand comfortably, throwing an
  apologetic look at Ron.
  Inspiration hit him and he stepped over to Ron, who was eyeing the scene
  with knitted brows. He leaned forward to whisper a suggestion into the
  redhead's ear. Ron's eyes widened, and then a half-incredulous, half-
  admiring grin crept onto his lips.
  Ron raised a hand to Malfoy's cheek and slid it down carefully until it
  came to rest on the Slytherin's chest. Wary grey eyes followed it from
  below a severe frown. Ron's other hand was placed lightly on Malfoy's hip.
  Ron nodded at him.
  Even as Harry raised his arm for the first blow, he felt tentativeness
  sinking into his muscles like pewter. The short lash drew a line on the
  Slytherin's too-pale skin, which first showed whitely, and after a second
  turned to faint pink. Malfoy made a small "Hmp", eloquently dismissing
  Harry's attempt.
  Oh no, you won't! Harry thought angrily. You will not mock me tonight.
  He threw his anger - and pretty much all of his Quidditch-boosted strength
  - into the second blow. It crossed the fading line on Malfoy's back
  ungently, furious red against pale pink. Malfoy jumped and gave a choked
  scream, hanging in the restraints for a moment as his feet gave out under
  him. Harry cursed himself quietly. He wasn't supposed to be so...
  unbalanced.
  "Lesson of the day, Malfoy," he snapped, acutely aware that the anger
  ringing in his voice was directed more at himself than at the other. "Don't
  piss me off."
  He could hear the insults that the Slytherin was too prudent to voice
  ringing in his ears, and again almost faltered.
  Come on, Harry, you can do it, he admonished himself. Just remember what he
  did to you!
  "Pain becomes you, Potter."
  Malfoy's hateful, husky whisper behind his ear while his hands trail over
  Harry's naked back, fanning the fire in his wounds.
  Harry remembers crying, quietly and entirely against his will, but unable
  to hide his sobs completely. Remembers Malfoy settling on his hips and
  running his hands over Harry's mutilated back, casting spells that take
  away neither the blood nor the pain, just the sheer edge of it, and make it
  almost bearable when Malfoy stretches out atop the length of his body and
  slowly, slickly moves into him...
  Harry's mind replayed his memories while the whip played over Malfoy's
  back. He couldn't make out where Ron's hands were going, but he heard
  Malfoy growl a warning and glare at the redhead. Which just wouldn't do.
  Harry grabbed hold of the Slytherin's neck-length hair and pulled back his
  head. Malfoy shot him an acid-dipped glare out of the corner of his eye.
  "Attitude again, Malfoy?"
  The phrase Harry got in return would have sent Narcissa Malfoy into a dead
  faint from shock, Death Eater wife or not. Harry brought the whip down with
  considerably greater force, and observed the angry red stripe and the few
  little drops of blood it left in its wake.
  Careful, he admonished himself, and was almost relieved to hear Malfoy
  curse again, but low enough under his breath to allow him to ignore it. He
  aimed his next blow far away, but Ron's pointed cough distracted him.
  "Um, Harry, I think that was the twelfth just now..."
  Harry coloured slightly. "Sorry, mate. Guess I got carried away..."
  "Unless you want to get in a few more, of course," Ron added with a shrug,
  one hand still splayed on Malfoy's lower stomach. "It's not as if we're
  bound by any rules here."
  "Oh, no, it's your turn all right," Harry insisted, trying for a nonchalant
  tone. The last thing he wanted was to give Malfoy the impression of two
  boys playing at revenge but having no art and no stomach for it. They'd
  never live it down.
  He thrust the whip at his friend and sidled around to peer at his victim. A
  broad, happy grin spread over his features as he took in Malfoy's flushed
  face - both of embarrassment and arousal, he suspected - and the faint wet
  glint in his eyes. The expression was still murderous, however, although
  the death glare was weakened by the puffy look of his bottom lip where
  Malfoy had bitten down to stifle his cries.
  "Oh, pretty," Harry mocked, running his index finger along the abused lip,
  only to receive a sharp - and thoroughly unsuggestive - bite to the forward
  digit.
  Ouch! Suppressing any outcry, Harry pulled his hand away and stared at his
  bloody finger without surprise. He licked at it once to soothe the sting.
  "Going to make you pay for that, ferret."
  He caught Malfoy's wary look and the almost imperceptible tension with
  which he braced himself for a blow. But Harry just held his eyes and let
  his grin transform into the most evil smirk he was capable of until Malfoy
  swallowed nervously. Oh yes, there were far more insidious forms of revenge
  than violence, and the Slytherin had taught him all about it.
  Unhurriedly, Harry's fingers went to unlace the front of Malfoy's trousers,
  his movement eliciting a harsh intake of breath. Ron's hand played over the
  welts on Malfoy's back all the while, and when the Slytherin's head fell
  back and the frosty eyes shut tightly, Harry smirked. He didn't know
  whether the stings or the stimulation had brought about this sign of
  surrender, but it was fun to watch. His hand slipped into Malfoy's trousers
  and pulled out the blond's member, half-hard from Ron's earlier attentions.
  The fine, pale hairs around his groin made an interesting contrast with the
  charcoal of his trousers and the pink-tinged flesh that twitched once,
  twice, in Harry's palm. Almost the same colour as his face, Harry thought
  smugly as he observed the furious flush that heated the Slytherin's cheeks
  at this degree of exposure. His leg muscles tensed, and Harry ran his
  unoccupied fingers down Malfoy's left thigh and felt the muscles trembling
  in the wake of his hand.
  Harry caught Ron's eye and nodded, giving him the go-ahead. The redhead
  brought the whip down on the small of Malfoy's back with so much force that
  the Slytherin's eyes flew open and his whole body jerked in shock. Harry
  closed his hand around Malfoy's cock and slid it down firmly, giving the
  tip a bit of a twist for good measure. He was rewarded with another
  shudder, and his ministrations seemed to leave the Slytherin harder than
  before, despite the pain. Ron placed a second blow and leaned forward to
  murmur in Malfoy's ear.
  "Don't worry, I won't make you count. It's so... gauche."
  Eyes watering, Malfoy snarled through clenched teeth, "I hope you're
  passing on some of the tricks I taught you to do with your mouth to
  Mudblood Granger in exchange for teaching you all the fancy words."
  Harry shook his head as he watched Ron draw back and lay a flurry of cruel
  stripes across the Slytherin's shoulder blades, which made his eyes spill
  over and wrung a scream from his lips.
  "Dumb move, Malfoy," he commented cheerfully.
  Ron's face was flushed, his eyes sparkling when he realised that he'd
  managed to beat his enemy into silence. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed to
  slits, and he was busy torturing his bottom lip even further. It was
  extremely satisfying to watch, Harry thought, and remembered spending ages
  in front of the Gryffindor bathroom mirror, pressing an icy washcloth to
  his mouth to relieve the swelling. Malfoy practically sagged in relief when
  Ron announced, "Done!"
  "Fuck!" Malfoy groaned, stabbing his hips forward so sharply he almost lost
  his balance, trying to push his cock deeper into Harry's curled hand.
  "Not yet, Malfoy."
  Harry ran his tongue over the tips of his canines suggestively, and kept
  his hand resting almost possessively on Malfoy's cock. "That was quite...
  good," he whispered, giving it a companionable squeeze. "But what if I told
  you to ask Ron for another dozen of the same?" Harry returned Ron's raised
  eyebrow with a secretive smile over Malfoy's shoulder, and saw no
  apprehension about the prospect on his friend's face.
  "Why would I do that, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice too hoarse for the
  trademark drawl to register. A shudder was travelling up his shoulders,
  causing the near-invisible hairs on his arms to stand up.
  "Because you promised to obey, Malfoy," Harry murmured, lips very close to
  the Slytherin's own. "And because I want to watch you come against your
  will, and hating yourself for it."
  "So you're really going to display all your weaknesses in front of Weasley
  here?" Malfoy sneered. "I mean I knew you're easy to crack, Potter, but if
  I'd known you get off that much on humiliation, I'd have tried to do
  better."
  You've done quite enough! Harry snapped inwardly, jaw set at the flicker of
  triumph that lit up the pale eyes. His stomach plummeted at the memories,
  but Ron stepped forward quickly, coming to stand half in front of him.
  "Yes, beg me, Malfoy," he said, his voice low enough to send a prickle of
  anticipation down Harry's spine. Ron lifted the handle of the whip, lash
  coiled around it tightly, and very gently ran it down Malfoy's bare
  shoulder. "Beg me, because now I really want to hurt you."
  "Please, Weasley," Malfoy finally snapped. "Go ahead and hit me so Potter
  can get off on it!"
  Ron's arm sneaked around the Slytherin's side and closed his fingertips
  around Malfoy's nipple to pinch it cruelly. Malfoy yelped out loud as the
  nub turned a sullen red under Ron's unrelenting fingers.
  "Try again," Ron whispered into the short, curling hair behind Malfoy's
  ear.
  The Slytherin met his gaze, eyes going wide as if hypnotised, then lowered
  his lashes.
  "Please, Ron," he enunciated, low but clearly.
  A satisfied grin tugged at Ron's mouth. It seemed as if, given time, Ron
  might manage to domesticate the ferret after all.
  The broad grin and Ron's flushed face were infectious, and Harry returned
  it happily as his friend unfurled the whip again, making Malfoy flinch
 satisfactorily as the lash trailed over his hip. As if on second thought,    
  Ron stepped back to shrug out of his robe, and then discarded his black-
  and-orange striped Chudley Cannons shirt as well. Yes, it had suddenly
  become a lot warmer. Ron caught the sneer with which Malfoy eyed his loud
  shirt and his grin broadened as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair
  behind Malfoy's ear in a patronising gesture.
  "Well, ferret, it looks like I'm back to wearing whatever I like around
  you, doesn't it?"
  "Yes, Weasel, you can go back to house-elf charity fashion like the rest of
  your brood," the Slytherin replied sweetly. "Take pride in it."
  Ron just shook his head pityingly and lifted his hand to stroke Malfoy's
  mouth with his thumb, shutting him up.
  "You really want to hurt, don't you?"
  Malfoy graced him with a glare to curdle potions, but lightly parted his
  lips to admit the finger nudging against them. Harry hid his nervousness,
  half-expecting Malfoy to clamp his jaw down and try to bite it off, but he
  just sucked in the thumb and gave it a slow caress with his tongue amidst a
  further glare that was hardly less venomous.
  Ron suffered the ministrations for a moment longer, then pulled away his
  finger, trailing it in a wet caress over Malfoy's reddened nipple before
  giving Harry a nod to proceed.
  "Your little Weasel is a pragmatist, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Oh, he hates
  putting his mouth to use even more than being fucked, but unlike you he has
  no qualms about receiving pleasure." The ugly sneer transformed into a no
  less ugly grin as Ron's ears took on a colour as spectacular as his hair.
  "Unlike you, Potter, he has just no appreciation for the subtleties of
  humiliation." He gave Ron a lewd wink before cocking his head at Harry. "I
  still haven't decided whether that makes him less or more fun to play with
  than you, Potter."
  Though Harry's insides clenched in sympathy with Ron's embarrassment, he
  kept his expression under control.
  "Yes well, he murmured, "we'll see which one of us has more fun playing
  with you."
  Without another word Harry lowered himself onto his knees, sliding his hand
  down the curve of Malfoy's hip and pushing the waistband of his trousers a
  bit further down to give Ron - and himself - more to work with.
  He felt a sting of unease at Ron's presence, but he'd wanted to do this to
  Malfoy too badly - wanted to watch his unwilling embarrassment transform
  into full-blown humiliation under his, Harry's, ministrations. He had a
  right to it! He remembered too clearly the few, dreadful instances when
  Malfoy had laid him out on his back, naked, manacled his wrists and ankles
  to the ground with magic, and proceeded to reduce him to a trembling wreck
  with mouth and hands.
  Ron walked over to stand behind Malfoy. There he paused and reached for his
  wand instead of the whip.
  The quick "Petrificus!" caught Malfoy as unawares as Harry, and he gave a
  surprised yell as his body froze into rigid petrifaction from the hips
  down. He swayed in his bonds for a moment until he had balanced out the
  sudden heaviness in his legs.
  "What-?" he slurred in protest, and fell silent with a near-adorable look
  of outrage on his face as Ron petted his head.
  "Don't fret, ferret. I just want to make sure you won't thrash and give
  Harry a bloody nose."
  Malfoy swallowed something that sounded dangerously like "Fucker!" in
  Harry's ears into an incomprehensible mumble. Harry just grinned, knowing
  that Ron would make him regret it anyway, and laid his hand flat against
  Malfoy's waist, nodding up at his friend with a merry "Thanks!" Ron gave
  him a thumb up in return.
  Harry ran the palm of his hand down Malfoy's naked thigh, then detoured to
  slide it along the length of Malfoy's cock. It curved upwards a little to
  nudge him. Harry smiled and repeated the gesture until Malfoy's upper body
  jerked under Ron's first blow. Harry could hear the hiss the Slytherin was
  suppressing. Satisfied that Malfoy's nether regions - apart from the
  important bits - seemed properly petrified into place, Harry leaned in to
  lick over the furious pink tip of Malfoy's erection. Malfoy groaned when
  Harry sucked on the very tip for a moment. He knew the texture and taste
  intimately - hard, spongy and with a raw tang that seemed to somehow cut
  the to very core of Malfoy when all pretence was gone. Not pleasant,
  certainly not, but not unpleasant enough the forego the opportunity. Harry
  ran his tongue over the slit in a light, maddening tickle he knew had to
  drive Malfoy crazy, and tasted a sharp drop of precome on his tongue.
  Malfoy groaned at the stripes Ron was laying across his back and arse, and
  Harry felt the Slytherin's cramped thigh muscles under his palm as he tried
  to jerk his hips forward, to bury himself deeper in Harry's mouth. He
  petted the sweaty skin again, just to feel that impotent urgency trembling
  under his fingers. It felt so incredibly good to see this arrogant spirit
  reduced to utter helplessness and need.
  Harry was viciously glad that Ron seemed to have no compulsions beating
  Malfoy - he wanted the sadistic bastard to suffer at least a fraction of
  what he'd dished out, and something inside him just seemed to shrivel up a
  bit further with every blow he dealt himself.
  Finally, he took Malfoy in a bit deeper, just as far as he was comfortable
  with, and began sucking him in earnest, letting his hands wander to trail
  butterfly-wing touches over his balls and run a little feathery caress over
  the soft, sensitive skin behind.
  The Slytherin squirmed fretfully as if he were trying to crawl out of his
  own paralysed lower body, either to escape the assault or to crawl deeper
  into it. His eyes were wet and swollen, the fine hair plastered to his
  forehead like a dab of white paint. He furtively struggled with his cuffs
  now, Harry noted with glee, and was groaning with every blow that Ron
  delivered. Shouldn't have made quite such an effort to make sure I learn
  what you like, Harry thought smugly before abandoning himself to his task
  once more.
  "Damn you to hell!" Malfoy finally hissed, and although Harry was pretty
  sure it was directed both at Ron and him in general, the increase of fluid
  mixing with his own saliva in his mouth made only too clear what lay at the
  core of Malfoy's desperation. Harry gave the head of the cock in his mouth
  another hearty suckle before slipping his lips off.
  "Did you want something, Malfoy?" he inquired with a smug little smirk.
  "Make me come, you hag-ridden bastard!"
  Malfoy yelped when Ron aimed a blow across his buttocks that resounded
  through the whole room.
  "Go ahead, Potter," he babbled, and Harry saw Ron's eyebrows ride up a
  fraction over Malfoy's sweat-slick shoulder. "Please," Malfoy repeated as
  if giving his surrender voluntarily somehow made the defeat burn less.
  "Well, if you ask so nicely," Harry grinned. Oh, it would be pure delight
  to make the ferret whine and plead his despair in earnest, but Harry's lips
  were beginning to chafe and there was an increasingly heavy hotness
  straining at the front of his own trousers. He could imagine even sweeter
  things for Malfoy to accomplish with his mouth than begging.
  So he bent forward again, taking Malfoy in deep for a few sucks until he
  felt his thighs tremble with effort and Malfoy's whole lower body seemed to
  try and contract, desperate to accompany his release. Harry pulled his
  mouth off and averted his face just as Malfoy's cock began to pulse, and
  gleefully watched the oh-so-prim Slytherin spill himself across his own
  belly.
  Malfoy made a strangled cough as Ron gave his arse one last brutal thwack
  before making the whip dissolve into the dormant reserve of magic that was
  the Room of Requirement. It wrung one last twitch and a few more drops of
  come out of the Slytherin's prick, and then he sagged in his restraints,
  too exhausted to react to Ron's chuckle.
  When Harry fumbled for his wand, took off the petrifaction and Vanished the
  cuffs, Malfoy fell forward on legs too wobbly to hold him upright.
  Reflexively, Ron caught him around the hips and stopped him from collapsing
  onto the ground. He let him slip to his knees until Malfoy seemed to
  recover enough presence of mind to hold himself up. He took a few hasty
  gulps of air, one hand resting on the floor, the other hovering at his side
  as if he wasn't quite sure whether to clean himself off with it or hide his
  spent, sticky member.
  Harry delivered a light pat to the sweat-drenched hair and admired the
  graceful lines of Malfoy's thigh muscles as he made to get up. His wince
  when the welts reminded him of their existence was just as beautiful. Then
  he gave the blond head a slight shove to send the Slytherin back down.
  "Don't bother getting up, Malfoy," he drawled. "That position suits you
  just fine. You do want to reciprocate, don't you?"
  "On you?" Malfoy shot him a death glare that was much muted by the high
  flush that stung his cheeks.
  "Well, unless Ron would rather..." Harry threw a questioning look at his
  friend, who had been engrossed by the criss-cross of welts that marked
  Malfoy's too-pale back. Well, not so pale any longer, Harry noted with
  glee.
  "Oh, no, knock yourself out." Ron's eyes met Harry's with a grin. "I can
  wait for my turn." He reached down and patted Malfoy's head as well. "Make
  it good, ferret-face."
  It amused Harry to no end that Malfoy shot Ron yet another Basilisk glare,
  but kept his mouth firmly shut. Someone had learned his lesson tonight.
  The press of his cock straining against the front of his jeans had become
  distinctly uncomfortable. He ran a hand over the zipper, biting back a
  groan at the painfully delicious friction, and growled at the Slytherin,
  "So get on with it!"
  Malfoy scooted closer on his knees with an expression as if he'd bitten
  into a gnome biscuit, and raised his hand to mirror Harry's gesture,
  running it down rather roughly from Harry's stomach muscles right to the
  seam of his trousers. Harry made a sound that came humiliatingly close to
  being a squeak, and glared down at the Slytherin, whose mouth had set in
  sheer determination. Malfoy managed the button without problem, and then
  pulled at the zipper without any success. Harry nearly keened at the harsh
  treatment.
  "Lift the metal bit and then pull it down," he ground out in exasperation.
  "Carefully!"
  Wizards weren't into zippers, he knew - they had puzzled Ron and Neville
  since their first year, and Malfoy had always had Harry take care of his
  before. With a bit of clumsy yanking, Malfoy finally got it down. He pulled
  the jeans over Harry's hips along with his briefs and with quite a bit of
  force. As always, revealing his frayed underwear that had once belonged to
  a twelve-year old Dudley was humiliating, and he couldn't help remembering
  young Snape in the Pensieve.
  Harry drew in an audible breath as the Slytherin's fingers closed about his
  length and pulled him free from the trousers. A distinctly uncareful grip,
  granted, but at the moment it was exactly what Harry had been waiting for.
  He closed his eyes and bit his lip reflexively as the clever fingers
  skittered up and down his prick. Oh yes, Malfoy had talent for this, not
  only with his mouth, but with his cock and most certainly at torture...
  Harry wondered idly whether sex was what Slytherins practiced on each other
  in the dungeons, or whether Malfoy had been introduced to those arts by
  that monstrous father of his. Yes, he certainly wouldn't put it beyond
  Lucius Malfoy to teach it to his son along with the Dark Arts. He recalled
  the shudders that had run down his back at the man's cruelly amused drawl
  in the Department of Mysteries. But this time it was going to be Harry who
  was in control of that skill, not the other way round.
  "Mouth, Malfoy!" he insisted, cutting short the ministrations. "It's not
  like you haven't done it before."
  The Slytherin gave him a disgusted sneer, and Harry blinked at Ron's
  surprised glance. He met his friend's eye with a raised eyebrow, and then
  flushed beet-red in realisation that he was standing there right in front
  of his eyes, with his prick poking out of his trousers.
  A low chuckle went grating along his nerves. He looked down and saw Malfoy,
  lip twisted in to a sardonic grimace, staring up at Ron.
  "No use trying to do that to an enemy who won't feel guilty about
  responding, right, Weasley?" He pointed at Harry, brushing the side of his
  cock in a feathery tickle that sent a shudder through Harry's frame. "And
  little Potter here agonises so beautifully."
  Little? Harry growled mentally at the twofold insult. But Malfoy had his
  eyes fixed on Ron, oblivious to his outrage.
  "You wouldn't have," he added.
  A muscle twitched in Ron's cheek as he returned the stare, and Harry was
  surprised by the strange intensity of it. Some unvoiced part of their
  interaction went right over his head.
  "No, I wouldn't," Ron finally confirmed, and then took a step forward to
  Harry's side. He put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder and smirked down
  at the Slytherin from his advantage in height. "Go ahead, then," he said.
  "Let me see how well you do at it."
  Malfoy's superior expression deteriorated into a glower, and then he leaned
  in and ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of Harry's prick -
  which had somehow risen up rather insistently - in such an obscene, amazing
  slither that Harry's whole body vibrated and his mouth formed a breathless
  'o'. And then Malfoy's lips closed around the tip in a perfect pink pout
  that was pleasantly warm and held a touch of suction that seemed to race
  right down into his balls, and then up his spine; Harry's very toes curled
  at the sensation. He staggered and nearly lost his footing when Malfoy
  sucked in a bit more of him and used the tip of his tongue to milk the slit
  for precome.
  Ron's arm came around Harry's waist to steady him, and he gladly relaxed
  into the hold, the skin of his back slick where it rested against Ron's
  chest. It felt... comforting, being held like this, like an unvoiced
  affirmation that he wasn't doing something unforgivably repulsive.
  Then Malfoy slid his mouth further down Harry's length until his lips were
  wrapped around the very root of Harry's cock, giving a tight little swallow
  to make it slide down more easily. Harry bent forward slightly to thread
  his fingers into the Slytherin's damp, fine hair, only to find his bottom
  pressing up against a pronounced bulge in the process.
  "Sorry!" Ron ground out in a voice thick with embarrassment. He re-angled
  himself so that his hipbone rested against Harry's lower back instead of...
  other things, and Harry put his unoccupied hand over Ron's where it was
  still splayed on his hip for a moment to reassure him.
  And then his momentary concern was washed away as he moved leisurely into
  Malfoy's throat, not thrusting so much as... undulating his hips to rock
  himself deeper. He kept up his gentle hold on Malfoy's hair, only ever so
  often wrapping a strand around his index finger and tugging just a little
  because he couldn't help himself. He didn't need force behind his grip,
  because the careful hold alone would drive the point home. It was Malfoy
  who took pleasure in fisting in Harry's hair and craning his neck back
  almost to the breaking point while fucking his mouth, because he was a
  sadist and got off on it. Harry didn't; showing the Slytherin that he could
  if he wanted to was a satisfactory enough form of revenge, he decided.
  Harry felt the telltale pressure in his balls, the way they drew themselves
  up tightly, and he dug nails into Ron's arm without even noticing. He
  stared down at the top of the blond head that seemed to be welded to his
  groin, and a bead of sweat tickled his cheek on its way down before it
  dripped on the Slytherin's hair where he crouched over Harry's prick.
  Strangely enough, it was the implication of that image that sent Harry over
  the edge at last. He gave Malfoy's hair a rude tug and growled, "Swallow!"
  in a voice which was humiliatingly hoarse - as if the bastard would dare
  not to!
  Then he gave one last shove into that brilliant mouth, and all the tight
  pressure melted into one blissful surge which ran through his prick,
  enveloped his brain in an instant of sheer white, and buzzed through the
  pulse point at the centre of his spine in one dizzying rush.
  There was a special sense of satisfaction to coming when in control, was
  Harry's first semi-conscious thought, and then, looking down wide-eyed and
  utterly breathless at the blond head grudgingly sucking him through the
  aftershocks, he had to squash the impulse to pull out in time to leave some
  final spatters of come on those arrogant cheekbones. The mere thought sent
  a tremble though his exhausted frame when he acknowledged it - a frisson of
  unease that remained even when Malfoy released his cock after licking it to
  the same pristine pinkness he had forced Harry to perform on him again and
  again. Harry wondered whether he'd done the same to Ron - likely enough -
  and what Ron might have looked like, doing it...
  He killed that image as quickly as the previous one, and pulled away from
  the Slytherin almost fearfully. It had to be Malfoy's doing, planting those
  obscene thoughts and urges inside his brain.
  "It looks like we have you just where we want you, Malfoy," he drawled to
  avoid giving it any further thought. He felt Ron's noiseless snicker
  against his bare shoulder.
  The sight of the bastard on his knees in utter humiliation was so
  pleasurable it made Harry's groin twitch again despite his recent orgasm.
  "Do you want a go as well, Ron?" he asked pointedly.
  "Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on
  Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's
  chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him
  properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
  For the second time that night, Harry saw the desperately upheld mask slip,
  revealing naked terror underneath. For a moment, Harry was completely sure
  that Malfoy would make a run for it, bare-arsed and all, and idly wondered
  whether he'd let him if he tried. But then the mussed head lowered, mainly
  to cover up his momentary display of fear, Harry suspected. But it was
  looking so gorgeously like defeat that Harry's mouth went dry.
  Ron came around to stand next to him; a side glance revealed his firmly set
  jaw. So Ron had decided to go through with it... Harry wanted to whisper to
  him to be careful, but he couldn't find the words or a way to convey the
  sentiment so their victim wouldn't hear. He settled for a light squeeze to
  Ron's forearm as he stepped back to give him room. Ron raised an eyebrow
  and favoured Harry with a wry twitch of his lips behind Malfoy's back.
  Ron stared into space for a second, mouthing a request to the Room, and a
  fluffy circular carpet appeared in the centre. Harry probed it with one
  bare foot and sunk into the soft fabric almost to his ankle. The bright
  scarlet interwoven with a gold design of lions was a neat touch, he
  decided. His best friend's imagination was more opulent than he'd have
  given him credit for. Ron caught his stare, and his cheeks went slightly
  red.
  "Get on it, Malfoy," Ron ordered, pointing at the rug. Malfoy shot him a
  look of pure hatred when he added, "You're Slytherin - you should be
  familiar with crawling."
  But Malfoy did it, crept along onto the carpet, his pale skin contrasting
  with the vivid colours. There was a distinct beauty in the way in which the
  welts criss-crossed the pale back and arse, which had a lot to do with the
  fact that the pale skin so marked was Malfoy's. Harry admired the dark
  shadow between the bastard's buttocks as he crawled, and heard Ron sucking
  in a breath next to him.
  Harry felt more naked than before when Ron moved away from him to follow
  his plaything. He wondered whether to slip his jeans back on, but it would
  make him seriously overdressed compared to the other two. He settled for
  sitting down on the corner of the carpet to watch, arms wrapped around his
  knees to hide himself at least a little.
  Ron had caught up with Malfoy and stood behind him, one hand stroking
  Malfoy's shoulder blade. The Slytherin could appear elegant - Harry had
  seen it before, especially when he'd felt in control and like flaunting it.
  But not now; he was perched there with stiffness practically radiating from
  his muscles. As if he was half-petrified already. Harry knew the feeling
  well enough - being exposed, being helpless, being utterly at another's
  mercy. He hated it more than anything else in the world.
  Harry sneaked a peek as Ron undid his trousers. Yes, he'd seen him naked
  often enough before, in the showers, or undressing in their dormitory or at
  Ron's room at the Burrow. Though not that one time in his bed when Malfoy
  had worn Ron's body. It had been dark and he'd been far too embarrassed to
  look too closely. Ron's cock had always seemed nothing to inspire jealousy
  and, boy that he was, it had given Harry a touch of superiority to see he
  was a bit bigger. Ron, too, seemed to be sensitive about it, considering
  how he'd attacked George - or had it been Fred? - when he'd ruffled his
  hair and called him 'runt' in a not quite innocent fashion during an after-
  match shower in fourth year.
  Even now as it filled, Ron's erection wasn't particularly long, but he was
  rather wide and Harry's muscles clenched at the sight. He was glad he
  wouldn't be fucked by that. Handling it in the dark of Ron's bed, under
  Malfoy's infernal Polyjuice illusion, had not been quite as intimidating.
  But then Malfoy himself had never looked like something to write home about
  either, and he'd been able to use that unspectacular prick of his like a
  weapon when the mood struck him.
  Harry sat back on his heels, observing Ron as he muttered something into
  the air of the Room, to be rewarded with a soft plop and a stoppered vial
  that fell into his hand out of thin air. Harry shivered with a mixture of
  excitement and apprehension as Ron went to kneel behind Malfoy and sent him
  down on hands and knees with a light shove.
  Fine blond hair fell over Malfoy's face, obscuring is expression. Which was
  a pity, Harry thought and skirted a bit closer to the centre of the carpet.
  He certainly didn't want to distract or embarrass Ron with his presence,
  but the desire to see Malfoy's face when he was opened by that intimidating
  cock was overwhelming. He watched Ron's fingers play idly at some of the
  more prominent welts on the Slytherin's back, and saw Malfoy's muscles
  trembling at the touch. Ron's other hand was busy working behind Malfoy's
  back, and from the way his cheeks flushed and his breath sped up, Harry
  realised he had to be teasing himself. He flushed at the thought and
  lowered his gaze a little, but continued peering through half-lowered lids.
  His own cock gave a twitch of interest, and surely that wasn't proper
  either - he shouldn't get turned on by his best friend preparing himself,
  and surely not by the sight of his arch-enemy trembling naked on all fours
  either. Malfoy must have messed with his head a lot more than he'd given
  him credit for!
  Ron treated himself to a few more lazy strokes, mouth half-open in
  concentration, then reached for the vial again. Harry watched the shiny
  drizzle of oil flowing over his fingers, and caught a whiff of almonds.
  Ron moved closer yet to Malfoy, using his knee to nudge the Slytherin's
  legs further apart, and ran a hand over his arse. Ron could see the faint
  sheen of oil where his fingers had been. They travelled further down as Ron
  used both hands to part Malfoy's cheeks even further, and then moved one of
  them in between, lightly biting down on his lower lip as he did so.
  Malfoy's hands were clenching into fists on the rug, and the lines in his
  arms stood out as his whole body tensed under the touch. His spine curved
  up a little, like a cat bristling. Harry put a hand on his wand, just in
  case. But Malfoy did not explode into action as Harry had halfway expected.
  He just kept tensing, as if he was trying to draw his skin more tightly
  around muscles and bones with every passing second.
  It was Ron who broke the tension, leaning over the Slytherin's back until
  his chin came to rest on Malfoy's shoulder, and hissed in his ear,
  "Breathe, idiot!"
  Some of the tension actually seemed to leave Malfoy's rigid form at that,
  amazingly enough. Ron ran one hand over his shoulder, steady and calming,
  while his other kept working between the Slytherin's spread legs. Harry
  couldn't see any details - didn't want to, thank you very much! - but he
  saw Malfoy's face and the sudden grimace of shock as Ron worked his fingers
  deeper. He squirmed away as Ron grabbed his hips and pulled him back.
  "Would you rather prepare yourself, Malfoy?" Ron asked, calm and unmoved.
  Malfoy's body seemed to freeze and Harry aimed his wand in the Slytherin's
  direction as a warning.
  Malfoy's shake of head was so slight it almost needed imagination to be
  identifiable as denial, and his posture slumped a little as Ron pulled his
  legs apart once more. He kept his head bowed, stifling every noise of
  discomfort as Ron opened him up gradually, dipping fingers into the vial
  ever so often. Finally, he prepared himself, mouth half-open and face
  twisted in a grimace that looked almost like pain, but couldn't possibly
  be. Harry caught a glimpse of his erection as he oiled himself, hard,
  glistening and rather angrily red. He would almost have felt pity for
  Malfoy, if this wasn't his just desert.
  At last, Ron returned his hands to the Slytherin's arse, petting the tense
  flesh for a moment before nudging closer. Malfoy made a strangled, panicked
  noise when he felt the blunt head against his opening, fists opening and
  closing fitfully on the carpet.
  Ron, Harry realised, was careful not to hurt his captive too much with a
  rough entry. On the one hand, this relieved him - he wasn't sure if he
  could have handled blood and screams, or seeing his friend losing it and
  tearing into the Slytherin in a fit of rage. But some small part of him
  groused and felt almost betrayed. They weren't giving as hard as they had
  got, well, Harry at least, and it was just not fair that Malfoy should get
  off easier. He always had, and it had always been Harry who'd suffered
  worst, never his enemies. Harry's parents were dead while Malfoy's father
  just went to prison, Harry's godfather had died in the Department of
  Mysteries while Malfoy's aunt who'd killed him was still gallivanting
  about, Harry got Crucioed and had his body taken over by Voldemort while
  Malfoy got a phoney scratch from a Hippogriff and a few seconds as a
  bouncing rodent. And Harry had suffered through months of terror and utter
  humiliation, while Malfoy would be clear after one night...
  Despite Ron's care, Malfoy's face scrunched up in pain as Ron pushed into
  him. Teeth dug hard into already-swollen lips, and a high, hurt whine
  escaped his throat for a moment. Harry saw in the sharp set of his jaw how
  much Malfoy hated being unable to suppress the sound, but it lingered in
  the air anyway.
  Ron held his hips in a tight grip as he moved to sheathe himself fully
  inside the Slytherin, fingers running in small circles over the hollows
  between thigh and groin whenever he paused to let Malfoy adjust a little.
  Malfoy's head fell forward, hair spilling over his face like a pale
  curtain. His fists had closed completely now, and Harry knew that those
  sharp nails digging into his palms hurt bad enough all on their own.
  Ron let out a small groan of satisfaction when he was completely buried in
  rather unyielding flesh, and released his death grip on Malfoy's hips. He
  stroked the Slytherin's back, tracing the lower vertebrae, and then snaked
  his arms around Malfoy's torso to pull him up into a kneeling position. The
  Slytherin gave a pained yell as his back was pulled against Ron's chest,
  changing the angle of the prick embedded inside him. A flush of pleasure
  coloured Ron's face. He wrapped an arm around Malfoy's chest and held him
  close, using his free hand to brush the hair back and off Malfoy's face.
  Harry hugged him for that inwardly, because he had wanted to see pain
  etched on those superior features. There were tear-tracks as well, which
  inexplicably surprised Harry for an instant even though he'd seen in third
  year how badly Malfoy dealt with pain. He devoured them greedily with his
  eyes, recalling the few humiliating instances when the Slytherin had
  reduced him to helpless tears.
  Despite being forced to look into Harry's direction, Malfoy's eyes seemed
  glazed, staring through rather than at him. At least, Harry thought
  viciously, he didn't have to look at the one invading him! His, Harry's,
  first time had been laid out on his back, bent nearly in half as his legs
  were pushed up to his chest until the cramped position was sheer agony. And
  then Malfoy had borne down on him, forcing himself inside him until he'd
  thought either his insides or his bones would snap every second, all the
  while cataloguing every expression on Harry's contorted face with that
  horrible, satisfied smirk of his. Harry kept greedy eyes on Malfoy's face,
  insistent that now it would be his time to look his fill and savour
  Malfoy's humiliation. It was no less than his due!
  Finally, Ron leaned forward to whisper something unintelligible into
  Malfoy's ear, which made his lips thin and seemed to shake the glazed
  absence out of his face to replace it with pink-tinged fury. Ron chuckled
  and pulled out a little, only to shove back in again. An audible whimper
  escaped Malfoy's lips. The sound made Harry's prick throb. A grin ghosted
  over Ron's expression, and he did it again, at the same time taking hold of
  Malfoy's hair with one hand, pulling Malfoy's jaw back towards him and
  closing his mouth over the Slytherin's to swallow his scream.
  The sight was so unexpected that Harry's mouth fell open. Malfoy had not
  kissed him once in all the four months they'd played their vicious game -
  not that he was complaining, thank you very much - and he knew beyond a
  shadow of doubt that Malfoy would rather rip Harry's throat out with his
  teeth than suffer Harry's mouth on his for a second. Despite Ron's hands-on
  roughness, there seemed to be a connection between his best friend and the
  bastard, and Harry couldn't help but wonder what kind of courage Ron must
  have displayed that had wrung grudging respect from a sadist like Malfoy,
  when all he had ever seemed to have wanted from Harry was to beat him down
  as hard as he possibly could.
  Malfoy did not pull away, or strike out, although it was a cruel kiss that
  stretched his neck and left his lips bloody with colour afterwards. Perhaps
  Malfoy hadn't meant it with Ron - perhaps he'd only tormented him to hurt
  Harry with it later?
  It was Harry who hated being singled out, being marked as a victim,
  suffering all of the enemy's sickening attention. Like Voldemort, or Lucius
  Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries. Harry's
  perception of fear had changed after that. Oh, he still dreaded the thought
  of a Dementor. But Dementors could be fought, and in their seventh-years
  NEWT refresher course in Defence, Harry had, at last, looked at Lord
  Voldemort when he'd faced his Boggart. The memory of the Dark Lord, coiled
  like an ice serpent at the very core of his mind and soul, taking his body
  for his own and brushing his mind away like so much a fly, still brought
  him screaming out of nightmares. And sometimes, when Malfoy's cock had been
  stuffed inside him as if it was a spatula to scrape his soul out from the
  inside, or when he'd loomed over Harry's bound form to play his body with
  hands and tongue until nothing remained but need, Harry felt that very same
  tug, trying to separate him from himself.
  But Ron... if he'd had too much attention, Ron had had too little, and
  Harry just knew that sometimes Ron was not happy with what lay at the core
  of him. If he'd let Malfoy reach into that unhappiness, that desire for
  attention, let it remake him...
  In awe, he watched Ron wrap one arm tightly around Malfoy's hip, pulling
  his whole body into him with every thrust, while his other hand stroked the
  Slytherin's side, fluttering over wet skin as if trying to calm some wild
  thing. Malfoy's hands were clutching the arm slung around his middle,
  fingers sliding aimlessly over the curved scars that coiled around the pale
  skin, remnants of Ron's brush with the rouge brain in the Department of
  Mysteries. Harry scooted closer to the pair as if pulled in by a Summoning
  Charm.
  Ron sped up his thrusts a little, rocking Malfoy's hips with every stroke,
  one hand slipping down to tug at the Slytherin's prick. Now that Malfoy was
  kneeling upright, Harry could see it was not completely soft - Ron must
  have aimed for and found the bastard's prostate at some point - but pain
  seemed to prevent him from taking a focused interest in the proceedings.
  Ron's eyes slipped off Malfoy's body and towards Harry, who still crouched
  at the edge of the carpet. Harry had to fight the urge to hide himself away
  from Ron's hooded eyes. Ron slid his hand off Malfoy's prick and held it
  out to him, not pleading or demanding, but with self-deprecating humour
  glinting in his eyes. Harry's own eyes went wide; he swallowed, feeling
  himself hardening further at the thought of joining them there.
  He lowered himself into a crouch, since walking would seem too preposterous
  given the situation, but feeling intensely silly as he crabwalked over to
  them. His prick... bounced... he realised with flaming cheeks. He took
  Ron's outstretched hand as soon as he was in reach, and allowed his friend
  to pull him closer towards Malfoy's body, still rigid and impaled on Ron's
  prick. The Slytherin stared at the ground, face averted a little to avoid
  Harry's eyes. Ron drew Harry's hand down, not onto Malfoy's cock directly,
  but laying it on his lower stomach. Harry felt tense muscles jump under his
  fingers.
  He acquiesced to the unvoiced request and reached down to close his hand
  around Malfoy's reluctant cock, warming it between sweaty fingers before
  lightly rubbing over the sluggish skin. Malfoy ducked his head a fraction
  lower, but made no sound. That changed when Ron resumed his thrusts again;
  their force drove Malfoy's prick hard into the curved hollow of Harry's
  palm, and it twitched in appreciation of the rough treatment.
  Harry heard the light "Ah!" sound the Slytherin made, the shudder of pain
  that ran up his arms and shoulders, and inched a bit closer, keeping a firm
  hold on Malfoy's member until he knelt directly in front of him.
  He'd seen Malfoy caught up in the grip of passion between pain and lust a
  while before, and was determined to throw him back into that chasm, if only
  as a favour to Ron. He lowered his head to close his mouth around one of
  the tight pink nipples and played his tongue over it. Malfoy's skin tasted
  of salt, and Harry enjoyed the way the little nub hardened under his
  tongue. He toyed with it and kept up his insistent hand on the Slytherin's
  erection until he felt him harden and squirm. Then he smiled against
  Malfoy's chest and transferred his mouth over to the other nipple.
  It rather excited him, handling Malfoy like this, and he had to give in to
  the temptation to move his fingers onto his own prick for a moment; it felt
  too good to let go, so he crept a bit closer and took hold of the
  Slytherin's cock as well, rubbing it gently against his own. The sensation
  was so amazing that Harry's breath caught and he audibly exhaled against
  Malfoy's chest, moaning quietly in pleasure.
  Malfoy threw his head back, letting it fall against Ron's shoulder as if to
  remove himself as far as possible from Harry's touch despite the intimate
  brush of their cocks. Sweat-darkened blond strands spilled over Ron's
  shoulder; the Slytherin's eyes were shut tightly.
  Harry formed his palm into a tight sheath around their two erections,
  crushing them gently together. Ron's thrusts pushed the Slytherin's prick
  farther into his hand, only to draw it back again whenever he pulled out a
  little. It was an erratic, rough rhythm, but every slide of Malfoy's prick
  against his own, aligning the two erections in his hand until the sensitive
  heads brushed each other, sent a stab of heat running through Harry's whole
  body and left him harder, and more frantic. He sped up his strokes, and
  helplessly bit down on the nipple he was toying with. Malfoy made a high
  noise against Ron's shoulder, and Harry felt him go limp, not so much in
  protest, but completely abandoning himself to Ron's thrusts that rocked his
  body into Harry's hand, and the increasingly slippery slide of his cock
  against Harry's.
  Harry felt Ron's hands scrabbling over Malfoy's skin in a frantic, helpless
  flutter before they dug in sharply and he came with a near-pained shout and
  a thrust so forceful it crushed Malfoy's cock against Harry's and left
  sparks flying before Harry's eyes. He groaned sharply as his friend
  collapsed against the Slytherin's back, sending his body to sprawl against
  Harry's.
  It felt so very good, that warm, aroused body against his own, too winded
  to struggle, and with Ron's prick still buried deeply inside him. Harry
  gripped their combined erections in hand more firmly and stroked harder as
  Malfoy's body eased Ron's through his aftershocks. Harry shuddered deeply
  as he came, scrunching up his face where it was still hidden against
  Malfoy's chest, breath knocked right out of his lungs and oblivious to his
  leg muscles which were cramping up somewhat insistently. He felt his seed
  spill over his hand and Malfoy's prick, who inhaled sharply and made an
  inarticulate noise when Harry rubbed the wet residue over the head of his
  straining erection. He squeezed it provocatively, slipping his hand further
  down for a moment to slither over Malfoy's balls. Malfoy craned his head
  back even further, eyes shut so tightly that his lashes stood out like pale
  half-moons against flushed cheeks. His mouth was forming 'no' over and over
  again in soundless protest. Harry felt his prick jerk once in his hand,
  spilling himself over Harry's fingers as well while Ron held on to his
  slumped shoulders.
  Harry raised his sticky hand and brought it up to Malfoy's mouth, which was
  still half-open to facilitate his laboured breathing. There were tear
  stains, and misery was written all over the Slytherin's face as he lowered
  his mouth to lick Harry's fingers, too worn out to even glare properly.
  Malfoy's tongue felt rough and tickled, bringing back memories of that
  touch on intimate parts of Harry's anatomy. He closed his eyes against the
  sudden burst of pleasure before quickly opening them again to savour the
  sight of his despoiled nemesis cleaning their combined fluids from his
  hand.
  Malfoy's teeth slipped, one pointed canine grazing Harry's thumb as Ron
  pulled himself free off him with a wet, squelching sound. The Slytherin's
  eyes went round, then shuttered with sudden shock. Ron himself was rather
  red in the face when he met Harry's gaze. He smiled as he watched Malfoy
  clean the final bits of come from Harry's fingers, then reached out to
  squeeze Harry's shoulder in a companionable gesture. Perhaps, Harry thought
  hopefully, perhaps they could get back to what they'd been before and put
  all of... this behind them after all.
  Ron grabbed for the wand he'd discarded on the carpet, still sweaty and
  breathing heavily. It took him two tries before he'd got out the words of
  the cleaning charm, and he pointed it first at Harry, then at himself.
  Malfoy turned his head away sharply. Harry reached up with his now-clean
  hand and caught the tear on Malfoy's smeared face, brought it to his lips
  and licked it off. Salty, and bitter like defeat - beautiful. Malfoy
  recoiled, wiping his face with a bare arm, his shoulders shaking with
  suppressed sobs. Ron stretched languorously behind him, before waving his
  wand again and Summoning blankets and pillows from the pile the room had so
  generously provided in one corner. He spread some of them out on the
  carpet, a silly grin on his face.
  "Saturday tomorrow, mate..." He shrugged. "We might as well sleep here
  instead of risking to wake up Neville and the others in the middle of the
  night."
  Yes, Harry thought fervently, he'd probably combust right on the spot with
  shame if anyone ever asked him questions about where they'd gone off to in
  the middle of the night. He heard the questioning tentativeness in Ron's
  voice, a familiar sound that came up whenever he preferred Harry to take
  the initiative or decision. Not so often nowadays, but still sometimes with
  Hermione, or his mother.
  Harry threw a surreptitious side glance at Malfoy, who was still crouching
  on the ground, his head averted and uncharacteristically silent as if he
  was afraid of catching their attention once more, and having worse done to
  him.
  It surprised Harry that the sarcastic mouth had fallen silent after all;
  he'd never been able to scare the Slytherin before, not even when he'd
  jumped him on the Quidditch Pitch in fifth year. Even naked, Malfoy had
  never before looked so vulnerable; he'd certainly never shown tears that
  weren't pretence. Harry wondered whether in time, when his elation wore
  off, he'd be scared of himself, too.
  Harry stared at Malfoy's hunched form, deadly pale and trembling too much
  for it to be post-orgasmic haze. Malfoy had always dismissed him after
  their 'sessions' with a sneer of contempt and a cutting jibe. But Harry had
  had a goal he'd suffered for - and come to think of it, so had Ron. They'd
  cracked Malfoy's ego between the two of them, which was more than the
  Slytherin had managed to do to them. If Harry unleashed his verbal rage
  now, he did not know what Malfoy might do. Not so much to Harry, but
  perhaps to himself... No matter how gratifying it would be to shove his
  fury down the Slytherin's throat, he couldn't just throw him out on his
  arse, not in the state he was in. Not to mention that he'd raise some
  serious questions if he came back to the Slytherin dungeons as a mess like
  this; he probably wouldn't have the presence of mind to tell a convincing
  lie either.
  Malfoy had committed himself to the entire night - they could curl around
  him for a bit, reminding him of his place. And something inside Harry
  wanted to prolong access to that pale, marked skin for a little longer.
  They didn't owe the bastard any kindness for sure, but he might be in a
  better state in the morning.
  He threw Ron a questioning look, to be met with an amused smirk and a
  shrug. So Harry grabbed Malfoy's upper arm and shoved him over at Ron.
  Malfoy tried to pull away, baring his teeth at Harry in near-desperation,
  but Harry was having none of it.
  "We bargained for one night, ferret," he snapped and tugged the Slytherin
  towards the makeshift bed. "It's not over yet."
  Ron reached out from under his blankets and grabbed Malfoy's elbow to pull
  him down beside him. Malfoy went, his mouth still sharp as if hateful
  retorts cut the tender skin inside. Inexplicably, seeing that severely
  downturned mouth made Harry feel better. Perhaps they had not done anything
  wholly unforgivable or irreparable after all.
  "I hate you, Potter!" Malfoy mumbled, slightly slurred as if his lips had
  gone numb.
  "Good." Harry replied cheerfully, finding to his surprise that he meant it
  very much. Ron ran his eyes over the welts and marks on Malfoy's back,
  before eyeing his wand and yawning.
  "Tomorrow," he mumbled and tucked one of the blankets over the Slytherin's
  reluctant form.
  "Tomorrow," Harry agreed. He was far too groggy right now for something as
  complex as healing charms, and his legs felt as if lead had been poured
  into them. Not to mention that Malfoy deserved to suffer a bit more.
  "Perhaps he'll learn a bit more humility from it," he added casually over
  the thin face that scowled out of the nest of pillows as he made room for
  himself on Malfoy's other side.
  "There's always hope," Ron snickered down at Malfoy. "Go to sleep, ferret."
  It took some time before exhaustion finally seemed to take over and the
  nervous movement of Malfoy's eyeballs under his closed lids ceased to prove
  he'd fallen asleep. His breath slowed, although it was nearly an hour
  before the nervous rattle in his chest finally gave way to near-peaceful
  breathing.
  Harry watched him under half-closed eyes, lying curved against his hip.
  Malfoy's skin felt cool, and after a while he seemed to gravitate towards
  Ron, who slept with his chest uncovered, but as always radiating enough
  body heat to make up for it. Malfoy's sleeping form curled itself against
  Ron's side almost in slow motion, head burying against his shoulder. Ron
  murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep and threw an arm over the
  Slytherin's body.
  Harry carefully propped himself up on one arm and watched them sleep until
  he was sure not even a surprise visit by Peeves playing percussions would
  be able to rouse them. Then he laid a dry kiss against Malfoy's half-
  averted shoulder before pulling the blankets up to his chin.
  With a sigh he lay back down, pillowed his head against Malfoy's back, and
  went to sleep.


                                   ~ finis ~
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