You may consider this an AU where the main characters are a bit older than their canon ages circa the events in question. How much older? As much as you need them to be.

.....

It must have been the basilisk, Harry thought. He hadn't killed the fucking thing after all.

That had to be what happened. It had come back, and he'd looked at it, and that was why he was paralyzed--no, hang on... that would only be if he'd looked at its reflection, or he'd be dead, not merely unable to move...

His glasses. That was it. The basilisk had come up behind him, and he'd seen the thing's reflection in his glasses...Awfully stupid of him. Ron would never let him live this one down...

Harry realized he'd been dreaming. No. The basilisk was dead, messily, irreversibly, blessedly dead, and now just rotting snakemeat in the depths of the Chamber of Secrets. It was dead, and he was safe at Hogwarts, just dreaming.

Dreaming of being petrified.

Only...he still couldn't move.

"Open your eyes, Harry Potter," said a silky voice, and Harry felt something change in the air.

He could open his eyes, and he could lift his head. Other than that, that was it. From the neck down he still couldn't move at all. Not a good sign. What the hell was going on?

The room...He didn't recognize the room he was in, windowless and candlelit. And he noticed his perspective of it was from the floor. But he recognized the symbol on the wall hanging on the opposite side of the room.

The snake crest of Slytherin house.

And he recognized the person standing next to him. Not one of the professors, oh no. The long, silver-blond hair was unmistakable, as was the angular face with its chilly expression, cold as an icicle to the heart.

Though he was holding his wand just now, rather than that bloody pretentious silver-topped walking stick.

Silky voice. Of course. He should have gotten it even before he opened his eyes. Everything about the posturing elitist bastard was silky.

What the hell was he doing here?

Lucius Malfoy turned up his lips in a smile that had no humor in it. "Awake, boy? Good. There's something you need to see."

He turned. Harry at first did not think he could not look anywhere but the man's face--Lucius Malfoy was in the room with him--but then his eyes followed the direction in which he was pointing his wand. At the opposite side of the room, lying on the floor--in much the same position he was--were Ron and Hermione. Both were lying quite rigid, eyes closed.

Harry's throat closed over completely.

No. No, not dead. Body-bind charm. Petrificus, Harry thought. That's what's been done to us. But it wasn't, quite....he could look around...and he could speak. "Ron! Hermione, wake up!" he said, hearing his own voice hoarse with dread. "Can you hear me? Wake up!"

"Not yet, they can't, Harry." Malfoy--Lucius, Harry thought; Malfoy would always mean Draco to Harry-- gestured with his wand, and murmured, "Ennervate et--" and something else, another word Harry didn't catch, didn't think he'd heard before.

He heard Ron first. "Whuz--" Ron lifted his head suddenly, eyes open, staring down at his body strangely as if to ask why it wouldn't move. And before he could say more, Hermione was waking, her hair sweeping upon the floor like some inefficient broom that was actually being used for its original purpose, as she too moved her head, until the inability to stir the rest of her body woke her completely and she also looked around.

Ron saw Hermione, next to him, first. "Her-?" he began.

But Hermione was looking across the room, and she had seen Harry, and she was seeing Lucius. And she'd also seen the wall hanging.

With typical Hermione swiftness, she'd drawn all the correct conclusions. "Oh, Harry..." she breathed, "...this isn't good, is it?"

"Malfoy?" Ron was always able to convey so much with a single word, Harry remembered, hearing outrage, shock, and disgust all at once in that exclamation. "What the bloody HELL is going on?"

Lucius shook his head, amused in a way that chilled Harry even further. "Really, boy," he said, "hasn't anyone taught you any respectful ways to address your betters?"

"Yeah. They bloody well have. So why don't you fucking answer my question, Malfoy?"

Ohhh, Ron, don't. This isn't Crabbe or Goyle. They were obviously somewhere in the Slytherin dungeon. The room...the room, completely empty except for the candle sconces on the wall, seemed to whisper Where no one will find you...and those who might will not help.

And the room seemed to be whispering in the elder Malfoy's voice.

Lucius's amusement did not diminish. "The reason you are here, Mister Weasley...and Miss Granger...is simple. It is because Mister Potter is here."

"Excuse me?" Hermione was using the same haughty tone she might have used if someone had accused her of poor study habits. "He didn't bring us here, you did." Harry could tell she, too, did not want to show how frightened she was.

"Very true, Miss Granger. May I call you Hermione? If you don't like that I can come up with something else, little muggle-born bitch." Harry saw Hermione flinch at the hostility that had so suddenly manifested in the man's elegant speech. "But you are very important to Harry here, and that is why I brought you and the Weasley boy along. Harry has inconvenienced me greatly, but you know that, don't you? It follows that I cannot let that go unanswered." Lucius's eyes fixed back on Harry, who had no idea where he found the courage not to flinch. "For that, I must pay you back handsomely, boy."

"For a house-elf?" Ron's voice was incredulous. It drew Lucius's gaze back to him. "You've worked yourself up to kidnapping and--and I don't know what, murder, whatever, over a bloody house-elf?"

Oh. That was right, Harry hadn't told Ron everything. Ron and Hermione still didn't know that Dobby hadn't been a tenth of the issue. Harry hadn't been sure how much his friends should know. For their protection.

Fat lot of good that was going to do them now.

Lucius smiled again. "You want me to say that it's not murder I intend, don't you, Ron? You're hoping very much that's not what I intend." He looked back at Harry. "Well, I'll indulge you. It isn't."

Harry found his voice. "You wouldn't get away with murder. You won't get away with this. Let us go now, L-Lucius. Let them go. They're absolutely bloody nothing to do with you."

"But, as I said, they are much to do with you. So they stay."

"If you keep us here--" Hermione began. Harry looked at her and saw that she was choosing her words very carefully. Trust Hermione to be plotting, always. "You'll be making a mistake if you keep all three of us here. More risky for you to keep control of three, rather than one. And we're not going to let you hurt Harry, not if there's anything we can do about it."

Ron stayed silent. At least, Harry thought, he'd seen what Hermione intended and wasn't shooting off about how it was going to be all of them or nothing, etc., etc.

"My dear young woman. You have it quite wrong, you know. It's Harry who's not going to let you be hurt."

Lucius stepped closer to Harry, bending over him, and Harry, immobile on the floor, stared back into his grey eyes, thinking that even a basilisk's gaze could not be that mesmerizing and awful and utterly lethal.

"Tell me something, Harry Potter," said Lucius, and he looked terribly pleased to be asking. "Are you still a virgin?"

*****

The silence was broken, at last, by Ron. "WHAT did you say?"

Lucius answered as though it were Harry who had asked the question, not looking away from him. "Oh, come now, it's a perfectly reasonable question. I know that scar and those huge green eyes of yours must have every one of the Gryffindor girls swooning with romantic fantasies; you could have any one of them if you play that 'vulnerable me' act just right. And Hogwarts is a boarding school, after all..." He gave a small snort. "The place was crawling with pederasts even in my day. Students, prefects, and teachers alike, boy; don't be so naive."

"Get bent." Harry said it with all the venom he could manage.

"Not going to tell me? Or just unhappy to think about some of those beloved professors of yours and their twisted little secrets, eh, Harry?" Suddenly he was even closer, kneeling by Harry's side and setting his hand on his chest, and Harry felt his flesh crawling as if the man had just set an anthill there, intact and inhabited and the inhabitants curious to explore its new location. "No matter. As it so happens, I too have a fondness for wide-eyed boys who fancy themselves romantic heroes. Particularly those who cross me."

It was Hermione who split the air with a shriek. "NO! Malfoy, you filthy, perverted bastard, don't you touch him!"

It was as if someone had cut directly into Harry's belly, severed his guts, and was holding them up for him to see. As if his bones would climb right out of his flesh. "Get--" he swallowed, tried again. "Get your hands off me, Lucius."

"No, Harry." Lucius's face came closer, the long pale hair swinging forward to brush Harry's face. "I plan to touch you quite a lot. I'm going to taste you, to have you. I want to fuck you, Harry Potter. And you're going to let me."

"You're dead, Malfoy." It was said so quietly it almost didn't sound like Ron. "You died about ten minutes ago. You just don't know it yet and that's why you're still moving. But you're dead."

"Isn't this about the time--" Lucius said, ignoring Ron altogether, and sliding his hand higher, until his fingers were touching the skin of Harry's neck, just above his shirt collar,"--that you're supposed to ask me, Harry, just why you're going to let me fuck you?"

This wasn't happening. He wasn't here; it was someone else that this was happening to. "Go fuck yourself." It seemed the wrong thing to say. No...that wasn't true. It was the only thing to say.

"Ah." Lucius pushed back and stood up. "Grieved as I am that you won't play, I suppose I'll just have to show you."

He turned toward Ron and Hermione.

Harry suddenly found there was a great deal more to say: "No--Lucius--leave them, I'm warning you--you will have to murder me if you touch them, leave them alone!"

They were still frozen under Petrificus...sub-totalis, or whatever the hell was the modifier Lucius had added to the spell, but Harry thought he could still see the two of them draw closer together, a reaching of the electricity of the flesh if not the very flesh itself, as the wizard approached.

Both were dreadfully, totally silent. So wrong. So wrong for them. Too afraid to goad Lucius again...too afraid for him to plead for themselves, Harry knew. So he would have to do it. "NO! Get away from them! They don't know anything, goddammit!"

"Dear boy, I don't care if they do or not." Lucius held his wand lightly in the fingertips of both hands. "You wouldn't be familiar with the Unforgivable Curses, yet, would you?... No, of course, you had that mincing faggot Lockhart as your Dark Arts Defense teacher this year, didn't you? That pansy would never have come near these."

"You--couldn't-- !" Hermione choked. "It's life in Azkaban for Unforgivable Curses...!"

"Yes, Miss Granger, you're supposed to be the clever girl, aren't you? You would have heard of them if anyone would. Lovely." Lucius raised his wand.

Harry--who hadn't heard of Unforgivable Curses--would have thought the sound of them would have ripped the room apart, from the reaction Hermione had given. But instead, Lucius spoke one word very softly, as though it were a declaration of love, a word that sounded very like "croo-show" to Harry, as he aimed the wand toward both Ron and Hermione.

And Harry watched in utter horror as his friends, who were still in the grip of petrifaction, started to scream, and scream, and scream, and their spines arched, leaving the floor until their bodies were only touching the floor at their shoulders and heels, making two human bridges of their bodies, and their screams rose in pitch just as their spines rose, and Ron was rolling his head upon the floor, which gave a hideous waver to his screams, and Hermione's body was shaking, her neck craning back on a line with her backbone as she screamed, screamed until long past anyone would have had to stop to breathe, but went on and on, and Harry's own screams were, he knew, completely inaudible above theirs, even as he begged at the top of his lungs, barely able to even hear himself, "Leave them alone! Leave them alone! Let them go! Lucius!"

And Lucius gestured, ever so casually, with his wand, and their screams choked off, their bodies collapsing onto the floor, the gasps coming from their throats almost as awful as the screaming had been, and Hermione said, in an appalling whimper that should never, never have come from her, "Oh...oh, no...no, no more, please..."

"Let them go! Lucius, LET THEM GO!"

But Lucius wasn't even looking at Harry. "Caught your breath yet, my young wizards? I certainly hope so." And he aimed the wand again: "Crucio."

This time Harry screamed first: "NO! No, DON'T!" But it was too late. Harry kept screaming, begging Lucius the entire time, as an eternity of hell passed in front of his eyes, Ron and Hermione shrieking under the torture of the most horrific curse he'd ever seen, each of their bodies bent like a bow, Hermione choking on her own screams again until the sound coming from her was even more appalling, a gurgling, stuttering cry she couldn't stop making, and Ron had been howling, "Noooooo...! Nooooo...." over and over, and Lucius stood there, watching them, smiling.

He didn't stop it this time. Not before he turned back to Harry, still smiling, and said, in tones that carried even through the screams, "Am I having any effect yet, Harry?"

"Oh, of course. Since you ask so nicely." He turned back and waved the wand again, and again it stopped, and even as Ron and Hermione collapsed, their cries didn't cease, not for long moments after, until both of them were left whimpering on the floor.

The sounds Harry was making were no more dignified. "No...no..." he moaned. "Leave them alone, please, I'm begging you, Lucius..."

"I'm not hearing what I want to hear, Harry."

Harry stared back at him. No. It was such an...impossible thing to even think. His mind wouldn't even let him understand, completely, what it meant. Lucius Malfoy... That was as far as his thoughts could go before they simply refused to go any further.

He couldn't speak. He couldn't.

"Tell me what I want to hear, Harry."

"Don't hurt them any more." It was a whisper. And it was all he could say.

"Oh, I'll hurt them. I'll hurt them until they beg for the Death Curse, but I don't think I'll be so generous. But a word from you can stop all this." He came closer. "Will you give me your flesh, Harry Potter? To do with as I choose? Submit your body to me without any resistance?" He leaned in, and his smile was abruptly lascivious, the only surprise that it hadn't been before this. "Let me fuck you senseless?"

Only one word came from Harry...the word that was repeating, over and over, in his head, because he could not go any further than that one word: "Please..."

Lucius straightened. "Do you know, I don't think I want to keep trying the same thing over again. I have another idea."

"No..." Harry moaned as Lucius turned back to Ron and Hermione, some part of his brain screaming at him to get past that block, to think it, dammit; think it now and get used to it very...fucking...fast. "No..."

"Miss Granger," Lucius began, "are you familiar with the remainder of the Unforgivable Curses?"

"No," Ron said. It was a croak. "Let her alone, you fucking deranged perv!"

Lucius went on as if he hadn't heard. He was standing over Hermione now. looking down at her, and his smile was horrifically kind. "You're going to be an extremely pretty woman when you finish growing up, Hermione."

He gestured with his wand, and abruptly Hermione's arms fell slack, away from her sides. The body-bind spell gone, Hermione tried to sit up quickly, but she was still feeling the aftereffects of the Crucio curse, and as she was trying to get her legs underneath her to scramble away, Lucius aimed his wand at her, and even as both Ron and Harry yelled, "NO!", the older wizard spoke another word that Harry had not before heard: "Imperio."

Hermione froze. But she wasn't frozen. Slowly she relaxed back into the sitting position she was in, and her eyes were beginning to look just a bit glazed.

"Hermione?" said Ron.

She said nothing, breathing in and out just a little faster than normal.

Lucius gestured. "Come here, Hermione. No, no, don't get up...crawl to me."

And Hermione leaned forward, and began to crawl on her hands and knees toward Lucius. Ron jerked his head up so hard it looked as though he was trying to move his entire body with just that force. "Nooooo! Let her go, Malfoy, let her go!"

"No," breathed Harry, revolted and terror-stricken and utterly unable to look away.

When Hermione was directly before him, Lucius said, "Stop." She did, as abruptly as that. "Now get up on your knees."

Harry could see, as Hermione rose up onto her knees, the look in her eyes: it wasn't blank; horrifyingly, there was distress behind that glazed expression: she knew what she was doing, and hated it, and hated that she was still doing it. Ron was still keeping up a steady moan: "No...no, please, no..."

Lucius took one step closer to Hermione. "Now, my dear girl, I think you're in exactly the right position to get my trousers open. Do it."

Both Harry's and Ron's cries were anguished howls that started with the word No and just went on from there. Hermione lifted her hands--which were trembling, Harry saw-- and set them on the front of Lucius's trousers, her fingers tugging at the belt buckle, opening it and moving to unfasten the buttons over the crotch. In that hideous, endless set of moments, Harry saw a single tear spill down Hermione's cheek.

"Yes, that's it. Now--no, don't take your hands away just yet, my pretty, I want you to lift my cock free of my trousers. Yes, very nicely done."

Ron's scream had choked off, as though a hand had closed over his mouth, and would not let him breathe.

"Now, Hermione, isn't it convenient that you're just the right height, kneeling there, to take my cock in your mouth and start--"

Lucius turned only his head toward Harry. He hadn't phrased what he'd been saying as a request, not yet, so Hermione was not yet compelled to do anything. "Repeat that, if you would, boy?"

No one else made a sound. Harry did not wait to see if they would. If Ron tried to protest he'd kill him himself. "I'll do it," Harry said.

Lucius didn't completely do up his trousers, but he arranged them, and himself, enough so that when he turned to face Harry, Harry was able to keep his eyes on his face, and not anywhere else. "Your flesh," Lucius said, a question.

"Yes," Harry breathed, afraid he might be sick.

"To do with as I wish."

"Yes. Now let them go."

"You will submit completely and not resist me."

"Goddamn you, Lucius, let them go! Now!"

Lucius shook his head. "I will let them go. But not yet."

"No! You fucking bastard, leave them alone!"

Lucius folded his arms. "You will listen. From this moment I will not harm them, nor let them be harmed--yes, I will obey the spirit of the bargain, boy--but I will not let them go until you have lived up to your side of it. Can you do that?" He jerked his head sideways towards Hermione. "She's still under the Imperius curse, boy. You'd better be very sure."

"Good. Let's have a test of that, shall we?" He slashed his wand in one short movement in Harry's direction, and Harry found he could move again.

But now that was worse.

"Stand up."

It took him a few moments, and the stiffness from the paralysis was only the smallest part of the reason. He looked at Hermione, on her knees, and Ron, who was looking at him with eyes that were huge and dreadful, and made himself stand.

Lucius stepped before him, and in one motion had a hold of Harry's shirtfront and tie, just below his collar, dragging him forward, making him stumble, as Lucius bent his head and leaned towards Harry, and just before Lucius kissed him--kissed him!--Harry jerked his head back and said, "Wait--Don't--don't do this in...in front of them."

Lucius's eyebrows lifted.. "Don't?" he said. "Dear boy, that's entirely the point."

Harry choked on his own breath. "Wh--no!" He tried to pull away, but Lucius held him fast.

"Oh, yes," Lucius hissed. "I plan to cost you so much, Potter, that you will never go a day without thinking of this, that your own dearest friends you will abandon because you cannot bear to look at them and see them remembering this day, remembering what they witnessed. And they will witness a great deal."

He pushed Harry away, and Harry lost his footing for a moment and hit the wall behind him. Lucius turned back to Hermione. "You've been very cooperative, my dear. What I'd like for you to do now is to go back there, by your little boyfriend Weasley, and kneel there, and watch everything quietly, like a good girl. And while you're at it--" Hermione was already crawling back to her place--"young Ron doesn't look like he has a particularly good view from where he is. Why don't you cradle his head in your lap so he can see a little better."

And Hermione knelt behind Ron, who made a small sound in his throat as he looked at her face, so hollow and yet so forlorn, and she gently lifted his head up onto her knees, settling down so that his head was in her lap, shoulders angled up from his immobile body, which she circled with her arms, and then she turned her face back toward the little scene that was about to play.

"Oh, fuck," said Ron softly, and he burst into tears.

*****

Lucius turned back to Harry, who was still standing pressed against the wall. "Come here. Do not make me tell you twice."

It seemed to Harry that he peeled himself off of the protection of that wall, a fraction at a time, before he could take the few steps forward to stand before Lucius. This time, the man put his hand on Harry's shoulder, not holding him in place though--Harry could have run, he could have pulled away if he wanted--and bent down, slowly, as if giving Harry the chance to do just that, to back out, to break down and refuse...but Harry had done the opposite of steeling himself, he'd let everything about his mind and body go slack, because it was the only way to surrender to the unthinkable. He still could not process what he was doing, what Lucius wanted, what he had agreed to. All he knew was that he had had to stop Lucius from doing anything else to Ron and Hermione. However he could.

And so he did not move.

Lucius kissed him. The man's lips parted slightly as they touched Harry's mouth, enveloping his lower lip and tugging at it, then releasing it to press his mouth completely over Harry's, drawing both lips into his now, holding them there, sucking lightly as if pulling a sugary drink through a straw. Harry was trying, oh, he was trying not to even think about what was happening, trying not to notice what it felt like, but this didn't save him from remembering who was doing this to him, and he gave a small gasp and could not help pulling back, only enough that his lips separated from Lucius's mouth, but he said, quickly, "No, I--I'm sorry--" and knowing he wouldn't get another chance, he forced himself to lean forward, until...until his mouth touched the other man's--he had to close his eyes to do it--and Lucius was kissing him again, and Harry understood what those embarrassingly silly novels that he and Ron used to take turns reading out loud to each other in their dormitory at night, laughing hysterically all the while, meant when they called a kiss hungry; he thought Lucius was trying to eat him alive, beginning with his mouth.

And when Lucius pushed Harry's lips open with his tongue, sliding into his mouth like a separate creature with its own volition, and Harry suddenly realized that he was tasting wintergreen and it wasn't from his mouth, it was either pull away or die or do something, and he would not pull away and he wasn't going to die, and so his knees buckled and Lucius caught him with one arm and supported him, pulling him into his body as the kiss went on, and had Harry had any strength to whimper he would have done so, but he couldn't even manage that, so completely helpless was he at this violation; it was like Lucius had spread his fingers and pushed them deep into the very grey matter of Harry's brain, and had severed vital connections to the different parts of his body.

When Lucius finally released his mouth--though not his body--Harry had a dim realization that if Lucius's terms had been that alone--just a kiss, one kiss--he would have fought every bit as hard, let Ron and Hermione go through just as much pain, before submitting, because some part of him would have known just how much a single kiss, from this man, was every bit as dreadful as the terms he had set.

"Well, that's a promising start," Lucius said, licking their combined wetnesses off his lips, savoring it. Harry shuddered. "Swooning in my arms--I must admit, I can hardly call myself disappointed with that reaction."

"It's not like THAT!" Harry was appalled at how pathetic he sounded. He struggled to get his feet under him, feebly trying to push Lucius's arm away, even though he knew he should not, that Lucius might take it out on Hermione or Ron if Harry resisted even in this small way.

But Lucius actually helped steady Harry on his feet, and stepped back. Harry stared at him, knowing he must be pleading with his eyes, but he was beyond hating himself for that; every other tactic, every weapon, every defense had been stripped from him, and this was all he had left. Beyond Lucius, Harry saw Ron and Hermione looking at him, Hermione commanded into silence, Ron not speaking, but the small, wheezing gasps that came from him, the tear tracks on his cheeks and his sickened expression needing no words to elaborate what he was feeling.

Lucius did something Harry was unprepared for: unhurriedly, casually, he lowered himself to the floor, until he was sitting, one knee in front of him, wrists lightly crossed over each other on that knee, looking up at Harry, his eyes beginning to narrow.

"Undress."

For a moment, Harry thought, How strange. Lucius Malfoy also knows how to speak Parseltongue. The word had been...such a hiss of malevolence, so serpent-like. When that particular self-deception broke apart and fell away, as it had to, then Harry was left with only himself and the word.

He looked at Ron and Hermione--the last time in a great many minutes that he would look directly at them--and lifted hands that did not seem to be his own to begin working on his necktie.

When he had it off, he stood there, strangely, wanderingly unhappy about what to do with it--he was used to hanging them on the hook inside his closet, and it wasn't an option--and Lucius leaned forward and took it from him, setting it behind him, and then extending his hand again, palm up...waiting.

When Harry had the shirt off-- the white fabric appearing not so pale as the skin of his arms, his torso seemed to him just at this moment--Lucius took that from him as well, tearing from him as though Harry might have tried to cling to it, dropping it on top of the tie, and holding out his hand again, his fingers making that little crab-crawling gesture that said Get on with it.

Harry at least had the relatively innocuous task of removing his shoes and socks next, though he wasn't sure if this would make the rest easier or harder, by delaying it. As he laid the socks into Lucius's hand, he was suddenly struck by the absurdly funny coincidence of the moment: If you were my house-elf, Lucius, you'd be free right now.

He thought he might laugh--and then he remembered what he had to take off next. He had to drop his eyes from Lucius's to be able to continue. Belt...unbuckled and pulled open, trousers... unbuttoned and the same, briefs...the top edge of them grazed by the pads of his thumbs, not yet hooked inside, instead waiting as he trembled on the verge, anticipating the deus ex machina that had to come, it had to...and then, knowing that he'd never, ever move if he had to get those last three things off one at a time, he pushed all three down his legs in a tangle of leather and fabric, like so much laundry, and he knew if he didn't get them out of his hands immediately he would cling to them, and he flung the clothing at Lucius as he stepped back and crossed his arms on his chest, aware that the pose looked all too much like a dare but not fucking caring at this point.

Lucius didn't rise. Instead he shifted his weight forward and came toward Harry; technically, strictly, it would be classified as a crawl, but it bore nothing in resemblance to the submissive movement on hands and knees that Hermione had performed. Lucius moved forward like a panther stalking, until he was directly before Harry, and he did not bother telling him to drop his arms but instead seized Harry's chin in one hand as he rose up to his knees and pulled him down into another kiss, hard and unrelenting and just as violating as before, and just as before, it made Harry's knees want to give way, and so to prevent it, he found himself forced to steady himself with one hand on Lucius's shoulder, his fingers spread and clutching, and the thought came to him that Lucius might taunt him for that as well, but there was nothing else he could bloody do, and Lucius's tongue was in his mouth again, not like an afterthought but slowly, lingeringly, as though this was the entire point of a kiss, in a way that said You'd better get used to this.

Lucius pulled his mouth and his hand away so abruptly that Harry's head actually dropped a fraction of a distance. What now?

A slow smile crept over Lucius's face. "You don't have the faintest idea how to go about this, do you?... That's fine. I like them green."

Suddenly revulsion retreated, replaced by rage so great Harry was shaking. "Look, you fucking rapist, I may not have experience at this sort of thing, but even if I did, what makes you think I'm interested in kissing you back? This wasn't my fucking idea!"

"You think I won't be able to get a response out of you, boy?" Harry heard Lucius chuckle, and the ice was immediately back in his veins. "You're very, very wrong about that."

He bent his head and leaned forward, and Harry's brain shrieked like an arrow-struck owl as Lucius's lips parted as his mouth was aiming directly for his waist... but that was exactly where he was going, his waist, and he mouthed a kiss onto the lightly furred skin just below Harry's navel, and then started to move up, his tongue trailing a line of saliva a little distance upward, and then another wet, open-mouthed kiss upon his belly, and Harry jerked a little, but Lucius suddenly had his hands on Harry's arms, holding them at his sides, and if the response Lucius was getting was only ticklishness, Harry still found himself gasping once, and Lucius's grip on his arms was like a set of manacles, and as that tongue moved to his nipple and rasped over it, Harry felt a shock that was only distantly related to ticklishness and made him cry out again, trying to pull away, and Lucius said, dreadfully quiet, "Stand still..." , and his tongue resumed caressing Harry's nipple even as his eyes stayed fixed on Harry's, and Harry finally gave up and accepted that he was never going to get basilisk imagery out of his head when he looked at this man.

What he felt, underneath the shivery sensations the man was creating with his tongue, was fury. This was supposed to be about rape, and revenge, and power and powerlessness--it was not supposed to be about sex, his mind cried out, howling at the unfairness of it. Dear God, he did not want it to be about sex.

He might be, yes, still a virgin, but for some reason (you know why, some part of him hissed, if you get hung up on that you think you won't think about everything else that's going on) Lucius's accusing him of not having the faintest idea chafed. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about sex almost constantly this year; he was right in the middle of bloody puberty, he'd been thinking about it more than bloody Quidditch.

Well... all right, not exactly sex, it was a little more vague than that. He'd heard that when adolescent girls were masturbating, they thought about their weddings. He certainly didn't. He knew that when he saw the girl students wearing jumpers that fit tight across the chest--this was something he saw on the early-to-middle year girls, actually, and not so much the older ones, because they would always go through a time when they were developing faster than their parents predicted when they sent them off to Hogwarts with only the one size jumpers--those were days he could barely make it until he got back to his room at night. Sometimes he wouldn't make it; he was all too familiar with the feeling of the marble stall walls of the boys' bathrooms against his back while he stroked himself off, staring at the ceiling and wondering how many others of the stalls' current inhabitants were doing the same thing at that very moment.

But it was more just images like those in his head at those times, rather than any actual thought of a partner. Girls were still intimidating to him, especially trying to think of them in that way, except as inspiring individual body parts, like breasts outlined under a jumper or the flash of skin just between a knee sock and the top of a skirt. Hermione...she gave him unique problems. He would never tell her, but he had thoughts about her hair a lot.

And he was aware that there was long hair drawing across his skin right now, as Lucius tongued his way up Harry's chest, the sweep of his silver-blond hair following, brushing his ribs like--like silk, the comparison was inevitable and he knew it, just like the basilisk image had been-- and he knew he'd never think about Hermione's hair the same way again, not with this moment poisoning it.

Hermione...Ron...!

No. He couldn't look.

Lucius pulled his mouth away, let another slow smile spread over his face. "You thought I was just going to fling you face-down and bugger you stupid, didn't you, boy? So that you could lie there weeping and try to pretend it wasn't happening, yes?" He released one of Harry's arms so that he could reach up and take a hold of Harry's throat, pull him down so that their faces were almost touching: "Not a chance. Not the smallest, slightest chance."

He licked the side of Harry's face, just once, and Harry flinched as if Lucius was trying to put out an eye. Then Lucius released him and pushed back just enough to reach up to his own throat and loosen the clasp of his cloak and swing it off his shoulders. He let it settle into his lap as he reached out towards Harry's discarded robes--which had been under him when he'd been lying there paralyzed--and pulled them a little closer; then he took his cloak back into his hands and threw it over Harry's robes, spread open on the stone floor.

He moved to the center of it without standing, though again, to call his movement a crawl gave entirely the wrong idea. There, on his knees, he held out a hand: "Come here."

Harry's bare feet were freezing on the stone floor, but he took no comfort in stepping onto the cloak's surface, still warm from Lucius's body heat. And when Lucius took a hold of his wrist and made him kneel facing him, he was shivering harder than he'd been since waking in the room.

"Now, my little neophyte, let me teach you a little something about kissing."

He reached out towards Harry's face, and with a delicacy Harry definitely did not expect right then, pulled off Harry's glasses. Everything more distant than Lucius blurred; it was almost as if it had been a spell Lucius had wanted to cast, to reduce Harry's visible world to nothing else but him.

"It's considered rude not to remove these when you're kissing someone, boy." Lucius tossed the glasses to one side, and Harry remembered, just as he began to inhale, starting to protest, that that was toward the pile of his clothing, and he didn't see them hit but there was no sound of glass or plastic hitting--or breaking--on stone, so he guessed they were safe.

Then they were the last thing on his mind because Lucius had reached for him again, and now what was happening was an embrace, as terrible as that was: the man's arms sliding up his back and pulling Harry's bare chest against his, angling his head to Harry's so that when their mouths met it was more than just a kiss, it was an interlocking, and as Lucius's tongue entered his mouth again, Harry wondered if Ron and Hermione would ever forgive him if he bit down right now, because whatever Lucius would do to them after that, it would be bad.

Lucius pulled his mouth away. "Now you are going to kiss me back."

"The hell I will." Harry hadn't meant to say it, but it was too close on the heels of him thinking of biting.

"This is not an exception to the terms, boy, these are the terms. You will do as I say."

"Leave him the fuck alone!" The explosion of words from Ron made Harry start--and Lucius too, he noticed. "STOP torturing him, you shit-eating maggot! Bloody fucking DO whatever the fuck you're going to do and get the fuck away from him! You will never get the PLEASURE of being in Azkaban, because I'M going to be there for what I'm going to do to YOU after this! You fucking, pissant excuse for Voldemort's errand-boy!"

Lucius didn't look angry, but he didn't chuckle either. At last he said, "While it's perhaps useful to have you occasionally reminding Harry that the two of you are still here, I don't think he's particularly in need of a reminder. And you are just a bit...loud, for my tastes, at the moment, Ron." Harry saw him shift his gaze just a fraction. "Hermione, dear, stand up."

"No!" said both Ron and Harry together; Harry not trying to pull away, but staying where was, to give strength to what he was trying to say. "You--Damn you, Lucius, you swore--!"

"Harry, shut up or I will hurt them," Lucius said distinctly, his hands tightening on Harry's shoulders.

Harry knew this didn't mean he would like what he was going to do to them. He was tense as a violin string as he watched the blurry form of Hermione get to its feet. He turned his eyes back to Lucius's face, thinking that it was better to watch the man's expression for cues of what was going to happen; at least that was something he could see.

He could hear Ron's breathing, gasping really, ragged, slightly musical inrushes of air that were as close as he could come to pleading for Hermione after such a vicious outburst.

Lucius slid his hands down Harry's shoulders, down his arms, until they were at Harry's wrists, gripping securely, before he said, "Hermione, lift your skirt and show me what you're wearing under it."

And Harry did try to wrench free, hissing in fury at both the command and his powerlessness, as Lucius hung on, increasing the pressure until Harry could feel his wristbones grinding together. He heard Ron say, "Shit..."

All Harry could tell at this distance, looking, despite himself, was that they were pink.

"Yes, very pretty, my dear. Now what I'd like you to do is to take those off and wad them into Ron's mouth. Far enough back that he can't spit them out, but be very careful not to choke him."

"You bastard." Harry pushed himself at Lucius again, trying to throw him off balance even if he couldn't use his hands, but it wasn't bloody working, Lucius used his leverage on Harry's wrists to keep him at bay, watching his eyes with the faintest amusement. And shortly he turned it back upon Harry, pushing him backwards until he had him unbalanced, and he fell over onto his back and Lucius was right there, leaning over him, pinning his wrists at either side of his head, and it was such a terrifyingly helpless position that it made him struggle harder, the instinct that Lucius was about to tear his throat or heart or guts out driving him into frenzy, trying to bite, to bring his knees up--he actually got one foot planted just below Lucius's sternum, trying to push him off, but it didn't work; Lucius just shifted his weight over that point, trapping Harry's hips under his torso, and as Harry was left gasping in this position, Lucius the weight of a drowned corpse on top of him, he heard Ron: "No... Hermione, please, fight him, fight him, you--ah, shit, no, don--n--nnnggg--!"

Harry felt tears pricking his eyes for the first time since the whole thing had started, hearing Ron's muffled groans. All he could do was to repeat, "You bastard."

"Stop fighting me this instant or I'll tell her to fucking play with herself while he watches."

Harry made himself be still.

Lucius let a few moments go by, staring down at Harry from where he lay, crosswise across his body. At last he looked back to the other side of the room and said, "You can kneel down again, Hermione. Put Ron's head back on your knees again, as before; I liked that pose."

Harry heard her moving as Lucius looked back at him. "Now we're going to resume where we left off, Harry. Are you going to obey this time? Don't think you can goad me into making it easy for you by using an Imperius curse on you, boy. They're the one's who'll find out what happens if you refuse."

"Just stop fucking talking! I know!"

"Good." Lucius didn't let him up, didn't let go of his pinned wrists. Instead he slid up so that his face was directly over Harry's, his chest no longer at an angle to his but directly in line, his hips the heaviest point of contact, weighing Harry down from belly to groin. Harry thought he felt a change in the air, the lighting, something that suddenly sapped his ability to fight, as he felt every part of that view, that position; he remembered that he was naked, and felt how helpless he was, and that he'd agreed to it all--yes, under horrible circumstances, but he had said the words--and while he wasn't exactly going to close his eyes and pretend it was someone else, the sooner he stopped fighting the sooner it was done. That was it, what he was reading in that wintry gaze, which never looked away from his, as if the overlay of grey on green like this would form some kind of chemical reaction that would dissolve his bones into dust.

Lucius brought his mouth down to touch Harry's. This time there was something clearly experimental about it, waiting to see what his reaction would be. Something told Harry that Lucius didn't merely want to feel him pushing back with his mouth, but wanted something that implied participation in a more intimate way. Slowly he let his mouth relax, let it open, and heard a tiny noise of satisfaction from Lucius as the man pressed his lips harder against Harry's, pressed his tongue into his mouth, and Harry thought, Please let this be enough, but it wasn't, Lucius was trying to twine his tongue around Harry's, and he clearly wanted a response to that, and Harry groaned, not sure he could do it...

...and as Lucius was just starting to suck the tip of Harry's tongue into his own mouth, the fury came upon Harry again, but this time he was controlling it, and he thought, Fuck this, and decided that if this was what it was going to take to keep this madman off of Ron and Hermione, he was going to make sure it wasn't for nothing, and he did push his mouth up against Lucius's and thrust his tongue completely inside the man's mouth, rewarded with a little grunt of surprise from Lucius, who began to suck fiercely at his tongue, mouthing his lips back with near-violence, until he broke away suddenly, looking at Harry with an intense grin of satisfaction. "Oh, I have made you angry, my little hero."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say--well, the right thing, from Lucius's point of view. Harry shrank back from the mockery, nerve gone. What the hell had he been doing? What had made sense a moment ago seemed incomprehensible now.

"Oh, no, little hero, don't turn shy on me now, that was lovely," Lucius laughed. "Not so green after all, I see...or perhaps just a true natural, yes?" He moved, rapid as thought, so that his mouth was over Harry's chest and licked at his nipple again, and as Harry felt that same electric sensation making him convulse, cry out softly, the thought rushed in upon him like a killing wave, that he had kissed Lucius hard because he'd wanted to show him he was not completely powerless, wanted to make sure he would not inflict further horrors on Ron and Hermione, wanted to do something that at least felt aggressive...

...wanted to...

...

No, that wasn't it at all!

Then why are you reacting like this NOW? hissed that same wave of thought. And even as Harry tried to answer with Because he's got me pinned! the voice was on the very heels of that with You're not struggling to get free, you lying sack of shit, you're arching AGAINST him!

And as Lucius kept tonguing that achingly sensitive nub of flesh, shifting his mouth to begin working on the other, Harry was trembling, thinking that he was going to be left with twin lightning bolt scars there, as well, it felt like; and then he felt the shock travel all the way to his groin, and that pushed him over the edge; he forgot about Ron and Hermione, forgot about everything except the need to show that voice that it was fucking, fucking wrong, and he wrenched at his trapped wrists, tried to pull his body to the side, tried to get his legs out from underneath Lucius, and it didn't do a fucking bit of good, Lucius only chuckled again and bit his nipple to hold on, and the worst thing, the WORST thing that had happened that day happened: it didn't hurt, it felt exciting.

He screamed.

He heard a muffled shout from Ron. Shit, poor Ron, he thought, he probably thought Lucius had bitten it off.

And Lucius, who hadn't bitten him particularly hard, understood what his scream was about the instant it happened, as evidenced by the laughter that shook him, and he lifted his mouth away only long enough to fasten his teeth on the other one and repeat the bite. And Harry shuddered again, and...dear god, he was fucking getting hard, and he knew Lucius wasn't going to miss that.

He didn't. Harry felt his trapped wrists being pushed together, and Lucius transferred his grip on one so that he had both of them pinned above Harry's head in one hand, and he took his free hand and slid it down between their bodies, and wrapped his fingers around Harry's stiffening member, and he didn't say anything, he didn't need to say anything, he just smiled, and smiled.

Harry's breathing rasped into his chest. He had tipped his head back so he wouldn't have to look at that smile anymore; he could have closed his eyes, but when he did that, it was just him in his head alone with that voice.

Like you fucking need ME to show you what's going on! it said now.

And with that, it was no longer a separate voice, would not be again; he remembered moments when he'd feared for his own life, and times when it wasn't even fear but seemed his death was inevitable, and they seemed like nothing; Lucius Malfoy was trying to screw him and Harry was fucking erect. Nothing had ever been so malignant as this.

It was one of the moments that Lucius Malfoy had calculated upon. He intended to mind-fuck Harry as much as anything else he was going to do. And Harry was, after all, very green indeed, and very young, and was not going to be able to separate sexual response from the person creating that response, or understand how having it forced from you did not mean you secretly wanted it to happen... which was, of course, what Lucius was counting on, and why he was doing it this way.

And probably somewhere Harry did know this.

Not that that was going to help.

"Shall I let go of your wrists now?" asked Lucius.

Harry looked at him. Slowly he nodded.

"Are you going to fight me again?"

He shook his head. Ron and Hermione were going to despise him already, when they saw he was aroused by this. He absolutely could not let Lucius hurt them any more. "No," he said, hating how small and miserable he sounded. "No," he repeated. That sounded a little better.

The pressure on his wrists ceased; Lucius was sitting up, his position shifting so that he was straddling Harry's hips now. His hand even moved away from Harry's groin, which could have made Harry weep with relief. Harry suddenly realized he had no idea what to do with his hands now. He could just hear himself: Sorry, Lucius, stupid mistake, would you mind holding me down again? Much easier that way, thanks.

Lucius's hands were stroking Harry's chest very lightly; he was looking at what he was doing, and Harry saw he wasn't smiling now. He looked like someone who hadn't eaten in two days contemplating a really good meal. The fact that Lucius enjoyed looking at him was awful on far too many levels. He certainly wasn't trying to pretend Harry was someone else. Which meant, as he'd specified, he had a thing for very young flesh. That was revolting. It also meant Harry could, if he had the least desire to, think of it as flattering.

And that was revolting.

Lucius's hands left him to reach up and begin working on the buttons upon his jacket. As the line of his breastbone was revealed, Harry could see he wore nothing under it. He looked away. God, it was too much. He pulled his hands down to his sides, where they formed fists, and waited, shuddering.

How in hell was the man going to keep them from talking about this?

Memory charm. Oh, no. No. It couldn't--

...No. No, it wouldn't be. What had he said? That the memory of what they'd witnessed--

Then...what?

The sound of fabric sliding over flesh compelled him to look back, though he did not want to: Lucius had pulled the jacket off and, naked from the waist up, lay down over Harry again. Harry's spine arched under him like there was an Unforgivable Curse working on him, and this time no inner voice chided him for it being a sign he was enjoying this; forbidden to fight, he was nevertheless unable to resist the instinct to try and push the man away.

He thought about how bad it was going to get. What it was going to feel like when Lucius actually started raping him.

This wasn't fucking helping.

Lucius's hand settled on his hair, fingers closing on a handful of it. "Put your arms around me."

He shuddered again. "I can't--please..."

"Oh, but you will. Do it."

Breath rasping in and out of his chest in short little gasps, Harry made his leaden arms lift, move around Lucius and settle upon his back.

The hand in Harry's hair pulled his head to one side, just a little, and Harry writhed as he felt Lucius's mouth on his neck. He felt his arms stiffen in reflex against the man, the result of overriding the instinct to wrench away, and wondered if Lucius would be taunting him for that too. Why did he care?

He'd never imagined that being kissed on the neck by someone you hated was just as bad as having them kiss you on the mouth.

And just as intense.

Harry heard the breath hiss between his teeth as he tried to shudder away from Lucius's mouth. The sensation of the man's lips and teeth playing together over the concavities and ridges of Harry's throat sent those same shocks of electricity down to his groin; and he heard himself moan. He felt his erection stirring, straining. God.

As if something delicious had pooled into the hollow just above Harry's collarbone, Lucius began to apply his tongue there. Harry shuddered as Lucius lapped at him, his tongue returning to the slender musculature of his neck from time to time, and when it traced all the way up to his jawline and at last to the inner ridges of his ear, an involuntary "Ah--" came up from the depths of Harry's chest, and Lucius's arm tightened around him to prevent him from pulling away, his hand in his hair doing the same, and Harry felt Lucius's breath against his ear along with the satisfied chuckle that also came from him.

"This is even more delightful than I'd imagined, boy," said Lucius. "How marvelous that I'm going to be your first."

And with that, he moved down Harry's body, so that Harry's arms fell away from where they were circled around the man's back, and Lucius traced his hands down Harry's sides as he slid down until his mouth was planting another urgent, sucking kiss on Harry's lower belly, and when his lips separated from Harry's skin and it was all too plain that he hadn't finished moving downward yet, Harry could not help it; he panicked, and his fingers clutched at Lucius's shoulders, digging in hard, and he moaned, "No..."

"Oh, yes, Harry," said Lucius, snaking his tongue out to lick the very tip of Harry's erection. "First in this, and in all things."

And the sound that came out of Harry's mouth was half groan and half sob (extremely enticing to Lucius, had Harry known) as he felt his cock enveloped to the very root in warm wetness, and he threw his head back, crying out, unable to watch as Lucius sucked at his entire hard length, his mouth pressed against his groin like some parasitic creature draining his blood and his strength and his life, and there was nothing to see with his head thrown back like this, all objects in the room too indistinct at this distance, but he knew that Ron and Hermione could see his face--there was a possibility that Ron wasn't watching, to spare him, but Hermione had been commanded to watch--and that there was no disguising what was on his face, that amidst the helplessness and the horror and the very real wish to be dead, was also the realization that what Lucius was doing with his lips and his tongue and the suction of his mouth felt so incomparably good, and he was crying out again, the sounds ragged and rasping as that tongue slid up and down the length of him, and Lucius was silent except for the wet sounds of his mouth, so that Harry's cries seemed magnified tenfold, mocking him as they echoed their way around the stone walls, and his grip on Lucius's shoulders didn't slacken, it couldn't, but for a different reason now, his fingers digging in so hard the nails had to be leaving punctures, wanting to punish the son-of-a-bitch for doing this to him, for leaving him powerless and debased and wanting to die of it, and so fucking needy that it was the worst crime of all.

His hips were arching upward, his nails digging in even harder. He knew his mouth was open from the way his breathing and his cries sounded.

If Lucius stopped now he'd die. If he continued, he'd die.

He'd never known dying was going to feel like this.

"Oh, god--please..." he said, begging for only one thing: mercy, in all the forms that could take.

Lucius gave it to him and gave him none. That warm wet mouth broke him, Lucius's stroking tongue drawing his response and his seed and his soul from him like a wasp feeding, until all three broke from Harry's body in a surge of perfect pain that was the sweetest agony he'd ever suffered, and he couldn't even close his eyes when it happened, the blur of candleflame seeming to sear his gaze until he thought it would forever be burned on his vision, and he was racked with it, shaking with it, wanting it never to end, so, so lost in the stabbing bliss which had overcome him that yes, for just a moment, he didn't care who it was.

Until at last he was able to close his eyes.

His hands had released their death grip on Lucius's shoulders. Now they were covering his face.

"I'm sorry," he heard himself moan, not sure if it was loud enough for Ron or Hermione to hear through his hands. "Oh, god, I'm sorry."

"Oh, don't be." Lucius had pulled his mouth away. "I didn't mind at all."

"Not you, you sick fuck," he hissed.

He couldn't move. Couldn't take his hands from his face.

If he had to look at Lucius right now...

He heard a rustle of cloth that, as soon as he realized what it was, riveted his attention. Lucius pushing his trousers down.

Now he really couldn't look.

"Come now, Harry--" he could hear, could sense, Lucius getting them completely off and placing them upon his discarded jacket--"we've barely started, and I think that was one of the more pleasant ways of starting, didn't you? Put your hands down."

It was said almost casually...but Harry could hear the edge underneath it: it was still a command. Slowly he pulled his hands from his face. But he still couldn't look.

He told himself that what he was imagining might be worse than what was really true. Lucius was, after all, just a man; he wasn't going to have a prehensile organ that spat fire. The worst that might be would be if it was intimidatingly large. Ah, fuck, had he really had to have that thought?

"Your reluctance to infect my nudity with the unworthiness of your gaze, Harry, is duly noted," Lucius said dryly. "But since you are eventually going to be able to recreate my body in your mind by the memories of your tongue alone, I suggest you might as well sit up and look."

He would have to do it before his imaginings made him start to gibber. Harry lifted his head; Lucius was kneeling just far enough away from him that Harry had to squint to see. Well, yes, he was human after all. Though Harry still wouldn't have been surprised if there had been piercings.

Size--there was no point in even dwelling on it. However Lucius compared--and the comparison was not pleasant; anything Harry'd seen, he'd seen on boys his own age, or not much older--that was the cock that was going inside him.

Lucius reached out and took a hold of his wrist. Harry was forced to get up to his knees and come directly in front of Lucius, his flesh crawling again as he came closer to the man's bare flesh.

"Here is something else you don't understand yet: if you fear me, don't think that it will help to limit your fear to just one part of me. You already know how my mouth can make you betray yourself, little hero. Do you think from this point on it is only my cock that can harm you now?"

Harry wasn't sure if he didn't understand or didn't want to understand.

He was forced to understand when Lucius took Harry's right hand and placed it palm-down upon his chest, flat against the pectoral muscle. "Stroke me."

Harry inhaled. Oh. This... this was bad. If he'd made Harry touch his cock that would have been--different, somehow... he was prepared for that...

The man's nipple was under his hand. Harry made his fingers slide over it, once, twice, and felt the flesh contract, heard Lucius sigh in a way that was more obscene than any curse, and he nearly tore himself away right then and there, sickened because he was causing the arousal...

...and because he had, for a moment, been fiercely, furiously glad to know that he had the power to make his enemy react.

"More of that, Harry," said Lucius, and now Harry's name was a liquid caress when he said it, nearly prompting Harry to fall back again. "Use your other hand as well."

In some different world, Harry saw his left hand rise to rest on the man's chest, and move in a small circle to make that nipple rise as well, shuddering as he felt it happen under his fingers, and Lucius, feeling that shudder, brought his hands to Harry's sides and gripped him, a silent warning not to pull away.

"Your mouth now."

"N-no..." It was a whisper. Lucius said nothing, but Harry knew he'd heard it anyway; he simply wasn't going to bother answering.

If Lucius would--make him do it, grab his hair and pull him forward or something, it would be easier...!

Lucius didn't want it to be easier. Harry knew that all too well.

Harry ducked his head forward, like a boy who had broken curfew and was afraid he was going to be hit, and set his open mouth over Lucius's right nipple. Slowly he tongued it, learning, quite against his will, the taste of Lucius's skin, acid-sharp and male and raw, and now Lucius did put his hand on the back of Harry's head, taking a handful of hair to keep him in place, and Harry kept on licking the nipple, hearing the sound of Lucius's breathing and feeling the way the man's back was arching.

He could not help it. He could not. He bit down very, very lightly.

Lucius inhaled. It was a good inhale, and Harry felt that horrible satisfaction again.

He bit down harder. Again Lucius did not try to stop him, only gave him more evidence, with the sound of the soft groan that came from him, that this was quite satisfactory to him as well, and Harry saw the danger as clearly as if there had been a blood-red sign, warning him of something as terrible as a bridge out over a fiery chasm, or an imminent explosion, or a grisly accident, but it didn't matter, when you see the sign you still want to see the chasm or ground zero or the glistening viscera for yourself, just to know, and similarly there was no warning strong enough to keep Harry away from the place where he wanted to know what it was like to make Lucius Malfoy beg him.

He was applying his tongue faster, more insistently. No. No. What was happening to him? He couldn't let this happen...

NO. This was NOT revenge! This was playing into Lucius's plans!

...Then his plans were going to fucking work.

Harry felt something wet on his face. He was crying. Oh, god. Nothing was ever going to make this go away, was it? He would never get over this; there would be the one part of his life he'd lived before this, and then there would be someone else living a completely different existence afterward. He wouldn't get it back. Ever.

He felt a hand under his chin. Lucius, probably prompted by the feeling of wetness from something other than Harry's mouth, lifted Harry's face up, studying it, and then he bent his head and licked the tears off of Harry's cheek, following the line of them down to where they'd dripped off his chin.

Harry endured it helplessly. He also endured it when Lucius kissed his mouth again, the hand under his chin angling his face so that Lucius could feed as deeply as possible on his passive yet unresisting mouth, his hands now on either side of Harry's face, poisonously gentle, and Harry found himself utterly mortified by the sob that broke from his chest and was transferred to Lucius's mouth, and Lucius responded by sliding one arm around Harry's torso and pulling him in closer, the gesture so comforting and he so desperately in need of comfort that he forgot to be sickened.

Oh god.

Lucius had broken the kiss and was now using his teeth, gently, on Harry's lower lip. "Stop being afraid..." he murmured, between bites. "...What use is fear, any more? There is so much to fear, better not to let it have you at all...feel hatred instead, feel power or pleasure, whatever it takes..."

He was trying to feed that feeling, Harry knew. To make Harry follow that path to his own betrayal of self, not merely because he'd orgasmed under Lucius's mouth, but the rest of it besides: seeking comfort as though his enemy was not the one torturing him, wanting to make Lucius respond in some way even if he couldn't hurt him the way he wanted.

And just because he saw it, didn't mean he could resist it.

He was so very young for this.

"I won't let you," he thought he said, but he was only mouthing the words, and he still did not know to what they referred. Than he would not betray himself? That he would not allow Lucius to take his fear away?

That he would not allow Lucius to get away unaffected?

It hardly mattered any more. He had to get through this. However he managed it, he had to get through it.

He whimpered under Lucius's mouth. He didn't know it, but the sound was, for Lucius, the best triumph yet.

Lucius kissed his chin, and his throat, and pushed Harry back just far enough so that he could get at his chest once more. Harry felt him stabbing at his nipples again with his tongue, and he could feel himself getting hard again... He didn't waste his anguish on that this time, however, not when there was so much else to despair over...

And now Lucius's hand was on the back of his neck.

"Next lesson, Harry."

Harry felt his throat closing over as he realized Lucius was inexorably drawing his head down to his lap. "Unh--" he gasped.

"Come, Harry, you knew this was coming."

Yes of course he fucking did, that didn't mean it was going to be easy.

If he focused... on the idea that Lucius would be reacting to him...

Lucius was leaning back, one palm on the floor behind him, the other still on the back of Harry's neck, and he wasn't dragging him down, but Harry was not going to be able to protest "Wait--" or "Please--" --in fact he could tell that Lucius would probably have liked to hear him say something like that, so he could hear it get choked off by his erect cock entering Harry's mouth.

Instead Harry made himself not pull away, not try to pretend this wasn't happening: he wouldn't let Lucius win completely on this one. He opened his mouth--at the last moment he remembered how Lucius had licked the tip of his cock before he took it in his mouth, and he extended his tongue and did the same to Lucius, a move he was able to accomplish only by telling himself that that would show the fucking bastard--and then the cock was entering his mouth, and Harry had his hands on both of Lucius's thighs, almost gripping them to support himself while he told himself he could not pull away, over and over like a mantra, tasting the length of flesh in his mouth and trying not to think about what that taste might remind him of (like some animal like the smell that was in the room when the Ridgeback was hatched STOP IT RIGHT NOW), and he heard the sound, the long, fluid hiss that Lucius made, and all he could think of when he heard it was Yes.

He started using his tongue. No, he told himself, he didn't have to hate himself for that choice; the sooner Lucius came, the sooner he could stop. He licked his way up the shaft, paying close attention to the underside, hoping that was the fastest way to arouse him.

From the sounds, the sighs he was making, Lucius wasn't trying to disguise the fact that Harry was doing just that. Of course not, Harry thought, he wants Ron and Hermione to know--Harry almost faltered, but could not let himself stop. He ran his tongue over the head of the cock, once, did it again when he felt Lucius shuddering under him, then simply lost his nerve altogether to do anything other than close his eyes and suck at him.

Lucius's fingers were stroking through his hair in a way that was lewdly tender. Harry told himself he would not react, but he did: he could feel the tears beginning to clog his nose and throat, which he did not need right now, it was hard enough to breathe around the obstruction in his mouth.

"Very...very nice, Harry. More of your tongue..."

Harry tried to comply. He didn't care what it cost him to obey, not in Lucius's eyes or in Ron or Hermione's, he just wanted it over.

"Stop for a moment." Lucius gave his shoulder the smallest push, and Harry slid his mouth free, unable to look up just yet. Lucius casually, almost lazily, lifted the shaft of his cock just a bit further with one hand, touched the sac of his balls beneath. "Here. Start by licking, then use your whole mouth."

This was worse, much worse. There was apparently a whole fucking technique here that he'd never wanted to learn. Harry leaned in, forcing himself to extend his tongue, touch the skin there, then start licking. The musky smell of him was more intense here, and now there was this short hair to deal with, very slightly darker blond than what was on the man's head. Harry pushed at the balls with his tongue, feeling them shift inside that pouch of skin that was tightening as he continued, and then he opened his mouth to envelop one-- Lucius's hand was on his shoulder, gripping suddenly; Harry heard him say, "Carefully, my little hero; if you deliberately try to hurt me..." He left the threat unfinished, but Harry already knew exactly how much he would try to get away with. He sucked at the round node already in his mouth, increasing the pressure by degrees until he got Lucius to groan, and then to hiss, and he wasn't sure he dared to go further than that, but then Lucius growled, low, "The other one," and Harry pulled back, shifted, began to mouth the other half of the man's scrotum, this time a little harder... if he could be sure that Lucius would only hurt him for being deliberately aggressive then he'd risk it, he could feign terrified ignorance, but he wouldn't take the chance with Ron and Hermione--

"Ow. That will do, Harry."

Close enough.

Lucius had his hand under his chin again, lifting his mouth away, forcing Harry to look up. "You look a bit too satisfied, boy, for me to think you didn't mean that."

Harry went cold inside. He was never good at hiding his feelings; Lucius probably wasn't bluffing. "I--" He swallowed. "I'm sorry. It was stupid. Please don't hurt them."

"Then show me what a fine little cocksucker you're becoming, and I'll let them be."

Harry returned his mouth to Lucius's lap. It was not easier this time--in fact, the thought of having to do this for much longer was excruciating, but he had to make sure Lucius had no reason to complain. He licked at the head and the shaft of the cock until Lucius was groaning, and for a minute longer besides, then slid as much of it inside his mouth as he could take, sucking slowly, feeling the muscles in Lucius's thighs clenching, until the man had a handful of Harry's hair again, the pressure of his grip a measure of how fast he wanted Harry to go, and Harry would not whimper this time, he concentrated on the fact that this part would be ending soon, forcing himself to suck it as deep as he could, until, with a sibilant sound that just seemed to go on and on, his head thrown back, Lucius came, his semen flooding Harry's mouth with a taste reminiscent of blood. Harry swallowed and shut his eyes as tight as he could.

Lucius's grip on his hair did not ease for some time. When it did, Harry started to pull away, but felt the fingers tighten again. "No. Not so fast, little cocksucker. Now you're going to lick me hard again."

Hell, thought Harry, too worn out for fouler curse words. Lucius was no teenager; how long would it take to get him erect again after that?

Oh. Not--all that long, it seemed... Lucius's cock was already stirring in his mouth. "I said to lick it, boy."

Once again fighting back the murderous urge to bite hard, Harry licked his way up and down the underside of the shaft. Lucius's cock didn't seem to need much urging. Had Harry known how unbelievably arousing it was for Lucius just to see that black-haired head in his lap, glimpses of his bottle-green eyes and the thin jagged line of that scar showing as he mouthed his loathed enemy's prick, he would have been repelled, but no longer surprised.

"Now..." Harry heard Lucius say, "I suggest you concentrate on using your mouth to lubricate me as much as possible...because that's all you will be getting."

Harry choked.

He made himself continue. No, there was no reason to think Lucius was bluffing about that.

He had no idea if this would be worse than what had gone before. If the pain could truly be worse than the humiliation of what he'd already endured.

"You may not appreciate," Lucius murmured, "the care I've taken in insuring that I've already come once before I get around to plundering your arse, boy. In fact I'm sure you would rather that I be as eager as you to get it over with. But I have different intentions."

Harry realized what he meant, and became that much more desperate to get as much of his saliva onto Lucius's cock as possible.

Lucius let him continue for a few moments, then said, "Enough. Now do the same to my fingers." He lifted the back of his right hand towards Harry's face, in much the same way one would do with a dog that was trying to get familiar.

Harry stopped what he was doing and approached Lucius's fingers with as much hesitancy as he had his cock. Slowly he sucked one, then two of the fingers into his mouth.

"Nice and wet, Harry; you'll want them that way."

Again Harry felt his throat closing over. There was nothing he could do to distract Lucius at this point; the fucking bastard was so unidirectional. This was going to happen.

This was going to hurt.

When all of Lucius's fingers were as sloppily wet as Harry's mouth could get them, Lucius pulled his hand away. With his left he reached out, and Harry, who had expected to feel Lucius's hand on his shoulder, found him pushing at the center of his chest, propelled backward.

"Wh--" he found himself saying, like an idiot. Lucius was pushing him onto his back, keeping his hand on the center of his chest, bending over him.

"Get your legs apart."

Harry was frozen. No. Not like this, please not like this.

Lucius was smiling at the expression on his face. "Every second you hesitate, Potter, your spit's drying on my fingers and my cock."

The pulse in his throat almost obstructing his breathing, Harry spread his legs.

He heard something he didn't want to hear: a short sound, from across the room, too brief to be a groan but clearly from a human throat, clearly in distress.

Please, Ron, he thought, closing his eyes but not daring to cover his face with his hands again, don't make it worse. You can't help me.

He felt Lucius moving; he had to open his eyes again. Lucius was kneeling between Harry's legs now.

"Bring your knees up...feet on the floor, yes, like that. Keep your hands at your sides and do...not...move."

Lucius touched the cleft of Harry's arse with two fingers. The wet fingers stroked along the entire length of the cleft, and Harry jerked his hips involuntarily. Lucius smiled, did it again. Harry's hands clutched at the material of Lucius's cloak under him, not caring if he tore it.

And then there was one finger pressing into him, opening him and forcing its way in, deep and swift and wrong, until he felt the knuckles of Lucius's hand against his arse, and Harry somehow kept the sound that came out of him to an inhale, and then there were two fingers doing the same thing and the sound was a shaking "Ah--" , and when it was three, spreading him, dilating him like darkness on an iris, Harry moaned, "No--oh, god, stop it, please stop, I can't--"

The pressure of the hand on his chest increased. Lucius was leaning over him, still fucking him with his fingers. "You don't want me to do this without preparing you, boy. Be still."

Harry whimpered, writhing even as he kept fistfuls of the cloak in his hands to prevent himself from pulling away. He couldn't take more than this; he couldn't; he was being split in two, he could never endure it...

"Breathe, you stupid boy."

Air rushed into Harry's lungs, dispelling the red pinpoints swarming in his vision, but nothing was helping the pain as Lucius reamed his arsehole with the brutal invasion of his fingers, the ring of muscle fighting to contract, uselessly, and that was the moment when Lucius bent his head and sucked the entire length of Harry's cock into his mouth, and Harry was almost immediately ramrod stiff, screaming as Lucius's fingers now seemed to have found a spot deep inside that he hadn't known was there, something that forced his erection to strain even further into that hateful, sumptuous mouth, even as he was babbling endless pleas that he knew Lucius would ignore (he was wrong, of course, Lucius was savoring them), cries of , "No, please, please, Lucius, please stop, for god's sake, don't, I can't, I said I would but I can't--" even as Lucius mouthed his cock as gloriously as he'd done before, and it didn't matter that one sensation was pain and the other ecstasy, they twinned each other in their intensity--

--and at that moment, Lucius pulled his mouth away, with a little flourish of his tongue stroking up and off the tip of Harry's cock as he did so, and Harry cried, "No--" and it was completely plain what he was protesting just then, and as his hips bucked, his arse clenching around Lucius's fingers, it was an excruciating moment when that pain didn't matter, unbelievable as that was; and the wet sucking sound as Lucius pulled his fingers out of Harry's arse, prompting another scream, was still not as obscene as the sound of Lucius chuckling and saying, "You're ready."

No. No, he wasn't, dear god, he wasn't...! Harry panted like a trapped animal as Lucius crawled up over him, seizing Harry's ankles in each of his hands and pushing his bent knees back until his thighs were on his chest and he was bent double, and Lucius's weight was on the backs of his thighs, pressing him against the floor so that there was nowhere he could possibly go, nowhere to escape to. Harry clawed at the cloak underneath him, arms spread out to the sides, because he couldn't bring himself to touch Lucius's body with his hands, even to try to hurt him, and his knees were bent over Lucius's shoulders, ankles almost crossed behind the man's neck, and there, there was the head of Lucius's cock pressing against him, thick and so deceptively soft at the tip, pushing into the opening between Harry's spread arsecheeks as Harry screamed hoarsely, the organ not even entering him yet but centering within the puckered ring of his anus in preparation, hideously vivid, he could see it in his mind, and in one thrust--and one more scream--Lucius was inside him, not deep, not even deep, not yet, barely more than the head penetrating him, but he had the angle now and was forcing in further, and his hands, he had one hand on Harry's hip and the other on the side of his face; Lucius wasn't even trying to pin Harry's wrists, completely unconcerned if his victim would try to fight--where could he go--and Lucius's cock burned into him like a brand, like acid, like the devil himself were fucking him--not fucking far off--and it was obvious that no amount of lubrication would have made this easy, or easier, and Lucius's face was above his, half-hidden by the pale silk luxury of his hair, but what Harry could see of his eyes made him glad his own were blurring with pain, with tears: the revenge and the triumph and the replete gladness he saw there made him forget everything: why he was doing this, who he was, if there had ever been a time when he did not hate himself.

"No--oh, god, no, please--"

"Ah, god--" the demon on top of him punctuated his groans with a laugh--"Harry, one day you're going to want to know the pleasure of taking a virginal boy's arse for yourself-- oh, yes--" His cock wedged itself deeper, piercing him as if it would reach his heart and kill him, and now Harry could not help but fight, writhing under Lucius as his hands pushed at the man's shoulders, utterly ineffectual, the angle of his hips completely fixed underneath Lucius's weight and the stabbing weapon inside him, which sank further within, coring him like he was inanimate timber, until at last Harry could feel the tight purse of Lucius's scrotum pressed between his arsecheeks, not sure whose pulse he was feeling in their locked flesh, only knowing that there was no relief, none, in the realization that Lucius was in as far as he could go, there was only the horrible panicked sensation of being filled, rent, violated....

"Stop," Harry pleaded, gasping and frantic, "please, please stop."

"But I have, Harry," murmured Lucius, velvet soft, "I plan to stay here for quite some time."

"Ssh." It was so appallingly hushed. "You're fighting it. Stop fighting, Harry."

"No, I can't, please..."

Lucius brought his mouth close. "Kiss me."

"I can't...!"

"You stupid boy, your heart isn't going to stop and you aren't going to die of this. Kiss me before I start making threats." Lucius pushed his mouth against Harry's, and Harry moaned, knowing Lucius had many, many things to threaten, and forced himself to press back against that mouth with his own, his mouth opening, feeling Lucius's tongue snake inside, prompting another shudder--and astoundingly, taking his attention away for a fraction of an instant from the pain that was ripping him in two, and he heard Lucius moan into his mouth--had Harry done something he could feel?

"There, I told you." Lucius was feeding on his lower lip again. "All you need is a little distraction..."

"No..."

"Ssh."

The mouth covering his again, the terrible cramping in his guts that was beginning as Lucius's cock stayed inside him, unmoving... and then Lucius's hand moving from his hip to curl, almost companionably, around Harry's cock, which had been lying against Harry's belly between them, almost at the level of his breastbone because of the position he was in...running over the tender glans with his thumb, milking it until Harry could feel the moisture spreading, smearing over the tip, the gloss of it making what Lucius was doing with his thumb even more intense, and then Lucius's fist was tight around him, not moving, just holding his hard cock in his equally hard grip, and again Harry suddenly realized he was paying more attention to that than to the torture of the rape.

His hips jerked up at the same moment that he groaned against Lucius's lips. The pain seemed to double as he moved, but again the feeling as Lucius squeezed his cock in his fist made him move again, the pain like a wound that was raw but no longer quite as fresh, and now it was Lucius who groaned, tore his mouth away to hiss, "I need to fuck you now, little hero, little whore," and kept his grip on Harry's cock as he pulled his own hips back, his cock withdrawing slowly, but only a short distance, and he jammed his full length back inside Harry's flesh, and Harry's vision blurred and his fingers sank into the flesh of Lucius's back, trying to find a purchase that would tear the man off of him as he choked on his own scream, and he could feel his short nails scoring the skin only superficially as Lucius arched his back above him and dragged his cock fully two-thirds out of Harry's arse and drove it back in, the snarl so loud and savage it could have been an animagus fucking Harry, in the middle of transformation, and Harry still couldn't scream, choking on the pain of what was being done to him, and at the same time he was fucking Harry Lucius began fisting Harry's cock, pumping the length of it in a rhythm more than twice as fast as the speed of his hips, driving in and out of Harry's virgin arse in a fury, as if he had not just come minutes ago down his throat, and Harry was at last able to scream, a keening wail the likes of which he hadn't made since before his voice changed, a sound horrific even to his ears, that blended the unbearable pain of the rape with the shock that he could still feel the intoxication of having his cock stroked like that, and he could smell blood but knew it wasn't his, it was under his nails, beading on Lucius's scored back, and he was so fucking glad of it that he dug his nails back in, trying to imbed these, these hieroglyphics of repayment into his rapist's flesh, little though they were, and felt the shallow layers of skin give way again, and he thought Yes, and Lucius was flaying him from the inside out, as cruelly as if it had been a scalpel thrust inside him, and through the bloody haze of that he thought No, and the pressure of Lucius's fist around Harry's cock never let up, steel and sweetness all at once, and he thought Yes as Lucius wrestled and coaxed and avulsed that response from him...

...and it was two Yeses to only one No, and in the cataclysm that was vengeance and agony and rapture and martyrdom, Harry detonated in orgasm, his scream the only thing that did not mirror the ferociousness of his climax, for it was no more than a fragile, helpless cry, completely overshadowed by the predator's conquering shout that came from Lucius Malfoy's throat as he spilled his own semen and orgasm and victory deep into his prey's body.

*****

...

God, he'd come all over his fucking chest.

Lucius was breathing, so he had to be alive. Otherwise Harry wouldn't have been able to tell; he still didn't know whose pulse he was feeling, deep inside him.

Death would have been so fucking convenient. His or Lucius's, he wasn't sure. Did it matter?

He felt Lucius's hair shift, against his skin.

Lucius lifted his head, and his fingers moved to the smear of milky wetness on Harry's chest, tracing through it like he might be writing his initials in it, and then, meeting his eyes at last, not smiling, brought his fingers up to Harry's lips, indolent and unhurried.

Harry couldn't do it. For the life of him he could not figure out how this, after everything, was making him squeamish.

A small smile did come to Lucius's lips. "Lick them. I want to watch you."

Miserable, not caring if Lucius saw it, Harry licked his own come from Lucius's fingers.

Lucius took his fingers away at last, shifted his hips enough to slip free of Harry's arse-- causing Harry to shudder violently, afraid, for a moment, he'd faint-- and let Harry's legs down slowly. He hadn't realized how much that position had hurt, he'd been so focused on how degrading it had been.

Before Lucius could do anything else, Harry got his hands under him and tried to scoot backwards, somewhere where he wouldn't be touching the man, but the cloak under him was slipping on the stone floor, and Lucius had a hand on his arm. "Not so fast, my little hero."

"GODDAMMIT!" Harry yelled, on the verge of furious tears. "What the hell else do you want now? Are you about to grow some new organ you haven't put into me yet? You had me-- now let them GO!"

He stared at Lucius, panting. Lucius's look of amusement didn't waver. In fact, he started to laugh. "Oh, not yet, Harry. Really, you are so very much a fledgling at this, aren't you?" His eyes became soft in a way that showed Harry he was mocking. "Lovers like to call this part afterglow, Harry."

"Juries call it criminal sexual conduct, you fucking ghoul." God, he sounded like Hermione just then. Maybe they could laugh over it later.

Right.

Lucius had seized his shoulder. "I'm not done with you yet, boy. Shall I tell her--" he jerked his head at Hermione again, "to come over here and join us?"

"If you touch her..." Harry couldn't complete the sentence. There wasn't anything vile enough. "If you touch her..."

Harry hadn't thought Lucius's voice alone could have that much effect on him, anymore.

Surprise.

The sweat on his body suddenly chilling him, Harry didn't resist as Lucius pushed at his shoulder and turned him onto his stomach. Instantly the man's weight was on him.

He felt a kiss planted between his shoulder blades, feather-light. Whatever he'd been expecting, it hadn't been that. The hands on his shoulders had relaxed their overpowering pressure as well, and stroked along his sides, almost tickling.

"Not so bad, is it?" came Lucius's voice, breathy.

"It's you."

Soft laughter from Lucius. "Oh, you are a delight, Harry. I think I may be in love by the end of the day."

Harry felt wetness trail down his back. Lucius's tongue. That reminded him of the bleeding scratches he'd left on Lucius's back. Lucius hadn't made any move to heal them so far. What--what if he...wanted them as evidence of something? ("Potter wanted it, see how he dug his nails into me...")

No. He'd go crazy if he thought about that.

Particularly because it was hard to remember all the reasons why he had done it, just now.

He had one fist balled up by his mouth, and now he bit it as Lucius's tongue reached the small of his back, and as his hands settled on the globes of his arse, spreading them. Oh, fuck, no...

It was breath he felt there first, deliberately directed over that excruciatingly sensitive spot, and then, as he moaned "No..." aloud, Lucius's tongue against that pucker of muscle, tracing every fold of skin prior to pressing in at the centre and entering him.

Harry's spine was rigid. He remembered the day Colin had looked up from something he was reading at breakfast and saying, "What's rimming?" and Percy spewing orange juice over several first-years. (Harry'd tried to get the book from him but Percy had confiscated it.)

If Lucius wanted Harry to do this to him... He bit down harder on his fist, suppressing a scream, but not a shudder.

Lucius seemed particularly absorbed in what he was doing, slavering over him while mortified noises kept working their way, quite against his will, out of Harry's throat. It dawned on him that Lucius was trying to lubricate him again. Ah, FUCK, no. Was the bastard using magic to keep getting it up?

He made himself be silent as Lucius got up on his knees, straddling Harry's thighs, but couldn't smother his groan as the man pushed the head of his cock against his arsehole again (hard as a rock, the son of a bitch), and his cry of "Aughhh... no, god, Lucius, please, you fucking depraved thug," was accompanied by actual tears as Lucius entered him again, burning just as blisteringly as before.

Lucius moulded himself over Harry's back as he sank inside him to the very hilt. "Ah...there, you see? Easier this time, yes?" He laughed as Harry failed to answer him, whimpering wordlessly, biting on both of his fists now. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck YOU...

"You feel delicious, little hero." Lucius bit his shoulder. "I do recommend you try to relax. I intend to spend quite a bit of time nestled in this sweet arse of yours."

True to his word, Lucius did not move much at first; he seemed content to be filling Harry, his arms draped around Harry's shoulders, breathing into his neck. In fact nearly all the movement was on Harry's part, as he twitched and moaned beneath him, keeping his eyes closed for most of it; if he looked just a little to one side he could see the forms of Hermione and Ron by the other wall, and even if he couldn't see their faces he didn't want to see even that.

Pressure of Lucius's hands on his shoulders again. "Be still."

think about something else think about something else...

No. That kept leading back to the image of Lucius begging him for mercy.

"Would you like to be doing this to me, Harry?"

Oh, fuck. He did read minds.

"You are..." (don't rush this, don't rush this, do it right) "...You have just become, today...the one person," (not vile enough) "no, the one creature-- I would least like to do this to..." (tell him who no wait that might backfire) "...and I would give you really specific examples...of some really disgusting things I'd rather bugger than you except that it might give you fucking ideas!"

A sigh. "My, Harry. I am in love."

And Lucius starting moving, fucking (raping, do not let him be guilty of anything less) Harry in earnest now, and Harry nearly drew blood from his own hands biting them as Lucius rode him, his hands pressed against Harry's lower back, one sliding around Harry's hip to caress his cock, but not in any determined way, only as if to remind Harry that it had a will of its own in all this--as if he needed reminders--and when he spent himself inside Harry's arse this time, it was with a satisfied sigh that was about as far from the sounds he'd made last time as one could get, and it chilled Harry just as much to hear; there was a lewdness to the sound that made it more about sex this time, which he DID...NOT...WANT.

Lucius didn't linger inside him this time, but pulled out (GOD how could that hurt so much each time?) and slid a hand under Harry's shoulder and flipped him onto his back again, moving to straddle his hips. Again he looked terribly amused.

Harry just stared at him, arms splayed where they'd fallen, hair in his eyes, too raw in every nerve even to glare.

A very loud grating sound came from behind him.

Harry twisted, snapped his head and one arm around like a whip and strained to see: a section of wall was opening; he could see the blackness of corridor behind the opening gap in the stones.

He fought to get out from under Lucius. Lucius had immediately settled his weight onto Harry's hips, however, and had a grip on his arm hard enough to bruise.

Three people stepped into the room from the corridor. Three people in student's robes. Slytherin students? No--at their throats--the colors were red and gold...!

Harry jerked at his trapped arm, but Lucius was holding him too tightly. Who the hell were they? One had red hair, one had black...

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Lucius sounded annoyed. That was all. Just--annoyed...

Harry yanked at his arm again, this time seizing Lucius's fingers with his other hand, digging his nails into the soft pads of the man's fingers to pull that hand away, and this time it worked, and Harry wrenched to get just a little more distance, and this time the cloak helped, it slipped on the stone floor and Harry reached, not towards the newcomers, but in the direction of his discarded clothing...

His outstretched hand found his glasses. In one motion he twisted his body back to face the three students and pushed the glasses onto his face.

He was looking at himself, and Ron, and Hermione. And had never imagined an expression like that could make him look so hateful.

"Well, Potter, if you don't look like the tastiest little amuse-bouche possible. Not even tied up, I see. He said it wouldn't be necessary." A snigger. "Not disappointed, are you?"

The illusion was perfect. The face was like looking into a mirror. The voice only sounded not quite right to him, he knew, because it wasn't resonating from inside his own skull.

But Harry would never have sniggered. Or ever had a smile like that on his face.

Lucius had not tried to prevent Harry when he'd made his grab for his glasses. Now, despite the fact that Harry was still mostly underneath him, he ignored him altogether as he looked at the three newcomers. "I told the three of you to put in an appearance--"

"In the library and the Great Hall; we know. We did. We're done, and the hour's almost up." The Harry that was standing had his arms folded as he said this, his tone lazy.

Harry could hear Ron--real Ron--making disbelief sounds in his throat. But Harry knew he'd probably figured it out already.

"I did not tell you to come back here."

"No. But I have my reasons."

The Hermione next to him said, in flat, very un-Hermione-like tones, "Shit. I think it's happening." She was pulling at the waistband of her skirt. "I am getting this stupid girly thing off before I--"

The change in their faces and body sizes should have been the most striking thing, but all that held Harry's sickened gaze was watching the false Harry's hair shift, like paint seeping up from his scalp, from black to silver-blond.

It should have been hilarious watching Crabbe continuing to curse as he found himself constricted by the too-small skirt, fighting to get out of it--not to mention the knee socks--and Goyle's weird facial expressions as he pulled the red and gold Gryffindor necktie off his throat like it was something soiling him.

But instead Harry looked between the elder and younger Malfoys, who were facing each other with expressions of cool disdain, and felt his fingers digging into the cracks in the stone floor under him, as though he could peel the stones apart and escape if only his will were strong enough.

The blond boy blinked, and removed the pair of eyeglasses, remarkably similar to Harry's, that were the only thing that remained of the illusion. "Yerg. Being you, Potter, is an experience I hope I never have to repeat."

"Draco, I expected you to leave me to this privately. I don't want you here and I certainly don't need your help."

Malfoy--no, dammit, he was going to have to think of him as Draco after all-- laughed humorlessly. "That wasn't what you said when you made us drink that Polyjuice Potion, Father. That stuff tasted vile. I think I deserve something in return."

What was most disturbing to Harry about all this was, despite Lucius's words, he had not moved off of Harry, his posture positively languorous. He was unhappy that Draco had disobeyed him, not distressed to be found naked and in flagrante delicto--with an adolescent boy-- by his son and his two accomplices. It was revolting.

Lucius was shaking his head. "Draco, you are entirely too young for this."

Draco looked toward Harry, who was trying to figure out how he could get out from underneath Lucius without him noticing. Draco gave another, short, humorless laugh. "He's not."

Which was answered by a similar sound from Lucius, short and incredulous. "Yes he is, Draco! Why the hell do you think I'm doing it?"

"I think you don't need to explain to me why you're doing it." Draco stepped forward. "Come on, Father, we carried out your instructions to the letter. Potter, Weasley, and Granger all left the Great Hall talking about how tired they were and were going to their rooms for the entire evening. No one will be looking for them. Give me what I want for my...excellent contribution."

No threats, Harry noticed. Just that spoiled brat wheedling...

Lucius looked down at Harry.

...which was going to work. Oh god.

Lucius looked back at his son. "You hated him from the moment he insulted you, that first day you met. You told me that. But did you decide you'd have him before or after that, I wonder?"

Draco shook his head. "You misunderstand. I'm not asking to interfere with your plans for him. Not now." He looked at Harry. "Not today."

"Your family is so fucked-up, Malfoy," said Harry, not sure to which one he was speaking and not caring.

Draco advanced, looking at Harry, who decided enough was fucking enough, and shoved Lucius as hard as he could as he fought to get out from under him. But Lucius had reached out and seized his neck, cutting off his air with a thumb at the base of his throat. "You will be still."

Harry took his eyes off Draco only long enough to look toward Ron and Hermione. Neither had moved, of course, and so far Crabbe and Goyle hadn't approached them. Draco's two shadow Slytherins were still fighting their way out of their detested disguises.

His friends' welfare still depended on him. Harry made himself be still, Lucius giving him his air back as Draco bent over him: "I'm not going to have you now, Potter. Not while you're still slick with my father's seed. No, it'll happen, but on my terms. I won't be second to any other memories on that day, Potter." He straightened, and looked back at his father.

"I want her," he said, jerking his head toward the immobile Hermione.

"No," said Harry, in a tone he hadn't known he could make, sonorous and fathomless and utterly lethal. It rendered the inhuman growl Ron made all but inaudible.

Lucius sighed and ran a hand over his silver mane of hair. "That will be difficult, Draco."

"It will be fucking impossible." Harry didn't need to be standing. He didn't need anything but his voice and his eyes to be towering above both of them right now. "Your goddamn terms, Lucius."

Lucius made a point of not reacting to him. "Hermione and Ron are my hostages for Harry's compliance. We do have an agreement."

Harry did not speak. The moment stretched away into eternity.

Lucius slowly turned to look down at Harry.

"And it was a very useful agreement while it lasted. All right, Draco--"

Harry never even saw Lucius move. He was doubled over on the floor, gasping from the blow to his midsection, as the elder Malfoy stood and picked him up without delicacy.

"--She's yours."

Harry felt Lucius slam him against the wall, back against the stone, completely aborting Harry's attempts to get breath into his lungs, and pull his hands above his head. Lucius had his wand again; Harry couldn't hear what he was saying above the ringing in his ears, but when Lucius stepped back, he looked up and saw, his vision still hazy though he was wearing his glasses this time, two bands of silver light around his wrists, shackling them to the stone wall.

"Wrap them in their robes and take them out of here," Lucius was saying, above Ron's animal-like, wordless snarls. "I'm giving you full responsibility for whatever happens to them after this. Do not make me sorry I trusted you, Draco."

"I won't, Father."

Lucius touched his son's jawline lightly with his fingertips. "You are an amoral little wretch, Draco." Those fingertips curved in, almost like claws, as Lucius's hand moved to pull Draco's chin up. "I'm very fond of that, you know."

"I know you are, Father."

Harry still couldn't get his breath, but it would have been stolen anyway by the sight of Lucius, naked and pulling Draco in to his body with one arm, and leaning down and kissing his son on the mouth in a manner that had absolutely nothing to do with paternal affection.

Oh, gag--there was tongue involved...!

When the kiss ended Harry could see the blond boy was smiling. Lucius favored him with the same expression for a moment, then directed his gaze back at Ron and Hermione.

"They are not to die. Or be maimed permanently. Well--I don't expect you to restore the girl's virginity, but you know what I mean." Crabbe and Goyle had pulled the two Gryffindors apart and were mummifying them within their robes, starting with their heads. Lucius aimed his wand at them: "Finite incantatem."

Immediately the two bundles that were Ron and Hermione began struggling; Draco indicated that Goyle should help Crabbe with Ron, and he wrapped his arms around Hermione, whose muffled cries seemed to be screaming Harry's name.

Harry dragged breath into his body: "YOU FUCKING BASTARD, LUCIUS! GODDAMN YOU, YOU SWORE!"

"Yes, that's right, I did, didn't I?" Lucius Malfoy turned back to Harry. He set the wand back down on his own pile of clothing, came closer until he was directly in front of him. "Then it would appear you too are free from your vow. Go right ahead and fight me."

Harry screamed wordlessly, throwing all his weight against the cold energy of the silver bands. "YOU BASTARD!" he howled, feeling tears spill over.

"Make sure you get them good and lost, Draco," Lucius said over his shoulder. "If they get away from you I don't want them able to find this room again." He looked back at Harry. "I'll be busy here for quite a while more."

"NO! HERMIONE! RON! NOOOOOO!" Harry's scream sustained itself until the opening in the stone sealed itself shut behind the five of them.

*****

"Where to?"

"Don't talk. Just follow me. They can't know what direction we're going. Hold still, you little bitch..."

The girl kept trying to get a purchase on the floor with her feet, but Draco didn't let her, dragging her with him. Crabbe and Goyle were having an easier time with Weasley, but then they had all the advantages of the large and stupid.

And all three of them had the advantages of this wing of the Slytherin dungeons: it was nicely labyrinthine, with plenty of hidden rooms. When he and his father had scouted it out the day before they'd had the mixed pleasure of finding skeletons in some of them.

Right, left, another right. They still had plenty of corridor to work with. At one place where it looked like the walls ended in a T-shaped intersection, Draco hit several stones with his elbow and the third, hidden passageway opened. Gesturing for silence, Draco pulled his captive through, and Crabbe and Goyle did the same.

The wall closed back up behind them. Draco looked about, considering where to go next, carefully avoiding what had to be Hermione's robe-wrapped elbow trying to connect with his chest.

"We're splitting up," he announced. "Take Weasley somewhere in here, anywhere, and keep him occupied for an hour or so. I don't care what the fuck you do to him, just don't lose him."

Another blessing of having large and stupid allies: they didn't question you. Splitting up might not be the wisest move just now, but he wanted Hermione alone. He could handle the bitch. His father might have liked the perversity of an audience, but Draco wasn't particularly interested in having Crabbe and Goyle watching.

He keyed another stone, opening another hidden door. "And make sure you don't get yourselves lost getting him lost, you dolts," he said, dragging Hermione into the room and shutting the door behind him.

*****

Harry stood with his head slumped on his chest, eyes shut, his weight half on the wrist bindings as he continued to choke on the sobs that were racking him. "You...son of a bitch," he managed. "Please.... please get them back...I will do anything you want... goddamn you, I DID EVERYTHING YOU WANTED!"

"I admit," said Lucius, "it will be interesting to see what I can get from you without the threat to them. That's fine. I like a variety of amusements."

He pulled Harry's chin up roughly, and kissed him again. Harry was enduring the sensation of having Lucius's tongue rape his mouth for almost a minute before it really hit him: he didn't have to endure it any more. He bit down.

Lucius was noiseless as he pushed Harry's face away from his, quickly withdrawing his tongue intact if not painlessly, and then he backhanded Harry hard across the face. Harry actually saw stars.

"Ah, so you are going to fight." He pulled Harry's face forward again. "This will be entertaining." Both hands on the sides of Harry's face now, he held his head against the stone wall, so that he could not lunge forward with his own mouth, and took Harry's lower lip between his teeth and bit down slowly and steadily until Harry screamed.

*****

She hit the wall hard. But even as she slid to the ground, she was wrestling her way out of the robes.

"That eager to get out of your clothes, Granger?"

She turned. Her hair was a web over her eyes; she clawed it away. Draco stood against the opposite wall, arms folded.

Slowly she got to her feet. Where was the door? This was another one of those stupid rooms with the hidden doors... She had to find it. She didn't think she could outfight him. She could maybe outrun him if there was a door to run to...

But she could outwit him. She knew she could.

She made herself shrink back. "Don't hurt me," she whimpered pathetically, putting as much as she could into it, "please, Draco, don't hurt me."

His eyebrows lifted; then they dropped, his eyes narrowing. "Oh, no, that's not going to work, Granger. Believe me, I'll know when you're cringing for real."

He lunged. She tried to dodge away, but he got a fistful of her hair. And then he'd pushed her down to the floor and was on top of her, and she fought back like a wildcat, all teeth and nails, screaming at him, prepared to gouge an eye out if need be, but Draco fought like a young man, with superior upper body strength and wider hands, and worse, like a young man who didn't care that he was fighting a girl, and after wrestling with her wrists for only a few moments, he dealt a cross-cut to her jaw that should have knocked her out cold; it was only her luck that it did not.

But it stopped her fighting. Muzzily she felt his hands on her blouse, gathering the front of it in his hands and not even bothering with the buttons, just tearing it open so that the buttons popped off in all directions, hitting the stone with a sound like hard rain.

"Look at this," she heard Draco say, as he pushed her bra up her chest, not even bothering to look for the fastening. "I saw that you'd started wearing one of these this year, mudblood, did you know that? And look--you actually do need it, don't you?"

The pain of him pinching her nipple, hard, brought her around a little. She tried to bring up a hand to hit him, claw at him, something, but everything was still swimming... Draco grabbed the hand, then grabbed her other one, brought them above her head and pinned them there with one hand.

She felt his other hand on her thigh now, pushing up her skirt, sliding up over her bare flesh.

Draco's eyes widened. "I must have missed something," he said, grinning viciously. "Don't tell me my father actually had you too?"

The thought of what she'd been forced to do to Ron made bile rise in her throat. She twisted, trying to get her wrists free.

"Fuck it. I suppose I'll know in a minute anyway." He brought his face close to hers. "Because I know, Hermione--" had he ever said her name before? She didn't think so-- "I know, that you were a virgin when you went in that room. I didn't have to check, I knew it. There's never been anyone you'd have let under that skirt but Potter or Weasley, and they'd never have dared, the proper little fuckheads."

"Go f-fuck yourself, M-Malfoy." She remembered Harry saying the same thing to Lucius.

Draco was not nearly as sophisticated as his father, so of course he had to rise to that: "Oh, not when I've got you here, Granger." He began to open his belt, one-handed.

She had to think. She couldn't outfight him so she had to think.

She didn't have her wand. Lucius Malfoy would not have been so stupid as to bring them here with their wands still on them. But that didn't mean she was powerless.

The greatest wizards didn't even need wands, some of the time. Wands focused your inner energies better than most wizards could manage, but some could manage that same focus without them. She was hardly one of the greatest wizards (not yet, said that little, prideful inner voice that she'd never been able to shake--in fact it had been speaking to her a lot recently, trying to bolster the hurt that shook her anytime anyone used the word mudblood), but that didn't mean she hadn't been practicing.

If she could cast a successful summoning charm it could bring her wand to her, and then she could really do something. But she wouldn't be able to get it this far, not without a wand...That was too circular so she abandoned the thought.

But she should be able to do some low-level form of something.

Draco had both belt and trousers open. Hermione gasped as she felt the half-erect length of him touching her, and the hand not pinning her wrists was between her thighs now, pushing them apart, and she was resisting, she was, and the realization that Draco was still strong enough, one-handed, to overcome her struggles, nearly turned her mind inwardly whimpering upon itself.

She couldn't let that happen. No. She had to try. Try something.

That hard length was pushing against her now, and she writhed frantically under Draco's adolescent weight, unable to close her legs with Draco lying between them, and his breath was on her face--he smelled like he'd been eating popcorn--and he said, mock-soothingly, "You can pretend I'm Harry or Ron, if you want. I don't mind."

It should have been Petrificus. She wanted to cast Petrificus, but all she could think of was that it was two words, and she was going to stammer on the P, she knew she would, and Draco would know what she was going to do, and he'd stop her, or it would be too weak to hold him for more than an instant, and now he was using his fingers to open her, to position himself at that opening: an instant was all he was going to need, but she was going to need more than that.

She had no more time. There was one spell and one spell only that she'd had marginal success with, without a wand. She'd worked on it specifically because to use that spell, wandless, would bring her opponent to even terms.

"Expelliarmus!" she gasped.

"Did you like that?"

Tasting blood through the haze of pain.

Another backhanded blow to his face, hard enough to blind him.

"I asked you if you liked that."

How his glasses had stayed on Harry didn't know. He made himself speak. It didn't even sound like his voice: "N-no."

"Shall I do that again?"

Vision starting to clear, he shook his head no.

Lucius seized his chin in his hand again, bringing his own face close: "And if I enjoy doing it, little hero?"

Oh, god...

She felt the thin, electric zing in the air.

She heard Draco groan, and felt him abruptly stop trying to push into her, and realized there was something wet on her thighs.

The grip on her wrists slackened. Only a little, but enough to give her courage: she wrenched at her wrists, and got one free. Again she aimed for his face.

But Draco was already sitting up, the look in his eyes dazed and unbelieving and furious.

Even though she saw the blow coming, there was nothing she could do.

"Where to now?"

"I don't know. This'll do, I suppose. We're far enough from the room where Draco took--"

"Ssh! Weren't you listening? God you're thick."

"Oh, look who's talking."

"We're not going to--hey, what's going on?"

"What?"

"He's not moving anymore."

"He's not?"

"No, he hasn't been for like, five minutes!"

"Oh, fuck."

"D'you think he's suffocating?"

"Fuck, if he dies Malfoy'll kill us!"

"Which one?"

"WHO BLOODY GIVES A FUCK? Get this damn thing off him!"

"No, that's the wrong bloody end of it, here, this way, you stupid arse, can't you--OOF!"

The breath sailed out of Goyle as Ron kicked him in the stomach as hard as he could. Goyle went down, wheezing, as Ron ripped the robes away from his face and launched himself at Crabbe.

"Shit--!" He got no further. Ron's fist connected with his nose. There was a sick crunch of cartilage, and an amazing squeaking sound that Ron would never have associated with Crabbe.

He'd staggered back against the wall, hands over the bleeding mess that was the center of his face, and Ron drew back his foot and kicked him in the crotch. No noise this time; Crabbe's irises simply disappeared into the back of his head and he slid down the wall, landing hard on his arse.

Ron didn't watch any longer; he whirled on Goyle again. He needn't have worried; the Slytherin boy was still unable to rise. Probably too hard to get that bulk standing.

Ron decided not to try to be original; why argue with success. Goyle was still on his knees, and Ron went behind him and drove the toe of his shoe into his balls as well. He didn't have the pleasure of watching Goyle's eyes roll up this way, but he went down as silently as Crabbe had.

Ron stepped back, shaking. Only now, knowing that they were both taken care of, did he reach up and cough out the pair of knickers stuffed into his mouth. Arrrrrgh.

Momentarily uncertain about what to do with the sodden lump of fabric, he stuffed it into his shirt. He wasn't going to leave Hermione's underwear in the bloody Slytherin dungeons.

It had taken the idiots almost five minutes to notice that he'd stopped moving. His guess that they'd be stupid enough to fall for the ruse had almost backfired because they were almost too stupid to notice it.

Fighting the nearly irrepressible urge to start shouting Harry and Hermione's names, Ron tore off down the corridor.

Draco hadn't knocked her out this time, either, but oh, she wished he had.

He was sitting on her chest now, having secured her hands by placing them in the crook of each of his knees. Her fingers were already numb.

One of his hands was in her hair, jerking painfully. The other...

"All right, you clever little bitch, Granger, just for that, you can suck it hard again."

Hand curled around his now-limp member, he was pushing it at her mouth, holding her hair so she couldn't turn away.

"You think you're so brilliant, you smug little cunt, you're not going to be shouting any more spells, oh no. I still don't know how you did that, but your mouth's going to be too fucking busy for any more tricks like that, oh yes, very fucking busy indeed."

She kept her mouth closed, still trying to turn her head away, uncertain if it would be more effective to just open her mouth and suck him inside and try to bite it off.

He'd kill her.

She wasn't sure she cared.

God. This wasn't just about her. She couldn't let him hurt her any more; she had to get out of this room and find them!

Draco let go of his flaccid cock, which was still weeping fluid upon her lips. His hand seized her nipple again and twisted. She screamed.

In mid-scream, Draco thrust his hips forward and the head of his organ was inside her mouth. Using his hand again, he forced it deeper, until she gagged. "Start sucking, cunt."

All sight blurred through tears, Hermione closed her lips around him and began sucking.

It wasn't easier. He thought it would have been but it wasn't.

Lucius trying to make him scream was not better than Lucius trying to get him aroused.

He didn't think he was bleeding anywhere, except his lip. But he was sure all of the bites were going to leave welts.

And he had screamed. Since that was obviously what Lucius wanted. Harry might have been green but he wasn't completely stupid.

"Cruciatus is... so impersonal sometimes, don't you agree, Harry?" Lucius's voice drifted up from somewhere around his thigh.

She didn't scream when he entered her. She ground her teeth together and Did. Not. Scream.

"Ah, so that answers that, doesn't it? He didn't have you. God, so tight..."

Draco pushed in deeper. "I think maybe you'd have liked that, Granger: my father fucking you. It would have been good for you, getting as much pureblood seed into your filthy little muggle-born body as you can hold, right? About fucking time, mudblood. Maybe I'll make you suck off the Weasel when Crabbe and Goyle are done with him."

Her tears were silent. Draco went on, starting to time his taunts with the rhythm of his thrusts: "You'd like that too, wouldn't you, sucking him off while Crabbe and Goyle hold him down and I force you to keep that pretty mouth of yours on him... one little ray of sunshine for him in this whole day..."

Hermione twisted and fought, pulling at her wrists, which he was pinning out to either side of her as though he liked the perverse image of her cruciform underneath him. Each time he thrust into her his pubis ground against hers as if it were her fault he could only go that deep.

"...no good having you suck Potter off, the fuckhead's only one step removed from being mudblood himself....Besides, he wouldn't appreciate it after today...my father will see to it that Potter's fucking cock-crazy by the time he's done with him..."

Did Draco really believe that?

"When I decide I'm ready for him, Potter will probably fall all over himself trying to get at me, so fucking eager at the thought of getting to take another Malfoy cock..."

"Stop it," she said, in a gritty whisper. " Just stop t-talking, Malfoy...!"

"Oh, there we go, now I get to tell everyone how Granger spread herself for me and said, 'Shut up and just fuck me, Draco..."

His thrusts got faster. Hermione lay under him and writhed and wept and bled as he rode her to his own climax, his organ burying itself into her each time as though each thrust was intended to be the last, and his face contorted as though she were the one hurting him, and he snarled like the beast he was as he finally spurted inside her, hot and copious and caustic.

He wouldn't get off her. He shuddered, and shuddered, seeming as though he wanted to empty more of himself into her than just sperm, and at last collapsed onto her, though his grip on her wrists did not lessen. She was hurting, oh she was hurting, but she didn't dare move, made herself be still; if she made any move to try to get Draco off of her at anything other than his planned pace, he'd make sure he'd take even longer, she knew that. He might even wait until he got hard again.

He lifted his sweaty face. "I know just what the fuck you're thinking."

"I don't fucking care what you think." Surprising how used to using that word she was getting.

"You're thinking--" he sat up just a little, though he kept his weight on her wrists and his cock was still inside her--"about how quickly you can get out of here and get back to your precious friends' rescue."

She was silent.

"Potter's going through a lot for you, mudblood. Stands to reason you'd want to do the same for him."

She looked at him. "What the... hell are you p-playing at, you filthy little bastard?"

He curled up his lip. "I was just hoping I could get you to beg me to do anything I wanted with you." He jerked her wrists up. "Guess it doesn't matter." His pelvis moved away from hers, and now he was gripping her wrists together and twisting them, pulling her forearms, her arms, and her shoulders into the same twisting turn, and she cried out, and the pain of what he was doing was forcing her to turn over, and he jammed her shoulder against the floor so that she was being pushed over onto her stomach. "You care so much about what happens to them...well, I'll make it so that you can feel you're right there with them, Granger. You can get a little taste of what Potter's getting from my father."

Harry pressed his sweating forehead to the stone wall. The silver bands restraining his wrists had been made to reconfigure somehow so that he was facing the wall now. At least he didn't have to face Lucius like this.

"I think it would be immeasurably pleasant to abuse you a little more, Harry. This position suggests so many opportunities."

He'd just fucking bet it did.

He felt Lucius's hand on his arse. "I think what I'd like best is to spank you." The hand squeezed. "Watching your arse turn red with my handprints, hearing you cry out as each one falls, begging me to stop when it gets to be too much...But this position isn't actually best for that. It's not quite as rewarding if I can't have you over my lap as I spank you, feeling your erection growing against my thigh. I'll have to try something slightly different."

The hand moved away. Lucius stepped away and Harry thought he heard him picking something up. There was an ozone sizzle of magic.

"There. That should do nicely."

After a minute of trying every door he came to, and yanking open those that weren't locked, Ron made himself come to a stop.

When Slytherin's Most Repulsive Gang of Three had come into the room, they'd come through an opening in the wall. A hidden doorway. It stood to reason that wasn't the only one in the dungeons.

And that Draco would have probably have taken Hermione through one of those. Fuck. He didn't even have his wand to perform Alohomora.

And what would happen if he did find them? Draco--he had no worries about taking out Draco, wandless or otherwise. But Lucius Malfoy... if he couldn't get the drop on Lucius, and the older wizard took him out, then there would be no one else coming to help.

Slow down. Think.

He had to get help.

But that meant he had to get out.

He'd never been here. When he and Harry had last been in Slytherin wing, they'd never gotten further than the common room. And this section was intended to get you lost and confused.

Wishing he had some bloody breadcrumbs, he looked in both directions and tried to imagine which one might be closer to the exit.

She never should have let Draco know that his words were getting to her.

"...virgin here too, weren't you, of course you were, like either of them would ever have thought of sullying you like this. I hear this is how you actually make mudblood offspring, bitch. Take it up the arse and shit them out nine months later..."

*****

"You will count each one out loud."

"F-fuck you."

The leather loop at the tip of the riding crop stroked lightly up his back, parallel to his spine, then tracing the line of one shoulder blade. "You will count them, because I will continue until you do. When you have counted twenty, I will stop."

"Thirty."

*****

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuck. Fuck all Slytherins and Malfoys and Hogwarts architects who designed the fucking dungeons to be one complete fucking maze and then decided that the most devious of the lot got to FUCKING LIVE HERE IN THEM!!!!

And rounding a corner in the passageway, Ron plowed headlong into a black-clad figure who yelled as the contents of his arms--several tomes and at least six glass bottles--tumbled to the floor, untidily raining down on Ron, who'd barely managed to keep from cracking his head open on the wall as he too went down.

A hiss. "I presume, Mr. Weasley, that you have a desperately entertaining contrivance of an excuse as to what you are doing here?"

*****

"...th-thirteen...SHIT! Oh god oh god oh god f-fourteen..."

*****

The man didn't move. "I neither control nor care what you and the rest of you disrespectful sluggards call me behind my back, Mr. Weasley, but to my face it is Professor Snape."

Ron threw himself forward and seized the man's sleeve. "Snape please listen to me I need your help please you have to help we've got to find them and I don't know where--"

The desperate babble apparently made Snape get past the niceties of address. The man may have been a menacing git but he probably was not used to inspiring this kind of hysteria. "What are you talking about? Slow down, Weasley."

"Harry--Hermione--"

Snape lifted his eyes heavenward. "As if there were something that could reduce you to this state that did not involve those two. What is it?"

"M-Malfoy. Both of them, Draco and Lucius..."

"And Lucius? Lucius Malfoy?"

Ron nodded. "Here-- somewhere in here--"

Snape exhaled. "I wondered why he showed up at Hogwarts last night. What's that smug reprobate up to now?"

"He--revenge--wants to--said he--"

"Sentence fragments, Mr. Weasley. No matter how many of them you string together they will not make a speech. Tell me what's going on."

Ron swallowed. He couldn't say it. Fuck that. He had to say it.

"Malfoy--Lucius--said he was going to pay Harry back. For whatever Harry did to him. He brought him--brought us here. He--" He choked. How could he get the words out?

"Bloody fucking hell."

Ron gaped. The sound of Snape cursing like some pissed-off schoolboy made his brain backflip.

"Let me guess. An Unforgivable Curse or two on his best friends, and the boy consents to being sodomized. Am I right?"

Now he goggled.

Snape ran a hand through his oily black hair. "God, Lucius. So fucking predictable."

*****

"Oh, honestly, Harry, don't tell me you've lost count. I'll have to start over if you have."

"No--god, please, no--I -- oh, oh god--thirty-f-five..."

*****

"H-how did you know?"

Snape snorted. "Your sentence fragments, actually. Stood to reason you'd have been able to talk about it if Lucius Malfoy was only trying to kill Potter." He bent, picked up one of the glass bottles, unbroken--Snape made a point of magicking his potion bottles, Ron knew--studied it as if he had all the time in the world. "And I've known Lucius a long time. I know how that elegant satyr likes his sex and his vengeance. Nothing gets him hard like the sound of a pubescent boy whimpering."

"Snape-- that's not all of it. Draco showed up and took Hermione somewhere to h-have her, I don't know where...!"

"And how is it you look relatively unscathed in all this?"

"Because Malfoy- Draco decided he would leave Crabbe and Goyle to make sure I didn't go anywhere."

"Ah. That explains what happened."

"What?"

"When I found them staggering down the corridor. They wouldn't say what had happened, but Mr. Crabbe seemed to think if he kept his broken nose covered with his hand I wouldn't notice anything. Or the way they could hardly walk. Kicked them in the family jewels, did you? I sent them to the infirmary."

Ron exhaled. So at least he didn't have to worry about them waking up and coming after him. "Fucking goons."

Snape was still studying that bottle. Ron said, "Professor, please. You know the way around here? The- the secret doors and all that?"

"Oh, yes, Ron. I know it very well."

"Then -- come on, please! They're in two different places! We have to find them!"

Snape looked up from the bottle. "No."

*****

"...what do you think, Granger, is Potter thinking about me doing this to you? Fucking your tight little back door and hearing you cry?...Do you think he's getting hard thinking about it? Or is it just my father's mouth doing that?..."

*****

...

"What...the fuck...do you mean... 'NO'?!"

"No, I won't help you."

"...The FUCK you won't!" Ron struggled to his feet, his vision of the hallway in front of him transforming into a blood-red curtain with a Snape-shaped black blot in the center of it.

"You're asking me to defy one of the school governors, boy. I really don't think I care to get that involved." He shrugged, so casually Ron could have killed him for that alone. "Besides, from what you've said, he's not planning to kill Potter. The boy won't suffer anything a little healing won't take care of. Well--physically, anyway. From what I know of Lucius, Potter should now be going through the Oh my god I'm enjoying this I must be gay stage. If he had any such homosexual leanings to begin with then the stage is more like Oh my god I'm enjoying this I must be a slut." Again he shrugged. "Either one leads to the It was my fault stage. Lucius loves that."

Ron's fists were clenched so hard he was sure there was blood on his palms. "YOU ARE A HOGWARTS PROFESSOR! YOU CANNOT STAND BY AND LET HIM GET AWAY WITH THIS!"

"You really have no idea how it all works, do you?" Had it been Lucius he'd been talking to, Ron would have seen him smiling then, he knew. Snape still looked surly. "What it costs to go against someone like Lucius Malfoy. I mean, I'm a bit too old for him to try one of his favorite revenge plots on me, but believe me, giving him more reason than necessary to be pissed at me is not wise. We have enough of a history as it is."

Ron blanched. "Then... it's true, then," he said, in that same deadly hush he'd almost never heard come from his own mouth. Twice today, though. "I only guessed...I called him Voldemort's errand-boy...but it's true then, isn't it? He's... you're both his servants, aren't you, you son of a bitch?! That's why you won't fucking stop him!"

"Oh, for..." Snape's face screwed up into something that was mostly exasperation but also had a trace of whatever Snape used for humor. "Don't make up little fantasies, boy. Not everything is about Voldemort."

"But this is, isn't it?" Ron said. "What he's doing. Why he's doing it to Harry! It is, isn't it?"

"I have no more interest in this conversation." Snape bent to retrieve one of his books. "Find your own way out of here, or give yourself up to the Slytherin prefects and hope they'll be in a good mood, or wander until you starve, it's all one to me."

"You can't MEAN this!" Ron was almost strangling on the words. "You can't hate us THAT much!"

"Correct, Mr. Weasley. I'm merely indifferent. Please move; one of my books is behind you."

"NO, you fucking piece of shit! YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DO THIS!"

"Why not?"

Ron stopped shouting.

"I asked you, 'Why not?'"

Ron just looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

"Let me put it this way, Mr. Weasley: What, precisely, is in it for me?"

Ron just kept staring. Finally: "What--what the hell is it you want?"

Snape leaned forward, took a hold of Ron's shirtfront. Ron was still so taken aback he let himself be pulled forward.

"We can start," Snape said, eyes very narrow, "with your mouth."

*****

A thousand years later, Ron heard himself say, "What."

"Stupid, stupid boy." Snape's face was close enough to his that he could feel his breath. "How do you think I know what Lucius Malfoy likes?... He and I are not so different, you see."

"You..." Ron could hardly think of how to continue. "You sick, fucking..."

"Ah, where are you going to take this little train of insults, Weasley?" And now he did sound amused. "You can attack my depravity in forcing you. You can call me queer. Or you can focus your outrage on the fact that I like them beardless and tender. Really, you have such a host of choices, I'm surprised you seem to be at a loss for words just now."

"As you wish." Snape released him. So unruffled was the man that he didn't even bother to do it with a shove. "So it's back to wander or starve. Give my regards to Lucius if you find him. But don't interrupt him if he's busy fisting your precious boy's bunghole. He hates to be distracted in the middle of that." He turned, as if to go, but looked back at Ron. "Really, I'm not surprised you refused, Ron. It takes a lot for someone to make that kind of sacrifice for his friends. Of course, Harry's different. He's everyone's Hope For The Future." Ron could hear the capitals. "He's someone you'd expect to do anything he had to. Awfully hard living in that shadow, I'm sure, Ron. But I suppose it's also a little easier: no expectations laid on you."

And with that, he turned away. Began to walk off.

Ron knew precisely what the fucking bastard was doing.

That didn't mean it wasn't going to work.

Snape turned. "That's Professor Snape, you little trollop."

Snape had known he wouldn't let him leave. The bastard hadn't even picked up all his potion bottles.

*****

"You can begin," Snape said, "by getting on your knees."

"Wh--here? In the fucking hallway?"

"Here, in the fucking hallway. You have such an excellent grasp of the obvious, Weasley."

"Snape..." He wasn't going to call him Professor. Not now. Not even to plead. "Please help me find them. P-please help me find them now. I swear to you, if you do this, you can do anything you want with me after. I'll come to your fucking room and you can do me all goddamn night. Just please let's go now."

The man sighed. "Mr. Weasley--"

"I swear it. My...my honor as a Gryffindor, I swear it."

Snape's lip curled, an impressive thing for someone who already walked around with his lip curled one hundred percent of the time. "I don't want your honor, boy. I want your arse. Here, now." He put a hand on Ron's shoulder, and now he did shove him. In the direction of the floor. "On...your...knees."

Ron sank down, hardly knowing he did so. What...what else could he have done? He still didn't believe Snape truly would have done nothing. He couldn't have.

Yes, but clearly he would have taken his fucking time about it.

No, he thought, numbly watching as Snape pulled his robes apart and began working on the fastenings on his trousers. He couldn't have done anything else.

Not after Harry--

No. He couldn't go on with that thought. It was too much like what Snape wanted him to think.

But goddammit, it was true.

Ron swallowed against the dryness of his throat. "Wh--" He had to try again. "What if--someone comes by?"

"Then your popularity among House Slytherin will increase dramatically, I would guess. You'd better be about it, hadn't you?"

Snape's cock was like the rest of him: hard, dark, and pointed. Ron stared, more than a little ill.

"I'm waiting."

No, you're fucking enjoying it.

Oh, god...

He leaned forward. He didn't--quite know what to do with his hands. It seemed like it would be easier if he touched the cock with his hand first, just to...get used to it...(fuck, had he really thought that?)... Carefully, aware that he didn't want to make it look like he was caressing the fucking thing, he touched his fingers to the side of the shaft and drew it into his mouth.

"No, you haven't done this before, have you? Well. I can still work with that."

Snape seized a handful of his hair. Hard.

"You've never known how much this red mop of yours made me think: target, every time I saw you. Of doing exactly this to it." He began to thrust into Ron's mouth, controlling his head completely by that grip on his hair, as Ron groaned in pain and utter humiliation. "All of you Weasleys, actually. You didn't know, did you, that I've actually had another of your brothers doing this?"

The FUCK...!

"He was actually rather eager for it."

Ron had to steady himself with his hands on Snape's legs as the man fucked his mouth. It was choking and vicious and seemed not to require his participation at all. After a minute he couldn't help it, he reached up and clutched at the punishing grip on his hair, trying to get Snape to ease up. It felt like he was trying to tear the handful out.

But at that minute Snape pulled Ron away altogether and released him.

"Fetch that bottle over there."

Ron rubbed at his scalp, appalled to realize he was crying.

"Now, Mr. Weasley."

Automatically he moved, suppressing a sniffle.

"No, not that one, the one next to it."

"What--what is--Oh, no, you fucking psycho, I'm not going to drink anything you try to--"

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I'm not going to make you drink it; it's bitter almond oil, Weasley. Give it to me. It will serve."

Snape took it from him, looked at it briefly. Then he folded his arms. "Start getting your trousers down."

Oh...hell.

He couldn't seem to move.

Snape arched an eyebrow at him. "Are we still speaking the same language, Weasley? The I-really-want-to-save-my-friends language? Get...your trousers...down."

Ron started to open his belt. His fingers wouldn't seem to work right; he had to look down at what he was doing.

Still on his knees, he pushed his trousers down over his hips.

"Enough. Turn around. On your hands and knees."

He wouldn't have to watch. He kept telling himself that as he turned around: at least he wouldn't have to watch.

Snape had taken a hold of the elastic of his boxers and slowly pulled them down over his arsecheeks. "This pale skin of yours can't take the sun at all, can it? You haven't even a trace of a tan line," the man observed, again with that tinge of what passed for amusement. Ron didn't bother to answer, squeezing his eyes shut, knowing what was coming next.

He heard Snape opening the bottle. Then two fingers, slippery with oil, touched the cleft of his arse. They went immediately to his opening and pushed inside. Ron said, "God...!" but made himself stay where he was.

More oil was being dripped into the crack of his arse. The smell of almonds got stronger. Then Snape's fingers started to move inside of him. "Oh, fuck..." moaned Ron.

"Never done this before, either, I'll wager. Try to relax; it'll help."

"Oh, fucking right..."

Snape seemed to be pistoning more of the oil into him with the motions of his fingers. Ron yelled as a third finger was suddenly added.

"I told you to relax."

"Ah..." He ducked his head, panting against his chest, afraid he was going to try to pull away after all. Particularly when Snape started trying to put his cock inside him.

As if on cue, the fingers withdrew. Ron heard Snape doing something more with the bottle of oil in the pause, realized he was most likely greasing himself up as well.

Better treatment than Harry got. Ugh, he really was going to be sick.

Snape's hands--one still slick with oil--went to his hips, and he felt the head of his cock press against his arsehole. The head actually slipped inside him with very little resistance, but then as Snape pushed in deeper, Ron gave a little scream and did try to crawl forward, but Snape's hands were gripping his hips, and Ron heard him say, "No you don't...", and then that hard pointed cock was deep in him, and moving deeper, and when Ron could feel that Snape was in him hilt-deep, balls pressed against his arse, the man didn't linger there but immediately began fucking him, pulling out, slamming back into his arse with a sucking sound that was positively lurid, and again, and again, the rhythm almost punishing--he isn't trying to prolong it he isn't trying to make it last thank GOD, Ron thought--and except for his breathing, and the occasional grunt, Snape was silent now, no scathing insults or even instructions, and Ron thought that that was the only saving grace that kept him where he was, able to endure it, able to bear what he had to do.

Fuck you, Snape. Just fuck you.

Snape's fingers bit into his flesh, hard, as his cock drove in deep, for what proved to be the last time. The flood of come washing Ron's insides actually drove him down to the floor, his arms utterly unable to support him as he endured that ...horrible ...sensation... His throat spasmed.

It was apparently loud enough for Snape to hear. "Please have the...courtesy, Mr. Weasley..." -- he was breathing hard--"to refrain from puking until I've at least gotten up."

Ron made himself swallow hard, though he wasn't sure why he bothered.

About a minute passed before Snape pulled out of him and released his hips. Immediately Ron crawled forward, the nausea still there; he wasn't sure if he wasn't really going to be sick. He pressed his face to the back of his hands and waited for the dizziness to pass.

"Is that an invitation, Mr. Weasley? Didn't get enough the first time?"

Ron turned his head and glared.

"Get up. Unless you've changed your mind about wanting my help and just want another quick bang."

Ron pushed himself up and got his clothing pulled up. He was going to have to burn the whole lot. Shit. Mum'd kill him.

He looked up at Snape as he got to his feet, the man's own clothing already seamlessly arranged. Didn't the fucking bastard even sweat?

It was all just starting to hit him. He was starting to shake. Oh, god.

Snape was collecting the last of the glass bottles. He set them in two rows on top of the small pile of books and handed the whole arrangement to Ron. "Here. Don't drop them."

"You want me to carry them?" he said, aware that it was an absurd question.

"I want you to wait with them." Snape looked at the wall for a moment, then reached out and pressed three stones in sequence. A line in the wall that hadn't been there a moment before began to divide it, the stones on either side separating to reveal another hidden room. "Inside."

Ron looked from the stone chamber beyond back to Snape's face. "I don't--" It hit him. "You--no!"

"I said, don't drop them."

"You want me to wait here? Here? For you to go off and find them without me? No chance, Snape, no fucking chance at all!"

Snape slowly folded his arms again. He was the Head of House Slytherin, the Potions Master, the Fucking Git Who Could Take Every Single Point Away From Your House Just Because He Felt Like It, all the things that made students tremble, at that moment, as if it were a spell he could activate, and Ron could feel himself withering under that gaze.

"I am giving you an explanation, Mr. Weasley. Not because I need to, but because orgasm always makes me feel charitable. And this is not the beginning of a discussion, it is an EXPLANATION. You are asking me to face down Lucius Malfoy. I have agreed. I will NOT do it with you there. If you distract me in the least way I could end up very dead. Do NOT try to tell me you won't distract me; this is NOT a debate. Am I clear, Mr. Weasley? NO, don't answer. I don't want an answer, I want you in...that...room."

*****

He knew the passageways intimately. How many times had he needed privacy for the clandestine rituals and communications of a Death Eater? Some things wouldn't erase from memory even if you wanted them to.

It wouldn't be necessary for him to open every door. "Fenestrus et audio." A viewing square about as large as a textbook blinked into being in front of him. As he moved through the corridors, the spy-window slid over each wall to reveal what lay behind each door and hidden opening.

Snape thought he recognized one skeleton in the remnants of a Hufflepuff scarf. Meddlesome girl...

He got to the intersection with the hidden passageway and decided to check that way next. The younger Malfoy would have found that seclusion tempting.

Two turns past that juncture he found what he was looking for.

Visible in the viewing square, outside of one of the secret doors, the Granger girl was sitting half-upright on one hip, naked from the waist up with her wrists bound behind her with something bulky--it appeared to be her shirt. The younger Malfoy was standing near enough to her that Snape's first impression was that the girl was fellating him--but that wasn't it. Her head was actually slumped forward onto her chest. Draco had one fist in the girl's hair and the other around his cock, and he was jerking himself off, the purple head of his adolescent prick aimed at the top of her head.

He'd arrived at a interesting bit.

Snape debated walking in right away versus watching for a while, but just then Draco growled, clutching at himself as he came all over the girl's hair. The girl was breathing hard but she made no move. Clearly Draco'd taken the fight out of her earlier. He thought he saw red marks on the girl's ribs that would be bruises tomorrow.

Draco used that handful of hair to jerk the girl's head up. "Now you're going to lick me clean, mudblood."

How terribly unoriginal the young were. Snape waited, curious to see if Hermione would have a scathing comeback for the boy.

No, that stage had apparently passed. Too bad. The girl only whimpered as Draco slid his cock into her mouth. Snape let her continue for a few moments, noting that she was too weary or sickened to put much technique into it, but at last dispelled the Fenestra charm and set his hand on the stone that opened the wall.

The room reeked of rut. Apparently he'd missed a lot.

Draco at least had the morals to blanch as Snape entered.

Not enough to back away, though. "P-professor," he said uncertainly, clearly retaining some hope that Snape would turn a blind eye to this, since it was only a Gryffindor mudblood witch he was abusing.

Hermione had pulled away from what she was doing and turned. Seeing him, she gave a cry: "Oh, god...Professor Snape...!" It was truly pitiful to watch how her shoulders hunched in, as though she were trying to hide her exposed breasts from him, yet she couldn't really turn away and do a complete job of it: she needed his help too badly.

He didn't bother to do more than glance at her. He fixed the boy with a hard stare. Not his hardest; he didn't need to waste that here.

"I suggest, Mr. Malfoy, that you do up your trousers and get out of here. Instantly."

He saw the flicker of calculation that passed over the boy's face just before it slid into an almost hurt expression. "Professor, I hope you won't think this was all my idea. Miss Granger has some of the most twisted ideas as to what pleases her..."

"Please, Professor..." Hermione whispered. She didn't have the strength to scream and call the boy a liar, Snape could tell, but this was more touching anyway.

"Not another word, Malfoy. Get yourself out of my sight, and tomorrow you and I will discuss any reasons you have why I should not report this. I'm sure it will be extremely entertaining listening, if only for the humour value."

"You wouldn't dare report it. My father's on the board of Governors...!"

When would the whelp learn that that was exactly the wrong way to appeal to him? "Believe me, Draco, your father is the next person to whom I shall be speaking. He will have enough to explain about himself without getting anywhere near defending his equally deviant offspring. Now go!"

Draco didn't try to argue further. He arranged his clothing with quick, angry movements, but couldn't keep from trying to have something of the last word. He hissed at Hermione: "That was even better than last time, darling. Same time next week as usual, right?"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Amateur.

Draco stormed out. The wall section could only be made to swing shut by activating the keystone, but it still felt like he'd slammed it forcibly.

Hermione had her eyes pressed to her knees and was shuddering with sobs. Delicately Snape knelt behind her, murmuring, "Let me..." so he wouldn't startle her, and began to untie the knot Draco had made of her shirt.

When he had it undone, he handed it to her, but she was shaking too hard to pull it on. She seemed to be accepting his help, so he held it for her as she got her arms into it. The buttons were gone, he noticed. He also noticed there were bite marks on her small breasts.

"Come, Miss Granger. Hermione. Don't fall apart just yet. I need to get you out of here."

Her eyes were very wide as she looked at him, and all sobs ceased as she grabbed a hold of his sleeve: "H-Harry... Ron... P-Professor, they--"

"I know, Hermione. Mr. Weasley told me. He's safe. I'm taking you to him, and then I will find Mr. Potter and get all three of you out of here."

"You h-have to find him, please, Professor Snape! Please, please let me go with you!"

Hermione didn't need the same level of bullying that he'd used on Weasley, not for this. She was quite capable of seeing reason. "Miss Granger, surely you can see how unwise that would be. I know you want to help, but I have a better chance of finding him and getting him away from Lucius Malfoy if I don't have you to worry about as well. Let me take you to where Ron is; you should be safe there, and then I'll fetch you both after I've found Harry. You see, don't you?" His use of their first names was very deliberate.

It worked. Miss Granger had always been such a practical girl. She nodded, those eyes still so very large, and self-consciously pulled at the edges of her shirt, trying to hold it together.

"Here..." Snape fetched the discarded cloak on the floor. "Yours, yes? Put this on... there, and no one can tell the difference, see?"

A blatant lie. Her face, her hair, not to mention the pungent odor of sex on her...

A kinder person would have used a charm to clean her up before taking her to Weasley.

He wasn't that person.

Ron made a choking noise when he saw her, as though her name was simply too many syllables for him to handle just now. It didn't matter. She clung to him, and he to her, and the sound of her crying froze him completely, made anything he'd endured seem the most trivial annoyance. He could smell Draco Malfoy on her. God!

"Stay here."

He looked over her at Snape. "You get him, goddamn you."

Snape didn't smile because Snape never smiled. Otherwise he would have smiled. "I will find him. Do not go wandering just because you're curious to see what the rest of Slytherin wing looks like. From what you've told me, Harry has gone through enough that he would be quite upset if he learned that you got yourselves into even more trouble."

Snape left the room. Hermione looked back over her shoulder at the wall as it closed.

"Do we...trust him?" she said.

"We had fucking well better."

It seemed odd to Hermione, that Ron hadn't said something more like, "We fucking well have to."

But then she forgot about it.

This time Snape didn't even need the Fenestra charm. He was quite sure where Lucius had taken Potter.

He would have used the Null Room, more commonly referred to as the Oubliette. He wouldn't have wanted any Dark Magic to be detected by the Hogwarts wards. All sorts of awkwardness, that would have caused.

He remembered the way very well. Too well.

There. The wall that didn't have the sigils. Just to confuse people.

Snape thought for a moment about what he might need inside. Summoning charms were notoriously unreliable from the confines of the Oubliette.

Lucius was inside him again.

After the forty-second stroke of the riding crop across his body (two extra, because he'd taken too long, pleading, between blows for Lucius's liking), Lucius had abandoned the crop and slowly, methodically, applied his tongue to every one of the stripes: shoulders, back, buttocks, thighs, even down to Harry's calves. The touch stung and soothed at the same time...yet Lucius hadn't made any effort to heal him.

Instead Harry felt Lucius pressing up against his marked back, and could only moan, "No..." as Lucius slowly forced his erection into him again.

"Mm...the heat on your skin is quite delicious, Harry. I'm sure you don't appreciate it in quite the same way I do, but take my word for it. I'm so glad you decided to be stubborn about it; I don't think twenty would have been nearly so enjoyable."

Harry mustered a moment of good and pissed. "Anything to...fucking oblige." He heard Lucius chuckle.

And then he heard the grating noise again.

"What... the fuck... is it this time?"

Lucius didn't even bother to pull out of him. Harry only knew that he'd turned his head to see because he felt the man's hair brush his shoulder.

"Hello, Lucius."

It wasn't Draco. It was--

"Apparently you're still working on your score card of Gryffindor Seekers I've Rogered. Which one is this that you're crossing off? Number Five? Or maybe it's six; I've lost count."

"Severus, you have picked a hell of a time for a social call. Get out. Now."

"No."

Harry couldn't turn and look. He wouldn't have been able to see around Lucius. But he wasn't sure he wanted to look at Snape in any case. What if the man was here to participate?

"Severus, if I have to stop what I'm doing to discuss this with you, you're going to make me even more upset."

"You can't die from coitus interruptus, Lucius, no matter what we told the girls when we were teenagers. I don't particularly care how discomfited you are." Harry felt the temperature in the room drop about ten degrees as Snape said, "Get off him, Lucius. Now."

"You little worm. How dare you."

"You and I are not going to turn this into a duel, Lucius. I don't want that and I know you don't either. But you are going to get off the boy and get out of here. Because I said so."

"Or what?" (God, Harry thought, would you just turn around and face him?!) "If you're not willing to fight, Severus, then just what are you going to threaten me with? What will you do--report me?"

"Yes, I damn well will," Snape snapped. "You're on Hogwarts grounds, Lucius. You couldn't have waited? Couldn't have waited until he was back with that damned den of muggles that Dumbledore calls his family? They couldn't have stopped you, Lucius. Fucking hell, they would probably have asked to watch. Or help."

"Since when--" Lucius's voice was incredulous--"do you care about the welfare of any student, Severus? Particularly--" he pulled Harry's head back by the hair--"the Boy Hero of House Gryffindor?"

Harry's breath was coming in rapid little lungfuls. He could just see Snape from where he was. Snape only met his eyes briefly, then looked back at Lucius.

"What I care about," said Snape, biting off every word, "is my comfortable and reasonably prestigious position here at Hogwarts. If any word of this gets out, if there are even rumors that the staff here cannot keep the students safe, there will be no Hogwarts. The last thing I need is for the pederasts who don't even live here, that's you, Lucius, in case you missed it, to be USING THE GROUNDS FOR THEIR FUCKING CARNAL DEBAUCHERIES!"

Harry could hear both men breathing in a rapid, angry rhythm in the silence that followed. Finally Snape went on: "You're done for today, Lucius. Let him go. You've already had more of him than a little taste; if you want more than that, you'll do it somewhere else. Next time take him in his bloody muggle bedroom--the Quidditch pennants on the wall should set just the right mood-- or ensconce him in your manor as your goddamn pool boy for a season, I don't care. But get out of here and get off of Hogwarts property. NOW."

Harry kept his face pressed to the wall for a long minute after the opening in the stones had swung shut behind Lucius.

He felt, rather than heard, Snape step closer to him. "Finite in--no, wait, he uses something more specialized in his binding magic, doesn't he... This might hurt a bit, Potter..."

It didn't; it was just an odd tingling that surrounded his wrists, and then the silver bands were gone and he could lower his hands.

He found he could not stay standing. At least the wall was there to cling to as he slid down it...

"Snape," he tried to say, but only his lips moved; no sound came out.

Snape stepped closer but made no attempt to touch him. He was very, very glad of that.

"No compound fractures, it would appear. Leather riding crop?"

Harry tried to nod.

"Typical. I should have healing potions to help with that, though not here with me. Think you can stand, or do you want me to help you up?"

Harry tried again. "How..." That seemed to come out alright. "How did you...know..."

"It would probably be best for my reputation, Harry, if I just said, 'I'm the head of House Slytherin; I know everything.'" Harry heard him picking up items in his pile of discarded clothing. "I don't think your wand's here. Check your room when you get back. The truth is, I saw a few suspicious things which led me here. I don't suppose Mr. Crabbe and Mr. Goyle were involved in this at all?"

Harry jerked his head up. "Yes! Why? What did you--"

"Oh dear. I suppose I should have checked that out. But I suspected the Oubliette might be more important to--"

"What about Crabbe and Goyle?"

"Well..." Snape paused. "They were pacing in front of one of the secret doors. They were muttering about being stuck with guard duty again, and then one of them, I think it was Mr. Goyle, went on about why they were the only ones in the plot 'not getting any.'"

Harry made himself get to his feet, his hands reaching out for his clothing. "Oh god--Can--can you find that room?"

"Yes, I suppose so. They probably won't be still in the corridor, though. They seemed to be concluding that they were going to remedy the issue by taking advantage of whatever--or whomever--was in the room they were guarding. I admit, at the time it sounded like just bluster..."

"Fuck! You WHAT?!"

The man shrugged. "I told you, Harry, I had reason to believe there were darker things going on here in the Oubliette. Had you rather I had not come?"

"I--Ron, damn you, they had to have been talking about Ron!" He couldn't seem to find the sleeveholes in his shirt. He threw it down and grabbed his robes. "Take me there--please, now, Snape, please!"

"Harry, really, you're in no shape to be facing down those two."

Harry made himself stop. "Snape. Professor Snape. Please. I - I can't even talk about --how you...helped me, but please, please, we can't wait. Crabbe and Goyle and Mal--Draco Malfoy took Ron and Hermione away, Draco wanted...he wanted Hermione like Lucius wanted m-me, they still have them! Please, Snape!"

Snape wasn't moving. Wasn't changing expression.

Something was wrong here.

"Snape, what's going on?..." Harry stood there, holding his robes. "You just...told Lucius Malfoy to go fuck himself. You're not afraid of confronting three students. You're calling me Harry. What...the hell... is going on?"

Another pause. "Sounds to me like you're still in desperate need of help, Harry," said Snape.

Harry stared. "Snape. What the hell do you want?"

There was a glint in Snape's eyes that made up for the lack of a smile.

"Why, Harry, I want you to close your eyes and pretend I'm whomever you want me to be."

Harry did something he never, never could have imagined himself doing under the circumstances.

He laughed.

Just once; a short little wheeze of laughter. "You... what?"

"Let's just say I never told Lucius that I thought his tastes were poor, did I?"

Another gasping exhalation came from Harry's lungs. "Oh... oh, this is...too much. You want...you want to fuck me, don't you? To get you to save Ron and Hermione, right?"

If he had been acting any more casual, Snape would have been pretending to examine his nails. "I admit, that seems like...something that might make me inclined to extend myself to a few more acts of benevolence today."

Harry wasn't laughing anymore. It was more like hyperventilating. He was dimly aware that he was becoming hysterical. "I...do not fucking...BELIEVE this! What the HELL is going on here? You, Lucius, even Draco says he wants my arse...What am I, a fucking AMUSEMENT PARK RIDE?! You Must Be At Least This Male And This Twisted To Shag The Boy Who Lived To Regret It?!"

A similarly short sound of laughter, this one a bark, came from Snape. "That's actually rather good, Potter."

"You fucking FUCK! You left him there! You left him there purposely, didn't you, so you could come and demand THIS!"

"Let it out, Harry, it'll do you good. The faster you get done, the sooner we can get on with the formalities."

"You FUCK! You're so fucking SURE of yourself! Sure of ME!"

"Of course I am, Harry. The proof just left this room, wearing your spit on his cock."

"You're hysterical."

"Two words, Harry. Granger. Weasley."

Harry found himself on his knees, his ears ringing, throat raw. He must have stopped screaming at some point, but he couldn't remember when.

Snape's position had not changed. "All better now?"

Panting, Harry spoke slowly.

"Come get...whatever the fuck...you plan to get...you fucking piece of shit."

"Ah, romance." Snape took something out of a pocket and extended it toward Harry. It was a glass vial containing a purple liquid. "Drink this."

Harry looked at it. Then he reached out and all but ripped it out of Snape's hand, uncapping it and throwing the contents down his throat in one defiant swallow. What did it matter what it was? He was still going to have to drink the fucking thing.

Strangely, it had almost no taste.

Oh, god. Snape had decided to poison him after all. Everything that was good for you always tasted disgusting; it was only the poisons that had to be sweet or tasteless... Maybe the man was a necrophiliac...

Snape had removed his robes. He used so little motion to fold them into a compact square it was as if he was squandering magic to aid him. The black clothes he wore beneath came off as efficiently and formed a neater pile than a store display.

Vaguely aware that he didn't feel poisoned so far, Harry stared at Snape and thought, Oh, my god--I have a basis for comparison now.

Snape's face was completely impassive, but the man's cock was stirring from the thatch of black hair that surrounded it, rising as Harry watched, and there seemed to be nothing for Harry to think about that except Get it over with, damn you.

He was...too calm; it had to be an aftereffect of being hysterical. Or maybe the purple stuff. What had been in that?

"How do you want it?" he heard himself say. "You want me on my knees or on my back? I've got a fucking repertoire now." No. It wasn't the potion. He was just so fucking pissed.

"So crude, Potter."

"You want crude? I haven't even started on crude. No, I don't even want to be crude; crude would be easy. You fucking waste of life. I hope whatever you just fed me hits the come that Lucius shot into my throat and they mix and make some kind of acid that will eat your fucking cock off. Ah--" His shoulders hunched forward suddenly as it hit him; he needed to support himself with one hand to keep from falling. He'd broken out into a sudden sweat; there was a knot at the pit of his stomach.

"There we are. Didn't take long at all."

The knot was fading. Harry felt the sweat on his skin seem to evaporate, to leave a tightness to the skin that gave the vague feeling of itchiness, but that wasn't quite it; it made him want to press his hands to his skin in a way that would soothe that was not at all like scratching. It...seemed to be affecting all parts of him, including his scalp, the skin between his toes, his groin...god, especially his groin.

"What...what is this?" Good god, he was getting hard already.

"Something you're never going to learn in Potions Class, Potter. Turn--no. No, not yet, I don't think. I think I'll start with your mouth after all, while you still can kneel upright."

Snape stepped close and drew Harry's mouth to him by way of a hand on the back of his head. The feeling of Snape sliding his hand through his hair was so intense that Harry quite forgot to have any other reaction, and Snape's cock was inside his mouth before he realized.

Snape smelled incongruously like almond, and Harry tried to concentrate on sucking because he didn't think he could do anything more artful than that at just this moment; his skin was starting to make all these demands for attention. Stroking. Stroking would have been good. That hand in his hair...it was going to drive him crazy if it didn't start moving, pulling on each individual strand, dragging each little attachment of skin into a miniature mountain... He moaned.

He heard Snape sigh. "Whatever can I have been thinking, " he said. "Completely forgot not to give you that on an empty stomach. Well, what's done is done, I suppose."

It was getting worse. The pressure...the pressure of Snape's cock on his lips, it was satisfying, relieving, for god's sake. He was trying to move his head away from Snape's hand so that the man might be prompted to grip his hair harder...

And Snape's fingers did tighten in his hair, but it was to pull him off of his cock entirely, and Harry heard himself whimper as his scalp sang in response. "No, you won't last much longer for that, will you."

His hand still in Harry's hair, Snape tugged him backwards until he was laid out on the floor, and Harry gasped as the cold stone touched his back; it was something, but it wasn't enough. His skin wanted...other flesh on his, not mere inanimate contact. He couldn't stay still; he writhed on the floor as Snape knelt next to him.

When he laid a hand on Harry's chest Harry convulsed against it. Oh god...the bastard...

He hadn't discounted the possibility of a love potion when he drank it, nauseating as that thought was. But that wasn't it at all. It was still Snape he was looking at, and the sight was no more arousing or even endearing than it ever was, none of this why-professor-without-your-robes-you're-beautiful idiocy. But the feeling...the feeling in his flesh was so much worse than that, invading every pore, every hair with the need to be stroked, licked, oh god, why did he have to think licked, ravished by the touch of other flesh, and worse, worse, oh god, it was stronger in the most sensitive, the most obvious places on his body, the need to have his mouth kissed, his throat bitten, his cock sucked, and even the crack of his arse, to have his arse fucked, god, that was overwhelming him, commanding him, he needed to be fucked or it was going to kill him, he knew it was, and he couldn't do it himself, well, he might be able to do something, he still had his hands, after all, but they weren't enough, not when he had Snape so conveniently here, another living body, so many blessed square centimeters of skin to wrap his around, he was already lifting himself from the floor to grab at the man's shoulders, cling to them, to him, moaning because all words were useless and worse than useless.

Snape slid both of his hands into Harry's hair and kissed him on the mouth. The threefold contact almost turned Harry boneless, sublimating between Snape's hands like dry ice, and he kissed back because if he didn't he was afraid Snape would let him go, take his body away as punishment, and because his mouth demanded it, wanting that tongue inside his mouth, running over his teeth and his lips and tasting the inside of his throat, and he whimpered again, it seemed like the only sound he could make, and the need and helplessness and, somewhere under all of it, the seething hostility were eating him alive, he already knew he was going to kill Snape but for this he would kill him slowly, and Snape's hands were combing through his hair, not gently but with the roughness he wanted, as he kissed Harry, not even moving his hands below Harry's neck just yet, prolonging the torment like the fucking evil bastard he was.

Snape moved his mouth to Harry's throat and bit him there, yes, exactly as he wanted, of course, it was his fucking potion after all, and finally, finally he was covering Harry with his weight, and Harry said, "Ah-" and wrapped his arms around Snape's torso, feeling the ecstatic sensation of the man's chest pressed against his own, and when Snape's hands moved down his sides like trickles of water Harry felt himself convulse again, amazed that he didn't come from that alone, but that didn't seem to be the focus of it just yet, he was rock hard but his body still had him gasping in amazement at all the levels of sensation he was discovering, had yet to discover, and Snape's body was lean and muscled and seemed so intent on matching his need for pleasure, his arms gathering him in as he kissed the base of Harry's throat, and Harry burst into tears, and as the tears trickled down his temples a puny little portion of Harry's brain stood by coldly even in the middle of all this and tried to work out which one of the men who'd had him today had been crueler in their methods.

Harry felt Snape's hand move to his hip; he groaned and tried to turn, tried to push his aching cock into Snape's hand, but the man wouldn't let him; he caressed Harry's thigh, his arse, even as his mouth moved down to lick at his nipples, one then the other, murmuring, "Like that, Harry?..." and Harry moaned back, "Yes, oh god, yes..." telling himself it wasn't his voice, it wasn't his voice that had said that, not possible, and then the man's mouth was blazing a trail down his belly, sucking, fierce, and the bastard lingered there, still not coming near his cock, but pushing his legs apart with his hands so that the sense of utter vulnerability multiplied beyond count, holding him there so securely he knew not to try to encourage Snape to do anything faster than the pace he was planning, though it was killing him to wait.

And when Snape's head finally dived down between Harry's legs, he didn't even touch Harry's cock at first, but lapped at his balls, sucking them inside his mouth as Harry arched, and screamed, and was convinced he would survive this no longer, and then Snape stroked up the shaft of the cock with the very tip of his tongue only, as light and transitory as cobweb, until Harry had seized his hair in two fists, whimpering, begging, "Please...", and Snape gave it to him at last but not for long, the rapture of his mouth sucking hard at Harry's cock ending so abruptly, causing such pain in its absence that Harry could not even make a single noise of protest.

As he tried to catch his breath, Snape was lifting away from him, and Harry moaned "No..." as though his heart was breaking, trying to pull at him, but Snape was only moving so that he could put his hand on Harry's shoulder and turn him over, face down now, panting as Snape settled his weight back upon him, feeling how the man rested his hard cock within the cleft of his arse, but not more than that, not yet, and Harry's own erection was flat against his belly, pressed against the floor, where he could not keep from humping the length of it against the cold stones as he moaned, Snape's fingers stroking his shoulders, his back, down his arms, so sharp and sweet, yet still not giving him what he wanted; Harry pushed his arse back against Snape's erection, multiple times, gasping, the sounds of need coming from his throat irrepressible (and horrifying, said the dark little portion of brain), and Snape still...didn't...move.

"Snape..." whispered Harry.

A kiss on his shoulder blade. "Severus."

He moaned. "Severus...please...please fuck me."

"Why, of course, Harry; all you had to do was ask."

Snape's hand moved under his hip, clutching Harry tightly against his own hips as he shifted just that much, even that little movement against the cleft of his arse driving Harry mad, to set the head of his cock against the tight but ever so willing opening, and if Harry hadn't been particularly paying attention to the task of lubricating Snape's cock with his saliva in preparation for this, it didn't matter, he didn't care; the wetness of precome and the eagerness of Harry's flesh were going to manage just fine, and the slow penetration into his arse was like salve on a burn, water on a parched tongue, an explosion of flavor like fruit one shade shy of overripe, and Harry sobbed as he felt it, not deep enough, still not deep enough, never deep enough, even as he started to claw at the cracks in the stones underneath him and Snape caught a hold of his wrists, gripping them firmly but without violence, trying to prevent Harry from doing himself harm.

He wasn't thrusting. Deep inside Harry, he was rocking their conjoined selves together in a rhythm of their hips that put them into an erotic sine wave that felt more like a death spiral to Harry, one that he didn't care if he every came out of. And when Harry tore himself away, pulling away just enough so that he could have the pleasure of Snape slamming back into him, which he did, with all the ferocity Harry was craving, and finally Snape pinned Harry's shoulders to the floor so that he could thrust in and out of him almost to his full length, and Harry hissed, "Yesssssss....oh, GOD--"

--and he came, and screamed like an angel whose wings were being severed, and it wasn't over, the moment was supposed to drop him down like so much glass, but he didn't break, didn't fragment, didn't even get more than a short distance in descent; Snape exploded in orgasm inside him, on him, moments after, but the impossible bliss that had been Harry's climax only snapped him back like a rubber band, none the worse for wear and receptive as ever for more use. It was his skin, the aching want to be touched, to be used; it hadn't abated, not at all, and Snape knew it, pulling out of him and turning him back over, his hand curling around Harry's wet cock, already almost completely stiff again, as Harry moaned, "Oh, god, S-Severus... don't stop, please don't stop..."

Snape didn't.

Harry recalled coming six times, and suspected there may have been some he hadn't recalled, none of the climaxes separated by more than a few minutes of time, by the time the incapacitating artificial arousal began to wane. When it had faded enough to allow him to push at Snape with the last of his strength and whisper, "Get--get away from me...you..." --unable to even complete the insult--Snape did release him, leaving him on the floor, awash in memory and horror and nausea and more measures of spit, sweat, and semen than Harry could ever have imagined it was possible for two bodies to produce in such a short time.

He rolled to his stomach and was sick, adding to the generally filthy state of the floor around him.

*****

Warning Harry not to leave the room until he came back for him had probably been an unnecessary precaution; the boy was in no shape to do anything at all just now; besides, he didn't know the keystone pattern to get out of the room.

Snape stood outside the room and considered. Had he coordinated everything properly? All he had to do now was count off a few minutes, enough to give the dear boy the impression that he'd dispatched Messrs. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, and rescued Weasley and Granger in that interim.

And then it would all depend on what they decided to reveal to each other. He very much doubted either boy would confess it. Too much pride for Weasley... far too much humiliation for Gryffindor's Golden Boy.

He really was quite the little harlot at the core.

Pity about the Granger girl. He could really have done a remarkable job on her, comforting her, reassuring her that of course it hadn't been her fault, that he would make Draco pay for doing something so terrible to such a sweet, remarkable, beautiful girl like her...he'd have started by taking her hands in his and kissing them and it would all have been downhill from there... But really, trying to have all three of them on the same day would have been just a little greedy, not to mention unwise.

And if any of them could put together the discrepancies in his stories, she would have been the one.

So. He had a bit of time to kill.

He leaned back against the wall and thought about his lesson plan for next week's classes.

*****

A hand on his cheek, hatefully gentle.

"No, you don't look in any shape to walk. Here..." Snape was pulling him up to a sitting position, wrapping Harry's robes around him. "That should do. Still there, Potter?...Oh, come, I know you haven't been driven catatonic, Potter...but I'll allow it probably seems easier to pretend you are. As you wish." A pause. "Or perhaps you're just thinking about my comment about Lucius Malfoy and Gryffindor Seekers. Wondering if it had anything to do with your father."

He heard that. "My...father...was a Chaser."

"Is that so?...I must have forgotten."

...

...No. Oh, god, no. Snape was lying, Snape was just trying to--

He screamed and lunged at the man.

Snape had been expecting it. His fist caught Harry on the jaw.

*****

Grating of stone on stone.

"Harry..." All the despair of the world in that one word.

"Come, Hermione, Ron." The voice so soft, solicitous. "No, don't-- I'm not going to put him down just yet. I don't think he's unconscious, just in a bad way. Here, you can touch his hand... Harry, can you hear us? Can you feel that? They're here, Harry, both of them, they'll be alright... Poor boy, I suppose we'd better just get him to the infirmary right aw--"

"Harry? Oh, Ron, he-- Harry, it's going to be all right--"

He lifted his head, pushed, struggled to get out of Snape's oh-so-kindhearted arms. "No," he rasped again. "Not the infirmary. I won't go there. I won't."

"Oh, but, Harry--" Snape was still keeping a grip on him. Not a warning grip, oh no, just the firm hold of the well-meaning do-gooder who's afraid the victim might do something unwise to himself. "--really, you've been hurt, you need... your friends need--"

"NO!" He wouldn't plead with Snape. Not even to keep the charade secret. He caught Hermione's sleeve. "D-don't let him. I won't. Please, H-Hermione..." Oh, god. Hermione had the dawnings of a very bad bruise on her cheekbone, and that was only the first thing that was appalling about the way she looked.

But he couldn't.

Ron was so close to him, and yet not touching him. "Harry...it'll be okay--"

"I can't."

"Harry, Hermione should--"

"No!" Hermione all but turned on Ron. "No, I'm all right. Don't make--"

"The hell you are!"

"Why are we fighting? Damn you, Ron! Don't make him... I don't want to be fighting! Harry..." She squeezed his hand harder. "What--what do you want to do right now? Where do you...want to go?"

"Well, let's start by getting you all out of here." Snape still wouldn't put him down. "Then we can discuss it."

There is no WE, you fucking piece of shit.

*****

"Are you quite sure?"

"Yes. Let us talk to him, Professor. I don't want to force him."

"It really might be the kindest thing to do, though. He may continue to resist, and...you both need healing, Miss Granger. And not just of your physical injuries."

"I won't make him go! It's the only choice he's getting to make today, and I won't force him!"

"Ssh, don't cry. You've been far too brave for that. I admire your courage very much, you know, all of you."

"Professor--" She put her face in her hands, and said, muffled. "Thank--thank you..."

"Oh, my dear, really, it was hardly something anyone would not do." He took her hands away from her face. "Listen to me: I will not say anything to anyone until you are ready for me to do so. Tell that to Harry, will you? I suspect that will reassure him. And if he still isn't ready to go to Pomfrey today..." He reached into a fold of his robes and removed a glass vial. "There's at least...oh, five doses of healing potion left in here. Enough to take care of all of you if you don't want to go to the infirmary. Though I very much think you should."

"Oh--oh, Professor Snape, thank you..."

"Let me know if there's anything else I can do."

He was unprepared for the way she flung herself at him and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face against it as she wept. Well. No, apparently he hadn't laid it on too thick.

Good thing the two boys were in the other room and couldn't see this.

And, as long as they couldn't see...

Gently he smoothed her hair, used the gesture to push her head back just a bit, so that he could take her chin lightly in his fingers, turn her face up, and kiss her on the forehead. Her mouth had been very fucking tempting, but this was better. It would lay better groundwork: chaste, affectionate, completely safe.

And maybe she would have seen the way he had considered her mouth for a moment, and had chosen not to take such a liberty.

Even better.

*****

The door to the Quidditch locker room -- deserted in the off-season--swung open, and Hermione entered, alone.

"What--what the hell were you doing out there?"

"I--Ron, I was just talking to Professor Snape--"

Ron stared at her, then relaxed visibly. Hermione still looked slightly perplexed for a moment.

"He said he won't say anything until we ask him to." She held up a glass vial. "And...and he gave us this, if we... if you don't want to go see Madam Pomfrey, Harry."

Harry looked at it. Healing potion. The fucking bastard had had it with him the whole time. God damn him.

Ron, sitting next to Harry, was staring at the ceiling. "Maybe we shouldn't start with Pomfrey. I think we should go to Dumbledore first."

A croak. "We are not going to Dumbledore."

Hermione sank down next to them. "Ron's right," she said in a little whisper. "Dumbledore's the only one who could make sure...they can't buy their way out of this one. Can't call in favors and make it go away."

I want it to go away. "No."

"Well, then, what the hell do you want to do?"

"Stop it, Ron."

"I want... I want to crawl into that shower room, right now, and stay in there until the hot water runs out."

"Harry, the water supply's magicked. The hot water never runs out."

"Fucking right it doesn't. Got it in one."

"Oh, Harry..."

"Goddammit, we are going to have to get it over with sometime!"

He sat up so fast he was dizzy. "I cannot go to Dumbledore about this! I cannot go to ANYONE ABOUT THIS! GODDAMN you, Ron, I sucked his COCK, I FUCKING CAME!"

Ron had recoiled against the wall. Hermione had her hand over her mouth and was starting to cry.

"Harry..." she choked.

"DON'T you try to rationalize it! Don't you say ANYTHING that you know I already know! I don't CARE!" He stood up. He was only wearing his robes, and they were hanging askew on him, and they probably could see the bite marks on his body, but he no longer cared. "Do you know what will happen if we tell them? EVERYONE will know! EVERYONE!"

"Harry oh god Harry that's what they're counting on THAT'S WHAT THEY WANT!"

"Who the fuck are 'THEY,' Hermione? Who's THEY? SAY THE GODDAMN NAME, HERMIONE! FEAR OF THE NAME INCREASES FEAR OF THE THING ITSELF, isn't that what you're ALWAYS FUCKING TELLING ME?!"

Hermione leapt up and threw herself at him. She clung to him, great tearing sobs coming from her, and he clutched at her in return, and it took her tears to bring his on, and he wept into her neck, but he couldn't let himself break down completely, there was still too much to say.

"Hermione..." he moaned, "please, please listen... if we tell... you know what it will mean...it'll mean Veritaserum, it'll mean someone like...like that awful Fudge, some bureaucrat, saying 'Did he tie you up?' 'Didn't you try to fight?' 'Are you telling us you got excited?' And a- both of them--" (fuck, he'd almost said all) "--Lucius and Draco, watching, feeding the fucker the questions, trying to make it sound like we sort of LIKED it, like we cooked up some kind of grudge plot to seduce them and then scream rape-- My--god, Hermione... I can't. I CAN'T."

"They wouldn't-- No, Harry, it couldn't--"

He didn't answer. Just held her and let her think about it.

Ron was standing as well, dead-faced.

Finally: "Do you want them to get away with it?"

Harry slowly turned his face to look at him. "What kind of fucking question is that?"

"I'm asking if you want to see them jailed or not! Goddammit, Harry, this is not just about YOU! Oh, my god..." Ron jerked back like he'd been kicked in the stomach, his hands covering his mouth. "Did I just say that oh my god Harry I did NOT mean that I did NOT mean to say that I'm sorry, I'm so SORRY--" His hands moved from his mouth to his entire face, and Harry saw his shoulders shake as he started to cry.

Harry wanted to go to him, to tell him it was all right, that he understood. He did. But he felt if let go of Hermione he would fall.

"Harry..." Ron wiped at his face, sniffed wetly. "Please listen. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. But... it's not just you. This is...this is about Hermione too..."

"Don't," Hermione said fiercely. "Don't you dare put that on him! Who the hell do you think you are, Lucius MALFOY?!"

"GODDAMMIT, HERMIONE, I WILL NOT LET DRACO GET AWAY WITH WHAT HE DID TO YOU!"

Hermione tore away from Harry. He didn't fall, but the violence of it made him stumble. Her eyes looked like she was about to obliterate Ron with them. "What...the FUCK...do you KNOW about what he did to me?"

Ron just stared.

"You never asked, did you? You just ASSUMED! Well, it's NOT MY DECISION, Ron, it's HARRY'S! IT'S ALL HARRY'S! BECAUSE DRACO NEVER TOUCHED ME!"

*****

You could count every heartbeat that passed.

"...The FUCK."

"It's TRUE." She planted her feet apart and put her hands on her hips. Oh god. Oh god. He must believe her. Both of them had to believe her. "He tried. Oh, believe me, Ron, he tried. He should die for trying. He should die for all the filthy things he said to me alone. But..."

She choked up. That was fine. It would be perfectly natural to choke up on the explanation.

"...b-but he wanted to r-rape me, and he hit me, held me d-down..." She saw Ron's eyes, Harry's too, turn murderous--bless them, bless them for being the dearest, most courageous people I know, no, she couldn't break down yet--"...he was stronger than I was, and I tried, I r-really tried to stop him, but I couldn't stop him that way..." She was crying now, and that was no act, but again, it worked just fine--"so I--I taunted him, I told him that this was the only way he could ever get a -- a girl to lie down for him, and that made him angry, and I saw he didn't like that, so I--I did it some more, I asked him if this was the only way he could get it up, and if he--if he liked fucking mudbloods because that was the only sex filthy enough for him, that he must like it filthy, maybe he only got to practice on pigs, wallowing in their own shit--"

God. Had she said that? Yes. Not only had she said it, but it was starting to get easier. Draco had given her plenty of material to draw on.

"--and if he liked that, then I could make sure it was really filthy for him, I could piss on him, or he could eat my shit, and he... he lost his goddamn hard-on, and I knew, I knew I could keep going, and he was so fucking angry, but he couldn't get it up again, and I laughed at him, do you hear me, Ron, I laughed at him and told him he was useless--"

--why, why hadn't she just told them about the Expelliarmus? Because that was too clean, too predictable for them to believe it, even if it was true; they had to hear a story they couldn't believe she could make up--

"--that his cock was useless, that it was the most worthless piece of meat I'd ever seen, and I asked him if he had a name for it, I bet he called it something like 'the snake of Slytherin's heir,' and I told him he should call it his little green worm, and he was starting to hit me, and started...r-rubbing himself on me, trying to get it hard again, but he couldn't, and he got angrier and angrier but that didn't help him, and every time he got partway hard he'd lose it before he could put it into me, so he...all he could do was c-come on me, and even while he was doing that I kept taunting him, told him how fucking pathetic he was, and he put his cock everywhere on me that he could but he couldn't put it in me, and I'm not saying that it was lovely or easy but he didn't rape me, Ron, he didn't rape me! I beat him, Ron, do you hear me, I BEAT HIM!"

She had her fists balled in front of her, couldn't release them. Panting. She wasn't done. "And you know, oh, you both know that's not the story he's going to tell to all the goddamn Slytherins, oh no. He's going to say I was gagging for it; that he fucked me in every orifice I have, and that I begged him for it, begged him for more, that he fucking magicked another cunt to fuck me in because I told him I couldn't get enough! Are you going to believe it when he says that? ARE YOU?!"

Oh god.

What...

...what was she going to do if they agreed to tell?

*****

She waited for them to speak. For Ron to say flatly, "I don't believe you," and turn away, for Harry to say, "No, Hermione, no, don't try to do this..."

--and Ron did turn away, but he didn't speak, his shoulders hunched up, and then he was crying again, sinking to his knees, his arms around his body as he wept, soft little sounds that were going to haunt her.

And Harry appeared to think there was no reason for him to stay on his feet anymore, so he too slid to the floor, not crying, just staring, but not at her or at Ron.

Shortly she found herself sitting on the floor as well.

She waited until Ron stopped crying. Then she had to wait until she stopped crying.

"Harry..."

He looked toward her, but she waited until his eyes were actually focused on hers.

"It's your decision. Not...mine. Not Ron's. You...have to decide."

*****

Ron heard her say Not Ron's.

She couldn't know. He had to let her go on believing nothing had happened. Because if she knew, then Harry would have to know. And Ron couldn't do that to him either. She was right.

She'd just picked the wrong manipulative evil bastard to compare him to. Not Malfoy, but Snape.

Oh, god, how was he going to tell her to beware of Snape? She thought the man had been a fucking hero.

He turned and looked at Harry.

"She's right." He hadn't meant for it to come out that strangled, but he'd said it.

*****

Harry looked at Ron. Then he looked back at Hermione.

Ron...was right. It wasn't just about him.

Oh god oh god no he couldn't he COULDN'T. Couldn't tell them that...

...wait.

He wouldn't lie. No. He just...they just wouldn't tell it all. That...that was it. God, yes.

To get Draco, for Hermione, he would let the others go. Fuck it. Fuck them.

He would live with it.

"Hermione--"

What did she see in his eyes? What made her own eyes widen like that, made her look at him and say: "No. NO!"

--What was she doing with that vial?

"NO!" Bloody fuck NO Snape gave her that it could have been a fucking memory wipe or poison--!

Before Harry could even start to get up Hermione had downed a mouthful of the potion.

Ron saw it too, and yelled, but then they saw Hermione shudder, gagging (fuck, it tastes bad, it MUST be healing potion, thought Harry), and saw the bruise on her cheek, and the one on her jaw, fade into the peach of her skin--it did look rather peach now, as opposed to the sallow color that had marked her features a moment ago--and her hair was still a wreck and her clothing a mess, but even in the way she sat straight up, they saw that she must have been in more pain than she had admitted to, and that that was gone.

She got to her feet, looking like... like a deposed queen standing to hear her death sentence. "Not...for...me, Harry. Not for me. If you can carry the secret...then so can I."

Oh...oh hell.

She was extending the potion toward him.

Oh... the relief.

He was so thick with it, it almost made him ill again, feeling it, realizing what it meant about him. God! What was he that he could let her do this?

He loved her. And he knew that he was foul, rotting, should-have-been-Slytherin slime, and would never deserve her or this kind of trust.

He could never make this up to her. Not if he killed Draco with his own hands twenty times over.

He felt Ron's hands on his shoulders from behind, going around his shoulders, his breath near his cheek. "We'll get them. We'll do it ourselves. We won't forget and we won't abandon each other, Lucius wanted to make us do that so we will never do that, NEVER. No one has to know but us and we will get them and they'll be dead."

They didn't know about Snape.

And it was going to fucking stay that way.

He'd get Snape himself.

Hermione was kneeling in front of him now, holding him, her arms stretched back far enough so that she could be holding Ron as well, and they pressed together, the three of them, Harry in the middle, all of them crying, quietly but audibly, little whispers of They're dead and We'll get them and Never abandon slipping in among their weeping, over and over, like ghost voices.

Hermione pressed the vial into his hand.

And, hating himself, he took it.