(long one-shot) FIC: Turnabout 2/3 [NC-17; HP/DM, RW/DM]
Title: Turnabout (2/3)
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17; blackmail, ambiguous consent, BDSM themes
Pairing(s): HP/DM, RW/DM
Summary: We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
One-shot, cut into three parts to enable posting.
Harry pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement a quarter of an hour after his scheduled 'appointment' with Draco Malfoy. If he opened the door a little wider than usual, or held it open a second longer than necessary, it wasn't pronounced enough for his pale-haired nemesis to notice. Malfoy's eyes were focused on his person in gleeful anticipation. He smiled, which lent his face the impression of a small woodland predator - feral and ferociously attached to whatever part of its prey it had managed to dig teeth into. He liked it when Harry was late.
At the beginning of their... meetings... Harry had felt the desperate need to make Malfoy wait just to prove he had a mind of his own. Never to stand him up altogether - he couldn't risk that for fear that the Slytherin would call off their deal and expose Harry's secret. But in the end, it just hadn't been worth the additional pain. So usually, he showed up before his enemy, knowing well enough that Malfoy also liked to make him wait on his knees on the hard stone floor, pondering his fate.
"You're late, Potter," Malfoy stated darkly. "Is it the time of the month when you're trying to prove that there's still a fight in you?" Harry didn't quite manage to prevent a smile ghosting over his lips at that.
"Oh, you have no idea, Malfoy," he murmured to himself.
"Perhaps not," Malfoy replied. "But I will give you a very good idea about what I think of it. Take off your robe."
Harry kicked off his shoes without extra prompting, undid the silver fastenings and folded the dark fabric carefully before depositing it on the floor. Underneath, he only wore a pair of frayed black Muggle jeans that Dudley had cast off when he was twelve. They had played this game long enough for Harry to know that Malfoy liked that, too.
"Kneel, Potter," the Slytherin commanded lazily and flicked an appreciative look over Harry when he complied.
Malfoy murmured his request to the Room in a tone too low for Harry to hear, and despite his knowledge that things would turn out differently this time, he felt nervous heat pooling in his stomach.
"Remember what I told you would happen if you caught the Snitch in a Slytherin game again?" A finger trailed down the nape of Harry's neck and coaxed his hairs to stand up in its wake.
"Remember how I told you to go to hell?"
The sudden, cruel blow that fell on his shoulder made his eyes water even though he'd been waiting for it. Then a finger trailed over the welt, inflaming the sting even more.
"I remember. And I think we'll deal with that attitude of yours once and for all tonight."
Harry could hear Malfoy raising the whip for a second, harsher blow, and heard him yelp in surprise when an angry voice said, "Oh no, you don't!"
He craned his head back and saw Malfoy's hand immobilised by an invisible grip in mid-air, and then watched Ron throw back the hood of the Invisibility Cloak to reveal an apologetic face between red-tipped ears. Ron pulled the whip out of Malfoy's grip while Harry dove at the Slytherin to divest him of his wand.
"Sorry I didn't react in time," Ron apologised with a sheepish look. Harry lifted an eyebrow at him and suppressed a grin. He'd had enough time to develop subtle ways of getting to Malfoy, and it was amusing - and slightly flattering - to see that his purposefully-seductive pose had had its effect on his friend as well. Ron reached into his robe, produced Harry's wand and threw it to him.
It had taken Malfoy a satisfying number of seconds to get over the shock of suddenly being disarmed and looking right at two wands pointed at him. When the mask of sneering self-confidence fell over his features again, it showed the strain at the seams like an old canvas restored with inferior paint.
"Hello, Malfoy, fancy meeting you here," Ron called out cheerfully, only a hint of canines showing in his smile. "It looks like Harry and I figured out some things after yesterday's match."
"Oh, did you?" Malfoy replied with an almost normal Dracoesque sneer. "And you've decided to gang up on me together to intimidate me into keeping your shame secret?"
"Not really," Ron replied, still with an amused undertone. "You see, at first we just planned to kill you..." Ron did a disconcerting wiggle with his wand and Harry gleefully watched Malfoy flinch. "But then we realised that there might be trouble if someone stumbled over your mutilated corpse..."
"... trouble you're just not worth," Harry inserted, happy to let Ron do most of the talking. He was just a lot better at intimidation than Harry could ever dream of being. It probably came with Quidditch captaincy; Wood had had the same gift. Ron flicked a quick grin at him and continued.
"So we just decided to go to the Headmaster and let justice take its course. But well, being honourable Gryffindors and all, we thought we'd give you a chance..." He paused and frowned at the glimpse of hope that ignited on Malfoy's face. "You place yourself into our hands for one night - we get to turn the tables on you. And we'll find out how well you'll handle being at an enemy's mercy for once."
In amazement, Harry watched Malfoy's face close off from one second to the next, as if he had pulled shut the door to his mind, leaving nothing but a blank wall in its wake.
"No." The response came immediately, with an underlying hint of anger. "You can trot right off to whine about your plight on Dumbledore's shoulder."
"Why?" Ron's voice had acquired a distinctly mocking tone. "You're afraid? Can't take what you like to dish out?"
"I'm a Malfoy. We don't put ourselves at the mercy of lesser wizards, least of all halfbloods and poor-as-dirt Muggle lovers."
"Because you're better than us." Ron's voice was deceptively calm.
"Exactly," Malfoy confirmed flatly.
With a grim smile, Ron took a step forward, purposefully invading Malfoy's personal space.
"Nice try, Malfoy. But it won't work. We're not going to hex you so you can make it look like we wronged you. You're not getting out of this the easy way."
Harry threw Ron a wicked smile of approval over Malfoy's averted shoulder, and stepped closer as well.
"And if you're concerned about family reputation, imagine what further damage this would do to the Malfoy name," Harry insinuated. "Blackmail, torture, sexual assault... even if it's not enough for a life sentence, it'll get you a couple of years in Azkaban for sure. But well, perhaps you could share a cell with your father..."
"Don't you dare mention my father, Potter!" Malfoy spat.
"Though I dare say he won't be too impressed with your achievements," Harry continued, unperturbed. "And neither will Voldemort. What are you going to tell daddy dearest? 'I tried to take revenge on Potter by blackmailing him into having sex with me'? Won't look too impressive on your Death Eater CV, I'm afraid."
Malfoy's eyes were icy, his mouth one thin, knife-edged line.
"I really should have cut your throat when I had you on your knees with your hands tied behind your back instead of making you suck me off." Harry felt blood stinging his cheeks, a tremor in his hands, and the almost unbearable urge to strike out. He restrained himself - barely.
"And there's no way I'll believe you'll go to Dumbledore with that story." Malfoy added with a spiteful sneer when no attack was forthcoming. "You'd be humiliated to the dust if that gets out to the press."
"But it won't," Ron pointed out confidently. "Remember when Edgecombe tried to snitch on us in fifth year? Dumbledore shut her right up and made sure she wouldn't say anything to implicate us. He'll do the same with you for sure. He'd never allow Harry to be publicly humiliated - he's the bloody Boy Who Lived, after all."
"Hey!" Harry complained with a touch of hurt.
"Oh, you know what I mean." Ron waved his protest away carelessly and turned his attention back to Malfoy with the air of a duellist who had inflicted a series of lethal wounds and was now moving in for the coup de grace.
"And remember, you don't have your father to hide behind any more - being the son of an incarcerated Death Eater won't win you any favours with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So - still think you'd stand a better chance with wizarding justice than with us?"
Even through the mask of arrogance a palpable air of panic showed on Malfoy's pointed face at having his escape routes cut off one by one. He hesitated for a long, painful moment in which Harry sincerely doubted he would agree to it. Of course, he and Ron hadn't seriously considered telling Dumbledore. They would put as much pressure as possible on Malfoy instead, and they could always hex him into an oozing stupor if he refused. Of course, Malfoy didn't know that.
"One night?" he repeated, in a decidedly strangled voice.
"Tonight," Ron clarified. "And after that, we'll never even think of it again."
For a moment, Harry saw defeat and a glimpse of honest fear flicker over Malfoy's half-averted face behind those loose strands of hair. Malfoy at night was less rigidly styled than Malfoy during the day, as if he was a different kind of animal altogether. Less restrained, not a bit less vicious. That flash of panic was almost enough to make Harry relent, but then he remembered the scalding terror that had gripped him when he'd first understood what ensuring Malfoy's silence would entail, and imagined how Ron must have felt. No, he told himself sternly. We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
"I'm supposed to trust you?" There was nothing left but a last-ditch attempt at stalling the ultimate defeat now.
"We trusted you," Ron pointed out. "And you're a slimy Slytherin bastard."
And, Harry thought fervently, it was good that they were Gryffindors. Because Malfoy was outnumbered and wandless, and if they were any less honourable, they could force him to submit to their every devious and destructive fantasy with the Imperius Curse... As soon as Harry realised in which direction his thoughts were meandering off, he fitfully ejected the images from his mind. What had he been thinking? Was that even himself, or the mental barbs Malfoy had left to fester in his brain?
It was, Harry told himself forcefully, not the same as what his father and Sirius had done to young Snape. James and Sirius had attacked Snape for no reason at all, much as it pained him to admit, while Malfoy had done things to them that he - and in particular Ron - might never entirely recover from.
Ron flicked his wand and Accio!-ed the whip he had carelessly dropped to the floor during the struggle before, and held it out to Harry with an almost pleading expression. It seemed as if Harry wasn't the only one to walk into their little game of retribution with some trepidation. Harry took it gingerly and glanced down at the nasty piece of darkened leather. The mere sight made the welt on his shoulder throb nastily. It wasn't the heaviest that Malfoy had ever used on him, and thankfully the strap was short enough so he wouldn't make a bloody fool of himself trying to use it. Still, it looked more dangerous than what he would have felt comfortable using. And that was a truly disturbing thought. The carved handle lay smooth in his hand, as if Malfoy's body warmth was still seeping from it right into Harry's bloodstream, poisoning him enough to make the word 'comfortable' run smoothly with this madness.
Then he thought of humiliation, and pain, and Ron, and stepped forward, running the handle gently along Malfoy's cheek and pointed chin, and finally nudged his head up a fraction to study his eyes. The grey gaze met his very coldly, though a small furrow drew together Malfoy's brows as if he was still expecting them to call off the hoax before it got too far. Harry felt a flash of temptation to reach up and smooth out that wrinkle with his fingertips. He slapped down the irrational impulse and instead quoted Malfoy's earlier words back at him.
"Take off your robe."
The Slytherin obeyed without retort, but with sharp, jerky movements that could betray either fear or fury. Perhaps both, but his feelings were again stuffed behind a mask of arrogance.
"The shirt too," Harry added coolly when he saw that Malfoy wore a matching ensemble of black shirt and slacks, embroidered at the hems and waist with symbols that looked like runaways out of Hermione's Advanced Runes textbook.
Malfoy undid the string fastenings with stiff fingers and threw the shirt on top of his robes. A fine sheen of sweat dotted the pale skin on his collarbone, and his neck muscles stood out more pronounced. He must be rigid with tension. Harry knew the feeling - intimately, from experience - but wondered how those muscles would feel under his hand. Then he realised that nothing would stop him from finding out and he lightly ran his fingers over Malfoy's neck. The Slytherin shivered and snapped his head around with a ferocious snarl.
"Keep your bloody hands off me, you Muggle-blooded shit!"
Harry was almost thankful for the insult. It certainly made easier what he had in mind.
"Oh, I'll do far worse with my hands, Malfoy," he drawled, imitating Malfoy so accurately that Ron had to bite back a laugh. If anything, it only aggravated the fury on Malfoy's face. Harry flicked the whip and eyed his enemy with a calculating expression.
"Twelve lashes each for that attitude of yours would be appropriate, I think."
"Why don't you just shut up and do your worst, you-"
Harry tapped the handle against Malfoy's lips, gentle but insistent, and cut off the intended profanities.
"Because you wouldn't want to see my worst," Harry murmured, a flash of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus Curse dancing before his inner eye. "Believe me, you don't.".
He waved his wand and conjured a familiar contraption - a simple cast-iron ring attached to the ceiling, and, linked to it, two lines of chains ending in heavy leather cuffs.
For the first one or two times Malfoy had conjured metal cuffs, until he realised that the resulting abrasions went beyond their combined skills with charms and potions to repair. The pain had been about the worst Harry had ever experienced this side of Cruciatus, and he'd feared he'd never be able to get rid of the marks they had left. Wherever Malfoy had got that Heal-All Potion from - breaking into Snape's storage or a trip down Knockturn Alley - he'd been almost as panicked as Harry. Yes, doing permanent damage would have exploded his little game immediately.
This time, however, it was Malfoy who raised his arms for the magical bindings to curl themselves around his wrists tightly. The chains were short enough to leave him wobbling on tiptoes, and Harry lengthened them with a wand's flick so he would be able to stand comfortably, throwing an apologetic look at Ron.
Inspiration hit him and he stepped over to Ron, who was eyeing the scene with knitted brows. He leaned forward to whisper a suggestion into the redhead's ear. Ron's eyes widened, and then a half-incredulous, half-admiring grin crept onto his lips.
Ron raised a hand to Malfoy's cheek and slid it down carefully until it came to rest on the Slytherin's chest. Wary grey eyes followed it from below a severe frown. Ron's other hand was placed lightly on Malfoy's hip. Ron nodded at him.
Even as Harry raised his arm for the first blow, he felt tentativeness sinking into his muscles like pewter. The short lash drew a line on the Slytherin's too-pale skin, which first showed whitely, and after a second turned to faint pink. Malfoy made a small "Hmp", eloquently dismissing Harry's attempt.
Oh no, you won't! Harry thought angrily. You will not mock me tonight.
He threw his anger - and pretty much all of his Quidditch-boosted strength - into the second blow. It crossed the fading line on Malfoy's back ungently, furious red against pale pink. Malfoy jumped and gave a choked scream, hanging in the restraints for a moment as his feet gave out under him. Harry cursed himself quietly. He wasn't supposed to be so... unbalanced.
"Lesson of the day, Malfoy," he snapped, acutely aware that the anger ringing in his voice was directed more at himself than at the other. "Don't piss me off."
He could hear the insults that the Slytherin was too prudent to voice ringing in his ears, and again almost faltered.
Come on, Harry, you can do it, he admonished himself. Just remember what he did to you!
"Pain becomes you, Potter."
Malfoy's hateful, husky whisper behind his ear while his hands trail over Harry's naked back, fanning the fire in his wounds.
Harry remembers crying, quietly and entirely against his will, but unable to hide his sobs completely. Remembers Malfoy settling on his hips and running his hands over Harry's mutilated back, casting spells that take away neither the blood nor the pain, just the sheer edge of it, and make it almost bearable when Malfoy stretches out atop the length of his body and slowly, slickly moves into him...
Harry's mind replayed his memories while the whip played over Malfoy's back. He couldn't make out where Ron's hands were going, but he heard Malfoy growl a warning and glare at the redhead. Which just wouldn't do. Harry grabbed hold of the Slytherin's neck-length hair and pulled back his head. Malfoy shot him an acid-dipped glare out of the corner of his eye.
"Attitude again, Malfoy?"
The phrase Harry got in return would have sent Narcissa Malfoy into a dead faint from shock, Death Eater wife or not. Harry brought the whip down with considerably greater force, and observed the angry red stripe and the few little drops of blood it left in its wake.
Careful, he admonished himself, and was almost relieved to hear Malfoy curse again, but low enough under his breath to allow him to ignore it. He aimed his next blow far away, but Ron's pointed cough distracted him.
"Um, Harry, I think that was the twelfth just now..."
Harry coloured slightly. "Sorry, mate. Guess I got carried away..."
"Unless you want to get in a few more, of course," Ron added with a shrug, one hand still splayed on Malfoy's lower stomach. "It's not as if we're bound by any rules here."
"Oh, no, it's your turn all right," Harry insisted, trying for a nonchalant tone. The last thing he wanted was to give Malfoy the impression of two boys playing at revenge but having no art and no stomach for it. They'd never live it down.
He thrust the whip at his friend and sidled around to peer at his victim. A broad, happy grin spread over his features as he took in Malfoy's flushed face - both of embarrassment and arousal, he suspected - and the faint wet glint in his eyes. The expression was still murderous, however, although the death glare was weakened by the puffy look of his bottom lip where Malfoy had bitten down to stifle his cries.
"Oh, pretty," Harry mocked, running his index finger along the abused lip, only to receive a sharp - and thoroughly unsuggestive - bite to the forward digit.
Ouch! Suppressing any outcry, Harry pulled his hand away and stared at his bloody finger without surprise. He licked at it once to soothe the sting. "Going to make you pay for that, ferret."
He caught Malfoy's wary look and the almost imperceptible tension with which he braced himself for a blow. But Harry just held his eyes and let his grin transform into the most evil smirk he was capable of until Malfoy swallowed nervously. Oh yes, there were far more insidious forms of revenge than violence, and the Slytherin had taught him all about it.
Unhurriedly, Harry's fingers went to unlace the front of Malfoy's trousers, his movement eliciting a harsh intake of breath. Ron's hand played over the welts on Malfoy's back all the while, and when the Slytherin's head fell back and the frosty eyes shut tightly, Harry smirked. He didn't know whether the stings or the stimulation had brought about this sign of surrender, but it was fun to watch. His hand slipped into Malfoy's trousers and pulled out the blond's member, half-hard from Ron's earlier attentions. The fine, pale hairs around his groin made an interesting contrast with the charcoal of his trousers and the pink-tinged flesh that twitched once, twice, in Harry's palm. Almost the same colour as his face, Harry thought smugly as he observed the furious flush that heated the Slytherin's cheeks at this degree of exposure. His leg muscles tensed, and Harry ran his unoccupied fingers down Malfoy's left thigh and felt the muscles trembling in the wake of his hand.
Harry caught Ron's eye and nodded, giving him the go-ahead. The redhead brought the whip down on the small of Malfoy's back with so much force that the Slytherin's eyes flew open and his whole body jerked in shock. Harry closed his hand around Malfoy's cock and slid it down firmly, giving the tip a bit of a twist for good measure. He was rewarded with another shudder, and his ministrations seemed to leave the Slytherin harder than before, despite the pain. Ron placed a second blow and leaned forward to murmur in Malfoy's ear.
"Don't worry, I won't make you count. It's so... gauche."
Eyes watering, Malfoy snarled through clenched teeth, "I hope you're passing on some of the tricks I taught you to do with your mouth to Mudblood Granger in exchange for teaching you all the fancy words."
Harry shook his head as he watched Ron draw back and lay a flurry of cruel stripes across the Slytherin's shoulder blades, which made his eyes spill over and wrung a scream from his lips.
"Dumb move, Malfoy," he commented cheerfully.
Ron's face was flushed, his eyes sparkling when he realised that he'd managed to beat his enemy into silence. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was busy torturing his bottom lip even further. It was extremely satisfying to watch, Harry thought, and remembered spending ages in front of the Gryffindor bathroom mirror, pressing an icy washcloth to his mouth to relieve the swelling. Malfoy practically sagged in relief when Ron announced, "Done!"
"Fuck!" Malfoy groaned, stabbing his hips forward so sharply he almost lost his balance, trying to push his cock deeper into Harry's curled hand.
"Not yet, Malfoy."
Harry ran his tongue over the tips of his canines suggestively, and kept his hand resting almost possessively on Malfoy's cock. "That was quite... good," he whispered, giving it a companionable squeeze. "But what if I told you to ask Ron for another dozen of the same?" Harry returned Ron's raised eyebrow with a secretive smile over Malfoy's shoulder, and saw no apprehension about the prospect on his friend's face.
"Why would I do that, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice too hoarse for the trademark drawl to register. A shudder was travelling up his shoulders, causing the near-invisible hairs on his arms to stand up.
"Because you promised to obey, Malfoy," Harry murmured, lips very close to the Slytherin's own. "And because I want to watch you come against your will, and hating yourself for it."
"So you're really going to display all your weaknesses in front of Weasley here?" Malfoy sneered. "I mean I knew you're easy to crack, Potter, but if I'd known you get off that much on humiliation, I'd have tried to do better."
You've done quite enough! Harry snapped inwardly, jaw set at the flicker of triumph that lit up the pale eyes. His stomach plummeted at the memories, but Ron stepped forward quickly, coming to stand half in front of him.
"Yes, beg me, Malfoy," he said, his voice low enough to send a prickle of anticipation down Harry's spine. Ron lifted the handle of the whip, lash coiled around it tightly, and very gently ran it down Malfoy's bare shoulder. "Beg me, because now I really want to hurt you."
"Please, Weasley," Malfoy finally snapped. "Go ahead and hit me so Potter can get off on it!"
Ron's arm sneaked around the Slytherin's side and closed his fingertips around Malfoy's nipple to pinch it cruelly. Malfoy yelped out loud as the nub turned a sullen red under Ron's unrelenting fingers.
"Try again," Ron whispered into the short, curling hair behind Malfoy's ear.
The Slytherin met his gaze, eyes going wide as if hypnotised, then lowered his lashes.
"Please, Ron," he enunciated, low but clearly.
A satisfied grin tugged at Ron's mouth. It seemed as if, given time, Ron might manage to domesticate the ferret after all.
The broad grin and Ron's flushed face were infectious, and Harry returned it happily as his friend unfurled the whip again, making Malfoy flinch satisfactorily as the lash trailed over his hip. As if on second thought, Ron stepped back to shrug out of his robe, and then discarded his black-and-orange striped Chudley Cannons shirt as well. Yes, it had suddenly become a lot warmer. Ron caught the sneer with which Malfoy eyed his loud shirt and his grin broadened as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Malfoy's ear in a patronising gesture.
"Well, ferret, it looks like I'm back to wearing whatever I like around you, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Weasel, you can go back to house-elf charity fashion like the rest of your brood," the Slytherin replied sweetly. "Take pride in it."
Ron just shook his head pityingly and lifted his hand to stroke Malfoy's mouth with his thumb, shutting him up.
"You really want to hurt, don't you?"
Malfoy graced him with a glare to curdle potions, but lightly parted his lips to admit the finger nudging against them. Harry hid his nervousness, half-expecting Malfoy to clamp his jaw down and try to bite it off, but he just sucked in the thumb and gave it a slow caress with his tongue amidst a further glare that was hardly less venomous.
Ron suffered the ministrations for a moment longer, then pulled away his finger, trailing it in a wet caress over Malfoy's reddened nipple before giving Harry a nod to proceed.
"Your little Weasel is a pragmatist, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Oh, he hates putting his mouth to use even more than being fucked, but unlike you he has no qualms about receiving pleasure." The ugly sneer transformed into a no less ugly grin as Ron's ears took on a colour as spectacular as his hair. "Unlike you, Potter, he has just no appreciation for the subtleties of humiliation." He gave Ron a lewd wink before cocking his head at Harry. "I still haven't decided whether that makes him less or more fun to play with than you, Potter."
Though Harry's insides clenched in sympathy with Ron's embarrassment, he kept his expression under control.
"Yes well, he murmured, "we'll see which one of us has more fun playing with you."
Without another word Harry lowered himself onto his knees, sliding his hand down the curve of Malfoy's hip and pushing the waistband of his trousers a bit further down to give Ron - and himself - more to work with.
He felt a sting of unease at Ron's presence, but he'd wanted to do this to Malfoy too badly - wanted to watch his unwilling embarrassment transform into full-blown humiliation under his, Harry's, ministrations. He had a right to it! He remembered too clearly the few, dreadful instances when Malfoy had laid him out on his back, naked, manacled his wrists and ankles to the ground with magic, and proceeded to reduce him to a trembling wreck with mouth and hands.
Ron walked over to stand behind Malfoy. There he paused and reached for his wand instead of the whip.
The quick "Petrificus!" caught Malfoy as unawares as Harry, and he gave a surprised yell as his body froze into rigid petrifaction from the hips down. He swayed in his bonds for a moment until he had balanced out the sudden heaviness in his legs.
"What-?" he slurred in protest, and fell silent with a near-adorable look of outrage on his face as Ron petted his head.
"Don't fret, ferret. I just want to make sure you won't thrash and give Harry a bloody nose."
Malfoy swallowed something that sounded dangerously like "Fucker!" in Harry's ears into an incomprehensible mumble. Harry just grinned, knowing that Ron would make him regret it anyway, and laid his hand flat against Malfoy's waist, nodding up at his friend with a merry "Thanks!" Ron gave him a thumb up in return.
Harry ran the palm of his hand down Malfoy's naked thigh, then detoured to slide it along the length of Malfoy's cock. It curved upwards a little to nudge him. Harry smiled and repeated the gesture until Malfoy's upper body jerked under Ron's first blow. Harry could hear the hiss the Slytherin was suppressing. Satisfied that Malfoy's nether regions - apart from the important bits - seemed properly petrified into place, Harry leaned in to lick over the furious pink tip of Malfoy's erection. Malfoy groaned when Harry sucked on the very tip for a moment. He knew the texture and taste intimately - hard, spongy and with a raw tang that seemed to somehow cut the to very core of Malfoy when all pretence was gone. Not pleasant, certainly not, but not unpleasant enough the forego the opportunity. Harry ran his tongue over the slit in a light, maddening tickle he knew had to drive Malfoy crazy, and tasted a sharp drop of precome on his tongue.
Malfoy groaned at the stripes Ron was laying across his back and arse, and Harry felt the Slytherin's cramped thigh muscles under his palm as he tried to jerk his hips forward, to bury himself deeper in Harry's mouth. He petted the sweaty skin again, just to feel that impotent urgency trembling under his fingers. It felt so incredibly good to see this arrogant spirit reduced to utter helplessness and need.
Harry was viciously glad that Ron seemed to have no compulsions beating Malfoy - he wanted the sadistic bastard to suffer at least a fraction of what he'd dished out, and something inside him just seemed to shrivel up a bit further with every blow he dealt himself.
Finally, he took Malfoy in a bit deeper, just as far as he was comfortable with, and began sucking him in earnest, letting his hands wander to trail butterfly-wing touches over his balls and run a little feathery caress over the soft, sensitive skin behind.
The Slytherin squirmed fretfully as if he were trying to crawl out of his own paralysed lower body, either to escape the assault or to crawl deeper into it. His eyes were wet and swollen, the fine hair plastered to his forehead like a dab of white paint. He furtively struggled with his cuffs now, Harry noted with glee, and was groaning with every blow that Ron delivered. Shouldn't have made quite such an effort to make sure I learn what you like, Harry thought smugly before abandoning himself to his task once more.
"Damn you to hell!" Malfoy finally hissed, and although Harry was pretty sure it was directed both at Ron and him in general, the increase of fluid mixing with his own saliva in his mouth made only too clear what lay at the core of Malfoy's desperation. Harry gave the head of the cock in his mouth another hearty suckle before slipping his lips off.
"Did you want something, Malfoy?" he inquired with a smug little smirk.
"Make me come, you hag-ridden bastard!"
Malfoy yelped when Ron aimed a blow across his buttocks that resounded through the whole room.
"Go ahead, Potter," he babbled, and Harry saw Ron's eyebrows ride up a fraction over Malfoy's sweat-slick shoulder. "Please," Malfoy repeated as if giving his surrender voluntarily somehow made the defeat burn less.
"Well, if you ask so nicely," Harry grinned. Oh, it would be pure delight to make the ferret whine and plead his despair in earnest, but Harry's lips were beginning to chafe and there was an increasingly heavy hotness straining at the front of his own trousers. He could imagine even sweeter things for Malfoy to accomplish with his mouth than begging.
So he bent forward again, taking Malfoy in deep for a few sucks until he felt his thighs tremble with effort and Malfoy's whole lower body seemed to try and contract, desperate to accompany his release. Harry pulled his mouth off and averted his face just as Malfoy's cock began to pulse, and gleefully watched the oh-so-prim Slytherin spill himself across his own belly.
Malfoy made a strangled cough as Ron gave his arse one last brutal thwack before making the whip dissolve into the dormant reserve of magic that was the Room of Requirement. It wrung one last twitch and a few more drops of come out of the Slytherin's prick, and then he sagged in his restraints, too exhausted to react to Ron's chuckle.
When Harry fumbled for his wand, took off the petrifaction and Vanished the cuffs, Malfoy fell forward on legs too wobbly to hold him upright. Reflexively, Ron caught him around the hips and stopped him from collapsing onto the ground. He let him slip to his knees until Malfoy seemed to recover enough presence of mind to hold himself up. He took a few hasty gulps of air, one hand resting on the floor, the other hovering at his side as if he wasn't quite sure whether to clean himself off with it or hide his spent, sticky member.
Harry delivered a light pat to the sweat-drenched hair and admired the graceful lines of Malfoy's thigh muscles as he made to get up. His wince when the welts reminded him of their existence was just as beautiful. Then he gave the blond head a slight shove to send the Slytherin back down.
"Don't bother getting up, Malfoy," he drawled. "That position suits you just fine. You do want to reciprocate, don't you?"
"On you?" Malfoy shot him a death glare that was much muted by the high flush that stung his cheeks.
"Well, unless Ron would rather..." Harry threw a questioning look at his friend, who had been engrossed by the criss-cross of welts that marked Malfoy's too-pale back. Well, not so pale any longer, Harry noted with glee.
"Oh, no, knock yourself out." Ron's eyes met Harry's with a grin. "I can wait for my turn." He reached down and patted Malfoy's head as well. "Make it good, ferret-face."
It amused Harry to no end that Malfoy shot Ron yet another Basilisk glare, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Someone had learned his lesson tonight.
The press of his cock straining against the front of his jeans had become distinctly uncomfortable. He ran a hand over the zipper, biting back a groan at the painfully delicious friction, and growled at the Slytherin, "So get on with it!"
Malfoy scooted closer on his knees with an expression as if he'd bitten into a gnome biscuit, and raised his hand to mirror Harry's gesture, running it down rather roughly from Harry's stomach muscles right to the seam of his trousers. Harry made a sound that came humiliatingly close to being a squeak, and glared down at the Slytherin, whose mouth had set in sheer determination. Malfoy managed the button without problem, and then pulled at the zipper without any success. Harry nearly keened at the harsh treatment.
"Lift the metal bit and then pull it down," he ground out in exasperation. "Carefully!"
Wizards weren't into zippers, he knew - they had puzzled Ron and Neville since their first year, and Malfoy had always had Harry take care of his before. With a bit of clumsy yanking, Malfoy finally got it down. He pulled the jeans over Harry's hips along with his briefs and with quite a bit of force. As always, revealing his frayed underwear that had once belonged to a twelve-year old Dudley was humiliating, and he couldn't help remembering young Snape in the Pensieve.
Harry drew in an audible breath as the Slytherin's fingers closed about his length and pulled him free from the trousers. A distinctly uncareful grip, granted, but at the moment it was exactly what Harry had been waiting for. He closed his eyes and bit his lip reflexively as the clever fingers skittered up and down his prick. Oh yes, Malfoy had talent for this, not only with his mouth, but with his cock and most certainly at torture... Harry wondered idly whether sex was what Slytherins practiced on each other in the dungeons, or whether Malfoy had been introduced to those arts by that monstrous father of his. Yes, he certainly wouldn't put it beyond Lucius Malfoy to teach it to his son along with the Dark Arts. He recalled the shudders that had run down his back at the man's cruelly amused drawl in the Department of Mysteries. But this time it was going to be Harry who was in control of that skill, not the other way round.
"Mouth, Malfoy!" he insisted, cutting short the ministrations. "It's not like you haven't done it before."
The Slytherin gave him a disgusted sneer, and Harry blinked at Ron's surprised glance. He met his friend's eye with a raised eyebrow, and then flushed beet-red in realisation that he was standing there right in front of his eyes, with his prick poking out of his trousers.
A low chuckle went grating along his nerves. He looked down and saw Malfoy, lip twisted in to a sardonic grimace, staring up at Ron.
"No use trying to do that to an enemy who won't feel guilty about responding, right, Weasley?" He pointed at Harry, brushing the side of his cock in a feathery tickle that sent a shudder through Harry's frame. "And little Potter here agonises so beautifully."
Little? Harry growled mentally at the twofold insult. But Malfoy had his eyes fixed on Ron, oblivious to his outrage.
"You wouldn't have," he added.
A muscle twitched in Ron's cheek as he returned the stare, and Harry was surprised by the strange intensity of it. Some unvoiced part of their interaction went right over his head.
"No, I wouldn't," Ron finally confirmed, and then took a step forward to Harry's side. He put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder and smirked down at the Slytherin from his advantage in height. "Go ahead, then," he said. "Let me see how well you do at it."
Malfoy's superior expression deteriorated into a glower, and then he leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of Harry's prick - which had somehow risen up rather insistently - in such an obscene, amazing slither that Harry's whole body vibrated and his mouth formed a breathless 'o'. And then Malfoy's lips closed around the tip in a perfect pink pout that was pleasantly warm and held a touch of suction that seemed to race right down into his balls, and then up his spine; Harry's very toes curled at the sensation. He staggered and nearly lost his footing when Malfoy sucked in a bit more of him and used the tip of his tongue to milk the slit for precome.
Ron's arm came around Harry's waist to steady him, and he gladly relaxed into the hold, the skin of his back slick where it rested against Ron's chest. It felt... comforting, being held like this, like an unvoiced affirmation that he wasn't doing something unforgivably repulsive.
Then Malfoy slid his mouth further down Harry's length until his lips were wrapped around the very root of Harry's cock, giving a tight little swallow to make it slide down more easily. Harry bent forward slightly to thread his fingers into the Slytherin's damp, fine hair, only to find his bottom pressing up against a pronounced bulge in the process.
"Sorry!" Ron ground out in a voice thick with embarrassment. He re-angled himself so that his hipbone rested against Harry's lower back instead of... other things, and Harry put his unoccupied hand over Ron's where it was still splayed on his hip for a moment to reassure him.
And then his momentary concern was washed away as he moved leisurely into Malfoy's throat, not thrusting so much as... undulating his hips to rock himself deeper. He kept up his gentle hold on Malfoy's hair, only ever so often wrapping a strand around his index finger and tugging just a little because he couldn't help himself. He didn't need force behind his grip, because the careful hold alone would drive the point home. It was Malfoy who took pleasure in fisting in Harry's hair and craning his neck back almost to the breaking point while fucking his mouth, because he was a sadist and got off on it. Harry didn't; showing the Slytherin that he could if he wanted to was a satisfactory enough form of revenge, he decided.
Harry felt the telltale pressure in his balls, the way they drew themselves up tightly, and he dug nails into Ron's arm without even noticing. He stared down at the top of the blond head that seemed to be welded to his groin, and a bead of sweat tickled his cheek on its way down before it dripped on the Slytherin's hair where he crouched over Harry's prick. Strangely enough, it was the implication of that image that sent Harry over the edge at last. He gave Malfoy's hair a rude tug and growled, "Swallow!" in a voice which was humiliatingly hoarse - as if the bastard would dare not to!
Then he gave one last shove into that brilliant mouth, and all the tight pressure melted into one blissful surge which ran through his prick, enveloped his brain in an instant of sheer white, and buzzed through the pulse point at the centre of his spine in one dizzying rush.
There was a special sense of satisfaction to coming when in control, was Harry's first semi-conscious thought, and then, looking down wide-eyed and utterly breathless at the blond head grudgingly sucking him through the aftershocks, he had to squash the impulse to pull out in time to leave some final spatters of come on those arrogant cheekbones. The mere thought sent a tremble though his exhausted frame when he acknowledged it - a frisson of unease that remained even when Malfoy released his cock after licking it to the same pristine pinkness he had forced Harry to perform on him again and again. Harry wondered whether he'd done the same to Ron - likely enough - and what Ron might have looked like, doing it...
He killed that image as quickly as the previous one, and pulled away from the Slytherin almost fearfully. It had to be Malfoy's doing, planting those obscene thoughts and urges inside his brain.
"It looks like we have you just where we want you, Malfoy," he drawled to avoid giving it any further thought. He felt Ron's noiseless snicker against his bare shoulder.
The sight of the bastard on his knees in utter humiliation was so pleasurable it made Harry's groin twitch again despite his recent orgasm.
"Do you want a go as well, Ron?" he asked pointedly.
"Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
Continue to Part 3
Return to Part 1
Note: Thanks to amanuensis1, icarusancalion and Thea for beta-reading and advice. I've been fiddling with and procrastinating over this for over a year, so I'd be ecstatic about any kind of feedback...
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.
Author: Hijja (kennahijja@yahoo.com)
Rating: NC-17; blackmail, ambiguous consent, BDSM themes
Pairing(s): HP/DM, RW/DM
Summary: We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
One-shot, cut into three parts to enable posting.
Harry pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement a quarter of an hour after his scheduled 'appointment' with Draco Malfoy. If he opened the door a little wider than usual, or held it open a second longer than necessary, it wasn't pronounced enough for his pale-haired nemesis to notice. Malfoy's eyes were focused on his person in gleeful anticipation. He smiled, which lent his face the impression of a small woodland predator - feral and ferociously attached to whatever part of its prey it had managed to dig teeth into. He liked it when Harry was late.
At the beginning of their... meetings... Harry had felt the desperate need to make Malfoy wait just to prove he had a mind of his own. Never to stand him up altogether - he couldn't risk that for fear that the Slytherin would call off their deal and expose Harry's secret. But in the end, it just hadn't been worth the additional pain. So usually, he showed up before his enemy, knowing well enough that Malfoy also liked to make him wait on his knees on the hard stone floor, pondering his fate.
"You're late, Potter," Malfoy stated darkly. "Is it the time of the month when you're trying to prove that there's still a fight in you?" Harry didn't quite manage to prevent a smile ghosting over his lips at that.
"Oh, you have no idea, Malfoy," he murmured to himself.
"Perhaps not," Malfoy replied. "But I will give you a very good idea about what I think of it. Take off your robe."
Harry kicked off his shoes without extra prompting, undid the silver fastenings and folded the dark fabric carefully before depositing it on the floor. Underneath, he only wore a pair of frayed black Muggle jeans that Dudley had cast off when he was twelve. They had played this game long enough for Harry to know that Malfoy liked that, too.
"Kneel, Potter," the Slytherin commanded lazily and flicked an appreciative look over Harry when he complied.
Malfoy murmured his request to the Room in a tone too low for Harry to hear, and despite his knowledge that things would turn out differently this time, he felt nervous heat pooling in his stomach.
"Remember what I told you would happen if you caught the Snitch in a Slytherin game again?" A finger trailed down the nape of Harry's neck and coaxed his hairs to stand up in its wake.
"Remember how I told you to go to hell?"
The sudden, cruel blow that fell on his shoulder made his eyes water even though he'd been waiting for it. Then a finger trailed over the welt, inflaming the sting even more.
"I remember. And I think we'll deal with that attitude of yours once and for all tonight."
Harry could hear Malfoy raising the whip for a second, harsher blow, and heard him yelp in surprise when an angry voice said, "Oh no, you don't!"
He craned his head back and saw Malfoy's hand immobilised by an invisible grip in mid-air, and then watched Ron throw back the hood of the Invisibility Cloak to reveal an apologetic face between red-tipped ears. Ron pulled the whip out of Malfoy's grip while Harry dove at the Slytherin to divest him of his wand.
"Sorry I didn't react in time," Ron apologised with a sheepish look. Harry lifted an eyebrow at him and suppressed a grin. He'd had enough time to develop subtle ways of getting to Malfoy, and it was amusing - and slightly flattering - to see that his purposefully-seductive pose had had its effect on his friend as well. Ron reached into his robe, produced Harry's wand and threw it to him.
It had taken Malfoy a satisfying number of seconds to get over the shock of suddenly being disarmed and looking right at two wands pointed at him. When the mask of sneering self-confidence fell over his features again, it showed the strain at the seams like an old canvas restored with inferior paint.
"Hello, Malfoy, fancy meeting you here," Ron called out cheerfully, only a hint of canines showing in his smile. "It looks like Harry and I figured out some things after yesterday's match."
"Oh, did you?" Malfoy replied with an almost normal Dracoesque sneer. "And you've decided to gang up on me together to intimidate me into keeping your shame secret?"
"Not really," Ron replied, still with an amused undertone. "You see, at first we just planned to kill you..." Ron did a disconcerting wiggle with his wand and Harry gleefully watched Malfoy flinch. "But then we realised that there might be trouble if someone stumbled over your mutilated corpse..."
"... trouble you're just not worth," Harry inserted, happy to let Ron do most of the talking. He was just a lot better at intimidation than Harry could ever dream of being. It probably came with Quidditch captaincy; Wood had had the same gift. Ron flicked a quick grin at him and continued.
"So we just decided to go to the Headmaster and let justice take its course. But well, being honourable Gryffindors and all, we thought we'd give you a chance..." He paused and frowned at the glimpse of hope that ignited on Malfoy's face. "You place yourself into our hands for one night - we get to turn the tables on you. And we'll find out how well you'll handle being at an enemy's mercy for once."
In amazement, Harry watched Malfoy's face close off from one second to the next, as if he had pulled shut the door to his mind, leaving nothing but a blank wall in its wake.
"No." The response came immediately, with an underlying hint of anger. "You can trot right off to whine about your plight on Dumbledore's shoulder."
"Why?" Ron's voice had acquired a distinctly mocking tone. "You're afraid? Can't take what you like to dish out?"
"I'm a Malfoy. We don't put ourselves at the mercy of lesser wizards, least of all halfbloods and poor-as-dirt Muggle lovers."
"Because you're better than us." Ron's voice was deceptively calm.
"Exactly," Malfoy confirmed flatly.
With a grim smile, Ron took a step forward, purposefully invading Malfoy's personal space.
"Nice try, Malfoy. But it won't work. We're not going to hex you so you can make it look like we wronged you. You're not getting out of this the easy way."
Harry threw Ron a wicked smile of approval over Malfoy's averted shoulder, and stepped closer as well.
"And if you're concerned about family reputation, imagine what further damage this would do to the Malfoy name," Harry insinuated. "Blackmail, torture, sexual assault... even if it's not enough for a life sentence, it'll get you a couple of years in Azkaban for sure. But well, perhaps you could share a cell with your father..."
"Don't you dare mention my father, Potter!" Malfoy spat.
"Though I dare say he won't be too impressed with your achievements," Harry continued, unperturbed. "And neither will Voldemort. What are you going to tell daddy dearest? 'I tried to take revenge on Potter by blackmailing him into having sex with me'? Won't look too impressive on your Death Eater CV, I'm afraid."
Malfoy's eyes were icy, his mouth one thin, knife-edged line.
"I really should have cut your throat when I had you on your knees with your hands tied behind your back instead of making you suck me off." Harry felt blood stinging his cheeks, a tremor in his hands, and the almost unbearable urge to strike out. He restrained himself - barely.
"And there's no way I'll believe you'll go to Dumbledore with that story." Malfoy added with a spiteful sneer when no attack was forthcoming. "You'd be humiliated to the dust if that gets out to the press."
"But it won't," Ron pointed out confidently. "Remember when Edgecombe tried to snitch on us in fifth year? Dumbledore shut her right up and made sure she wouldn't say anything to implicate us. He'll do the same with you for sure. He'd never allow Harry to be publicly humiliated - he's the bloody Boy Who Lived, after all."
"Hey!" Harry complained with a touch of hurt.
"Oh, you know what I mean." Ron waved his protest away carelessly and turned his attention back to Malfoy with the air of a duellist who had inflicted a series of lethal wounds and was now moving in for the coup de grace.
"And remember, you don't have your father to hide behind any more - being the son of an incarcerated Death Eater won't win you any favours with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. So - still think you'd stand a better chance with wizarding justice than with us?"
Even through the mask of arrogance a palpable air of panic showed on Malfoy's pointed face at having his escape routes cut off one by one. He hesitated for a long, painful moment in which Harry sincerely doubted he would agree to it. Of course, he and Ron hadn't seriously considered telling Dumbledore. They would put as much pressure as possible on Malfoy instead, and they could always hex him into an oozing stupor if he refused. Of course, Malfoy didn't know that.
"One night?" he repeated, in a decidedly strangled voice.
"Tonight," Ron clarified. "And after that, we'll never even think of it again."
For a moment, Harry saw defeat and a glimpse of honest fear flicker over Malfoy's half-averted face behind those loose strands of hair. Malfoy at night was less rigidly styled than Malfoy during the day, as if he was a different kind of animal altogether. Less restrained, not a bit less vicious. That flash of panic was almost enough to make Harry relent, but then he remembered the scalding terror that had gripped him when he'd first understood what ensuring Malfoy's silence would entail, and imagined how Ron must have felt. No, he told himself sternly. We'll do nothing he hasn't done to us. And it'll still be far less than he deserves.
"I'm supposed to trust you?" There was nothing left but a last-ditch attempt at stalling the ultimate defeat now.
"We trusted you," Ron pointed out. "And you're a slimy Slytherin bastard."
And, Harry thought fervently, it was good that they were Gryffindors. Because Malfoy was outnumbered and wandless, and if they were any less honourable, they could force him to submit to their every devious and destructive fantasy with the Imperius Curse... As soon as Harry realised in which direction his thoughts were meandering off, he fitfully ejected the images from his mind. What had he been thinking? Was that even himself, or the mental barbs Malfoy had left to fester in his brain?
It was, Harry told himself forcefully, not the same as what his father and Sirius had done to young Snape. James and Sirius had attacked Snape for no reason at all, much as it pained him to admit, while Malfoy had done things to them that he - and in particular Ron - might never entirely recover from.
Ron flicked his wand and Accio!-ed the whip he had carelessly dropped to the floor during the struggle before, and held it out to Harry with an almost pleading expression. It seemed as if Harry wasn't the only one to walk into their little game of retribution with some trepidation. Harry took it gingerly and glanced down at the nasty piece of darkened leather. The mere sight made the welt on his shoulder throb nastily. It wasn't the heaviest that Malfoy had ever used on him, and thankfully the strap was short enough so he wouldn't make a bloody fool of himself trying to use it. Still, it looked more dangerous than what he would have felt comfortable using. And that was a truly disturbing thought. The carved handle lay smooth in his hand, as if Malfoy's body warmth was still seeping from it right into Harry's bloodstream, poisoning him enough to make the word 'comfortable' run smoothly with this madness.
Then he thought of humiliation, and pain, and Ron, and stepped forward, running the handle gently along Malfoy's cheek and pointed chin, and finally nudged his head up a fraction to study his eyes. The grey gaze met his very coldly, though a small furrow drew together Malfoy's brows as if he was still expecting them to call off the hoax before it got too far. Harry felt a flash of temptation to reach up and smooth out that wrinkle with his fingertips. He slapped down the irrational impulse and instead quoted Malfoy's earlier words back at him.
"Take off your robe."
The Slytherin obeyed without retort, but with sharp, jerky movements that could betray either fear or fury. Perhaps both, but his feelings were again stuffed behind a mask of arrogance.
"The shirt too," Harry added coolly when he saw that Malfoy wore a matching ensemble of black shirt and slacks, embroidered at the hems and waist with symbols that looked like runaways out of Hermione's Advanced Runes textbook.
Malfoy undid the string fastenings with stiff fingers and threw the shirt on top of his robes. A fine sheen of sweat dotted the pale skin on his collarbone, and his neck muscles stood out more pronounced. He must be rigid with tension. Harry knew the feeling - intimately, from experience - but wondered how those muscles would feel under his hand. Then he realised that nothing would stop him from finding out and he lightly ran his fingers over Malfoy's neck. The Slytherin shivered and snapped his head around with a ferocious snarl.
"Keep your bloody hands off me, you Muggle-blooded shit!"
Harry was almost thankful for the insult. It certainly made easier what he had in mind.
"Oh, I'll do far worse with my hands, Malfoy," he drawled, imitating Malfoy so accurately that Ron had to bite back a laugh. If anything, it only aggravated the fury on Malfoy's face. Harry flicked the whip and eyed his enemy with a calculating expression.
"Twelve lashes each for that attitude of yours would be appropriate, I think."
"Why don't you just shut up and do your worst, you-"
Harry tapped the handle against Malfoy's lips, gentle but insistent, and cut off the intended profanities.
"Because you wouldn't want to see my worst," Harry murmured, a flash of Bellatrix Lestrange and the Cruciatus Curse dancing before his inner eye. "Believe me, you don't.".
He waved his wand and conjured a familiar contraption - a simple cast-iron ring attached to the ceiling, and, linked to it, two lines of chains ending in heavy leather cuffs.
For the first one or two times Malfoy had conjured metal cuffs, until he realised that the resulting abrasions went beyond their combined skills with charms and potions to repair. The pain had been about the worst Harry had ever experienced this side of Cruciatus, and he'd feared he'd never be able to get rid of the marks they had left. Wherever Malfoy had got that Heal-All Potion from - breaking into Snape's storage or a trip down Knockturn Alley - he'd been almost as panicked as Harry. Yes, doing permanent damage would have exploded his little game immediately.
This time, however, it was Malfoy who raised his arms for the magical bindings to curl themselves around his wrists tightly. The chains were short enough to leave him wobbling on tiptoes, and Harry lengthened them with a wand's flick so he would be able to stand comfortably, throwing an apologetic look at Ron.
Inspiration hit him and he stepped over to Ron, who was eyeing the scene with knitted brows. He leaned forward to whisper a suggestion into the redhead's ear. Ron's eyes widened, and then a half-incredulous, half-admiring grin crept onto his lips.
Ron raised a hand to Malfoy's cheek and slid it down carefully until it came to rest on the Slytherin's chest. Wary grey eyes followed it from below a severe frown. Ron's other hand was placed lightly on Malfoy's hip. Ron nodded at him.
Even as Harry raised his arm for the first blow, he felt tentativeness sinking into his muscles like pewter. The short lash drew a line on the Slytherin's too-pale skin, which first showed whitely, and after a second turned to faint pink. Malfoy made a small "Hmp", eloquently dismissing Harry's attempt.
Oh no, you won't! Harry thought angrily. You will not mock me tonight.
He threw his anger - and pretty much all of his Quidditch-boosted strength - into the second blow. It crossed the fading line on Malfoy's back ungently, furious red against pale pink. Malfoy jumped and gave a choked scream, hanging in the restraints for a moment as his feet gave out under him. Harry cursed himself quietly. He wasn't supposed to be so... unbalanced.
"Lesson of the day, Malfoy," he snapped, acutely aware that the anger ringing in his voice was directed more at himself than at the other. "Don't piss me off."
He could hear the insults that the Slytherin was too prudent to voice ringing in his ears, and again almost faltered.
Come on, Harry, you can do it, he admonished himself. Just remember what he did to you!
"Pain becomes you, Potter."
Malfoy's hateful, husky whisper behind his ear while his hands trail over Harry's naked back, fanning the fire in his wounds.
Harry remembers crying, quietly and entirely against his will, but unable to hide his sobs completely. Remembers Malfoy settling on his hips and running his hands over Harry's mutilated back, casting spells that take away neither the blood nor the pain, just the sheer edge of it, and make it almost bearable when Malfoy stretches out atop the length of his body and slowly, slickly moves into him...
Harry's mind replayed his memories while the whip played over Malfoy's back. He couldn't make out where Ron's hands were going, but he heard Malfoy growl a warning and glare at the redhead. Which just wouldn't do. Harry grabbed hold of the Slytherin's neck-length hair and pulled back his head. Malfoy shot him an acid-dipped glare out of the corner of his eye.
"Attitude again, Malfoy?"
The phrase Harry got in return would have sent Narcissa Malfoy into a dead faint from shock, Death Eater wife or not. Harry brought the whip down with considerably greater force, and observed the angry red stripe and the few little drops of blood it left in its wake.
Careful, he admonished himself, and was almost relieved to hear Malfoy curse again, but low enough under his breath to allow him to ignore it. He aimed his next blow far away, but Ron's pointed cough distracted him.
"Um, Harry, I think that was the twelfth just now..."
Harry coloured slightly. "Sorry, mate. Guess I got carried away..."
"Unless you want to get in a few more, of course," Ron added with a shrug, one hand still splayed on Malfoy's lower stomach. "It's not as if we're bound by any rules here."
"Oh, no, it's your turn all right," Harry insisted, trying for a nonchalant tone. The last thing he wanted was to give Malfoy the impression of two boys playing at revenge but having no art and no stomach for it. They'd never live it down.
He thrust the whip at his friend and sidled around to peer at his victim. A broad, happy grin spread over his features as he took in Malfoy's flushed face - both of embarrassment and arousal, he suspected - and the faint wet glint in his eyes. The expression was still murderous, however, although the death glare was weakened by the puffy look of his bottom lip where Malfoy had bitten down to stifle his cries.
"Oh, pretty," Harry mocked, running his index finger along the abused lip, only to receive a sharp - and thoroughly unsuggestive - bite to the forward digit.
Ouch! Suppressing any outcry, Harry pulled his hand away and stared at his bloody finger without surprise. He licked at it once to soothe the sting. "Going to make you pay for that, ferret."
He caught Malfoy's wary look and the almost imperceptible tension with which he braced himself for a blow. But Harry just held his eyes and let his grin transform into the most evil smirk he was capable of until Malfoy swallowed nervously. Oh yes, there were far more insidious forms of revenge than violence, and the Slytherin had taught him all about it.
Unhurriedly, Harry's fingers went to unlace the front of Malfoy's trousers, his movement eliciting a harsh intake of breath. Ron's hand played over the welts on Malfoy's back all the while, and when the Slytherin's head fell back and the frosty eyes shut tightly, Harry smirked. He didn't know whether the stings or the stimulation had brought about this sign of surrender, but it was fun to watch. His hand slipped into Malfoy's trousers and pulled out the blond's member, half-hard from Ron's earlier attentions. The fine, pale hairs around his groin made an interesting contrast with the charcoal of his trousers and the pink-tinged flesh that twitched once, twice, in Harry's palm. Almost the same colour as his face, Harry thought smugly as he observed the furious flush that heated the Slytherin's cheeks at this degree of exposure. His leg muscles tensed, and Harry ran his unoccupied fingers down Malfoy's left thigh and felt the muscles trembling in the wake of his hand.
Harry caught Ron's eye and nodded, giving him the go-ahead. The redhead brought the whip down on the small of Malfoy's back with so much force that the Slytherin's eyes flew open and his whole body jerked in shock. Harry closed his hand around Malfoy's cock and slid it down firmly, giving the tip a bit of a twist for good measure. He was rewarded with another shudder, and his ministrations seemed to leave the Slytherin harder than before, despite the pain. Ron placed a second blow and leaned forward to murmur in Malfoy's ear.
"Don't worry, I won't make you count. It's so... gauche."
Eyes watering, Malfoy snarled through clenched teeth, "I hope you're passing on some of the tricks I taught you to do with your mouth to Mudblood Granger in exchange for teaching you all the fancy words."
Harry shook his head as he watched Ron draw back and lay a flurry of cruel stripes across the Slytherin's shoulder blades, which made his eyes spill over and wrung a scream from his lips.
"Dumb move, Malfoy," he commented cheerfully.
Ron's face was flushed, his eyes sparkling when he realised that he'd managed to beat his enemy into silence. Malfoy's eyes were narrowed to slits, and he was busy torturing his bottom lip even further. It was extremely satisfying to watch, Harry thought, and remembered spending ages in front of the Gryffindor bathroom mirror, pressing an icy washcloth to his mouth to relieve the swelling. Malfoy practically sagged in relief when Ron announced, "Done!"
"Fuck!" Malfoy groaned, stabbing his hips forward so sharply he almost lost his balance, trying to push his cock deeper into Harry's curled hand.
"Not yet, Malfoy."
Harry ran his tongue over the tips of his canines suggestively, and kept his hand resting almost possessively on Malfoy's cock. "That was quite... good," he whispered, giving it a companionable squeeze. "But what if I told you to ask Ron for another dozen of the same?" Harry returned Ron's raised eyebrow with a secretive smile over Malfoy's shoulder, and saw no apprehension about the prospect on his friend's face.
"Why would I do that, Potter?" Malfoy asked, his voice too hoarse for the trademark drawl to register. A shudder was travelling up his shoulders, causing the near-invisible hairs on his arms to stand up.
"Because you promised to obey, Malfoy," Harry murmured, lips very close to the Slytherin's own. "And because I want to watch you come against your will, and hating yourself for it."
"So you're really going to display all your weaknesses in front of Weasley here?" Malfoy sneered. "I mean I knew you're easy to crack, Potter, but if I'd known you get off that much on humiliation, I'd have tried to do better."
You've done quite enough! Harry snapped inwardly, jaw set at the flicker of triumph that lit up the pale eyes. His stomach plummeted at the memories, but Ron stepped forward quickly, coming to stand half in front of him.
"Yes, beg me, Malfoy," he said, his voice low enough to send a prickle of anticipation down Harry's spine. Ron lifted the handle of the whip, lash coiled around it tightly, and very gently ran it down Malfoy's bare shoulder. "Beg me, because now I really want to hurt you."
"Please, Weasley," Malfoy finally snapped. "Go ahead and hit me so Potter can get off on it!"
Ron's arm sneaked around the Slytherin's side and closed his fingertips around Malfoy's nipple to pinch it cruelly. Malfoy yelped out loud as the nub turned a sullen red under Ron's unrelenting fingers.
"Try again," Ron whispered into the short, curling hair behind Malfoy's ear.
The Slytherin met his gaze, eyes going wide as if hypnotised, then lowered his lashes.
"Please, Ron," he enunciated, low but clearly.
A satisfied grin tugged at Ron's mouth. It seemed as if, given time, Ron might manage to domesticate the ferret after all.
The broad grin and Ron's flushed face were infectious, and Harry returned it happily as his friend unfurled the whip again, making Malfoy flinch satisfactorily as the lash trailed over his hip. As if on second thought, Ron stepped back to shrug out of his robe, and then discarded his black-and-orange striped Chudley Cannons shirt as well. Yes, it had suddenly become a lot warmer. Ron caught the sneer with which Malfoy eyed his loud shirt and his grin broadened as he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind Malfoy's ear in a patronising gesture.
"Well, ferret, it looks like I'm back to wearing whatever I like around you, doesn't it?"
"Yes, Weasel, you can go back to house-elf charity fashion like the rest of your brood," the Slytherin replied sweetly. "Take pride in it."
Ron just shook his head pityingly and lifted his hand to stroke Malfoy's mouth with his thumb, shutting him up.
"You really want to hurt, don't you?"
Malfoy graced him with a glare to curdle potions, but lightly parted his lips to admit the finger nudging against them. Harry hid his nervousness, half-expecting Malfoy to clamp his jaw down and try to bite it off, but he just sucked in the thumb and gave it a slow caress with his tongue amidst a further glare that was hardly less venomous.
Ron suffered the ministrations for a moment longer, then pulled away his finger, trailing it in a wet caress over Malfoy's reddened nipple before giving Harry a nod to proceed.
"Your little Weasel is a pragmatist, Potter," Malfoy sneered. "Oh, he hates putting his mouth to use even more than being fucked, but unlike you he has no qualms about receiving pleasure." The ugly sneer transformed into a no less ugly grin as Ron's ears took on a colour as spectacular as his hair. "Unlike you, Potter, he has just no appreciation for the subtleties of humiliation." He gave Ron a lewd wink before cocking his head at Harry. "I still haven't decided whether that makes him less or more fun to play with than you, Potter."
Though Harry's insides clenched in sympathy with Ron's embarrassment, he kept his expression under control.
"Yes well, he murmured, "we'll see which one of us has more fun playing with you."
Without another word Harry lowered himself onto his knees, sliding his hand down the curve of Malfoy's hip and pushing the waistband of his trousers a bit further down to give Ron - and himself - more to work with.
He felt a sting of unease at Ron's presence, but he'd wanted to do this to Malfoy too badly - wanted to watch his unwilling embarrassment transform into full-blown humiliation under his, Harry's, ministrations. He had a right to it! He remembered too clearly the few, dreadful instances when Malfoy had laid him out on his back, naked, manacled his wrists and ankles to the ground with magic, and proceeded to reduce him to a trembling wreck with mouth and hands.
Ron walked over to stand behind Malfoy. There he paused and reached for his wand instead of the whip.
The quick "Petrificus!" caught Malfoy as unawares as Harry, and he gave a surprised yell as his body froze into rigid petrifaction from the hips down. He swayed in his bonds for a moment until he had balanced out the sudden heaviness in his legs.
"What-?" he slurred in protest, and fell silent with a near-adorable look of outrage on his face as Ron petted his head.
"Don't fret, ferret. I just want to make sure you won't thrash and give Harry a bloody nose."
Malfoy swallowed something that sounded dangerously like "Fucker!" in Harry's ears into an incomprehensible mumble. Harry just grinned, knowing that Ron would make him regret it anyway, and laid his hand flat against Malfoy's waist, nodding up at his friend with a merry "Thanks!" Ron gave him a thumb up in return.
Harry ran the palm of his hand down Malfoy's naked thigh, then detoured to slide it along the length of Malfoy's cock. It curved upwards a little to nudge him. Harry smiled and repeated the gesture until Malfoy's upper body jerked under Ron's first blow. Harry could hear the hiss the Slytherin was suppressing. Satisfied that Malfoy's nether regions - apart from the important bits - seemed properly petrified into place, Harry leaned in to lick over the furious pink tip of Malfoy's erection. Malfoy groaned when Harry sucked on the very tip for a moment. He knew the texture and taste intimately - hard, spongy and with a raw tang that seemed to somehow cut the to very core of Malfoy when all pretence was gone. Not pleasant, certainly not, but not unpleasant enough the forego the opportunity. Harry ran his tongue over the slit in a light, maddening tickle he knew had to drive Malfoy crazy, and tasted a sharp drop of precome on his tongue.
Malfoy groaned at the stripes Ron was laying across his back and arse, and Harry felt the Slytherin's cramped thigh muscles under his palm as he tried to jerk his hips forward, to bury himself deeper in Harry's mouth. He petted the sweaty skin again, just to feel that impotent urgency trembling under his fingers. It felt so incredibly good to see this arrogant spirit reduced to utter helplessness and need.
Harry was viciously glad that Ron seemed to have no compulsions beating Malfoy - he wanted the sadistic bastard to suffer at least a fraction of what he'd dished out, and something inside him just seemed to shrivel up a bit further with every blow he dealt himself.
Finally, he took Malfoy in a bit deeper, just as far as he was comfortable with, and began sucking him in earnest, letting his hands wander to trail butterfly-wing touches over his balls and run a little feathery caress over the soft, sensitive skin behind.
The Slytherin squirmed fretfully as if he were trying to crawl out of his own paralysed lower body, either to escape the assault or to crawl deeper into it. His eyes were wet and swollen, the fine hair plastered to his forehead like a dab of white paint. He furtively struggled with his cuffs now, Harry noted with glee, and was groaning with every blow that Ron delivered. Shouldn't have made quite such an effort to make sure I learn what you like, Harry thought smugly before abandoning himself to his task once more.
"Damn you to hell!" Malfoy finally hissed, and although Harry was pretty sure it was directed both at Ron and him in general, the increase of fluid mixing with his own saliva in his mouth made only too clear what lay at the core of Malfoy's desperation. Harry gave the head of the cock in his mouth another hearty suckle before slipping his lips off.
"Did you want something, Malfoy?" he inquired with a smug little smirk.
"Make me come, you hag-ridden bastard!"
Malfoy yelped when Ron aimed a blow across his buttocks that resounded through the whole room.
"Go ahead, Potter," he babbled, and Harry saw Ron's eyebrows ride up a fraction over Malfoy's sweat-slick shoulder. "Please," Malfoy repeated as if giving his surrender voluntarily somehow made the defeat burn less.
"Well, if you ask so nicely," Harry grinned. Oh, it would be pure delight to make the ferret whine and plead his despair in earnest, but Harry's lips were beginning to chafe and there was an increasingly heavy hotness straining at the front of his own trousers. He could imagine even sweeter things for Malfoy to accomplish with his mouth than begging.
So he bent forward again, taking Malfoy in deep for a few sucks until he felt his thighs tremble with effort and Malfoy's whole lower body seemed to try and contract, desperate to accompany his release. Harry pulled his mouth off and averted his face just as Malfoy's cock began to pulse, and gleefully watched the oh-so-prim Slytherin spill himself across his own belly.
Malfoy made a strangled cough as Ron gave his arse one last brutal thwack before making the whip dissolve into the dormant reserve of magic that was the Room of Requirement. It wrung one last twitch and a few more drops of come out of the Slytherin's prick, and then he sagged in his restraints, too exhausted to react to Ron's chuckle.
When Harry fumbled for his wand, took off the petrifaction and Vanished the cuffs, Malfoy fell forward on legs too wobbly to hold him upright. Reflexively, Ron caught him around the hips and stopped him from collapsing onto the ground. He let him slip to his knees until Malfoy seemed to recover enough presence of mind to hold himself up. He took a few hasty gulps of air, one hand resting on the floor, the other hovering at his side as if he wasn't quite sure whether to clean himself off with it or hide his spent, sticky member.
Harry delivered a light pat to the sweat-drenched hair and admired the graceful lines of Malfoy's thigh muscles as he made to get up. His wince when the welts reminded him of their existence was just as beautiful. Then he gave the blond head a slight shove to send the Slytherin back down.
"Don't bother getting up, Malfoy," he drawled. "That position suits you just fine. You do want to reciprocate, don't you?"
"On you?" Malfoy shot him a death glare that was much muted by the high flush that stung his cheeks.
"Well, unless Ron would rather..." Harry threw a questioning look at his friend, who had been engrossed by the criss-cross of welts that marked Malfoy's too-pale back. Well, not so pale any longer, Harry noted with glee.
"Oh, no, knock yourself out." Ron's eyes met Harry's with a grin. "I can wait for my turn." He reached down and patted Malfoy's head as well. "Make it good, ferret-face."
It amused Harry to no end that Malfoy shot Ron yet another Basilisk glare, but kept his mouth firmly shut. Someone had learned his lesson tonight.
The press of his cock straining against the front of his jeans had become distinctly uncomfortable. He ran a hand over the zipper, biting back a groan at the painfully delicious friction, and growled at the Slytherin, "So get on with it!"
Malfoy scooted closer on his knees with an expression as if he'd bitten into a gnome biscuit, and raised his hand to mirror Harry's gesture, running it down rather roughly from Harry's stomach muscles right to the seam of his trousers. Harry made a sound that came humiliatingly close to being a squeak, and glared down at the Slytherin, whose mouth had set in sheer determination. Malfoy managed the button without problem, and then pulled at the zipper without any success. Harry nearly keened at the harsh treatment.
"Lift the metal bit and then pull it down," he ground out in exasperation. "Carefully!"
Wizards weren't into zippers, he knew - they had puzzled Ron and Neville since their first year, and Malfoy had always had Harry take care of his before. With a bit of clumsy yanking, Malfoy finally got it down. He pulled the jeans over Harry's hips along with his briefs and with quite a bit of force. As always, revealing his frayed underwear that had once belonged to a twelve-year old Dudley was humiliating, and he couldn't help remembering young Snape in the Pensieve.
Harry drew in an audible breath as the Slytherin's fingers closed about his length and pulled him free from the trousers. A distinctly uncareful grip, granted, but at the moment it was exactly what Harry had been waiting for. He closed his eyes and bit his lip reflexively as the clever fingers skittered up and down his prick. Oh yes, Malfoy had talent for this, not only with his mouth, but with his cock and most certainly at torture... Harry wondered idly whether sex was what Slytherins practiced on each other in the dungeons, or whether Malfoy had been introduced to those arts by that monstrous father of his. Yes, he certainly wouldn't put it beyond Lucius Malfoy to teach it to his son along with the Dark Arts. He recalled the shudders that had run down his back at the man's cruelly amused drawl in the Department of Mysteries. But this time it was going to be Harry who was in control of that skill, not the other way round.
"Mouth, Malfoy!" he insisted, cutting short the ministrations. "It's not like you haven't done it before."
The Slytherin gave him a disgusted sneer, and Harry blinked at Ron's surprised glance. He met his friend's eye with a raised eyebrow, and then flushed beet-red in realisation that he was standing there right in front of his eyes, with his prick poking out of his trousers.
A low chuckle went grating along his nerves. He looked down and saw Malfoy, lip twisted in to a sardonic grimace, staring up at Ron.
"No use trying to do that to an enemy who won't feel guilty about responding, right, Weasley?" He pointed at Harry, brushing the side of his cock in a feathery tickle that sent a shudder through Harry's frame. "And little Potter here agonises so beautifully."
Little? Harry growled mentally at the twofold insult. But Malfoy had his eyes fixed on Ron, oblivious to his outrage.
"You wouldn't have," he added.
A muscle twitched in Ron's cheek as he returned the stare, and Harry was surprised by the strange intensity of it. Some unvoiced part of their interaction went right over his head.
"No, I wouldn't," Ron finally confirmed, and then took a step forward to Harry's side. He put a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder and smirked down at the Slytherin from his advantage in height. "Go ahead, then," he said. "Let me see how well you do at it."
Malfoy's superior expression deteriorated into a glower, and then he leaned in and ran the tip of his tongue along the underside of Harry's prick - which had somehow risen up rather insistently - in such an obscene, amazing slither that Harry's whole body vibrated and his mouth formed a breathless 'o'. And then Malfoy's lips closed around the tip in a perfect pink pout that was pleasantly warm and held a touch of suction that seemed to race right down into his balls, and then up his spine; Harry's very toes curled at the sensation. He staggered and nearly lost his footing when Malfoy sucked in a bit more of him and used the tip of his tongue to milk the slit for precome.
Ron's arm came around Harry's waist to steady him, and he gladly relaxed into the hold, the skin of his back slick where it rested against Ron's chest. It felt... comforting, being held like this, like an unvoiced affirmation that he wasn't doing something unforgivably repulsive.
Then Malfoy slid his mouth further down Harry's length until his lips were wrapped around the very root of Harry's cock, giving a tight little swallow to make it slide down more easily. Harry bent forward slightly to thread his fingers into the Slytherin's damp, fine hair, only to find his bottom pressing up against a pronounced bulge in the process.
"Sorry!" Ron ground out in a voice thick with embarrassment. He re-angled himself so that his hipbone rested against Harry's lower back instead of... other things, and Harry put his unoccupied hand over Ron's where it was still splayed on his hip for a moment to reassure him.
And then his momentary concern was washed away as he moved leisurely into Malfoy's throat, not thrusting so much as... undulating his hips to rock himself deeper. He kept up his gentle hold on Malfoy's hair, only ever so often wrapping a strand around his index finger and tugging just a little because he couldn't help himself. He didn't need force behind his grip, because the careful hold alone would drive the point home. It was Malfoy who took pleasure in fisting in Harry's hair and craning his neck back almost to the breaking point while fucking his mouth, because he was a sadist and got off on it. Harry didn't; showing the Slytherin that he could if he wanted to was a satisfactory enough form of revenge, he decided.
Harry felt the telltale pressure in his balls, the way they drew themselves up tightly, and he dug nails into Ron's arm without even noticing. He stared down at the top of the blond head that seemed to be welded to his groin, and a bead of sweat tickled his cheek on its way down before it dripped on the Slytherin's hair where he crouched over Harry's prick. Strangely enough, it was the implication of that image that sent Harry over the edge at last. He gave Malfoy's hair a rude tug and growled, "Swallow!" in a voice which was humiliatingly hoarse - as if the bastard would dare not to!
Then he gave one last shove into that brilliant mouth, and all the tight pressure melted into one blissful surge which ran through his prick, enveloped his brain in an instant of sheer white, and buzzed through the pulse point at the centre of his spine in one dizzying rush.
There was a special sense of satisfaction to coming when in control, was Harry's first semi-conscious thought, and then, looking down wide-eyed and utterly breathless at the blond head grudgingly sucking him through the aftershocks, he had to squash the impulse to pull out in time to leave some final spatters of come on those arrogant cheekbones. The mere thought sent a tremble though his exhausted frame when he acknowledged it - a frisson of unease that remained even when Malfoy released his cock after licking it to the same pristine pinkness he had forced Harry to perform on him again and again. Harry wondered whether he'd done the same to Ron - likely enough - and what Ron might have looked like, doing it...
He killed that image as quickly as the previous one, and pulled away from the Slytherin almost fearfully. It had to be Malfoy's doing, planting those obscene thoughts and urges inside his brain.
"It looks like we have you just where we want you, Malfoy," he drawled to avoid giving it any further thought. He felt Ron's noiseless snicker against his bare shoulder.
The sight of the bastard on his knees in utter humiliation was so pleasurable it made Harry's groin twitch again despite his recent orgasm.
"Do you want a go as well, Ron?" he asked pointedly.
"Hm..." Ron undraped himself from Harry's back, one hand lingering on Harry's shoulder for a reassuring pat. Amusement trickled into Harry's chest at the sight of Malfoy's nervous eyes. "No, I think I want him properly," Ron decided, a hint of menace colouring his voice.
Continue to Part 3
Return to Part 1
Note: Thanks to amanuensis1, icarusancalion and Thea for beta-reading and advice. I've been fiddling with and procrastinating over this for over a year, so I'd be ecstatic about any kind of feedback...
Disclaimer: The characters in this story belong to J K Rowling. I'm just experimenting with them a bit. No harm intended, no money made.