Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/225099.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Lucius_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley
  Character:
      Ron_Weasley, Lucius_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Blackmail, Coercion, Mindfuck, Non_Consensual, Sex_Toys, Alternate
      Universe
  Collections:
      Dear_Lucius_Malfoy
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-07-17 Words: 27737
****** Fools Rush ******
by Hijja
Summary
     Ron. Lucius. From the backroom of Quality Quidditch Supplies to a
     bedroom in Malfoy Manor. Your old blackmail for sexual favours
     plotline. Post-OotP AU setting.
Notes
     Written for the ronlucius Inaugural Challenge. Thanks to Hadespuppy
     and Rabastan43 for beta-reading, Thea for test-reading and advice,
     and Denise for pointing out bloopers. AU because I started this fic
     two weeks before OotP came out, rewrote the first twenty pages to fit
     in with OotP, but it wouldn't work as I wanted with HBP canon. Apart
     from one important fact, however, it could almost be a missing
     scene...
Warning(s): coercion, blackmail, mindfuck, non-consensual BDSM themes, underage
sex, toy use, AU right after OotP (no HBP or DH)
__________________________________________
It was a subdued crowd of Weasleys that was making its way through Diagon Alley
this early July afternoon. Arthur Weasley moved stiffly in his outdated dress
robes, and was fussed over by Molly, whose fastidious behaviour didn't manage
to mask her agitation. The twins, their joke shop closed for the day, kept at
the back, muttering darkly to each other and trying to avoid their mother's
stern looks.
Ron sighed and gave Ginny, who walked next to him with a morose expression, an
encouraging pat on the arm. He hated seeing his loved ones so subdued, but the
situation was grim.
The news that Arthur Weasley had been summoned to a Ministry Hearing "in
matters concerning Sirius Black" had raced like wildfire through the magical
community, and had caught Ron as unawares as his whole family. Of course they
all knew how deeply Dad was involved in the clandestine affairs of the Order of
the Phoenix. And ever since the Minister for Magic had been forced to publicly
admit Voldemort had returned - which Dumbledore had announced over a year
before - Cornelius Fudge and his henchmen were engaged in a crackdown on
Dumbledore's supporters at the Ministry. Fudge knew he was dangerously close to
being voted out of office for incompetence, and he seemed prepared to stay in
his seat over the dead bodies of whoever opposed him.
Just like Umbridge, who had set Dementors on Harry to silence him, Ron sneered.
Now, hostilities had reached yet another level when Arthur was charged with
destroying vital documents that might have lead the Hit Wizards of Magical Law
Enforcement to the capture of the criminal Black. That his father and Kingsley
Shacklebolt had done exactly that wasn't the point.
No matter that Sirius was dead and gone. No matter that his body had never been
found in the Department of Mysteries. No, the bloody Death Eaters claimed that
he'd been there, and Fudge, always prepared to cross Dumbledore in any way
possible, had of course concluded that Sirius had led the Death Eater raid. He
was You-Know-Who's right hand man, after all.
Lost in anger, Ron almost stumbled headlong into his parents, who had stopped
to greet a familiar slender figure at the entrance steps of the Ministry
Building. Percy looked every bit as agitated as Molly, the red spots in his
cheeks swallowing up his many freckles. He didn't look directly at their
father, who just as pointedly did not look back. The part of Ron that still
remembered Percy's evil letter about Harry wanted to tell his brother in no
uncertain terms to go to hell, while another, very small part was glad to see
that there seemed to be limits to Percy's betrayal.
"Don't worry, Mother, it's only a Hearing," Percy shrilled, too loud and with a
stiff posture that was designed to inspire confidence, but served to give the
impression of a broomstick with its tail twigs on fire. "It will all be cleared
up in no time." Ron rolled his eyes behind Fred's back. Could Percy really be
naive enough to believe that? Mum put a hand on Percy's arm and whispered some
consoling words into his ear before throwing a warning look over her shoulder
at Ron and Ginny.
"Remember that Bill will be home tonight to stay with you while we're gone. You
get your school things and no getting into trouble, you hear me?" And then,
with another stern look, "And no straying into Knockturn, you two!"
Dad would be interviewed by Magical Law Enforcement this afternoon before the
real Hearing tomorrow. It might take two or three days, so Mum was going to
stay at the Leaky Cauldron to be close by. And while the Leaky's rooms weren't
expensive, putting up Ron and Ginny there as well would strain the family
resources, especially if Dad might be fined or fired - or worse. Of course
there was the twins' London flat above their shop, but Mum had taken one look
at it and pronounced it unfit for wizards to live in. Although, Ron suspected,
that probably had less to do with the state of the flat than with the joke
shop, and with the fact that You Know Who and his Death Eaters were again
prowling the streets.
"Off you go," Arthur shooed them away. "It'll be all right."
Ginny hugged their father tightly, and Ron gave him his best encouraging smile.
Arthur nodded at him and the twins before putting an arm around Mum's shoulder
and setting foot on the marble stairs to the Ministry atrium, Percy in self-
important tow.
                                      ***

They first went into Flourish and Blotts, where Ginny ran into her year mates
Colin Creevey and Luna Lovegood in the Transfiguration section. Watching his
little sister chat with her friends reminded Ron of how much he missed Harry -
locked up with the Dursleys in Surrey - and Hermione - off to spend the first
weeks of the holidays with her parents. He got at least two letters a week from
her, though.
He talked a little with Luna about the recent "Chudley Cannons - Jinxed or
Incompetent?" article in the Quibbler - the first since Harry's interview last
year that had made a bit of sense. As always, being in Luna's company left him
torn between confusion, exasperation and affection.
At last, he told Ginny he'd go over to pick up a broomtail clipper for his
Cleansweep at Quality Quidditch Supplies before catching up with her at Florean
Fortescue's for an ice cream. Of course his little trip wasn't without an
ulterior motive, but then he needed a bit of distraction to cheer himself up.
As he'd hoped, Quality Quidditch indeed had a prototype of Cleansweep's new
UltraSweep racing broom in its shop window. A lithe, almost white body, silvery
tail twigs polished to aerodynamic perfection, with a silver-threaded poplar
handle. It was an awesome sight.
"Quidditch Monthly's recent edition says that they went for looks over
performance with that one," a burly wizard with a hunched-over posture
reminiscent of Viktor Krum remarked to an open-mouthed customer next to Ron.
"Not sure," the other wizard replied. "If rumours are true, the UltraSweep beat
the Firebolt half a broom-length in the test runs..."
Ron eyed the UltraSweep wistfully, trying not whine over the fact that he'd
never own a broom remotely that impressive. Finally, he remembered Ginny and
went in to pick up the tail clipper. He walked through the Broom Accessories
section, pausing for another minute to admire an Anti-Tail-Pulling Buzzer that
would come handy against those cheating bastards in Slytherin, but was utterly
out of his price range at eleven Galleons. He picked out a clipper (six
Sickles), and decided to sneak into the Brooms section for a quick ogle at the
masterpieces on display there. Ginny and the twins could wait another few
minutes.
While the Accessories and the Spare-Twig-and-Handle sections were lit with
everburning candles and packed with saleswizards, the entrances to the Brooms
section had been hung with heavy curtains, which gave the whole room a mystical
feeling. Ron's heart gave a lurch when he saw a second UltraSweep model
gleaming on a black silk cushion like an artefact of Light Magic.
An instant before the suspicious eyes of the saleswitch could land on him -
they weren't at all fond of loitering non-customers here - he managed to slip
behind a shelf at the back of the room. The saleswitch passed by, but before
Ron could sneak out again, a figure stepped up in front of him, effectively
trapping him behind his shelf.
Shock jolted through him as he recognised the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy.
His hand flew to his wand. With his gleaming beige robes and silver hair, the
man compared to an evil human counterpart of the UltraSweep. The colours looked
like a mockery of Malfoy's Death Eater robes, and made Ron squirm with fury.
Malfoy's release from Azkaban only days after his arrest had been the final
straw after Sirius' death and Hermione's injuries. He'd claimed that Sirius and
his cousin Bellatrix Lestrange had forced him along under Imperius because he
was familiar with the layout of the Ministry, and Fudge had bought it, hook,
line and sinker. Or had pretended to because he'd got used to Malfoy's
Galleons.
"What do you want?" Ron snapped. His aggression provoked a superior smirk, as
infuriating as any of Malfoy junior's could ever be.
"Just a few moments of your time, Mr Weasley."
The realisation that this encounter wasn't an accident hit Ron like a fist in
the gut. "You were following me!"
"If I taught at Hogwarts, I might be tempted to award a point to Gryffindor for
perceptiveness." While the mocking tone annoyed Ron to no end, there was
something about Malfoy scrutinising him so intently that sent a prickle of
apprehension down Ron's back. As if a snake coiled behind those thin-lidded
eyes.
"If you want to insult my father or make threats to my friends, you can hold
your breath," Ron hissed, nervousness fanning his anger. "I don't have the
time, and you can certainly gloat without an audience."
Again, Malfoy's expression resembled a Jarvey that had just messily devoured
the garden gnome. Somehow, Ron would have felt better if the bastard got angry.
"What I want to talk to you about does indeed concern your father," Malfoy
pointed out pleasantly.
Ron noticed a fine, iridescent mist behind the Dark wizard at the end of the
shelf, and raised his wand. They had covered Repelling Charms last year, and
while this had been a subtle, non-verbal one, the tell-tale signs were clear
enough.
Malfoy's sole reaction was a lifted eyebrow. "Believe me, if I intended to harm
you, you'd already be dead or in whatever state I desired you."
"Is that so?" Ron retorted with a considerable amount of sarcasm. "If I
remember correctly, we held our own well enough the last time we duelled you
and your cronies."
"If I remember correctly, Mr Weasley, you did not particularly distinguish
yourself in that battle - 'Look, Harry, brains'?"
Heat spread into Ron's face right up to the tips of his ears. "Unlike other
people, I didn't do bad enough to end up in Azkaban!" he shot back.
Pale eyes narrowed. "Touché, boy. It seems you've become a little more eloquent
than your father, if just as imprudent. That habit may land you in a similar
tight spot someday. Or worse."
"Don't you mock my father!" Ron fumed. "For all we know, you framed him and
fabricated that 'evidence' to take revenge for being imprisoned."
A sardonic twist of Malfoy's lips sparked a flash of realisation in Ron's
brain.
"That's it, isn't it? You forged these documents and slipped them to the
Ministry. Probably threw in another couple of bags of Galleons to make them
overlook the source." His fingers curled around the frame of the shelf he was
leaning against, then reconsidered and aimed his wand instead. "I'll kill you!"
"I assure you, Mr Weasley, that the proprietors would react with extreme
disfavour to an attack on a longstanding customer on their premises. As for
said documents, considering your father's propensities, there was no need for
forgery. And it is the duty of every law-abiding wizard to make a conspiracy
against the magical community known to the authorities."
Ron nearly choked on his fury. "Then why are you here? I know you want
something!"
"Should the question not rather be what you have got to offer?"
Ron clenched his fists. "I think we've established that my family is poor, Mr
Malfoy. So what could I possibly have to offer you? And if this is an attempt
to get at Harry, you can go right ahead and shove your offer up your-"
Malfoy held up a hand. "Please, spare me the righteous outrage and the
Knockturn gutter language. Although you're not too far off the mark - only that
this does not concern Mr Potter at all. Just you."
"Me?" Ron's brows furrowed. Things were rarely about him, and although that
knowledge was sometimes painful, when it came to clandestine dealings with
Death Eaters, it seemed more of a blessing. "What could you want from me?" he
sneered right back. "My soul? My firstborn? I wouldn't turn into a Death Eater
even to save my father."
"You would not? How positively disillusioning." Malfoy's cool eyes trailed over
the saleswizard who paused outside the repelling barrier, but didn't spare it a
second glance. "No, Mr Weasley, what might sway me from my course would be a
few hours of your time." He paused before delivering the final line. "And the
use of your body."
Ron's breath hitched. His mouth fell open. "Come again?" he croaked. "For a
moment I thought I heard you say you wanted..." He trailed off, ears slowly
burning. No, he really didn't want to finish that sentence. The bastard
smirked.
"How very perceptive of you to process my statement so adequately," Malfoy
drawled. "And here I thought you were as thick as the rest of your brood. Yes,
you understood my meaning perfectly well."
"You god-awful bastard! Do you really think that just because you're a stuck-up
snob of a Death-Eating arsehole you could treat me like a fucking prostitute?"
It wasn't the kind of language his mother would approve of, although even she
might make an exception in this situation. Ron couldn't remember the last time
he'd been this angry.
"Yes, I can," Malfoy replied bluntly, and Ron's fingers clenched around his
wand, wishing it was the bastard's throat. "Because if I remember correctly we
have established that you had nothing else to offer."
Ron went pale, finger itching with the desire to bash the predatory expression
right off Malfoy's face. Then he thought of his father, for whom bargaining
might be the only hope.
"But... but why me?" He shook his head wildly, as if the movement could
rearrange the world into a place that made sense. "I'm not-" He paused.
"Important? Intelligent? Attractive?"
All of it, Ron thought, trying to ignore the cruel accuracy of the words
slicing into his mind.
Malfoy tapped his wand against his lips, managing to look thoughtful and
threatening at the same time. "It's quite simple, really: the Boy Who Lived is
too well-protected, and no self-respecting pureblood would touch his Mudblood
girlfriend. Out of Potter's inner circle, that leaves only you, my little blood
traitor. Although," he added, "I could imagine making my offer to your sister
instead. After all, the female mindset is said to be better suited to acts of
self-sacrifice for their loved ones."
Ron felt as if his heart and stomach were taking a plunge into his lower
bowels. It wasn't enough that the bloody shite had tried to kill Ginny, now he
wanted to fuck her?
"If you so much as look at my sister, Malfoy," he snarled, "I will hunt you
down and cut you to ribbons - without a wand." He stared straight into Malfoy's
pale eyes, wand forgotten. "Have I made myself clear?"
"Oh, altogether too well." Malfoy smirked. "We have an agreement, then?"
"No!" Ron exclaimed, embarrassingly aware that it sounded a lot like a wail.
"I see - another instance where the vaunted Gryffindor courage proves
overrated."
Ron had a sudden, terrible vision that the man might walk away, his 'offer'
rescinded, and opened his mouth to protest. Malfoy waved him off.
"I do not expect a decision from you now." He slipped a hand into his
embroidered robe pocket and produced a freshly-minted gold Galleon. He threw
the coin at Ron, who caught it out of the air only to realise that it could
just as well have been a Portkey to take him to some sinister dungeon. There
was no lurching sensation in his stomach, but he went cold at the thought of
what could have happened.
Malfoy seemed to read his thoughts because the corner of his mouth curved up in
a smirk of contempt. Ron scowled back, ears burning with shame at his own
stupidity.
"Gryffindors." Malfoy shook his head. "It is exactly what you think, however,"
he explained loftily. "A Portkey which will activate tonight at eight o'clock
sharp, and transport you to my home. Whether or not you decide to make use of
it is up to you, of course." The pale eyes ran over Ron's body in a way that
made him want to curl in on himself in revulsion. How could the bastard expect
him to show up if he looked at him like that?
"And what reassurance do I have that you won't massacre me if I Portkey to your
place, or put me under Imperius, or hold me hostage against Harry?"
Malfoy smirked yet again. "You have my word as a wizard, however much you want
to stake on that." The smirk turned thin and ugly. "And why would I want to
kill you? I want you to live with the memory of what you've allowed to happen
to you. I want it to fester in your mind."
Ron's throat closed up as if compressed by an invisible hand. The creature
couldn't be serious!
"It all comes down to a simple choice," that infernal silky voice added. "Your
father's future, or your bodily integrity." He favoured Ron with that vile grin
again. "And let me assure you that even after the exodus of the Dementors,
Azkaban is a truly forbidding place, and many of its current inhabitants would
be eager to get their hands on a member of Dumbledore's little band of heroes."
Malfoy reached for a silver pocket watch that hung from his robe and gave the
face a casual glance. "Well, you have almost six hours to think about it." He
half-turned to leave, waving his wand to vanish the repelling barrier. "And, Mr
Weasley?"
"What?" Ron ground out between clenched teeth. It stopped him from cursing at
the top of his lungs; it stopped his teeth from chattering, too.
"Please don't bother coming if you haven't worked up the courage to go through
with your task. I would hate wasting time on listening to your pleading."
Ron raised his chin. "I wouldn't plead with you to save my life, Malfoy."
Malfoy lifted a sardonic eyebrow. "In that case, I very much hope to see you
this evening - it will be highly entertaining to put that bold statement to the
test."
Ron stifled a hateful reply into a choked noise and bolted as soon as the
glimmering veil had disappeared entirely. The broomtail clippers lay forgotten
on the shelf behind him, although he was sure that Malfoy's chuckle followed
him outside.
He did not slow down until he'd left behind half of Diagon Alley and was in
viewing distance of Florean Fortescue's. It was a warm but rainy day, so the
customers had sought refuge inside the parlour, sitting behind the huge glass
front that showed the colourful ice cream boxes on the counter to best
advantage.
Ron sucked in a few quick breaths, which didn't help to make his reflection in
the gleaming window look any less flushed and rattled. The fairy dancing over
the doorframe jingled her bells and smiled as he entered.
Ginny, Luna, Creevey and the twins were sitting around a table at the back.
Ginny frowned as Ron walked up.
"Where have you been?" she snapped. "You were gone for almost an hour!"
"Sorry," Ron mumbled, hoping they'd attribute his high colour to hurry. "It was
a madhouse. The new UltraSweep has just come out."
Fred cocked his head. "Yeah, that would explain it."
"What does it look like?" George threw in.
Ron lowered his head to hide his red face. "Gorgeous. Fast. Didn't get much of
a look, though."
"I'll believe that," Ginny mocked. "Do you still want a sundae?"
Ron shook his head. "Nah, I'd rather go home. I think I might have caught a
stomach bug or something."
"Yes, you look a bit peaky." Ginny gave him a sharp once-over. "Not that it's
surprising, with Dad and all. All right, let's go. Luna, Colin - we'll see you
on the Express, then."
They got up. Ron flushed brightly when Luna stood on tiptoe and kissed the
corner of his mouth, and then flushed even more when she did the same with
Ginny.
"Owl about your father," she said. "Dad is working on our Crumple-Horned
Snorkack exclusive, but he'll be happy to run an investigation into Ministry
abuses of justice any time."
Ginny kissed her back. "Thank you."
Smiling vaguely, the Ravenclaw meandered off down the street, a hesitant
Creevey in tow.
"Well," George said as they stopped in front of one of the public fireplaces in
Diagon. "We're expecting a shipment of Pilfering Pixies this afternoon and I
promised the delivery people I'd be there. But Fred could keep you company at
the Burrow-"
"Or you could both spend the night at Grimmauld Place," Fred offered. "Remus
should be holding the fort there."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "Don't be daft. We're hardly toddlers, and I want to be
home in case Mum or Dad calls through the fireplace."
"And Bill will be home tonight," Ron added. "We'll be fine. You can stop
playing mother hens now."
The twins shrugged in unison, and Ron forced himself not to flinch back when
George reached up to ruffle his hair.
"Go and have a lie-down," he ordered. "You look like death."
"Warmed over," Fred added with a grin.
They left off at that, and Ron felt a pang as he took a pinch of Floo Powder
out of a chipped bowl and waited for Ginny to vanish into the fireplace. The
twins were the only ones he could imagine telling about his predicament. They
might come up with a sinister plan to curse Malfoy's bollocks off until he gave
up his documents and begged for mercy. But no - it was too dangerous. He'd have
to deal with the monster himself.
"The Burrow!" he yelled and let the surge pull him away towards home.
                                      ***
Back at the Burrow, Ron obediently had a mug of tea Ginny put before him and
watched her fry sausages, potatoes and tomato for dinner. Well-instructed by
their mother, Bill turned up shortly before six and they sat around the kitchen
table for a morose tea. Ron chased a piece of toast across his plate, then gave
up on it after two half-hearty bites and excused himself with an upset stomach.
"I think I'll just go up to bed - I'll feel better tomorrow."
"There's a bottle of Pepperup Potion in the bathroom cabinet," Ginny said with
a worried frown, and Ron made his escape with the promise to take a dose before
going to sleep. Bill ruffled his hair as he passed, and the gesture almost
brought tears to Ron's eyes.
Halfway up the stairs, he stopped, ran back down, and stuck his head into the
kitchen again. "Can I borrow Errol for a letter to Harry?" he asked.
"What about Pig?" Ginny inquired with a side glance at the old owl, half-asleep
on the kitchen counter and resembling a tattered feather duster.
"I'll need Pig to write to Hermione," Ron said quickly. "He's too noisy, he'd
get Harry in trouble with his Muggles." He fled, Errol's limp body stuffed
under his arm, before she could press him further.
Only when he was crouching on his orange bedcovers, surrounded by Chudley
Cannon players zooming in and out of each other's posters on the walls, the
full impact of his encounter with Malfoy hit him. He felt the coin burn in his
pocket without touching it. How could he have gotten himself into this mess? If
he used the Portkey, Malfoy could collect him on his front porch and ship him
right off to You-Know-Who. It was suicide! Malfoy couldn't possibly believe
that he wouldn't tell anybody. Well, except that everyone Ron might tell would
actively try to stop him from going.
And if he did it, even if Malfoy kept his word and only... used him instead of
abducting or killing him... What would happen to him? Ron rubbed the remaining
brain scars on his arms. He had only vague ideas of what men did during sex,
although Malfoy would most likely remedy that particular ignorance. The thought
made his stomach heave. He wasn't going! There was no way he could do that!
Dad - Dad would kill him if he knew Ron was even thinking about it, Ron
realised. But then, wouldn't his father do the same for him? He knew without
any doubt that Arthur Weasley would, and a lot more besides.
Ron glared at the Chudley Cannons poster above his bed. Why did Malfoy have to
pick on him, of all people? The closest he'd come to sex was kissing Lavender
Brown in the Quidditch stands, and calling what they'd done 'making out' would
be stretching the term. Malfoy was terrifying even with his clothes on. A
blood-thirsty Death Eater, old enough to be his father, and hell-bent on
scarring him for life. Probably attractive enough for a bloke, better than his
pointy-faced, rodenty git of a get, but...
Ron's heart hammered in his chest as if it were trying to leave, and a surge of
heat shifted in his stomach. He only just made it to the Burrow's bathroom
before he was painfully sick in the sink.
"Perhaps you should have a lie-down," the Mirror suggested sagely as Ron
collapsed on the rim of the bathtub, wiping cold sweat from his face with a
washcloth. "You look a bit under the weather there, dear."
There was a knock at the door and then Ginny stuck her head inside without
waiting for permission.
"Merlin, you look terrible!" she exclaimed and took the washcloth from his
shaking hand. She rinsed it under the tap, then handed it back. Ron pressed it
to his face, breathing in the familiar scent of Mum's washing potion.
"I'll feel better now," Ron croaked.
Ginny stroked his hair, then bent down to press her cheek against his for a
second, which surprised him - she wasn't usually the affectionate type.
"Go to bed, will you - Dad will be fine, you'll see. The Order will look after
him."
Ron nodded and struggled to his feet; his knees were still wobbly, the sick
feeling in his stomach not totally gone. "Night," he mumbled and staggered back
to his bedroom, trying to walk slowly so that Ginny's sharp eyes wouldn't see
him stumble.
He lay down on his unmade bed for a few minutes until the sickness had passed.
The clock on the wall seemed to slouch whenever he stared at it, and to hurl
itself forward when he forced himself not to look.
It was half past six when he sat up to write his two letters, crumpling up the
first tries in a waste of parchment before producing a version that had only so
many nervous ink blotches and uneven, shaky lines. When he had finished tying
the rolled-up parchments along with detailed instructions to Pig (who hooted
excitedly) and Errol (who gulped mournfully and shed another tail feather), it
was already twenty to eight. He watched the owls hurl themselves from the
window sill (a feeble trundle followed by a panicked hoot in Errol's case), and
froze when he heard Ginny's light steps, first on the stairs, then coming to a
stop in front of his door.
Not now! Merlin, don't let her come in now! He kicked two overly-obvious pieces
of parchment under his desk, and rolled himself into bed, pulling the coverlet
over him just in case. But she didn't knock, just listened at the door for a
breath-stealing minute before tiptoeing down the two flights of stairs to her
own bedroom.
With a panicked glance at the clock - five minutes to eight! - Ron jumped out
of bed, slipping a hand into his pocket to make sure he still had the Portkey
coin. He pulled his boots back on, wondering whether he should have changed
robes, and answered himself with a furious "Fuck it!"
He closed the window and suddenly wished he'd left a note for Bill too - just
in case - but then it was only a minute to eight and no time left. He pulled
out the coin and realised that he hadn't thought about not going for a while.
But then he'd never considered that option seriously, had he?
The clock's hand touched the full hour just as the Galleon seemed to heat up in
his hand, and then it pulled him away with an insistent, sickening twist in his
stomach.
                                      ***
It was cool - that was the first thing Ron realised when the world stopped
spinning and he landed hard on his feet. He pried his reluctant eyes open and
found himself on a broad alley lined with Singing Willows that crooned down to
him. Behind the rows of trees, a well-kempt lawn stretched into the summer
dusk. The alley led up to an imposing manor house. From where he stood, Ron
could see three wings. The house did look fancy with its high windows and
arched, pillared portal, but a lot less like the Death Eater fortress Ron had
been expecting. Not sinister enough to house a monster like Malfoy and a creep
like the ferret. Then again, the Malfoys hobnobbed with the upper ranks of the
Ministry, and a Dark castle wouldn't go over too well with dinner parties for
the likes of Fudge.
Reluctantly, Ron stared at the portal. It looked forbidding, like the doors in
wizarding fairy tales that whispered 'run, little boy, while you still can'. A
tempting thought, Ron mused as his feet carried him closer and closer to the
entrance, and then up the few steps to the door. It sported a huge cast-iron
ringer in the form of a striking viper, the first thing about the house that
actually looked like what Ron had been expecting.
He could still walk away, though it would mean being stuck in Wiltshire with no
way home, and with his father doomed to be sent to Azkaban. Ron realised with a
jolt that he hadn't even brought his wand to call the Knight Bus.
The ringer was icy under his fingers and his heart seemed to have stopped,
frozen in time. He knocked without consciously deciding to, and jumped as the
sharp rap filled the air like waves stirring water.
He jumped again when the door swung open and the ugly mug of a house-elf stared
up from about the height of Ron's stomach. Not Dobby! was his first thought,
but that was stupid. Dobby was safe at Hogwarts, unlike him.
The elf was built a bit sturdier than Dobby, and tufts of hair grew out of its
oversized ears. It looked silly in a frayed pillowcase with the Malfoy crest
stamped on the corner that covered its thin chest; Hermione would be furious.
"Sir is Mr Weasley?" it squeaked. Ron felt his ears heat as he nodded and
wondered what Malfoy had told the elf he'd be visiting for.
"Master told Grizzle to admit Mr Weasley," it stated as if it needed a
justification for allowing a scruffy specimen like Ron across the threshold.
"Where is Malfoy?" Ron asked gruffly as he stepped into the spacious entrance
hall. The pillars continued inside the hall, and the walls were hung with
unobtrusive scenes from wizarding history.
"Master is entertaining dinner guests," the elf explained, which sent Ron into
a rage. What was he, dessert? "Master told Grizzle to take Mr Weasley upstairs
to the red bedroom."
"Like hell!" Ron flared. This was absolutely humiliating. The house-elf wrung
its bony hands.
"Grizzle will call the Master Draco, then," it squeaked. "Master said to fetch
the Young Master if Mr Weasley didn't want to come."
Ron's stomach plunged. The ferret! He hadn't given the younger Malfoy a thought
since his run-in with his father, but of course he lived here too. Ron knew he
would die on the spot if the ferret ever found out why he was here.
"No!" he screeched as the elf ambled off towards the exit. It stopped. "All
right, I'll come. Don't call for the bas... the fer... young Malfoy."
Grizzle nodded with a shrewd glance and motioned for Ron to follow. The elf
muttered Kreacher-like under its breath as it shuffled through a side door and
up an elegantly swung flight of stairs. Ron's neck went red under the sharp
eyes of the portraits along the walls, whose inhabitants looked so arrogant
they had to be Malfoy ancestors or worse. A burly wizard dismembering a small
unicorn in one canvass suggestively licked a silvery drop of blood off his
blade as Ron passed. Ron looked away quickly, his stomach churning again.
The elf escorted him through a handful of corridors on what must be the first
floor of the manor. A surreptitious glance out of one arched window revealed
that they were now in the east wing. Ron rounded each corner in fear of running
into the ferret, or, worse, into Malfoy's aloof wife. But they encountered no
one, not even another house-elf.
Grizzle led him past an elaborate, black and red lacquered doorframe and
stopped at the adjacent, less fancifully decorated door. It swung open when the
elf pointed a spidery finger at it before gesturing for Ron to enter. He
obeyed, stepping into a spacious bathroom done in black and red tiles with
Chinese-style dragons and scenes from courtly eastern wizarding society. Very
classy, supremely understated, and beating Hogwarts' prefects' bathroom by
lengths. Ron gave it a scowl and wished he were in Hogwarts' prefects'
bathroom. The painted mermaid ogling his privates was so much more reassuring
than the thought that Lucius bloody Malfoy might soon be doing the same thing.
Rows of everburning candles lined the walls, spreading light and comfortable
warmth. In the western wall another door stood open a fraction, leading into
what Ron supposed must be the guest room the bathroom belonged to.
"Master Malfoy says Mr Weasley is to use the bath," the elf squeaked. "Master
Malfoy will visit Mr Weasley after dinner is finished."
"Like hell!" Ron snapped and pulled his robe tightly around him. He wasn't
going to get naked in Malfoy's bathroom like a stray Crup that needed to be
cleaned up before being admitted onto the carpet. He flushed at the thought.
Not that he wanted onto the carpet!
The elf threw him a sly look. "Grizzle will go and fetch the Young Master if Mr
Weasley has more questions..."
Oh, fuck you and the Thestral you rode in on! Ron thought viciously. "No! That
won't be necessary," he ground out. "I'll go and take a bath then, right?"
Grizzle nodded its approval and vanished with a pop after closing the door
behind Ron.
Not that Ron planned to bathe. He listened carefully to make sure the elf
wasn't eavesdropping or sneaking around outside the door. Then he tiptoed over
and pulled it open a bit. The corridor outside was empty, and stretched into
darkness. The temptation to sneak out and run was almost overwhelming, but then
if Ron had wanted to run, he could have done so before knocking on the bloody
portal! It was too late now.
He shut the door again and padded over to the other one, sneaking a peek
inside. It was indeed a bedroom, furnished in the same red and black colour
scheme as the bathroom. A fire crackled merrily in the grate, the only source
of light inside. It threw an eerie shine over the interior, making the red
bedspread of the mahogany four-poster that took up most of the far wall look
like a pool of blood. Ron pushed the door closed again. Just looking into the
room made him queasy.
He stood in the middle of the bathroom like a statue, ears pricked for any kind
of sound. But the wing was dead quiet. When his calves started to hurt from the
prolonged tension, he sat down gingerly on the black rim of the tub. After what
must have been half an hour at most, but felt alternately like days or seconds,
Ron had studied all seven variations of ornamental tiles, right down to the
details of tree branches and the wizards' pointed shoes. Perhaps Malfoy had
forgotten about him, or had more important guests to attend to.
When the door swung open again, it took Ron completely by surprise; he hadn't
heard the smallest sound announcing Malfoy's approach in the corridor. His
heartbeat slowed to a sluggish crawl, then sped up to hammer in his chest so
hard it hurt. He flew to his feet as Malfoy swept inside, immaculately garbed
in silver brocade robes, dragon-hide boots, cane at his side and pale hair
braided tightly at his neck. He looked as if he could step right into a
Ministry affair for another round of bribery and blackmail. Just the type Percy
would fawn over.
Malfoy surveyed him with cold disdain, though Ron noted with a glint of
satisfaction that he wasn't tall enough to look down at him. It had been
Malfoy's arrogance that had made him seem taller than he was in the shop.
"Weren't you under orders to clean yourself up, Mr Weasley?" Malfoy inquired,
his tone deceptively mild.
"No." Ron stared back, hard. He wasn't going to play along with Malfoy's little
intimidation games.
Malfoy clapped his hands once. "Grizzle!"
The house-elf popped into the room immediately.
"Master is calling Grizzle?"
Malfoy pointed at Ron. "This young man says you did not convey to him my order
to make use of the bathroom facilities."
The elf gasped and stared at Ron with a scandalised expression. Then its
features scrunched up in terror.
"Master, Grizzle did say, he did, sir!" It wrung its bony hands in despair.
"You know the punishment for calling a wizard's word into question, don't you,
elf?"
The creature dropped to its knees, huge tears forming in its bulb-like eyes.
Malfoy observed it stonily and drew his wand from his robe. It was pointing
right between the elf's drooping ears.
He can't possibly plan to... Just when Malfoy opened his mouth, Ron let out a
scream of protest.
"Don't!"
Malfoy eyed him coolly. "Mr Weasley?"
"Don't hurt it," Ron begged. "It told me. Please, let it go."
"Are you telling me that Grizzle did indeed convey my orders?" Ron nodded
dejectedly. "And that you chose to disregard them?"
Another nod. Ron kept a nervous eye on Malfoy's wand, his throat suddenly too
tight to speak.
"I see." Malfoy nodded slowly. "Grizzle, leave."
The Disapparition *pop* made Ron flinch. Standing in Malfoy's bathroom at
wandpoint brought home his vulnerability with terrifying force.
Fuck it, Weasley, he could just kill you and feed your body to the Crups and
nobody would ever know where you disappeared to. How could you've been so
bloody stupid?
But Malfoy didn't curse him; he even lowered his wand until it hung lightly
between long fingers. His expression was icy, though.
"Mr Weasley, I believe I should make some things clear to you. You may pride
yourself on coming here as if that were an achievement already, but it isn't.
You are here because you want something from me. Is that right?"
No, because you fucking blackmailed me, you bastard! Ron had the strongest
desire to scream into the haughty face. Fists balled, he nodded again.
"Then let me clarify what will be expected of you. You will, from this moment
on, obey my commands without protest, delay, or any of your delightful
profanities. Are you with me so far?"
"I'm neither deaf nor stupid," Ron growled.
Malfoy's eyebrow rose as if he didn't quite agree with that statement, but he
let it go. "Moreover, you will neither struggle nor try to do me bodily harm in
any way," he finished, ticking off each point on his fingers. "Any violation of
those rules will result in the immediate termination of our contract." He
stared at Ron, hard. "Which means you'll be sent home and any additional
evidence about your father's disloyalty will go directly to the Ministry."
Contract my arse, Ron sneered inwardly. Blackmail coated in formal terms, more
likely.
"Do you consent to those terms, Mr Weasley?"
"As if I have a choice!" Ron snapped. He almost jumped when Malfoy lifted his
hand. But instead of slapping him, he patted Ron's cheek in a horribly
patronising gesture. Ron flinched, but didn't pull back. If he couldn't bear
this much skin contact, he'd be better off fleeing like a Kneazle with its tail
on fire. But running now would be cowardice. Dad's freedom was worth so much
more than this.
"You have every choice in the world," Malfoy replied mildly, his face so
predatorily amused that Ron suddenly understood how a ferret felt thrashing in
Buckbeak's beak. He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to
imagine the hand on his cheek to be Hermione's, or Ginny's. He gave a jerky
nod.
"I'll have a verbal confirmation."
Yes, he would - he could use a Pensieve memory of Ron's admission as proof
against coercion. Well, unless...
"Yeah, I consent!" Ron snapped before the thought could take full shape in his
brain, or worse, on his face.
"Very well." The hand vanished and Ron heard robes rustle as Malfoy stepped
away. His eyes snapped open.
The bastard was standing next to the main tap of the tub, cast in the shape of
a dragon's head. A wand flick, and it started to spew water. A row of smaller
taps on the far end did the same, and the tub began to fill quickly. A strange
scent clung to the bath water, like snow, or impending rain, with a slight
lemony tang. If it wasn't for the situation, Ron knew he'd like it - so
different from the fruity concoctions Ginny used or the cheap Forbidden Forest
Pine Oil his parents bought. Even the various taps in the Prefects' bathroom
hadn't managed anything quite as pleasant. He knew he'd never get that elusive
scent out of his nose again; he knew he'd never stop hating it.
Malfoy rounded on Ron with a toothy grin. "Take your clothes off and fold them
on the hamper." When Ron stared at him, frozen in his tracks, he added, "Now."
The familiar churn was back in his stomach, and Ron wondered whether chucking
up on the hem of Malfoy's robes would go over well. "Or would you prefer to
leave?" Malfoy asked.
Twisted, evil shite! Ron snapped mentally. He didn't answer, but his fingers
trembled as he undid the buttons of his robe. He shrugged out of it and folded
it on top of the wicker hamper. It left him in a maroon wool jumper: lumpy, but
at least not too small. It had been part of last Christmas's loot, with a
bright orange 'R' knitted on the front. Malfoy stared at it as if he'd been hit
with a Fata Morgana Hex.
Ron glared. Although he had his own ambiguous relationship with Weasley
jumpers, he was suddenly fiercely protective of his mother's work. Oh hell,
Mum! She'd kill him if she knew where he was, then dig him up and kill him
again! His fingers burrowed into the thick wool for an instant before he pulled
off the jumper.
It was quite warm now with all the steam from the hot water, but Ron shivered,
half-naked in front of the enemy. The bastard still didn't spare him a glance;
he just waited, although his shoulders seemed to stiffen with impatience.
There was nothing for it, though. Pretend it's the Quidditch showers or the
Prefects' bath, he told himself, although he was a bit uncomfortable in the
showers too, and only used the bath when it was empty. Clumsy fingers struggled
with his trouser buttons, and after a moment's battle in which he came close to
wailing aloud to be spared and set free from this madness, he managed to toe
off his boots and socks and pull down his trousers, steadying himself against
the towel rack. Still no reaction from Malfoy, but Ron's face burned so
brightly at the sight of his frayed underpants that he thought it might set his
hair on fire.
The impatient drum of Malfoy's fingers on the sink gave him the burst of anger
he needed to part with this last piece of modesty as well. He stood upright
despite his burning shame, determined not to hide behind his hands.
Malfoy pointed at the tub and finally deigned to take note of him in a very
businesslike tone. "Get in."
The foam projected relative safety, and Ron was inside like a shot. The water
was hot but not scalding, and he hoped the steam would make his red face look
more like flush than mortification. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see
the coil of brain scars circling his arms and shoulders, like a tattoo grown
out of control. He wondered what the bastard would make of them.
Ron was looking around for a washcloth, wishing Malfoy had the decency to get
out. He tried not to think that the man might want to take care of things with
his own hands. Instead, Malfoy aimed his wand again and Ron's heart stopped in
his chest. Surely Malfoy didn't have to get him bare-arsed into hot water to
hex him!
"Lie back," Malfoy commanded.
Don't argue with a Dark Wizard who's pointing a wand at your nose, Ron told
himself as he sank into the water until the back of his head rested against the
rim of the tub. He felt terribly vulnerable with his mouth only a few short
inches away from the water.
But when Malfoy flicked the wand, nothing happened except that a large sponge
lifted off one of the shelves and plunged into the tub next to Ron's hip. It
rose again, dripping water and foam, to swipe over his chest and throat. Ron
shivered at the touch, but the sponge, butter-soft and insistent, attacked
every part of his body. Ron sputtered and squeezed his eyes shut as it slopped
over his face, sweeping over his eyelids, the sides of his neck, and, in a
humiliatingly maternal wriggle, the skin behind his ears. He cringed, knowing
Malfoy directed the sponge's movements, the inanimate object taking the role of
his hands he was obviously not intending to get wet. Or dirty.
The squishy material burrowed its way under his armpits, scuttling over every
crease of his neck and back, then followed his legs right down to the backs of
his knees and finally his toes. Ron froze when the sponge crept back up and
pushed down over his groin. He snapped up into a sitting position, grabbing the
sponge to peel it off.
Malfoy just stood there unmoved, wand pointed at the sponge but also at Ron,
the threat totally obvious. Ron's unvoiced protest died under the man's stony
eyes.
"Lift your legs and put them over the rim of the tub," Malfoy ordered.
The bath went suddenly cold despite the hot steam which plastered a strand of
Malfoy's hair to his forehead. Doing that would expose all his... vulnerable
bits and leave him utterly at Malfoy's mercy. Ron stared at the wand, shivering
and trying to convince himself that, for his father's sake, 'no' wasn't an
option.
He lifted leaden legs, forced to spread them obscenely wide because the tub was
big, and hooked his heels over both sides of the rim. The tender bones of his
elbows ached against the hard enamel as he kept himself propped up stiffly.
"Very well," Malfoy said. "Now lie back again."
It brought his chin dangerously close to the water. Ron kept his palms splayed
against the sides of the tub; it helped to clutch at something as the water
lapped at his lower lip.
Water dried into a cool film on his thighs and crotch in the warm air. Ron
wanted to squeeze his eyes shut to so he wouldn't have to see Malfoy studying
his splayed body with complete disinterest, but not seeing was even scarier.
A wand flick, and the bloody sponge flew at him again, this time purposefully
assaulting his groin. It scrubbed his pubic hair as if it was under orders to
weed it out, wrapped around his prick to pay it ruthless attention from root to
tip, ever so often dipping back into the water and rubbing over the foreskin
with so much enthusiasm that Ron had to bite his lip to suppress a groan. He
couldn't stop the damned organ from twitching once, twice under the rough
stimulation. Finally, the squishy thing slid over his balls, treating them with
a tad more care than it had his prick.
Then it disappeared in a long swipe between Ron's spread legs and assaulted the
cleft between his cheeks with as much force as if it wanted to burrow itself
into him. Soft as the material was, it felt rough against the fearfully
clenched pucker of his opening. Self-control fraying, Ron cried out in
revulsion and squirmed, trying to get away.
He was too panicked to see Malfoy move. A broad hand clamped around his throat
and forced his head back against the rim. Ron froze. Scented water lapped into
his mouth and he clamped it shut in paralysed terror. A whimper clawed its way
out from behind sealed lips.
Ron wanted to scratch at the hand, to throw off the attacker with all his
strength, but he couldn't move. It had all the qualities of a nightmare, and
the faint scars from the brain tentacles coiled and burned around his throat
under Malfoy's fingers. He knew Malfoy only needed to tighten his grip, to push
his head down a few inches, and air would be gone again, pulling him down to a
watery doom for good the way he should have died that night in the Department
of Mysteries.
Malfoy held him at the brink, mouth and hair submerged, water lapping against
his eardrums. Ron's nose and eyes remained dry, though. He could still breathe.
He hardly felt the sponge as it resumed its work between his legs, conscious
only of Malfoy's hand at his throat and the water around him.
"So this is what you're afraid of?" Malfoy murmured.
And then the grip vanished and Ron surged up like a puppet on invisible
strings, putting as much space between the water and his nose as possible.
"Get out," Malfoy commanded and flung a large bath towel at Ron as soon as he
had unbent his cramped legs and had struggled out of the water so fast it
slopped over the rim. Ron caught the towel, turning the fluffy fabric over in
puffy, wrinkled fingers.
"Dry off."
Ron did so stiffly, moving like one of those Muggle robobs Dean had told him
about. He kept the towel in front of his waist. His hair was dripping wet, but
he really didn't want to get the towel so far away from his crotch.
Malfoy flicked his wand with an impatient sneer, and a "Scourgify!" whipped
over and through Ron, rasping over his skin and through his intestines like a
liquefied wire brush. Ron yelped and glared. Just why had he gone through his
ordeal in the tub if the bastard was using a cleaning spell anyway? He
registered the after-tingles of the spell in his stomach and... lower. Heat
spilled all over his face again. He did so not want to know!
A second charm left his hair dry and falling wildly around his face.
"Put the towel away, Weasley," the bloody bastard ordered. "You won't need it
any more."
Ron just clutched it harder. This was moving far too fast - he couldn't... Why
hadn't Malfoy drowned him when he'd had the chance? Why had he been afraid of
it?
Ron hung the towel back onto its hook with trembling fingers, half-averted so
Malfoy would only see his hip - as if he could overlook anything, standing two
feet away, Ron snapped at himself. He forced himself to straighten with effort.
Malfoy watched him without expression.
"Have you learned your lesson?" Ron stared back, projecting his rage and hoping
that somewhere the bastard had the Legilimency to pick it up. He was allowed to
think nasty stuff about the shite, right?
Malfoy frowned at the lack of reply - or perhaps he had picked up on Ron's
thoughts - but just nodded towards the bedroom door. "Get in there and wait
beside the bed." He paused before adding, "Ronald."
Ron flushed. The use of his first name, in that tone, was almost worse than
giving the bastard the chance to ogle his naked arse on the way out.
He beat a quick retreat and banged the door shut behind him, disappointed that
the silk carpeting on the inside muffled most of the sound. So it was childish
- so what?
Ron stopped in the middle of the soft, elaborate bedroom carpet that was deep
enough to tickle his ankles. The red colour, illuminated by the fire in the
grate, was darker than the bedspread's and sported the black design of a
slender-bodied dragon. The dragon's head craned back to throw Ron a sinister
look out of a red-stitched eye. It wasn't just the fire shine, Ron realised -
it was really moving. The long, triangular-tipped tail twisted in the direction
of his heels, and he took a few quick steps out of the way.
He couldn't hear any water running in the bathroom. What the fuck was the
bastard doing in there? Maybe Malfoy was just trying to frighten him - to try
and push him to his limits before throwing him out on his arse. He certainly
hadn't displayed any inclination to touch Ron except as a threat. At worst, the
wall might vanish and show You Know Who and all his Death Eaters sitting there
laughing... Fuck! Harry would never have got himself into this! Harry got to
battle You-Know-Who while Ron got to parade around naked in front of an
underling. Hermione would die if she could see him!
Still pricking his ears, Ron rested his hip against the ironwork footrest of
the bed. It too showed a stylised dragon, which, thankfully, remained
motionless. There wasn't a robe or anything in the whole room, and Ron wasn't
stupid enough try the cabinet with its handles carved into dragon heads. There
was the blood-red coverlet, of course, interwoven with silver thread, but it
was large enough to drown even Hagrid in fabric if he tried to wrap it around
himself. Beads of sweat formed on Ron's neck from the heat of the fire, but he
was still cold.
After about ten minutes, the bathroom door opened and Malfoy stepped into the
room. Ron clamped his fingers around the iron. The bastard had exchanged his
formal dress robes for a floor-length black dressing gown, belted at the front
with a careless knot and imprinted with the same stylised dragon as the carpet,
in an iridescent black material. Did he have the matching outfit for each
fucking room in this bloody mansion so he could go and rape his prisoners in
style?
The frost-coloured braid fell down to the middle of Malfoy's back as he moved.
Ron clawed at the iron harder, hoping to hide his tremble. Malfoy's eyes
flickered over him, taking in his death grip on the metal.
"How typically Gryffindor," he sneered. "Not quite so brave when one is
isolated from his gaggle."
"Not quite as brave as trying to kill a little girl with a Dark artefact, no,"
Ron ground out between clenched teeth. Malfoy's mouth thinned, but he just
raised his hand and let it trail over Ron's chest as if searching for
something. His nail caught Ron's nipple, and then thumb and index finger
latched on to squeeze the sensitive nub so hard that tears sprang to Ron's
eyes. He inhaled with a panicked rattle. The sting took long moments to fade
even after the vice-like fingers had let go.
"The time I found your blustering insolence vaguely entertaining has passed,"
Malfoy said calmly. "You aren't here to air your grudges. You're here to fulfil
your part of our bargain." He brushed the reddened nipple, light as the touch
of a feather. "Do you understand?" Ron forced himself not to flinch, but his
breath caught. He nodded. "Very well." Malfoy said condescendingly. "You may
kneel, then."
"What?" Ron sputtered, although yes, that had to be coming at one point, hadn't
it? He wished he'd kept his mouth shut when a slow grin spread over the
bastard's face.
"Honestly, Ronald, I hope you did not assume that the less-than-stellar sight
of you naked would serve to sufficiently entertain me?"
The words cut, completely unexpected but deep. If I'm that homely, why trap me
into this in the first place, Ron thought bitterly.
"Do you have any idea how much I hate you?" His lips felt numb.
"Oh, you may hate me to your heart's content, Mr Weasley. The more you hate me,
the more satisfaction I will derive from your eventual surrender." Malfoy's
face hardened. "Now, down, boy, right at my feet if you don't mind!"
Oh, Ron did mind, but he dropped to his knees, staring blankly past Malfoy's
hip because he had no intention to look at his feet - or anywhere near his
middle.
"Good." The condescending voice drifted down, chilling every fiery strand on
Ron's head. "You may employ your mouth now."
The thick carpet scraped uncomfortably against Ron's knees despite its
softness. After endless seconds of trembling horror, he reached for the loose
knot that tied Malfoy's sash around his hips. It slipped out of his shaking
fingers twice before he managed to pull it open. He was freezing although the
room was warm, almost uncomfortably so with the roaring fireplace. Even biting
the inside of his mouth barely stopped his teeth from chattering. He ran his
hand over the still-closed folds of Malfoy's dressing gown, loath to see what
lay beneath. He could live a long, happy life without ever finding out!
Come on, Weasley, you saw that coming, he reprimanded himself, then groaned
inwardly at the horrible pun. Perhaps he'll be satisfied after that. Bloody
just do it! It can't be worse than handling Flobberworms in Potions. Although,
he added with a sinking feeling, even Snape had never made them suck on a
Flobberworm.
He shoved back the cloth of Malfoy's robe with stiff fingers. Malfoy's bare
body was as pale as Ron had expected, solid without being muscular, and looking
more strong than slender. Not as rugged as Charlie, but not like Dad either,
with his gentle paunch and freckles.
His... dangly bits weren't very Flobberworm-like either. The prick more
reminded Ron of the white oracle snake Trelawney had brought to class at the
end of the previous year; slightly curved upwards, lazy, and with a pink flush
around the head. The balls were plump behind, and you probably had to stick
your face right into Malfoy's crotch to see the fuzz of pale hair covering
them.
Ron gritted his teeth and wrapped his hand around the prick. No use in
dithering; he could at least show the bastard that he wasn't afraid. Grossed
out, no doubt about it, but not afraid.
He squeezed Malfoy's cock a few times, trying to come to grips with the
unfamiliar angle, and to recall how he preferred that kind of touch himself. It
was... different. There was a prominent, bumpy vein at the underside that Ron
hadn't encountered wanking himself. It was bigger than Ron's own prick,
especially as it firmed under Ron's sweaty palm, but not huge - Ron had run in
on Charlie in the bath once, and stopped to stare for that crucial moment
before blushing madly and dashing out again. Nowhere near that. He tugged the
loose folds of foreskin back and saw the head peering out at him like an evil
eye.
Before the bastard could pour more sarcasm over him, Ron bent forward. He
palmed the foreskin back a little, and then put the tip between his lips. Ugh!
Distinctly not pleasant, but well, he'd tasted worse, from Snape's potions to
Mum's Dragonpox Draught when Ron had caught it off Uncle Bilius' pet Dragonette
at the age of six. Still, the smell was too strong, the taste too sharp.
"I won't argue with enthusiasm," Malfoy sneered, then reconsidered. He slipped
his member out of Ron's mouth and pulled at his hair, forcing him to look up.
"If I feel teeth, you'll beg for death for a long time."
The grip in his hair relaxed and Ron wriggled his tongue back around the
bastard's prick with extra care. He'd never felt so ridiculous in his life, on
the ground with someone's prick in his mouth, face burning so fiercely it hurt,
and with no idea what to do. Girls were supposed to know about this, well, the
bad sort anyway, but all the tall tales in the Quidditch changing rooms had
never provided a how-to.
"Well, what are you waiting for, boy?" Malfoy's voice floated down to him, and
Ron was sure he wasn't imagining the amused note. "Instruction?"
Fucking bastard! Ron sucked on the tip, gingerly prodding the foreskin with his
tongue.
"Run your lips up and down, Ronald," Malfoy ordered, utterly above shame as he
stood there with his legs apart for balance.
It gave Ron the horrible urge to bite down with all his might, just to see the
bastard scream and that inhuman composure shatter. Instead, he did as he'd been
told. Lolly - think of the ice lolly Dad brought home from that Muggle
fregeridator in Ottery St Catchpole's hardware store.
"Adequate," Malfoy commented. "Now take in a bit more every time you move up."
And put it where exactly? Ron seethed. His throat already constricted whenever
the fleshy tip pushed forward, and throwing up would certainly not go over
well. The head felt more swollen whenever Ron touched his tongue to it, salty
drops mingling with his saliva. Malfoy was quite hard now, which either meant
that Ron had gotten the hang of it, or that Malfoy simply got off on having an
unwilling victim.
"Relax your throat," Malfoy said matter-of-factly. "I assure you it is well
possible." He paused as if waiting until Ron had his mouth full before adding,
"I'm surprised you haven't thus serviced your famous hero Potter so far."
The urge to bite the bastard's thing right off returned tenfold. Ron let his
rage come out on his face where Malfoy couldn't see, and gave his prick a cruel
suck. If Malfoy registered it, he did not comment, just pushed his hips forward
and whispered, "Brace yourself."
Not knowing what to expect, Ron did, spreading his knees a bit for better
balance. Malfoy thrust forward, burying uncompromising flesh deep into his
throat. Ron gagged and tried to breathe through his nose, half-squashed against
the bastard's sweaty, lavender-scented pubic hair.
"Swallow", Malfoy commanded, and Ron, mouth far too full to protest out loud,
hoped he would come and did. And flailed as the suction seemed to pull Malfoy's
prick half down his throat. Too fast, too big, and the pressure against his
tonsils left Ron with the overwhelming urge to throw up. Eyes watering, he
tried to pull back, sure that the floor would make a much better target than a
vengeful Dark Wizard, but Malfoy's hand curved around the back of his head and
forced him into place. Ron felt a prod from Malfoy's wand at the side of his
neck, a quick spell, and the gag reflex vanished. Great - he wouldn't hurl,
he'd just choke to death then!
At least Malfoy didn't seem to try and slow things down. He thrust into Ron's
mouth, who tried to respond with tongue swipes and unpractised sucks, making
obscene slurps while trying to accommodate his tormentor.
Ron could feel Malfoy's thighs tense under his palms and realised that the
bastard must be close. Good! His jaw hurt and his tongue was raw from licking.
Still, he sputtered as Malfoy's sperm coated the back of his throat. Swallowing
fitfully, he tried to ignore Malfoy's appreciative hum, and struggled to keep
the contents of his stomach from surfacing. He all but spat out Malfoy's
softening prick, trying not to think about what it was he'd just gulped down.
Tears burned in his eyes as he wiped the salty spill of come off his mouth and
cheek, trying not to wince at the smell. It left his fingers slimy in place of
his face.
Malfoy sneered. "Lick it off, boy."
Ron's jaw clenched, but he obeyed. It tasted even more awful cold.
Malfoy stretched his back like a big cat, and Ron, fingers still stuck in his
mouth, grazed his groin with a quick look. Malfoy's cock was rosy but limp
between his thighs. Ron, whose aching jaw reminded him of what he'd done to
achieve this state of satiation, felt a trickle of relief. At least the sick
fuck had not resorted to a potion that would keep him hard for hours.
Malfoy caught his look and smiled, his lips a venomous curve.
"It looks as if we'll need another incentive to proceed, don't we?" Ron glared,
and Malfoy's eyes hardened. "I think I would like to hurt you, Ronald."
Ron's breath caught in his throat. He'd steeled himself for rape, knowing
Malfoy would force him sooner or later, but not torture.
"You're going back on your word, then?" he asked, proud of his aloof tone of
voice.
A condescending smirk licked at Malfoy's lips, and he reached out to pat Ron's
cheek. It made Ron's flesh crawl, and the aftertaste of Malfoy's come turned to
acid in his mouth.
"I did not promise to return you unmarked." Malfoy smirked. "Merely alive."
Hands cold with fear, Ron shrugged. Whatever Malfoy had in mind, it couldn't be
much worse than being brained by a giant chess queen, and certainly not as bad
as an acid pop eating through is tongue, right?
"If that's the way you get your kicks, Malfoy," he commented off-handedly.
Malfoy pinched his cheek sharply. "Yes, I'm sure I will. In fact, I think I
will even let you choose the form of your punishment, my little innocent."
He half-turned and pointed at the black-lacquered cabinet on the far wall. "I'd
like you to open the right-hand side of the cabinet, and pick your implement of
choice."
Ron's eyes flickered from the bastard to the cabinet. Just when he started to
turn, Malfoy's hand closed around his upper arm. Ron froze, the knotted brain
scars prickling under Malfoy's cool fingers.
"Just consider one thing: if you pick something too... harmless for my liking,
I will exchange it for something you will distinctly not enjoy."
Yeah, Ron thought bitterly, count on there being a catch! His neck burned as he
walked towards the cabinet, both because he was forced to pick the very
instrument he was going to be hurt with, and because Malfoy could ogle his
naked arse as he walked. Not that there was anything worth ogling, but Malfoy
would do it anyway just to add insult to injury.
The bronze handles of the cabinet were cast in the shape of the room's
omnipresent dragons, and felt icy under Ron's palm. The gleaming black door
opened without a squeak, and Ron's hand flew to his mouth to stifle a gasp when
he saw what lay inside.
Malfoy's... implements took up the whole of the inside, row after row of
abominations, each tied to the red satin lining with a silly black silk bow.
They started innocently at the top row with ropes and leather straps in
different sizes. The row underneath held paddles in all shapes; some had holes,
some metal studs, one what looked like silver thorns. Ron shuddered at the
thought of those tearing into his unprotected flesh.
One piece - a handle with over a dozen strips of flowing silk - caught his eye,
and he touched his fingertip to the soft material only to pull back when he
realised what he was doing. This would certainly be too 'harmless' for Malfoy.
The bottom row began with thin birch switches and proceeded to canes, one of
which resembled Malfoy's snake-topped stick, only that its silver handle was
cast in the miniature shape of a nude girl, her body twisting in fright. Next
followed heavy, coiled whips sprouting strands like tentacles. Ron hardly dared
to brush the last few with his eyes - an intimidating bullwhip, the braided
metal of a dragon tamer's crop that would ravage human flesh, leaving behind
nothing but blood and bone. And, at the very end, something that made Ron gasp
again.
A staff, slightly longer and sturdier than a wand, the whole of its darkwood
surface covered with runes. Ron's great-grandfather had once owned an Allstaff,
Weasley family legend claimed, but had sold it to be able to afford the bit of
unplottable land where he'd later built the Burrow. It took the shape of any
implement its creator had worked into it, and altered from one to the next at
the wielder's mere thought. Anger hissed in Ron's gut. Only Malfoy would be
depraved enough to design a priceless artefact like this as a sex toy!
Ron's eyes ghosted over the rows of abominations again. He had no experience
with this kind of thing at all. Mum had slapped him a few times, if a lot less
than the twins. Of course he'd fought with his brothers, but they had always
gone easy on the youngest and had certainly never beaten him. Being cursed was,
well, different. He had no idea what any of these could do in Malfoy's hands.
He didn't want to hand the bastard something he could break him with, but even
less did he want to be mocked as a coward.
Again, his gaze was drawn to the rune-covered surface of the Allstaff. Here was
the opportunity to throw Malfoy's bloody challenge right back into his face. It
would mean refusing to play Malfoy's sick game - or perhaps playing right into
his hands.
Resolutely, Ron pulled open the silk bow that kept the staff in place, and
lifted it out. It was warm and soft to the touch, as if it were moulding itself
to the shape of Ron's hand. He closed the cabinet door with a bang and walked
back towards Malfoy without looking at him. The dragon woven into the carpet
ran a silk tongue along Ron's ankle as he passed by. Ron gripped the Allstaff
tightly in his hand like a snake that might twist out of his grip and sink
fangs into his wrist.
Lips pressed into a thin line, he thrust the Allstaff at Malfoy. The man took
it with a thoughtful expression, that infernal smirk never once vanishing from
his lips as he weighed the staff in his hand.
"Interesting. Do you even know what it is, boy?"
"I know what it is," Ron snarled.
"You are giving me free reign? Unwise, Ronald, most unwise. On the bed, then,"
Malfoy continued. "On your stomach."
With dragging feet, Ron slouched over to the huge bed, feeling as if he'd made
a horrible mistake. He climbed up sideways, tugging his knees up so that his
groin was shielded from view before rolling onto his stomach as bidden. Goose-
flesh prickled on his back and buttocks. It felt... dirty to put his naked
prick onto someone's crisp bedclothes. But then it was more than uncouth to put
one's prick into someone's unwilling mouth!
He heard Malfoy's footsteps approaching the bed, and his throat constricted. He
nearly jumped out of his skin when Malfoy trailed the tip of the Allstaff along
his back. It was untransformed... yet. Ron could feel the deep carvings on the
wood against the sensitive skin above his spine. Truth be told, the staff alone
could probably do exquisite damage as it was.
"Will you need to be restrained?" Malfoy asked, cool as a Crup's nose.
Obviously, he'd caught sight of Ron's fretting.
"No!" Ron gasped.
"Ah, but I think you do," Malfoy murmured silkily, suddenly looming very near.
"Lift your arms."
Instead, Ron came close to snapping upright and screaming. He still woke up
nights with his heart pounding and images haunting his mind of unnamed slimy
things wrapping around his arms, creeping towards his throat, tightening with
every coil. Malfoy was going straight for weakness where he saw it; Ron should
have expected it by now.
He bit his tongue to make sure he wouldn't plead, and stiffly raised his arms.
A wool-lined cuff appeared around each of Ron's wrists without as much as a
pop. He gave a muffled "Omp!" when his arms were pulled apart. Short chains
attached themselves to the cuffs, directed by Malfoy's wand, and threaded
themselves through the loops of the headboard with an ominous rattle. They
stopped when Ron's arms were stretched wide enough to pull his shoulder muscles
taut. Resignedly, Ron flopped down, cheek pressed into a soft pillow. He forced
himself not to pull on the cuffs and work himself into a full-blown panic
attack.
Malfoy's cool hand touched the small of his back, and Ron shuddered at the way
it soothed the fearful sweat on his skin.
"You make yourself so very vulnerable, boy," the man murmured. "It makes you
almost attractive."
Ron was grateful that the pillows under his face muffled the nature of his
reply. Still, he felt almost deprived when the hand vanished.
"Let's see what you have brought upon yourself, then," the bastard commented.
Ron's buttocks tightened in fright as the magic of the artefact kicked in - a
fleeting, violet glow and a crackle of power that brushed his skin. He was
dying to roll around and look, but pride forbade it.
"Yes, that will do for a start," he heard Malfoy murmur, making his skin crawl
in fright. He wished the bastard would just get over with it, and yet when the
air whistled and a sharp flare of pain raked his left buttock, it came as a
surprise. He didn't make a noise, thought that probably had more to do with
shock than courage. In a moment of pain-laced clarity, he tried to assess the
damage. It burned, yes, and Ron was sure there had to be a big, blazing welt on
his hapless arse cheek, but it wasn't unbearable. A switch or something, most
likely.
The thing swished again and crossed the welt on his arse in a blow that was not
only a lot harder, but also bloody unfair. Malfoy was supposed to hit the other
side! The third welt over the same cheek forced a small yip out of Ron's mouth
and turned half his arse into a blooming sea of pain.
"Nice, isn't it?" Malfoy mocked through the fourth blow, again right across
Ron's screaming buttock, and Ron nearly yelled obscenities; his arse felt as if
it had swollen to something of Quaffle size, and it had to be bleeding.
"Although," the bastard mused, "this is one of the toys I'd have rejected had
you chosen it."
Again, Ron saw the violet shimmer out of the corner of his eye, but if there
was another crackle of magic, it was drowned by the burn in Ron's arse. Ron
clenched his fingers into the crisp silk of the duvet, panting with dread until
the sounds echoed in the sudden silence and he struggled for self-control.
Malfoy chuckled and touched his palm to Ron's undamaged buttock, so cool that
Ron felt as if his skin was crawling right up to meet it. He longed for that
soothing hand on his blazing cheek, but it just squeezed undamaged flesh for an
instant, and vanished again.
"Ready?" Malfoy whispered into his shoulder. Ron gritted his teeth. "Good,"
Malfoy commented dryly.
Something whistled above Ron's ear and he almost squealed in fright. Then it
snapped down across his sweaty back, a lingering fire that sank deep and hot
into his skin. The initial impact wasn't so bad, but it flared through him
afterwards like tendrils of acid until he dug his fingers into the pillow. His
buttocks tensed.
In a moment of queer clarity, Ron was aware of the cool film of sweat on his
lower back just before the lash came down on it. He jerked, fighting the
irrational urge to claw the itching, fiery stripe off with his nails. The next
caught the upper swell of his buttocks and he buried his face into the pillows.
It felt a little like hiding away from the blazing lines of fire that blossomed
in sharp, parallel lines on his calves, thighs and back until he was sure he
had to look like a carved roast. The pillows muffled his groans. He flinched
when Malfoy probed the last welt on the taut flesh of Ron's calves, almost
kicking out in pain. It bloody hurt enough as it was; what did the sick fuck
have to poke it for?
"Such a brave little boy," Malfoy cooed and carded his fingers through the
sweat-soaked hair at the nape of Ron's neck. "But I think you're enjoying this
far too much, Ronald."
Ron sputtered into his pillow at the suggestion, but another flood of violet
had him tense. His body was aching like a tenderised piece of meat already.
"Let's find out what you don't like, shall we?"
Ron moaned around a mouthful of down and turned his face away. It left his left
ear free, but still he didn't hear the blow coming. It impacted on the stinging
flesh of his thigh with a sick, dull force as if trying to crack the bones
under the padding of flesh. He couldn't smother the shocked little screech it
drew from him and instinctively pulled his leg away. It hurt as bloody much as
if bones had indeed been broken. The thing whistled down again, louder. Ron's
eye caught the silver atop the cane, a snake like Malfoy's own, and moaned as
it hit.
He found himself clinging to the chains around his cuffs, clutching them until
his fingers felt as if they were about to break, trying to fight back the agony
he had no control over with some he did.
"No?" Malfoy mocked, raising the cane again and grinning down at Ron's scared
face. Ron pulled uselessly on his chains and shook his head. The cane whistled
again, and caught the fleshy tops of both arse cheeks in one vicious blow that
had Ron writhing on the duvet.
Then the cane suffered a violet shudder and shrank, broadened until Malfoy held
only a double-palm-sized paddle he let smack against his palm. He nudged Ron's
hip with his knee, muscles moving elegantly under the smooth skin of his thigh.
Ron gnawed his lip when the slight shift sent a wave of pain through the
bruises from the cane and all the earlier welts. It revealed his groin, and
Malfoy prodded his limp prick with a long finger.
"Something a bit more... intimate, perhaps?"
Rolling Ron's aching body back onto his front, he snapped he paddle against his
hip before bringing it down in a resolute slap on Ron's unabused arse cheek.
The noise was definitely worse than the smack, and yet Ron recoiled; he was
wound too tightly to consider degrees of hurt. It flooded his cheek with
reflexive warmth, though, and the first two or three smacks were almost
pleasant compared to what he'd suffered through before. Well, until Malfoy
struck his other cheek, still sore and blazing with agony.
The smacks came quickly but with force, and the paddle was bloody hard on Ron's
already tender flesh, and it covered practically his whole arse cheek or thigh
when it hit. Malfoy seemed to be getting the hang of it and fell into a cruel
rhythm with evident gusto. Ron could hear his breaths over the meaty sounds of
the slaps.
Somehow, this was worse than anything that had come before, even the brutal
blows of the cane - 'personal' Malfoy had called it, and yes, it gave Ron the
sickening illusion of a naughty child being punished by an abusive father. His
nose clogged up as he sobbed into his pillow with pain, shame and sheer fury.
He curled his toes until his feet cramped, unable to relieve the pain.
Involuntarily, he found himself trying to twist out of the way of the paddle,
aware of how pathetic that made him look.
"Lie still," Malfoy downright purred into his ear, clamping a hand round the
back of Ron's neck for a moment as if to paralyse a Kneazle kitten. The fingers
slipped a little, and Ron realised that his skin was slick with sweat, the hair
at his nape forming into wet spikes. He stilled with effort, trying to bear out
the pain of the next few smacks.
His ears rang and he was so caught up in the broiling fire in his arse and
thighs that it took him a moment to notice Malfoy had stopped. Only when the
bastard lifted Ron's left thigh to poke rudely at his cock again - which still
lay limp and sweaty in the crease of his thigh - Ron managed to suck in a
strangled breath. Malfoy peered up at him, getting a good look at Ron's tear-
smeared face before pulling his hand away.
"So pain isn't your thing, Ronald?" Malfoy observed and fastidiously wiped his
hand on the bed sheet. "Well, no matter. I'm just as happy for you to take it
as punishment."
He put his hand on the back of Ron's head and pressed it down into the pillow
again. Only a ghost of purple caught Ron's eye before his vision went dark and
his back arched against the sudden lack of air.
Then the pressure was gone and an ominous hiss filled Ron's ear. Something
sliced into his back like a knife, leaving a fiery streak from shoulder blade
to buttock. It felt as if his entire back had been sliced in two.
Ron screamed, a terrified, choked noise, and struggled against his bonds,
trying to twist out of the way in earnest. The slightest bit of movement
brought tears to his eyes. Agony burned in the small of his back as if a whole
strip of flesh had been peeled off. Wetness trickled over his skin, and he knew
he was bleeding. Malfoy's fist grabbed his hair again and forced his head
around. Through blurry eyes, Ron could see pink spots of exertion - or
excitement - on the monster's face. His eyes detoured in sick fascination to
the thick piece of leather coiled in Malfoy's other fist. It was braided, and
interwoven with thin metal wires. Ron cringed in cold fear - it looked like
something you could beat someone to death with.
"This is what you chose for yourself," Malfoy hissed against his cheek, holding
him effortlessly as Ron tried to pull away. Ron squeezed his eyes shut as
Malfoy snaked out his tongue and licked a tear from his cheek.
"Look at me!" Ron let his eyes snap open and forced them to meet Malfoy's
vengeful gaze. "I'm be ready to fuck you, little whore. Let me know when you
have enough."
He let go of Ron's hair and hit him over the hip, an almost casual flick of the
wrist. Ron screamed as the blow threw him back onto the bed, although Malfoy
hadn't struck that hard. He saw the stripe appear on the side of his belly,
pale, then red, then running with drops of blood. Agony screamed through his
side as he watched fat drops run into the coverlet. He trembled with pain, eyes
glued to the horror in Malfoy's hand; saw it rise again.
"Stop!" he croaked, face contorted with agony, because Malfoy would force him
in the end, and why wait to be cut to ribbons beforehand?
"Beg me, boy," Malfoy challenged with a glint in his eye.
"Please," Ron spat without spirit, and when the bastard just arched an eyebrow
and stroked a finger along the handle of the whip, he added, "Please fuck me,
Malfoy." Each word bit his mouth.
"We'll see."
The Allstaff resumed his original shape in Malfoy's hand with a purple buzz,
and Ron could breathe again as soon as the whip was out of sight.
Malfoy's hand touched his back, rough and alien against his torn flesh. Then a
sudden streak of warmth ran through the bleeding gashes, first the one on his
back, then the one on his hip, coursing through the wounds until Ron's breath
hissed and he could feel the healing charm at work on the raw cuts. A noise of
relief escaped his throat when the welts closed and the burn faded to, well,
the same throbbing heat to which Malfoy's whipping had reduced his entire back.
"If I want blood on the sheets, I'll wring it from you in a better way," Malfoy
growled. Suddenly, the pressure that had pulled Ron's arms taut vanished, and
the shackles around his wrists snapped open. "Now, little weasel - on your
back."
Ron's head snapped up. "I can't!" he blurted out. The mere thought of bringing
the welts on his back, even less the firestorm that was still raging in his
arse cheeks, into contact with the scratchy bedcovers made pure terror coil in
his stomach.
Malfoy gave his sore arse a squeeze that raced up his nerves and left Ron's
feet drumming against the bed.
"I had planned to take you now, but if you'd prefer some more attention from
that delightful toy you picked before we get to it, I'll be happy to oblige."
Malfoy's hand slipped lower, his thumb caressing the cane marks on the back of
Ron's left thigh even as Ron struggled to draw himself up to his knees. The
tiniest movement ached like all bloody hells, and he was showing Malfoy his
arse hole and his face had to be smeared with sodding tears, his lips swollen
from gnawing on them...
He dragged himself up to his knees rather than rolling over onto his back. Even
so, his skin tightened as if it was going to peel off his bones. Putting weight
on his less abused arse cheek still forced a hiss out of him. The burn flared
and the rough brocade of the coverlet rubbed against his broiled flesh.
"Very good," Malfoy approved. His hands went straight to Ron's groin, pulling
Ron's prick away from his sticky thigh and probing it deftly. Ron made a
protesting noise and tried to squirm, which only made the pain flare to new
heights. Malfoy shook his head and pushed his fingers, smelling and tasting of
cock, between Ron's lips and rubbed them over his tongue.
"Not so uninterested, are we?" the bastard mocked, and Ron sent a hate-filled
thought at his bloody prick, which found Malfoy's touch reassuring and swelled
a bit.
"Lift your arms back up."
Ron obeyed, his muscles and back protesting every move. The shackles snapped
back around his wrist like greedy maws.
"Now," Malfoy continued and looked down at Ron's spread-eagled form like a
Peruvian Vipertooth circling above a fat, juicy cow, "you were so interested in
this earlier..."
A wandless "Accio!", and the Allstaff surged back into his hand, already
glowing. Ron nearly choked with panic. He drew his knees up to protect his
groin even as the thing morphed into the very handle sprouting long strips of
fabric that he'd touched in the cabinet. They felt like silk as Malfoy trailed
them over his side. Bugger! Had the bastard just watched him like a hawk, or
could he do that Legilimency thing Harry had been trying to learn?
"I'd hate not to satisfy your curiosity, Ronald." Malfoy slid off the bed in a
fluid movement, and when the two dozen or so strips came down on Ron's chest
and belly in a near-perfect arc, it felt like a scattering of hail on his skin.
Some of the strips had knots in them, he saw at close distance, but it produced
a prickling sting that was, well, nice. His cock perked under the cover of his
knee. The long strips whispered over his body, combining burn with caress in an
alarmingly arousing combination.
"Stretch out those legs, boy - you look like a dying spider," Malfoy commanded
with an evil expression that told Ron exactly where the next blow was going to
land. Ron gulped and dragged his foot down in slow motion. The hissing strands
came down in a flurry of stings over his groin, heating his prick in a way that
had Ron groaning.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he bit down on his tortured bottom lip and struggled
against his arousal. He squirmed a little, but it made the pain flare up in his
back, so he froze again, trying not to lean into the hot stings and whispers
that were dancing over his thighs, calves and groin. The knotted threads did
sting his cock, unused as it was to exposure or rough handling, but it kept
hardening. He tried to imagine bucketsful of ice water to combat his totally
inappropriate reaction. The flogger made his body sing, but reacting to Malfoy
like this was a lot worse even than crying when Malfoy whipped him.
"It's such a pity my son isn't here to see you," Malfoy mused.
Ron glared, his prick deflating a little at the thought of the ferret's ugly,
pointy face squinting around the doorjamb.
"Well, if that isn't to your liking..." Malfoy dropped the flogger carelessly
to the floor, where it returned to its original shape in a violet crackle. Then
he reached for his wand on the nightstand and raised it in a lazy half-circle
above Ron's body with an incantation Ron had never heard before in his life. A
series of black... things burst from the tip and hurled themselves in the air
on minuscule wings.
Ron gasped as the bug-size creatures circled above him until one surged down
like a tiny bird of prey and plopped right onto his chest. Up close, Ron could
see that it looked like a very small, very ugly Doxy. It crept forward another
inch, grinned at him with two rows of blunt, jagged black teeth, and bit down
on Ron's nearby nipple like a tiny vice. Ron felt the shock course through his
nerves and every fibre of his skin, a languid, painful shudder, and paled at
the girly screech that the attack ripped from his mouth. The thing... gnawed at
the bump of his nipple, as if to search for a bigger mouthful of skin. Then a
tiny pointed tongue ran right over the reddening nub and tickled the darkening
flesh, sending a surge of heat right into his groin. Malfoy's keen eyes
observed the twitch of Ron's cock. He smiled, waving his wand at the tittering
little devils still circling above Ron's stomach.
Before Ron could make a move in his defence, a second monster shot towards his
nose, coming to a standstill in the air like a malicious hummingbird, and stuck
its long grey tongue into his face. Then it somersaulted backwards with a cruel
titter and attacked Ron's other nipple right out of the air. The jerk of pain
was sharper than the previous, its bite deeper. Ron saw a drop of dark blood
oozing from under the tiny jaws that were just wide enough to engulf his
nipple. Ron shrank back reflexively, succeeding only in stoking the fire in his
welted back. With a groan, he relaxed as far as possible even if it made the
sucking sting/pull on his chest more noticeable.
"What are those things?" he gulped, trying to distract himself with his knee
bent to protect his cock.
"Quite a fascinating violation of the Ban of Experimental Breeding, aren't
they?" Malfoy replied. "It's amazing what one can do with the genetic material
of the common Doxy and a bit of magic."
Eeew! Poisonous or not, the effects were no less nasty but quite different from
a Doxy bite. Ron stared at his prick, curved up and flushed with interest, with
something akin to hate. Malfoy followed his gaze and chuckled before wrapping
his hand around the bloody thing. It felt amazing, cool where the flogger had
heated Ron's skin, rough in a way that had his prick firming against the
bastard's palm, a just-so pressure against the tip from Malfoy's thumb teasing
a sheen of wet to the surface.
"Little slut." Malfoy shook his head in amusement.
He gestured at the remaining Doxy-things, and another one plopped onto Ron's
stomach with a slight thud. He inhaled in fright as the little monstrosity
dragged itself down to his navel, tiny hands, feet and the drooping tips of
sharp wings pricking the taut skin of his belly like the legs of a spider.
Sweat broke out all over Ron's forehead, and his entire skin crawled. He could
feel his cock deflating despite Malfoy's grip as the small horror delivered a
number of teeth pricks around his navel, then crept onwards towards his pubic
hair, where it proceeded to drag itself forward on fistfuls of wiry red
strands. Ron winced as his hair was pulled, not enough to rip it out but
certainly enough to sting, then bucked in panic as the tiny monster reached the
base of his cock. It made him buck up right into Malfoy's grip, which quite
undid the earlier flagging. Still, Ron nearly swallowed is tongue when the
thing poked at his cock with a sharp little finger, and yawned, showing two
rows of blunt teeth.
"Take it off!" he wailed, the burn of tears sharp in his eyes and thickening
his voice.
"Are you quite sure? I would hate to leave you with a lack of proper education
in the intricacies of bedplay."
"I'm sure!" Ron screeched, unsure what he feared more, the thought of those
spidery limbs crawling over his groin, or the thought of feeling the sharp
bites that still had his nipples throb on his most vulnerable body parts.
Malfoy chuckled again, the sick bloody bastard, but a wand wave sent the little
horror into oblivion along with its still-flying companions. Predictably, the
two that had attached themselves to Ron's nipples like black-shelled beetles
with their tiny wings wrapped around their ugly bodies remained, alternately
gnawing, sucking and tonguing the aching nubs in a way that made Ron want to
thrust up into Malfoy's fist again.
The Death Eater had put his wand away and raised the thumb that wasn't busy
pressing against the slit of Ron's prick to pet one of the little creatures. It
squirmed and bit deeper, forcing a strangled scream from Ron. The bite burned
right down to his toes. His eyes watered, and he could have sworn the little
monster arched its minuscule neck in pleasure. Malfoy spread the oozing precome
liberally over the tip of Ron's prick with a satisfied expression.
"What a wanton little thing you are," he sneered. "But you'd have to be,
wouldn't you, considering Arthur's productivity?"
Ron had heard this once too often before and was glad for the shackles that
prevented him from bashing Malfoy's face in. He wasn't wanton - anything but!
Just seventeen! Everybody would react, being stroked like that. Well, maybe not
Malfoy with his marble-statue looks and icy control, but every human being!
His eyes had lingered one second too long on Malfoy's body, bare and pale and
carefree where Ron was a blotched, squirming mess.
"Yes, it's time now, isn't it?" Malfoy gave Ron's prick a last, delicious tweak
before letting go, drawing his feet up onto the mattress to crouch between
Ron's legs. Ron spread them a bit to avoid touching Malfoy's knees, and only
realised the wrongness of his message when the bastard grinned. "Definitely
time."
Blood shot into Ron's cheeks. He had no time to reply, however, because Malfoy
crept closer, hooking both hands behind Ron's knees to spread his thighs and
push his legs up at the same time. Ron started to tremble. He'd had Malfoy's
prick in his mouth and it had been far too big, and to feel it there...
Gooseflesh ran rampant over his skin.
Malfoy was suddenly far too close, and far too naked and he was stroking his
cock right next to Ron's hip, sliding up and down with something that glistened
and smelled faintly of oil. Ron's entire lower body tensed at the sight as if
he'd been hit with an Indigestivus Hex. The bastard just smirked at him and
rolled Ron's hips back a little further until he had to be able to see
practically all of him. Ron's icy bare feet hung uselessly next to his face.
Even without a back that burned and stung, the cramped position would have been
hell on his neck. As it was, it pressed the maltreated skin down into the
stitched surface of the coverlet, and every breath and tiny move sent shots of
fire through him.
Malfoy's fingers cupped Ron's arse cheeks, alternately stroking and squeezing
the multi-coloured bruises until Ron wanted to scream. Wide-eyed, he watched
Malfoy summon his wand into his hand again, then run a torturous nail down the
exposed skin of Ron's anus. Ron flinched like a bee-stung horse when Malfoy
laid the wand tip right against his opening. Then he felt it press forward ever
so slightly until it was crammed snugly against the burning, clenched hole.
Ron squeezed his eyes shut, tensing until his muscles ached, only aware that
his face had to be a frozen grimace of fear and Malfoy could see and enjoy it.
He could hear a spell being spoken, but it did not penetrate his horror-
scrambled brain. He felt the effect, though, another whiff of fragrant oil and
then something slippery soaking into his arse, spilling into him in a way that
was several times more intrusive than the Scourgify had been in the bathroom.
The burn of the wand eased where the liquid bubbled around the tense ring of
muscle. After another moment, the wand was withdrawn with a slick pop that rang
in Ron's ears. His face was hot as if blistered by sunburn.
He felt Malfoy's hands slip along the insides of his thighs for an instant,
dragging along the sweaty creases where Ron's hips met thigh and playing with
his nervous, tightly drawn-in balls before teasing along Ron's perineum in a
tickly caress that had every last of Ron's hairs stand up. Part of him wished
he would not react to Malfoy's touches, while another wished he could surrender
to them and so escape the horrors to come. It would be great to be able to hide
inside his mind and cut himself off from his body.
Ron clung to the chains around his wrists again, relishing the press of the
cold metal as fear forced his eyes open to the sight of Malfoy positioning
himself behind his upturned arse, still stroking his darkening prick until it
shone like an oily tentacle. The smell of him overtook the oil, not fishy but
feral somehow, and mingled with sweat.
And then Malfoy pressed into him, less hard than the wand, less blunt, but
wider. Ron made a tiny noise of protest that sounded alien in his ears, like
Errol when he'd caught his foot in his Mum's clothesline and had hung head-down
like an ugly pair of underpants. Picturing Errol didn't help as Malfoy pushed
forward, unrelenting as if shoving the length of his prick into Ron was all
that would keep him alive. It hurt as if Malfoy was tearing him into two
bleeding halves, but the fucking oil made him slip inside almost unhindered,
and Ron gagged and clawed at the metal chains until he felt his nails splinter.
The sick pain overtook the burn in his arse for a moment and Ron let go
reflexively. Why mutilate himself any worse than Malfoy was already doing?
The bastard kept a tight grip on his bruised thighs, holding them spread for
comfortable access while preventing Ron from slipping backwards or wriggling
away.
Ron hardly noticed the bruises on his buttocks any more, or his cramped leg
muscles. His mind was consumed by Malfoy's cock, burying its way into him with
short jabs that Ron could feel in his throat and in his skull, each one feeling
as if his insides would explode if Malfoy made even one more tiny move. Tears
ran down his cheek as Malfoy thrust, rocking his body and pressing his upper
back into the mattress until every welt screeched out its protest.
He didn't explode or burst into flames even if, oh Merlin, he wanted to because
surely Malfoy had to be in by now or what was he aiming for, Ron's windpipe?
Ron threw his head from side to side to shake off the pain and the sheer horror
of being pinned and penetrated. Malfoy gave one last thrust that shot like a
spike of fire through Ron's arse before uttering a sigh of languid contentment
and curling his fingers around Ron's throat to still his frantic flailing.
Ron stared up, unable to do anything else, frozen as a mouse between the jaws
of a cat. He couldn't grasp how anyone could take pleasure in inflicting such a
degree of pain on another, lurid revenge fantasies of his own notwithstanding.
Malfoy did look slightly undone, face and lips coloured with pink. He looked as
if he was enjoying himself indeed. Then he rocked inside Ron, never breaking
eye contact, and the sudden shock made his face blur before Ron's eyes.
"Ah, delightful," the monster sighed and loosened his grip around Ron's throat
to tweak one of the little critters at his nipples. The thing growled, and bit
deeper. Ron almost growled too, but he didn't want to give Malfoy an excuse to
go for his throat again. "Don't you think that you should be enjoying yourself
more, Ronald?"
"Go to hell!" rumbled out of Ron's mouth before his mind could keep up. Malfoy
calmly shifted his cock and then, while Ron still gasped from the pain that
coursed through his burning channel, poked the other miniature Doxy until it
gnawed mercilessly at Ron's nipple.
"Manners, boy." Ron glared weakly, lips pressed shut. "The facts remain,
however. You are well prepared and-" Malfoy's hand wrapped around Ron's prick
in a moment's rough squeeze, topped by a playful tweak of his cockhead that Ron
felt right up to his scalp, "-quite adequately aroused. If you're in pain, it's
because you've decided to hurt yourself."
"I'm..." Ron expelled the air from his lungs to smother the curses that wanted
out. "I'm hurt because you stuck your bl... fuc.... your thing into me!"
Rage boiled into his stomach right next to where Malfoy's fingers on his prick
were generating their very own heat. It was bloody absurd, lying rolled up with
his bloody feet around his bloody head, stuffed like Mum's Christmas turkey,
and being lectured at by Malfoy!
"Such a Gryffindor." Malfoy sighed, still petting Ron's prick with a crooked
index finger. "Do you think that choosing pain will make this easier to
remember later? Afraid that pleasure will shame you?" He leaned in until his
face hung like a white oval above Ron's eyes. "Afraid I will break you?"
"You won't break me!" Ron snarled from between clenched teeth. Malfoy favoured
him with a glitter-eyed wolf's grin.
"Prove it, little Gryffindor."
He's playing you, Ron's inner voice - which right now sounded a lot like Harry
- insisted. Fucking with your head. Surely you can bear a little pain rather
than surrendering your last bit of dignity to the enemy?
But he was hurting, tense all over, and Malfoy's cock burned like a hot iron
poker inside him. If he kept like this when Malfoy started to pound into him in
earnest... Better to have his wits at the end of this than to end up as a
bundle of screaming nerves.
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes without another look at Malfoy's feral
face, and very purposefully removed his aching fingers from the chains. His
nails tried to dig into his palms as if they had a mind of their own, but he
forced his hands to splay open on the pillow. There wasn't much to be done for
his aching back and legs, but he tried to ease his muscles as much as his
position allowed. Ron's cheeks heated as he concentrated on the slick oil that
coated the insides of his arse and Malfoy's prick, squelching whenever Malfoy
moved, and tried to relax the tense muscles around the intrusion. Malfoy held
perfectly still. Only his soft breaths betrayed that he was alive.
It still was a lot like being stuck on the toilet with congestion, but Ron
could actually feel the panicked clench of his inner walls relaxing, and the
pressure being soaked off - a little - by the oil. Blushing more, he focused on
Malfoy's fingers on his prick, light and teasing and suddenly very present,
where he'd tried not to acknowledge them before.
As if he could sense Ron's thoughts, Malfoy's fingers tightened, squeezed, and
Ron let out a breathless noise as his prick hardened and surged up in Malfoy's
hand. Ron forced his body to relax further, just like he did before a
challenging game of wizard chess and tried - but hardly ever managed - to pull
off before a Quidditch match.
"Ready, my little whore?"
Sickness squirmed in Ron's gut at the words. "I'm not yours," he said, his
voice eerily clear. "But you can do your worst."
Malfoy's only response was another chuckle and a squeeze around Ron's cock that
robbed him of the gift of speech.
"Don't worry - I will."
He rocked into Ron's arse again with a soft squelch. Every inch of Ron wanted
to tense again, to claw something, to scream. He didn't. Instead, he let
Malfoy's hand on his prick pull him through the pain, and acknowledged the
faint tingle in his balls for the sign of arousal it was. It made things easier
somehow, focusing on pleasure, reducing the burn in his back to a bath of heat
that was just bearable. The stings in his bitten nipples burned like wires
connected to his groin.
Malfoy didn't let go of his cock for a moment. He held Ron's hips in position
with one hand and withdrew just a little before pushing back into Ron like a
freezing kitten burrowing into its nest for warmth. Ron kept his breaths
shallow, but no, it wasn't so bad now that he was concentrating on the
slickness Malfoy moved with.
The third or fourth of those shallow thrusts ghosted by something inside him
that felt so shockingly good that his toes twitched. Malfoy laughed softly at
Ron's gasp, and brushed against that spot again while giving Ron's prick an
affectionate squeeze. The heat it spread broke out in beads of sweat on Ron's
face. He felt his cock rise, his own arousal wet against Malfoy's fingertips,
and clung to the corner of a pillow for a reason that had nothing to do with
pain.
"Enough playing now, Weasley," Malfoy ground out, and when Ron squinted up he
could see red spots tainting the man's cheeks. Malfoy dug fingers into Ron's
hip and pulled back, a long slide Ron felt prickling up in his neck, almost
slipping from Ron's arse. Then pushed back in with enough force to shove Ron
backward into the pillows. The coverlet scraped his back in a fiery line, and
Ron's mouth gaped open in shock. Not playing indeed!
It hurt, oh, it hurt, but not enough, not enough to ignore that occasional,
erratic touch against that bloody spot inside him, or to ignore the way his
cock strained towards his belly and his balls ached even as Malfoy's thrusts
drove sharp, pained hisses from his lips.
And all the while Malfoy played his thumb over the wet head of Ron's prick,
nail scraping against the slit in a way that made Ron's balls tighten further
in a very familiar way.
"I'm-" he protested inarticulately as the rush hit him with a force he hadn't
ever experienced before. It drove the words right out of his mind as his prick
begun to spurt under Malfoy's fingers. The bastard jerked it rudely upwards,
aligning it with Ron's belly, and Ron felt the drops splatter all over his
stomach and chest. A warm splash made it against the underside of his chin.
Malfoy's fingers continued milking the tender organ until it began to ache from
over-stimulation. Ron fretted softly, wanting to bask in the delicious
aftershocks and finally the man took his hand away, wiping it against Ron's
side, then grabbed Ron's hips with both hands. Ron only had a second's warning
from Malfoy's rough hold and the feral expression on his face before the man
slammed into him once more, thrusting harder, deeper even than before until
Ron's whole body shook. Malfoy bumped against the bruises on Ron's buttocks and
dragged Ron's back along the covers until sparks bloomed before Ron's eyes.
Malfoy pounded into him as if to express his hatred for all things Weasley
right there, then dug nails into the bruised flesh of Ron's hip until he
jerked, and flooded Ron's insides with slick fluid. The smell of it was strong
in the air around them, and Ron crinkled his nose, becoming aware of the drying
come all over his chest.
Malfoy pulled his softening member free of him as soon as his thigh muscles had
stopped trembling, with the most sickening squelch Ron had ever heard in his
life. The renewed pain from the press against the raw walls of his arse made
Ron howl, and he felt come drip down his crack.
Ron tried to put his cramped legs into a sideways sprawl to avoid further
pressure on his arse and his welted back, only now becoming aware that he'd
been drooling onto the pillow.
Malfoy rose to his knees, staring down at the miserable mess he had turned Ron
into with a horrible, amused leer on his face. Strands of hair had come free
left and right of his braid, but he didn't seem discomposed as he wiped his
cock and thighs on the bedspread. There were a few flecks of red, but not
remotely as much blood as Ron had expected, considering that he'd felt as if
Malfoy had burrowed into him to the very roots of his being.
Wand in hand, Malfoy slipped off the bed to perform a fastidious cleaning charm
on his body. Another flick, and the shackles around Ron's wrists vanished. Ron
lowered his arms and wrapped them around his middle. He stared at nothing,
cheek pressed into the pillow like a morose Kneazle. Most of all, he was trying
not to move to avoid the burn and the squishy sensation in his arse.
"I wonder what your father would say if he could see you like this," Malfoy
commented, eyes raking over Ron's body with a degree of contempt that almost
seared his skin. "Naked in my bed, covered in welts and sweat and come,
surrendering to your own disgrace like a two-Sickle Knockturn whore."
Ron could only stare, cringing with shock. The Death Eater gave him a malicious
look. "Not quite the pride of the house of Weasley, are you, boy?"
Something snapped inside Ron's mind; he leapt onto his knees, forgetting the
raw flare in his arse. Fist clenched, he swung at Malfoy's grin, fuelled by the
rage, hatred and shame that had been festering in his brain ever since fleeing
Quality Quidditch Supplies this afternoon.
The blow caught Malfoy right across the mouth, the man's teeth sharp under the
soft skin of his lips. Ron exulted in the way Malfoy's head snapped to the
side, in the blood that dripped from the corner of his mouth. It felt...
amazing, so much that Ron hardly registered the sting in his hand or the raging
fire in his insides and back. It felt amazing until he caught Malfoy's
expression, the dark, sinister triumph etched on his face. Then it hit him like
a Bludger to the head: the bastard had fucking provoked him! And Ron had broken
their 'contract', had broken it after Malfoy had got what he wanted from him.
It wasn't a question of what Malfoy might do to Ron in retaliation, but what
his momentary flare of temper might mean for his father.
Ron paled and the breath he'd been holding burned in his lungs. Then he moved,
as much on impulse as when he'd struck out before, spreading his fingers in a
gesture of defeat, still kneeling on the duvet before Malfoy.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Please, I'll submit to whatever you want - just
please don't throw me out!"
He felt almost physically ill at the thought - at the knowledge of how much
this had to appeal to Malfoy, fucking his enemy's son and then destroying him
anyway for an act of thoughtless stupidity. Ron's hands trembled as Malfoy
picked a summoned handkerchief out of thin air and dabbed at the blood at the
corner of his mouth. His face was darker than Ron had ever seen it.
"Please," he tried again, squirming inwardly as he watched red flecks decorate
the pristine white of the handkerchief. Malfoy deserved to bleed a lot more,
but not now! "I'm sorry... look, I... you can cast Cruciatus on me if you want-
"
The second the fatal words were out of his mouth and Ron saw the near-
imperceptible narrowing of Malfoy's eyes, he longed to be able to stuff them
right back into his fat, stupid mouth. Malfoy's hand shot out and grabbed the
short hair at Ron's neck, yanking his head close to his face. His teeth were
bared.
"And why would you ask for the Cruciatus, you stupid child?" The pull on Ron's
hair was so strong he had to twist his head at a weird angle, leaving his cheek
pressed against the man's chest. He could smell the sweat of his skin. "Are you
trying to upstage your dear Harry by trying to make yourself into a martyr?"
Ron crinkled his forehead in confusion. He'd merely blurted out the worst thing
he could think of. "What does that have to do with Harry?" he gasped, beginning
to fear for his hair the way Malfoy pulled on it.
"Saint Potter suffered the Dark Lord's Cruciatus Curse in the Riddle graveyard,
in front of all of our master's faithful. His screams were most entertaining."
Ron bit his lip to prevent himself from making matters worse by screaming at
the bastard. He didn't want to hear those things from a gloating enemy. He'd
once thought that he wanted to hear them from Harry, but wasn't so sure about
it any more. They'd suspected, of course, he and Hermione, from Harry's voice
and the meagre details he'd supplied, but...
Abruptly, Malfoy let go of his hair, and Ron couldn't help but rub his head to
make sure his scalp was still attached. The icy Death Eater mask was back on
the man's face despite the lurid bruise spreading on his lower lip. He gave Ron
a rough shove that send him in a sprawl onto the mattress.
"No, please!" Ron gasped, sure that his ultimate offer had failed because he'd
somehow provoked Malfoy's ire.
"Get off the bed and on your knees, Ronald," Malfoy snarled. "If you're so
eager for pain, you shall have it."
Ron swung his legs off the mattress, painfully aware of the wet smears on his
arse and the indescribable burn as he crouched on his less damaged arse cheek
for a moment before dropping to the floor. The impact sent a stab through his
entire body, and the dragon on the bedside carpet did a two-dimensional
somersault before stretching its stitched neck to tongue Ron's calf.
Malfoy came to stand before him, and Ron was glad he'd been ordered to kneel
because his legs were too shaky to hold him. He stared at the ten inches of
mahogany Malfoy twirled between his fingers before his eyes detoured lower for
an instant. Thank Merlin Malfoy did not seem to consider this as an arousing
bit of foreplay. Or maybe he was, and just had a degree of self-control Ron
would never manage to reach. Though Malfoy was an old man who probably needed
extreme measures to get it up a third time. Ron felt his mouth pull into a
sneer and shivered. Perhaps it wasn't prudent to let his thoughts run away from
him like that, even less to show contempt to the man who was about to curse him
with Cruciatus...
Malfoy jerked his head and the two Doxy lookalikes released Ron's nipples in
unison and took to the air. Ron doubled up and clutched his chest at the sudden
roar of trapped blood in his nipples. Merlin, it hurt!
"Are you ready, then, my foolish little hero?" Malfoy reached down with his
wandless hand and stroked the curve of Ron's lip. Ron shuddered, but didn't
pull back. "Or would you rather let your father suffer in your place?"
With a renewed glare, Ron pulled his face away from Malfoy's fingers, though
his eyes were unable to leave the tip of Malfoy's wand, aware of every twitch.
He felt as if Malfoy had sent a Petrificus his way already.
"Very well, then." Malfoy smiled slowly. "But keep in mind that this was your
idea - Crucio!"
Ron felt the curse touch him just before it ignited every part of his body into
a screaming torch. It scraped the protective layers off his nerves until they
were pure flame. He heard himself cry out through the magma that was dripping
into his ears. A protesting, shocked cry that turned into a gurgle, and then he
heard nothing any more at all - he just burned.
It was worse than an acid pop on his tongue, it was like having acid spilling
into every pore, pumping poison into his blood and flesh and incinerating his
bones until the very marrow charred.
Ron writhed on the floor, clawing helplessly at the carpet while the stitched
dragon snaked its sinuous form away to avoid him. Ron's body twisted, prey to
the Unforgivable it had no defence against, and he howled in protest because
nobody, ever, deserved to suffer through a hell like this. And then he just
shrieked mindlessly despite the knife that seemed to have been rammed down his
throat.
He couldn't hear Malfoy ending the curse, only felt the agony retreat until his
senses came back to a semblance of life. He was trembling so hard he couldn't
even prop himself up onto his hands, and there was an awful tang of blood in
his mouth. His throat was raw, his face wet although he couldn't remember
crying - but he must have and was too shaken to care about the tears that
exposed his weakness to Malfoy. He wiped his face, succeeding only in smearing
it further.
"Did I satisfy your curiosity, boy?"
Even if his tongue hadn't been stuck to the roof of his mouth like a dried-out
sponge, that sort of malice didn't require an answer. His silence didn't seem
to please Malfoy, though; his tone took on a distinctly sharp note.
"And now, Mr Weasley, are you going to tell me everything you know about your
Order of the Phoenix to stop me from cursing you again?"
Ron's skin went clammy with shock. He didn't know what would happen if Malfoy
used the Cruciatus on him again - the agony had made his skull go soft like the
yellow of a boiled egg that would slice open and spill at the slightest push.
And that if that happened, his mind would spill out along with everything else.
He'd felt it before, after the Department of Mysteries, when the brains' alien
thoughts had slithered into his dreams, sometimes twisting even his waking
thoughts with a split-second's unfamiliarity. Those dreams had faded over the
past weeks, but the dread of being a stranger in his own body, of his self
being squeezed out like a pimple, had not.
"Please, don't," he whispered helplessly. "I don't know anything anyway." His
hands were shaking and his whole body still throbbed with the aftershocks. For
the first time, he was grateful that his mother had so adamantly kept him away
from the Order's business.
"Is that so?" Malfoy inquired, aiming his wand again.
Ron felt fresh tears on his cheeks and hid his face against the carpet,
squeezing his eyes shut in expectation of horror.
"Scourgify!"
The rough scrape of the spell washed over his skin and Ron whimpered, unable at
first to comprehend that the word wasn't 'Crucio' and the scouring did not turn
into a burn that would scald his entire being. Instead, the spell vanished
sweat, come and worse from the floor and Ron's body, leaving him to shiver on
the ground. He wrapped his arms around his chest and gave himself to the
tremors.
Malfoy's voice needed two attempts to get through to him. "Get back on the bed
boy - right now. On your stomach." And then, "Now, Weasley! Or I'll give you
another dose as incentive."
That registered. Ron struggled up, leaning heavily against the side of the bed
to keep his pudding-filled knees from giving out underneath him. He crawled
onto the coverlet which had also been scourgified of all prior evidence and was
smelling like freshly laundered. He collapsed, every bone still aching inside
its tender casing of flesh. He felt as if he'd break into bits like over-cooked
meat if someone prodded him.
The mattress dipped, and Ron could feel Malfoy sitting down next to his hip. If
he hadn't been in so much pain, he would have flinched away, but as it was, all
he could do was keep himself from sniffling like an infant.
He heard Malfoy mutter a summoning charm, followed by the characteristic *pop*
of a potions flask being uncorked. An intense, spicy but sweet smell bloomed in
the air, and then a warm fluid splashed between his shoulder blades and slowly
dripped down to collect at the small of Ron's back. He tensed, expecting it to
eat into his flesh, but it was warm and pleasant.
Malfoy's fingers touched him deftly, rubbing the potion into his skin. It
prickled where it touched his wounds, but then spread in a deep, warm surge
into the flesh beneath. Ron closed his eyes and just gave his body over. The
soft bed under his stomach eased his tremors a little, and the heady smell of
the potion seemed to crawl right up into his nostrils and calm his mind. Ron
shuddered as Malfoy's large hand touched his neck firmly, but his fingers only
set to kneading the near-fossilised muscles there.
The stuff had to be strong, Ron realised; the welts and bruises on his back
smoothed right out under Malfoy's slick fingers as if the Death Eater was
stroking them away. The potion radiated deep beneath the vanishing bruises,
soothing the raw nerves the Cruciatus had assaulted.
It was so bloody unfair, Ron thought muzzily, that Malfoy could practically
shatter him, body and mind, with one word. Just how had Harry managed to fight
You-Know-Who and escape from the graveyard after this? Was he, Ron, really that
weak in comparison?
"It wasn't the same thing," Malfoy told his back rather curtly while digging
potion-dripping fingers into the crop welts on Ron's back and sides. Ron
groaned when he realised he'd spoken aloud, but then dipped his head to listen.
"The Dark Lord wasn't done playing with your hero Potter in the graveyard." Ron
heard another pop of the cork, and more potion splashed over his arse cheeks. A
distinct trail ran down his crack, and Ron flushed into his pillow. "And
you..." Fingertips spread the stuff over his arse and thighs, stinging ever so
slightly on the cheek that Malfoy had worked over with the switch, but then
turning into a vigorous rub that washed the pain away. "The Cruciatus is used
to greatest effect on those the caster knows intimately - lovers, blood
relatives. A detail unlikely to have made it into the Hogwarts syllabus. You
picked the very moment you would be most vulnerable."
Ron felt his legs relax under Malfoy's hands. The man was massaging the tension
out of his calves before giving his feet a few cursory strokes as well.
"Why tell me that?" Ron mumbled, his tongue strangely reluctant to form proper
words, as if Malfoy would curse at him again for speaking. "Wouldn't you want
me to think I'm weak?"
"You are weak," Malfoy shot back. "Not to mention insolent and foolish." He
gave Ron's ankle an ungentle squeeze. "Have you made up for your transgression,
Weasley?"
Ron blanched against his pillow. His spine stiffened despite the warm glow of
the potion. He'd paid more than dearly for the punch he'd dealt Malfoy, but the
bastard might not see it that way.
"That's not for me to say, is it?" The grip around his ankle loosened.
"Foolish, though not ultimately beyond learning your lesson, it seems." Malfoy
wiped the rest of the potion in long strokes over Ron's calves before prodding
him onto his back. This time, rolling over hardly hurt at all.
Ron looked up into Malfoy's face, the sight of which still tempted him to
cringe and hide. A frown marred the smooth forehead as the man contemplated
him. He touched the cold sweat that had collected all over Ron's front with an
impatient expression before squeezing another splash of potion out of a bulbous
flacon that hovered in the air next to Malfoy's ear. He spread it in a wide
smear across Ron's chest, then lifted wet fingers to Ron's throat. Ron froze,
but Malfoy's fingers only rubbed the sides of Ron's neck, sliding over the
ridges of the brain scars that even this potion, potent as it was, would not
manage to erase.
Breathing was suddenly easier, but when Malfoy's thumb caressed the base of
Ron's throat as gently as a father coaxing his sore-throated child to swallow
its medicine, helpless tears formed in Ron's eyes and slid down into his hair.
The knot in his larynx was back, only different. Cruelty might, after all, be
easier to bear.
Malfoy dipped his fingers into one of the tear traces and thoughtfully rubbed
the fluid between thumb and index finger, his eyes holding Ron as mesmerised as
his touch.
Then he turned away and began to spread potion over Ron's smarting nipples
without a word. Shoulders, arms, stomach and sides were next, intimate as if
Malfoy was laying claim to the very flesh he coaxed back to life. Ron averted
his eyes, but the tickle of Malfoy's braid, falling over his shoulders as he
worked, did not allow Ron to conjure a mental substitute for the man who was
touching his body.
The potion warmed his front as well, prickling down into his flesh, and slowly
swept away both the remaining tension and the sheer horror of the Cruciatus. It
left a sense of peace that reminded Ron of Egypt, of the bliss of lying on warm
sand with the sun shining on his skin, of floating in the ocean without a care
while soothing waves lapped around him.
The spicy smell clogged the air and made him dizzy with contentment. Not even
his own appreciative hum as Malfoy stroked his prick and balls embarrassed him
- it wasn't arousing exactly, but felt extremely good.
He grumbled a little as the man rolled him back onto his stomach again, but
acquiesced readily when the massaging hands returned to his shoulder blades.
There were no marks left from the whipping, only smooth skin and Ron couldn't
recall having felt this content for ages.
"I didn't expect to see you healed so soon, or so thoroughly," Malfoy commented
as he worked. Too lazy to open his eyes, Ron mumbled, "Why d'you do it, then?"
into his pillow.
"Because you'd provide little entertainment as a Cruciatus-ridden wreck."
Malfoy sounded almost petulant.
"You've used this before, right?" Ron asked, tongue heavy as sleep was tugging
on him. The potion loosened his tongue, which would have alarmed him had it not
also suppressed his better judgement.
Malfoy snorted delicately. "Often enough. The potion is a staple in most Death
Eater households. Well, in those who can afford to have it brewed."
A drizzle of potion trickled onto his arse again, and the man parted his cheeks
so it could drip down further. Malfoy caught the spill right over his hole, and
smeared a generous dose over the loosened ring of muscle at Ron's opening. It
prickled there too, making his nerves twitch in a way that wasn't at all
unpleasant. Much better than Malfoy's wand digging into him had.
Malfoy summoned a fat pillow from the far end of the bed, and shoved it under
Ron's groin to lift up his arse. Ron obligingly spread his legs, his limp prick
and balls safely cushioned in down and silk. It was comfortable - he could go
right to sleep with the sensation of Malfoy rubbing healing potion into his
arse. In some corner of his mind, he knew that Malfoy would fuck him again, but
he couldn't work up any apprehension. Whatever that Death Eater healing stuff
was, it had not only cured his hurts, but must also have drugged him to the
gills.
His body felt as if it owed Malfoy a gift of gratitude for massaging away the
shock of the Cruciatus even as the faint Harry-like voice at the back of his
mind protested that the man had caused the pain in the first place. Not that
any of it mattered much. Ron put his chin onto his folded arms, arse stuck in
the air, and waited for Malfoy to press up against him.
He didn't have to wait long. Malfoy wiped his fingers on Ron's skin, stroking
himself for a moment with another dollop of potion. The sight made Ron smirk,
hidden against his crossed arms -Malfoy probably needed an invigorating dose of
the potion too, to get it up again.
Then Malfoy disappeared from view and Ron felt the bed dip behind him. Malfoy's
hands touched his tilted-up hips and stroked the newly-healed skin of his
buttocks until Ron almost purred. Deep down in his bones he could still feel
the echo of the Cruciatus, not pain but memory, and being touched made that
instinctive dread retreat a little. At last, Malfoy's cock pushed at his
entrance, slick and demanding. Ron pressed his cheek into the pillow, letting
Malfoy spread him wide and push in. Even through his potion-addled daze he
expected it to hurt, and for a moment the pressure felt like pain indeed, but
Malfoy's prick was soaked with the potion, and it soothed the ravaged inner
walls of his channel. It sucked up the remaining hurts except for a few twinges
and the sheer strain of being filled up with Malfoy's cock.
Malfoy wasn't exactly careful, but the feral urgency seemed to have bled out of
him. He fucked Ron slowly, with deep, uncompromising strokes that shocked Ron's
traumatised nerves to a very different sort of life than the Cruciatus had
done. He could feel his own prick twitch a little against the pillow as Malfoy
brushed the spot inside him that made Ron squirm and gasp with pleasure. He
didn't get hard - the Cruciatus was still too fresh to allow that - but his
prick wasn't uninterested either, and the light strokes along his prostate sent
sparks up his spine.
The rush accumulated until Ron mindlessly raised his hips to meet Malfoy's
thrusts. The pleasure coiling inside him made his breath sped up until his
chest heaved. He felt Malfoy's body, half-draped over his back, and arched his
spine a little to lean into the skin contact.
Malfoy rocked him, keeping to the insidious angle that was reducing Ron's brain
to mush until a jolt hit the base of Ron's skull like a hex at close quarters.
The sensation raised gooseflesh all over his body and surged through him with a
force that had him arching his butt even higher and biting his arm to stifle a
scream. It felt like, well, orgasm, and he wasn't even hard!
The fizz was followed by bone-deep exhaustion, as if his muscles had turned to
butter. The last remaining tension slid out of him and he went pliant under
Malfoy's speeding thrusts, moving along with the man's body until Malfoy
uttered a low hiss and grabbed Ron's hips to spend himself deep inside him. Ron
registered the warm spill, and felt Malfoy's braid whipping over the small of
his back. Ron sucked in one last, deep lungful of potion-saturated air and
slipped into a sleep of sheer exhaustion, a faint, drugged smile still hidden
against the bite-marks on his arm.
                                      ***
Ron drifted at the borderline of wakefulness for quite some time before even
thinking about opening his eyes. His mind was pleasantly blank, his body
comfortable although he had the inexplicable gut feeling that he'd be better
off keeping his lids down and going right back to sleep. When his hearing
kicked back in, though, a soft rustle alerted him enough to crack one eye open.
He saw a sea of silver-stitched red, and the thought 'Lucius Malfoy's
bedspread' jogged his sluggish memory. Mistrustfully, his eyes wandered
upwards.
He encountered a sardonic expression from under a raised eyebrow, and coloured.
Ron had never woken up in the same bed with another person who wasn't a
sibling. And this was certainly not the way he'd planned to be introduced to
that experience. So much for his sappy dreams about Hermione!
Malfoy was sitting on the other side of the bed, covers pulled up around his
waist. He was reading the evening edition of the Daily Prophet in the soft
orange light of a dragon-shaped bedside lamp. His wand lay within easy reach on
the nightstand.
Ron pulled the bedcovers up to his neck. He'd been tucked in, evidently by
Malfoy himself because well, who else was there? It was an unsettling thought.
The man folded his paper, unexpectedly bringing Ron face to face with a sullen
Harry staring out of a photograph on the back page. He was alternately
glowering up at the headline - "The 'Boy Who Lived': Confundus Victim or
Attention Seeker?" - and scowling at potential readers. When the photograph's
eyes fell on Ron, curled up naked under a crimson bed sheet next to Lucius
Malfoy, they widened in disbelief. Incredulity turned to pure shock after an
instant. Ron's face flared and he lowered his gaze, unable to face the
condemnation on his best friend's face, even on paper.
Malfoy's eyebrow rose higher still; he turned the paper to see what had caused
Ron's unease, and smirked at Harry's photo.
"What do you think would the real Hero Potter tell you, Ronald, if he'd see you
here? Would he be outraged? Jealous?"
Surely not jealous of me, you sadistic arse! Ron thought darkly. And not of
Malfoy either, come to think of it. He pressed his lips together, but Malfoy
didn't seem to expect a reply. He folded the paper and placed it on the
nightstand - with Harry's photo on top, the sodding bastard! - and leaned back
with a cat-like stretch against the headboard.
"Stop hiding under that sheet like a scared Kneazle," Malfoy ordered. He
crooked his index finger at Ron, who grudgingly started to free himself from
the covers. His self-conscious eyes fell on his gangly legs. No, Kneazle-cute
would certainly never be used to describe him.
The cloying aroma of the potion had vanished, and when Ron prodded his thigh,
the skin was taut but soft, without any oily residue. He looked up.
"I spelled it away, boy. The potion is potent and will turn aggressive if left
in contact with skin after it has run its course."
Ron nodded, battling the urge to say 'thanks' and a deep unease at having slept
right through Malfoy using magic on him. He felt fine - good, in fact - apart
from a faint pressure at the back of his head. But that might be the after-
effect of the way the stuff had scrambled his brain. It had made him enjoy
Malfoy fucking him, he recalled with a horrified shudder. At least he didn't
feel like he was under Imperius or something.
"I hope you're properly rested, Ronald," Malfoy drawled, "because I'm not
finished with you yet."
Malfoy must have let him sleep off the drug for quite a while, though. Only now
Ron noticed that the room had a window, hung with heavy red drapes that had
looked like a tapestry in the half-light of the night's fire. Now, he noticed
the faint light of dawn peeping around the edges. It must be early morning
already.
Resentfully, Ron crept closer on hands and knees until he crouched right next
to Malfoy's relaxed body. Malfoy reached for him, and, when Ron flinched away
from his fingers, grabbed his neck and forced his face close.
"It's a bit too late for modesty, don't you think?" he mocked, then drew back
the sheet covering his hips and pushed Ron's face down to his groin.
What was it with Malfoy grabbing people by the neck? Ron grumbled inwardly as
he pressed his lips to the man's quiescent cock, Malfoy's fingers still digging
into the thin skin at the base of his skull.
"Let's see how much you've learned," the bastard whispered into his hair.
Ron swallowed and let his tongue slide along Malfoy's cock, nestled and
disinterested in a patch of pale hair. Ron licked the length, warm and musty
from being wrapped up in bedclothes for what must have been hours.
He propped himself up above Malfoy's groin on one arm, and used his free hand
to guide Malfoy's prick between his lips. The taste was becoming familiar, Ron
mourned as he gently suckled the head. It was near daylight - this would be
over soon. All he had to do was coax this unresponsive organ to life, and the
price for his father's freedom was as good as paid.
Malfoy spread his legs a little to accommodate him, then crossed his arms
behind his neck and reclined against the headboard. Ron used the leverage to
curl his index finger around the man's balls before returning to pay attention
to the tip of Malfoy's cock. It hardly even provoked a twitch, and Ron groaned
inwardly. The bastard was too old for a marathon like this, and it was bloody
unfair to make Ron do all the work.
Resentfully, he took in a bit more of Malfoy's cock, a whiff of musk assaulting
his nostrils. His tongue skittered along the near-familiar veins a few times
before he sucked vigorously, willing the head to appear from its hiding place.
He came up for air again, prodding the foreskin with the tip of his tongue,
then slipped his mouth off for a deep breath. He wrapped his fingers around the
prick, trying to ignore the feel of his own saliva smearing his palm, and
dipped down instead to lick the plump balls. He hadn't done that earlier, and
sure as hell didn't want points for initiative, but he enjoyed touching himself
there, so perhaps it would manage to get the infernal bastard hard at last!
And indeed, Malfoy's cock firmed a bit under his wet fingers, and with an
inward sigh Ron transferred his mouth back onto it after another hasty breath.
He could feel the little impatient twist of Malfoy's hips, upward and deeper
into his mouth, as if to say that the time for playing around was over.
Ron slid his lips back over the now half-hard cock, wrapping thumb and index
finger around the base, and trying to suck properly. He bloody hated the
awkwardness of this position; it gave him a crick in the neck and his tongue
was aching already. Kneeling in front of Malfoy like a whore had been
humiliating, but this was bloody uncomfortable, he griped while trying to stuff
more of the bastard's prick into his mouth. It hardened quickly now, seeking
out the cavern of his throat like a single-minded animal, and when Ron
swallowed dry and painfully around it, a small burst of precome slid down his
gullet. He tried not to gag, breathing noisily though a nose half-obstructed by
pubic hair, and tried to wriggle his tongue a bit in between deep sucks. His
face was hot and sweaty from exertion and bending head-down. Malfoy's erection
seemed to fill his entire mouth and still wanted deeper, the emerged head a
spongy press down Ron's throat.
He wished for the spell that had stopped him from gagging earlier, but it
looked as if Malfoy expected him to have progressed beyond such aid. Pushing
away soreness and nausea, Ron frantically sucked and swallowed to get the
bastard off.
"Enough!" Malfoy hissed at long last, when Ron's entire mouth burned and his
throat felt scraped raw. He dragged Ron's head off by the hair, and the tip of
his cock left a smear of precome on Ron's bruised bottom lip.
Muzzily, Ron raised his head, wincing at the way his jaw muscles ached. Malfoy
stared down at him with a sardonic expression.
"Don't fret, Ronald. I won't leave you with the final impression of a mediocre
blowjob."
Even as he was shuddering at the implications, Ron frowned. The bastard had got
pretty hard from 'mediocre'. Still, he sat up, breathing deeply and rubbing his
cramped shoulders.
His eyes fell on the newspaper, but Harry's photograph did not look at him. It
had its head averted, and its shoulders shook. Ron, who had never seen his best
friend cry, felt hot misery welling up in his chest.
Malfoy was studying his mouth - which was swollen and had to be bright red - in
a way that made Ron's skin crawl. Of course the bastard would not let him get
out without a final dirty blow! The man grabbed his upper arm and pulled Ron
close, so close their hips bumped.
"You'll benefit from a last lesson, I warrant..." He trailed a fingernail along
his stiff, pink cock that Ron was unable to tear his eyes from. "And I'll
certainly enjoy breaching you one more time."
Malfoy's expression darkened when Ron pulled a face. "I'll better see
enthusiastic compliance, boy, or you might find yourself in a proverbially
tight spot." His grip on Ron's upper arm intensified, leaving angry red marks.
"You would prefer to be oiled up beforehand, would you? Because there are
spells that will cushion any discomfort I might feel from the act while still
giving you the just deserts for your obstinacy."
The skin on Ron's buttocks pimpled and he clenched them in fear. "No!" he
protested quickly. "I... I'm sorry!" He'd let his mouth run off with him once
too often already.
"Are you indeed?" Malfoy whispered.
Ron could feel his breath on his face and nearly sagged when the man's death
grip on his arm vanished and Malfoy cupped his chin instead, tilting up his
head. His thumb slid over Ron's lips. There was no way of misreading the
gesture: Ron parted his lips and closed them around Malfoy's thumb, circling it
carefully with his tongue even though he'd rather have bitten down until blood
spurted and bone crunched. He tasted salty sweat on Malfoy's skin as he sucked
on the finger, swirling his aching tongue in a vivid reminder of the attention
he'd paid the bastard's prick only minutes ago.
After a long moment, Malfoy withdrew his thumb from Ron's mouth and used it to
stroke his cock thoughtfully.
"I'm sorry," Ron repeated very softly. He couldn't do seductive, but he could
give apologetic his best shot.
"On your hands and knees, then, Ronald. Face down, arse up," Malfoy ordered
briskly. "You know the position."
Swallowing a string of words that would have undone all of his submissive
pretence, Ron leaned forward, facing away from Malfoy with his forehead pressed
into the duvet and his butt in the air: like a cat stretching - or a Death
Eater kowtowing to the Dark Lord.
"Spread your legs wider." Malfoy's cold voice cut over him. Ron did, his face
starting to burn again. Malfoy had been inside his arse hole - and without
doubt planned to shove himself in there again - but spreading himself open to
be stared at was almost worse.
He heard Malfoy move, but forced himself not to peek over his shoulder. Still,
the sharp swish of Malfoy's wand across his buttocks made him jerk, painting a
burning stripe over recently healed skin. He tensed, but Malfoy didn't hit him
again. Instead, Ron felt the hard, shameful press of his wand between his arse
cheeks, pushing against his hole before squirting the familiar oily substance
into him once more. The wand dug into Ron with a last, painful wriggle, then
was pulled out and Ron heard Malfoy utter a cleaning charm over it.
"Up," Malfoy snapped, and rising up onto his knees made the substance in Ron's
hole squelch. Still facing away from Malfoy, Ron allowed himself a grimace of
disgust.
He shuddered when Malfoy leaned forward and wrapped an arm around his waist.
Ron was pulled backwards, spread legs brushing the outsides of Malfoy's warm
thighs until he crouched right above the man's groin. Malfoy allowed him the
quick scramble it took to support himself on his knees again before taking his
hands off Ron's hips and using them to cup, then part, Ron's arse cheeks.
The plump head of the man's cock nudged at his entrance again, this time un-
dulled by any potion, and Ron dug nails into the flesh of his thighs. Don't
focus on the pain, he hissed at himself when his hole clenched reflexively.
Somehow, the intrusion felt bigger sinking down onto Malfoy, unable to bury his
head into the pillows. His back was rigid and small red crescents appeared
under his nails as Malfoy filled him, slowly but with a sense of greedy
inevitability.
Ron bit his tongue against a groan. There was pain, but not all that much.
Perhaps, he thought, ears burning, you got used to it after a while. Yet he
felt the intrusion in his entire body: the tight press in his arse, the tremors
rushing up his back, the goose-flesh on arms and legs. He exhaled sharply when
Malfoy sank into him balls deep with a final upward shove. Ron could hear the
bastard's satisfied groan, then flinched as Malfoy skimmed his fingertips over
his sweaty back, seemingly counting every vertebra in the rigid column of his
spine. Then Malfoy wrapped both arms around Ron's chest, pulling him flush
against his body like a child holding a struggling cat. Ron remained stiff for
a second, then allowed himself to relax into the embrace. It shifted the angle
of penetration inside him and sent a flare of heat through his prostate that
made him yelp again. Malfoy's breathy chuckle tittered over his shoulder.
Malfoy gave two lazy upward thrusts that had Ron clawing his thighs a bit more,
then stilled and hissed, "Move!" against Ron's collarbone.
Who, me? Ron thought stupidly, freezing under Malfoy's constricting arms.
"Now, Ronald!"
He made a jerky move with his hips that looked as if he was trying to perform
obscene gyrations with his prick, and pain bloomed inside him. He didn't need
Malfoy's arms tightening around him in warning to figure out that this might
work better with care.
Rocking lightly, he tried to imitate the way Malfoy had fucked him at first,
minimising the pain and stroking his prostate with Malfoy's cock. His toes
curled again, and he could see his prick twitching between his legs. Damn!
He found an awkward rhythm, rising up and down on Malfoy's cock, rolling his
shoulders a little to keep his balance. Malfoy's arms were still encircling
him, but offered no help - Ron was left to fuck himself under his own power
until his breaths came in strained gasps and his cock fattened and strained up
towards his belly, its head an ugly shade of red.
"Touch yourself, boy," Malfoy rasped behind him, and Ron had his fist around
his prick before he could feel awkward, or shamed. But he'd wanted the sweaty
press of his hand around it, knowing exactly how and how hard to squeeze,
working the head until he'd milked precome from it, then rubbing it into his
aching prick to fan the want. It made riding Malfoy's cock a bit jerky with
only one hand free to balance himself, but the rough slide inside him made the
ache better still.
"Oh yes, boy - I think I prefer you wanton rather than docile and drugged."
Shamed almost into a sob, Ron's hand stilled, but then anger took over. There
was nothing wrong with responding, he snarled at himself while cruelly tugging
on his prick. It wasn't as if he wanted things this way - he was just
fulfilling his side of the bargain!
He felt Malfoy's breaths quicken, could tell from the way his arms tightened
around Ron's upper body that his efforts didn't leave the bastard unaffected.
Malfoy's breath puffed warm and moist against the side of Ron's throat, and the
thought of Malfoy's mouth there, so close, provoked a feverish shiver.
Instinctively, he dipped his head to the side to bare more of his neck.
He was rocking more forcefully now, or rather not rocking so much as lifting
and impaling himself on Malfoy's cock, fingers tugging at his own straining
erection in rhythm with his movements. A tight, leaden pressure was building up
in his balls. He could see Malfoy's elegant feet flex against the linen.
Then Malfoy's nails dug into the soft flesh of his upper arms; he almost
crushed Ron against his chest as he met his downward push with a stroke of his
own and came, face pressed against the back of Ron's neck.
Ron felt Malfoy's lips run over the scar tissue at his collarbone, then
wandering lower before biting down on the taut flesh of his shoulder, sharp and
deep. Heat surged inside him, mingled with pain like a braided rope, and Ron
came over his fingers and Malfoy's legs and his own thighs with a sudden force
that left him sagging back against Malfoy's chest like a lifeless sack of
bones. He heard a noise escaping him, high and feeble like a bird's cry, and
saw darkness for a moment even though his eyes were open.
His prick twitched again as Malfoy sucked on the nasty bite. A wire of heat
twirled up from the mark, and a final spurt of come dribbled from the head of
his prick. It felt terribly tender under Ron's fingers.
Malfoy allowed him to rest in his arms until Ron's breaths slowed and he
managed to edge away from the man's chest a little. Malfoy's cock was still
lodged inside him, softer and squelchier than before, and moving off was a
sticky, undignified business. A mix of come and oil ran down the backs of Ron's
thighs, and the knowledge that Malfoy could see it nearly had him in tears.
Finally, he managed to slump down on a pile of bunched-up bedclothes that hid
his shame.
He made to wipe his own mess off with a bit of sheet, but Malfoy's headshake
stopped him.
"Use your fingers and lick it off." Cold amusement glittered in the man's pale
eyes.
A burn clouded Ron's eyes as he swept his fingers through the disgusting goo
and miserably stuck them into his mouth. Somehow, swallowing Malfoy's seed when
he'd come in Ron's throat had been far less humiliating - and tasted less awful
- than wiping himself off. Ron managed a shoddy job on his prick and thighs,
trying to bypass his taste buds and not give in to tears.
Malfoy treated himself to a scouring charm that left him pristine apart from a
few tangles in his braid. Ron craved the erasing power of magic as well -
almost as much as three hours under a full-strength hot shower - but he'd be
damned if he asked!
His eyes ghosted to the window, where brighter light promised a clear July
morning.
"Can I go now?" he asked brusquely, trying to put the smells and memories of
sex behind him.
"What makes you think I'll let you go, Ronald?" Malfoy crossed his arms over
his chest with that infuriating upturned eyebrow again. "Why shouldn't I drag
you before the Dark Lord, to be used against your hero Potter or just for
vengeance's sake?"
Here we go, Ron thought, willing away the knot of fear that was forming in his
throat.
"Do you honestly think I haven't taken precautions against that?" he asked
coolly.
"A Slytherin might send one of his children into an enemy's bed to destroy him,
but one of your brood?" Malfoy shook his head. "No. The mere fact that you came
is proof that you told no one."
Ron cocked his head. "You would do that to the fer- to Draco?"
The back of Malfoy's hand cut across his face and snapped his head back. Ron
fought down the urge to touch the burning cheek. He'd pretty much asked for it.
"I didn't say I told anyone," he said. "Just that I've taken precautions in
case I don't come back." Think it's wizard chess, he told himself.
"And what might those... precautions look like?" Malfoy inquired without much
concern.
"I'd be dead stupid to tell you, wouldn't I?"
Malfoy put an eloquent finger on his wand. "Do you still think I won't be able
to force you?"
Ron shivered as the memory of the Cruciatus roared through his bones. Either
way, Malfoy might be more impressed if he knew what Ron was on about - well, if
Ron's plan was worth its salt. He tried not to blurt out the truth too quickly
and reveal his fear.
"I've prepared two owls - one to Headmaster Dumbledore and one to Kingsley
Shacklebolt from the Auror Department. If I'm not back home at seven this
morning to call them back, they'll be on their way and everybody will know
about you."
Malfoy took his finger off his wand and tapped it against his lips.
"Shacklebolt... so he's one of your little band of Order fools."
A slight tinge started to warm Ron's cheeks, and he hated himself for being so
obvious. "He's an Auror and a friend of Bill's," he said curtly. "Why would I
need to write to another Order member besides Dumbledore?"
"Yes, why would you?" Malfoy mused, looking supremely unconvinced. "Except for
the fact that logic isn't your strong suit?"
Ron shot him a dirty look, but Malfoy just smirked. "And what's inside those
letters?" he inquired." The admission that I blackmailed you into sleeping with
me in exchange for incriminating material on your father?"
"Well..." Ron flushed a little. "Not exactly."
Malfoy cocked his head. "No?"
"Well, I wrote that you blackmailed me because you fabricated all the evidence
and were behind the investigation against him in the first place."
"So if they find you gone, or stumble across your mangled body, it will all be
my doing," Malfoy observed softly.
Ron nodded, keeping his eyes firmly lowered.
"Not bad, Weasley. Perhaps I should be grateful that you didn't say I
blackmailed you because I could no longer suppress my burning passion for
Arthur Weasley's gangly teenage spawn." Malfoy lifted his hand and stroked the
bruise on Ron's face with a single finger. Ron's pulse hammered in his temples,
sped up by fear.
"While this is all very fascinating, Ronald, I'll ask you again: what makes you
think I can't wring the details out of you and prevent your little scheme?"
Beads of sweat formed on Ron's forehead, but miraculously his voice remained
level.
"I'm sure you could," he admitted. His gaze slid to the curtain-covered window,
praying it was already as close to morning as he hoped. "But I don't think you
could do it in time." He bit his lip; his voice started to croak, bruised from
Malfoy's cock burying into his throat.
"To break me, Apparate through the protective charms of the Burrow, find out
how to stop the owls when they've been explicitly instructed to avoid you? Not
even you could do it fast enough." He rubbed the bruise on his cheek again, and
the little sting gave him courage. "I don't think you have a fresh cauldron of
Polyjuice around, and Harry taught us last year how to resist Imperius." The
last was a barefaced lie, of course, but hopefully Malfoy would read it as a
sign of self-confidence, not frantic reaching.
"And you couldn't be absolutely sure I didn't manage to keep secret that I've
prepared, say, three owls," he added for good measure.
"So you're saying that you've outwitted me," Malfoy remarked matter-of-factly.
Even if he had, Ron wasn't suicidal enough to say so. "A stalemate, perhaps,"
he ventured. His tongue felt like paper.
"So it looks as if I'll have to Portkey you back home after all, doesn't it?"
Malfoy murmured, and Ron saw a small line tugging at the corner of the man's
mouth that might go either way - towards smile or killing rage.
Malfoy rose from the bed, a fluid, arrogant movement, and summoned his
discarded house robe to his hand. Ron coloured as the seam whipped around
Malfoy's bare ankles and the dark cloth covered his body. He badly wanted to
hide under the covers again, but that'd be showing weakness, and anyhow, he
wanted out of here, not back into bed.
"Get up, Ronald!" The sharpness of Malfoy's tone drove Ron to his feet. His
hands went cold. He'd gambled as high as he could, and if Malfoy still decided
to laugh and kill him and return to You-Know-Who bragging about fucking over
one of Harry's best friends, there was nothing he could do; not naked and
without a wand.
"Accio Weasley's clothes!" Malfoy called, and Ron's clothing came flapping
through the bathroom door and dropped down on the end of the bed, his boots
thumping delicately on the carpet beneath.
Ron reached for them reflexively, then paused and looked up at Malfoy. The man
nodded. "Go right ahead."
Ron still found it hard to believe that Malfoy would just let him go like this,
but hurried into his underpants and trousers at record speed. When he reached
for his jumper, Malfoy grabbed it away from his fingertips.
"I think I'll keep that as a reminder." He kneaded maroon wool between long
white fingers, and it almost hurt Ron physically to watch. Then Malfoy tossed
the jumper on the bed and reached for him. Ron stopped in his tracks as Malfoy
ran his fingertip over the knotted curve of scars around his collarbone.
"Why do you think I did this to you, Ronald?" Malfoy's voice was as calm as if
he was discussing methods of owl grooming over a cup of tea.
"Because you hate my father." Ron frowned. "And you wanted a shot at a friend
of Harry's and thought that I'd end up blaming him-"
"There is all that, of course. But you haven't touched on the real reason yet,
little one." Malfoy's thumb stroked Ron's bitten lower lip. "Because I could.
And because you let me."
"Me?" Ron sputtered. "You forced me, you-"
"I merely made an offer that you decided to accept, knowing you would be
perfectly out of your depth. How very typical for a Gryffindor."
Ron felt the contempt colouring the word like a trickle of acid over his skin.
"And a Slytherin would've shrugged and walked away because giving a damn about
others is a weakness, right?"
"A Slytherin, my little beggar, would have barged into Auror Headquarters and
demanded a testimony under Veritaserum, after badgering one of his better-off
acquaintances for the use of their Pensieve to store their incriminating
memories in." Malfoy shook his head. "In fact, I'm rather pleased you did not
fall back on your mind. You're a delightful toy, Ronald, and this has been a
rather pleasant interlude."
Ron stared into Malfoy's pale eyes, his face hard. "Pleasant for you, perhaps,
but if you don't lay off my father, I will walk right into the Auror's
Headquarters and accuse you of blackmail and rape." He swallowed, but kept his
voice flat and level. "I may be Gryffindor, but I'm not too proud to do that
for my family."
"Ah, Ronald, and here I'd thought you'd understood me..."
Ron bit his lip against the sudden surge of memory as Malfoy touched the bite
mark on his shoulder. His body stiffened with apprehension.
"There never were any incriminating papers, boy! Fudge is scared to death of
being chased out of office - terrified that Dumbledore will turn his Order into
a little private army and use it to support Bones, or Scrimgeour." A knife-thin
grin of pure malice crinkled Malfoy's lip. "He's more terrified of Dumbledore's
crowd than of the Dark Lord. He did not need me to go after your father."
Ron heard the blood roar in his ears, unable for a moment to process Malfoy's
words. It couldn't be true! The bastard had to be toying with him, trying to
wriggle out of his part of the bargain.
"You're lying!" he shrilled. "You said-"
"I said nothing, boy. You were so eager to cast myself in the role of the
villain, and to make yourself into my martyr, that you did not pause to think.
I simply chose not to correct your misconceptions." Malfoy's grin deepened.
"But I will keep my end of the bargain: there will be no incriminating material
from me for the Ministry. But then, there never was."
Ron stood with his fists clenched, eyes on the bed. All that misery, for
nothing! He wanted to scream until the window shattered, to throw himself at
Malfoy and strangle him, but Malfoy still had the wand and Ron's muscles seized
up at the thought of the Cruciatus. And although his inner voice suggested that
now might be the time to break down and burst into tears, the urge wasn't
there. He felt numb. Numb, but not altogether surprised.
"Are you broken, little Weasel?" Malfoy asked, all idle curiosity.
It was a valid question, Ron knew. Malfoy had raped him, tortured him, ground
his ego into the dust. Not things he would just walk away from. The memories -
if he got out of this hellhole alive at all - would haunt him for a long time,
forever, perhaps.
And yet, his first impulse was to shout 'Hell, no!'. He'd survived. Not well,
certainly not with dignity, but broken? No.
"Would you want me to be?" he asked.
Malfoy reached for Ron's robe and retrieved the Portkey Galleon from its
pocket, lifting it close to his mouth and whispering a spell over it that made
it glow orange for a second.
"You're learning, boy," he drawled. Ron took his robe from the man's hand and
pulled it over his chest, fingers again trembling on the fastenings.
"Being Hogwarts' wizard chess champion and winning one spectacular victory on a
board isn't enough," Malfoy said softly. "You've planned your little defence
quite well tonight, but you lost the match and sat down for the wrong game to
begin with." He pushed Ron's fingers aside and fastened the last button at
Ron's chin, a deft, controlled move. "The real game, in the real world, has
different rules, Ronald. Have you learned anything from tonight?"
Ron wanted to leave his own mark somewhere, to rake claws over the smooth mask
of the bastard's self-possession so very badly. He threw Malfoy a dark look.
"You mean apart from the fact that you're most dangerous when you're being
gentle?"
It surprised Malfoy into a short bark of laughter. "You might not have learned
very much, then," he replied, voice tinged with amusement. "Maybe in time..."
He offered Ron the coin, glinting seductively on Malfoy's palm with the promise
of home. "... if you live."
Yes, that was the dilemma, wasn't it? He had to trust Malfoy would sent him
back to the Burrow, not to his doom in You-Know-Who's dungeons. But there was
no choice, and if there was no choice...
"I won't tell anyone about tonight," Ron said, just in case Malfoy needed to
hear it. And he wouldn't. Not Dad, who'd be destroyed by the knowledge of what
Ron had done for his sake. And never Harry, who'd believe Malfoy had only
targeted Ron because Ron was Harry's friend, and who'd blame himself just as he
blamed himself for everything bad that happened. And not anyone else either,
for pride's sake.
He took a deep breath and looked up to meet Malfoy's unreadable grey eyes.
"And as for me living, Lucius?" He reached out and plucked the Portkey off
Malfoy's palm, brushing the cool fingers without a hint of recoil. His cheeks
were warm, but he didn't look away. "That's not for me to say, is it?"
Ron felt the curved edge of the coin, the warm glow that suddenly radiated into
his palm, and then the tug at his navel, swirling him away.
                                   ~ finis ~
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!