Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/134331.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Multi
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Severus_Snape/Wormtail, Draco_Malfoy/Vince_Crabbe/Greg_Goyle, Molly
      Weasley/Remus_Lupin, Nymphadora_Tonks/Harry_Potter, Draco_Malfoy/Hermione
      Granger/Pansy_Parkinson, Lucius_Malfoy/Ron_Weasley, Rita_Skeeter/Hermione
      Granger
  Additional Tags:
      Crack, Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-03-08 Words: 5974
****** It's amazing what you can learn about people when they're under a lot of
stress ******
by flamewarrior
He woke, shaking and took in a sharp breath. He opened his eyes and stared
blankly at his pillow, confused, heartbeat making his whole body sway. Where
was he? Plain, white fabric with an odd texture was under his cheek, under his
fingers. Not home. Not Hogwarts.
A frail sound reached him from another room, a human sound, a hissing sound,
trailing off into a moan. Oh god. Draco remembered where he was. Spinner's End,
in Snape's cramped spare room. And that sound... Bile rose in Draco's throat.
That sound was Snape, involved in some kind of – ugh – sexual activity. The
thought of Snape doing... that was disgusting enough, but this, Draco knew,
wasn't just Snape doing... that it was Snape doing... that with – Draco
shuddered – Wormtail.
Another sound made its way through the air into Draco's unwilling ears. He
shuddered again, feeling sicker by the moment as more noises came, getting
louder, moans and hisses and squelching noises, the slap of skin against skin.
Draco pulled the pillow over his head, trying to shut out the sounds, trying to
keep away the images that kept flitting into his mind - Snape sucking
Wormtail's horrid, twisted dick into his mouth, Snape shoving his cock up
Wormtail's arse, pressing his face into a pillow and slapping his hand against
one of Wormtail's pasty, wobbling buttocks.
Draco whimpered. Here he was, not only alone and afraid, but being subjected to
mental images of Snape and Wormtail having sex. He felt a tear trailing down
his cheek and brushed it away angrily. It was so unfair. He'd only been trying
to be a good Malfoy, to uphold the family honour, to prove himself worthy of
respect. A fat lot of good that had done him. He’d lost all the friends he’d
ever had over his last year at Hogwarts. He’d even had to push Greg and Vince
away, though they’d been loyal to the end, bless them.
He wished they were here now, big and strong and safe, chasing away his fears,
like his first night at Hogwarts, when they’d all been a bit scared. Vince and
Greg had climbed into his bed, as they used to do when they came to visit him
at the Manor when they were small enough to spread and sprawl across the
mattress without touching each other.
It was a bit different at eleven years old. They had pressed up against each
other under the covers, Draco a little embarrassed, but even more grateful for
Greg at his front and Vince at his back, keeping the dark and the unknown away
from him, out of his mind. They’d ended up like that often over the years, when
one or other of them had been scared witless. Usually Draco, he had to admit.
They’d done it when the Heir of Slytherin had been on the prowl, when Draco’s
murderous relative had escaped Azkaban, after that bastard Moody had turned him
into a ferret.
Yeah, that time. Draco’s face flushed as he recalled the way he’d clung to Greg
and cried, Greg’s fingers brushing over his hair, his breath shushing in his
ear, both his and Vince’s arms around him, the gradual press of Vince’s hard
groin against his bum, the pushing down of pyjama bottoms, then hands and spit
and rubbing and gasping.
They’d done it a few times more, that year and the next. Then last year, Draco
had put an end to it. He couldn’t remember why, now; something about more
important things to think about. But really, where would have been the harm in
a little physical comfort?
He missed them now, Greg and Vince. He wished he hadn’t been so nasty to them,
so unkind, so mocking, so… so like a Malfoy. The noises from up the hall had
stopped. He curled up into a ball, silent tears creeping slowly down his
cheeks, wishing for things he couldn’t have.
--00--00--00--
Tonks stood in the hallway of the Burrow, hidden in shadow, silent sobs making
her body shake, furious tears streaking her face. How dare she! How dare they.
She felt doubly, triply betrayed. She could still hear the wet sounds of
Molly’s fingers, pushing in and out of Remus, hear Remus whispering his lover’s
name – not “Tonks”, but “Sirius”.
She covered her ears with her hands and shut her eyes tight, rocking backwards
and forwards, whimpering. Then, quite suddenly, she stopped. Her hands dropped
into fists at her sides, her eyes snapped open and a look of determination came
over her face. She turned round and headed for the stairs.
--00--
The bedroom, when she entered it, was even darker than the hallway, and she
metamorphosed her eyes into those of a cat to be able to see clearly. The room
was quiet but for the sound of breathing. Tonks double-checked the room, making
sure it was only one boy she could hear. She thought Ron was probably…
elsewhere. Yes, Ron’s bed was still made and there was Harry, blankets twisted
around his legs and waist, the faint light from around the curtains shining
gently on his bare chest. His brow was wrinkled into a frown and his hands were
twitching. Dreaming.
Tonks stood still, her resolve wavering for a moment, but she forced herself to
remember what she had heard moments before. She took two long steps across the
room, metamorphosing as she went. She looked down at the pale, freckled little
hands now at the ends of her arms, and a twisted smile spread across her face.
She took off her shoes, trousers and knickers and left them on the floor, then
knelt by Harry’s bed and delicately slid her hand beneath the sheets, letting
her fingertips trail down the hair on his belly. She brought her face down so
that her lips were next to his ear.
“Harry,” she whispered. “Harry, wake up. I’ve got something for you.”
Her voice was high and girlish, and she cringed. No matter. Better that Harry
really think it was…
“Hmm?”
She pressed her fingers lower, rubbing them in the rough curls at Harry’s
groin.
“Hi, Harry.”
Harry turned his head and half-opened his eyes.
“Ginny? What are you…?”
Tonks didn’t want a conversation. She covered Harry’s mouth with her own,
pushing her tongue into his mouth and curling her hand around his penis. His
skin there was soft, so soft, much softer than Remus.
At that thought, anger and humiliation rushed through her. With her spare hand,
she spelled his arms so that they could not move from the bed. She became
rough, biting Harry’s lip and rolling his balls harshly on her palm, pressing
them against his pelvis. Harry made a strangled noise into her mouth and his
penis began to harden. Tonks pulled her mouth away from his, brushed back the
covers to expose him and engulfed his cock with her mouth. Harry made a harsh
shout, and Tonks covered his mouth with one of her hands to muffle it, pushing
her fingers between his lips a moment later. He sucked around them, making
whimpering sounds.
When he was fully hard, she lifted her mouth off him, licking saliva from
around her lips; she climbed up onto the bed and straddled him, holding his
cock upright with her hands. His mouth was wide open and he was gasping, eyes
wide as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. Once the tip of his cock was
in her, she covered his open mouth with both her hands, ignoring his
questioning look, and impaled herself on him in one swift movement.
She rode him hard and fast, eyes closed, rising up and down on her knees, then
grinding down onto him, pressing her clit into his pubic bone and rubbing. He
was groaning and moaning and trying to speak, she could tell, beneath her
hands. The vibrations went straight to her groin. Ginny’s cunt was so tight, so
responsive, that Tonks was jealous for a moment.
She laughed, breathless, and kept smiling as she looked down at Harry. She was
rocking back and forth in quick little movements, the tingle and heat and rush
building and then she came, slow and delicious, the waves of pleasure rolling
again and again from her clit and cunt over her thighs, her belly, her breasts,
her feet, her scalp. The orgasm went on and on. She threw back her head, her
breath shuddering in and out, feeding the sensations.
She began rising up and down again, sliding up and down on Harry’s cock. She
reached behind her with one hand, fondling his balls. She felt them tighten and
then he was coming, his hips jerking up, his head pressing back against the
pillow, eyes closed, a flush spreading across his chest and neck. Tonks looked
down at him. His eyes remained closed, his breathing ragged. She was panting
herself. She removed her hand from his mouth, trailing a finger down his neck
and chest.
When Harry opened his eyes, she looked down at him, a calculating smile on her
face.
“Wotcher, Harry.”
He gulped for air.
“God, Ginny, that was amazing!”
He didn’t seem to have heard her.
Tonks lifted herself off his softening cock, feeling his come trickling down
the inside of her right thigh. The smile left her face as she climbed down off
the bed, avoiding his gaze. She spelled herself clean and put her clothes back
on.
“Ginny? What’s wrong?”
She looked back down at him, a hard look on her face.
“I wouldn’t be so sure I was Ginny, Harry. See you later.”
She looked away then and strode to the door, not looking behind her once. She
didn’t release the Binding spell on Harry’s hands until she was almost out the
door.
--00--00--00--
Hermione couldn’t quite bring herself to believe it. She was sitting on a huge
four-poster bed in one of the guest rooms at Malfoy Manor, having a civil
conversation with Draco Malfoy. She didn’t believe a word he was saying,
either, of course, but then the whole situation was so surreal that his claims
seemed fitting somehow.
“Let me get this straight, Malfoy. You expect me to believe: one, that your
father kidnapped you and brought you here unwilling; two, that the reason he
kidnapped me and Ron is so that he could deflower us for some ancient Dark
ritual; and three, that this ritual involves you having sex with me and, oh
yes, your father buggering Ron?”
She was looking straight at Malfoy the whole while she was saying this. He was
sitting on the edge of the bed, cool as a cucumber, and his only response to
her question was a nod of the head. Hermione sighed. Perhaps he’d gone insane
since he’d run away from Hogwarts. Maybe she should humour him.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “And your idea for how to escape from all of this
unscathed is not to try to run away but to let your father carry on with the
ritual and wait for the Order of the Phoenix to rescue us?”
Draco nodded again, the sunlight from the windows glistening in his hair.
“That’s about it, Granger. They’ve got until the dark moon to get here. That
should be plenty of time.”
Hermione just stared at him, feeling as if she’d been Stupified.
“So, Malfoy, ignoring for a moment the question of how you know about the Order
of the Phoenix, how do you know they’re going to come and get us?”
Malfoy smiled for the first time since he’d entered the room.
“Because I’ve sent a message to Severus.”
Malfoy looked at her as if he’d found the answer to life, the universe and
everything and was just waiting for the world’s adulation. Hermione crossed her
arms.
“I’m sorry, Malfoy, but I fail to see how that’s going to help.”
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
“Well obviously, Granger, Severus will alert the rest of the Order who will
come to our rescue, recapturing my clearly insane father into the bargain and
putting him somewhere he’ll be safe.”
She wasn’t sure, but Hermione thought his voice might have quavered just a
little on those last few words. She also noted his particular choice of words –
not ‘somewhere safe’ but ‘somewhere he’ll be safe’. She nodded to herself,
thinking for a moment.
“You do realize that certain Order members may kill Professor Snape on sight?”
Malfoy’s face went paler than normal and his face fell.
“Wh-what do you mean?”
“Oh, come on, Malfoy, we all know that Snape was the one who killed
Dumbledore.”
Malfoy looked like he was about to be sick.
“What? Bu-but he didn’t… how…”
His voice dwindled into nothing. He swallowed – it looked like he had something
stuck in his throat – and stared at her.
“Malfoy, Harry was there on top of the tower in his Invisibility Cloak. He saw
it all. We know it was Snape who cast the Killing Curse.”
“Invisibility…”
Malfoy’s voice was very faint. He dropped his head and rubbed his face with his
hands.
“We’re fucked.”
--00--
Draco was feeling nervous. He didn’t like feeling nervous. He chewed his lip
and twisted his fingers together and pulled his hair back from his face then
went back to chewing his lip again. He looked a wreck. Fuck, he couldn’t stand
this any more. Ever since his meeting with Granger he’d been feeling dizzy and
sick.
He’d intended to go and see the Weasel afterwards, just to let him know what
was going on so he didn’t go and do something stupid, but after what he’d
learned from Granger he couldn’t face it. The prospect of telling anyone, let
alone the Weasel, that he was going to be buggered by Draco’s own father and
that quite possibly no-one was going to come and save him was just too much to
be borne. Anyway, father had confiscated both his prisoners’ wands, so there
was a limit to the damage he could really do. He’d confiscated Draco’s wand
too, for that matter.
He kept running through options in his head. He could Owl the Order himself,
except he didn’t know where they were based. He could Owl one of the members of
the Order, but he’d have to go and talk to Granger again to ask her their names
and he didn’t think he could face that. He could Owl Severus again, but given
what Granger had told him, what use would that be? Anyway, Severus had been
there when his father had come for him, straight from Azkhaban, and he hadn’t
lifted a bloody finger.
Draco sighed. He found himself wishing Pansy were there. She always made him
feel better, made him laugh, took his mind off his troubles. Of course! He
could Owl Pansy, invite her over. At least he wouldn’t have to face this alone.
--00--
Draco and Pansy sat together on his windowsill, resting against each other in
companionable silence, looking out over the Manor grounds. It was still raining
out there, and misty too. Draco was miserable. Pansy was being very
philosophical about it all, which made it worse. He felt so guilty. He’d only
wanted her here to make him feel better.
He’d asked his father about inviting her, to make sure he didn’t have any
surprises in his current unstable state. He had seemed neither bothered nor
pleased, at the time. But when Pansy arrived, it became clear that his father
had rather specific plans for her, plans involving the ritual. Draco had asked
Pansy not to tell anyone where she was going, so there was no-one to come
asking after her.
He looked over at her. She really wasn’t very pretty, but she was a pureblood,
even if she wasn’t from an old landed family. He’d always thought he could do
worse than to marry her, they got on so well. It had never occurred to him to
ask Pansy what she thought about it. He looked down to her hands, resting
softly on her lap. He reached over and took one of her hands in his. She looked
up at him, her dreamy gaze becoming clear.
“Pans.”
Draco licked his lips and swallowed.
“Yes, Draco?”
He looked down at their joined hands, then back up at her face.
“Erm, Pans, when all this is over, I mean, the Dark Lord and everything, I
mean, whoever wins in the end, would you, er…”
He shifted his eyes to the window again, but the pressure of Pansy’s fingers on
his brought his attention back to her.
“Yes, Draco?”
He looked her straight in the eye, took a deep breath and with a great effort
managed to speak clearly.
“When all this is over, would you possibly consider, maybe, perhaps, thinking
about,” he swallowed again, “marrying me?”
He dropped his gaze to their joined hands once again, a tight ache in his
throat. He felt soft fingers on his chin, pushing his face up until he was
looking at Pansy again. She was smiling.
“Yes, Draco.”
--00--
Harry felt nervous. He didn’t feel happy about this mission. It was bound to be
a trap. But Remus and Moody had both insisted. Yes, one of the warnings had
come from Snape, yes, the other had come on a parchment with a Malfoy seal, but
they didn’t have any other leads on where Hermione and Ron had got to, and
Harry had to admit he had no other ideas himself. It was worth a try, he
supposed, but he didn’t have to like it. He blew over the top of his coffee,
elbows resting on the worn old table, waiting for the others to arrive.
“Wotcher, Harry.”
Harry blushed and kept his eyes firmly on his coffee.
“Hello, Tonks.”
“No-one else here yet?”
He could hear her steps crossing the kitchen.
“No, not yet.”
Harry felt her sit down right next to him. His cheeks were burning.
“Just you and me then, eh, Harry?”
He jumped up, leaving his full coffee cup on the table, looking at the floor.
“I’ll go and see where they’ve got to.”
His voice was high and wavering. He barely held himself back from running out
of the room. Once he was in the hallway, he gripped onto the banister and
stayed there, eyes closed, trying to slow his breathing and his heartbeat.
It had taken him ages to work it out. At first he thought Ginny was just being
really weird with those comments when she’d left his room that night. God, that
had been intense. They’d never gone anywhere near that far before. Not that
Harry’d been complaining. True, they weren’t going out any more, but if Ginny
wanted sex then Harry’s hormones were more than happy to overpower his
scruples.
But when he’d managed to get her alone the next day to work out where they
stood, she’d denied being anywhere near his and Ron’s room that night. Harry
thought that maybe she regretted it, or was just plain embarrassed at what
she’d done. But when he’d told her it was okay, it had been great, really,
really great and he wouldn’t mind doing it again, but he just wanted to know
where they stood, the look she’d given him hadn’t been embarrassed, just very
confused. Then she’d looked as if she might start crying and had run off. She’d
avoided Harry for the whole of the rest of his stay at the Burrow.
Harry hadn’t been able to work it out so he’d stopped trying. He had the
Horcruxes to search for now. He could sort everything out with Ginny once he’d
killed Voldemort. Then at dinner, Tonks had brushed past him in the corridor.
“Wotcher, Harry. Have a good night?”
It could have been a completely innocent question if you just heard the words,
but the look on Tonks’ face had been an undisguised leer. Harry had felt frozen
to the spot as she’d rubbed her breasts against his chest and her hand over his
crotch and carried on to the sitting room. Those odd words from the previous
night came back to him. That had been Tonks? It felt like his stomach was
twisting up inside him. He’d lost his virginity to Tonks? Oh dear God.
Now every time he saw her – which was often – he went quiet and blushed and did
everything he could to avoid looking at her. And now he was going on a mission
with her. Bloody great. And Remus, which was going to awful. He’d managed to
avoid Remus completely since the… incident, and he had no idea how he was going
to exchange even two words with him without burning up with shame. He was sure
what he’d done must be as plain as the glasses on his face.
At least Moody was coming too. Harry had been clinging to that fact ever since
the mission had been agreed. There’d be one person around he could look at
without blushing, someone around to deflect the barbs that passed for
conversation between Remus and Tonks these days. He had a nasty feeling that
had something to do with him. He just hoped Hermione and Ron were at Malfoy
Manor when they got there and they could get them out. That would make it all
worthwhile.
--00--
“Don’t worry about it Draco. Hermione’s not that bad-looking, and it’s not like
I haven’t eaten twat before. Even Mudblood twat.” Pansy ignored Draco’s shocked
look. “We’ll get through this and then it’ll all be over.” She paused, thinking
for a moment. “But if you actually put your cock in her, you won’t recognise it
by the time I’m finished with you.”
Draco went white and nodded mutely. Good, Pansy thought, that’s that sorted
out.
“What if father notices I’m not, um, you know?”
Draco was so sweet when he was nervous. Pansy just wanted to wrap him up in her
arms and cuddle him. She settled for patting him on the forearm.
“Don’t worry, Draco, he’ll be far too busy with the Weasel to be concerned with
what we’re up to. Anyway, I’m sure we can angle ourselves so he can’t actually
see any details.”
“Okay,” Draco whispered.
Poor darling, he looked like he wasn’t feeling very well. She couldn’t blame
him really. Pansy was jolted from her examination of Draco by a sound close by.
The oak door before them creaked open, and Lord Malfoy appeared, hollow-cheeked
and wild-eyed. He was wearing a long, plain black cloak – like the ones he’d
given she and Draco to wear – and holding a candle-stick in his left hand.
“Come. It is time,” he said and turned round, obviously expecting them to
follow.
Well, at least we won’t be subjected to a sermon, thought Pansy. All the better
to get it over with quickly. She’d hidden it well from Draco, but she was
feeling rather nervous about this rite herself. Dark rituals were always a bit
difficult to control, and sex magic was notorious for having a mind of its own.
She hoped Lord Malfoy knew what he was doing. Although given the look in his
eyes she couldn’t be too sure of that.
She took Draco’s hand and pulled him after her through the doorway. The
corridor behind it was dim, lit only by the fluttering glow of the candle, and
Lord Malfoy’s footsteps echoed around them. It sounded like the walls and floor
were made of stone, but Pansy couldn’t quite see.
“Where are we going?” she whispered, not taking her eyes of Lord Malfoy’s back.
“I think this corridor leads to the dungeons. Or it might be the crypt,” Draco
shuddered slightly at the word, “I’m not quite sure.”
Pansy kept her grip on him as they reached a set of steps, definitely stone,
curving downwards in a sharp spiral.
“We’ll have to go single file,” he whispered, “I’ll go first. You keep hold of
my robe.”
Pansy let him past her to indicate her consent, and gripped on to the neck of
his robe as he moved in front of her.
The staircase went on and on. Pansy was just wondering if it would ever end
when Draco stopped abruptly in front of her. She looked over his shoulder and
saw Lord Malfoy standing still, as if he were frozen, in front of another door.
It was old, made of some dark, dark wood, worn and pitted, held up by three
huge iron hinges. Lord Malfoy put out his hand and opened the door, orange
light shining over his face from the room within.
“Enter.”
Pansy felt for Draco’s hand and squeezed it tight. They stepped forward
together, once more following Lord Malfoy. They took a few steps into the room,
then Draco stopped. It took Pansy a moment longer for her eyes to adjust to the
torchlight and she shuffled to a halt before she could properly take in her
surroundings. When she did, she saw why Draco had stopped. She gasped and put
her hand over her mouth.
She was in a small, high-ceilinged room surrounded by stone pillars. On each
pillar was a flickering orange torch. The floor was parquet, but she could
barely see the wood for all the symbols painted on it – she made out a
septagon, octagon and pentagon all crossing one another, with curling sigils
she didn’t recognise marked in the spaces between the straight lines. The
symbols were dark against the floor and she didn’t like to think what Lord
Malfoy had used to paint them.
But the sight that had made Draco stop, the part of the tableau that had made
her gasp, was the two naked bodies, one male, one female, floating a foot off
the floor at either side of the room, obviously under the grip of a Petrificus
Totalis. And that wasn’t the only spell the Weasel and the Mudblood girl were
under, Pansy was sure, for their faces were twisted into the kind of grimace
that meant either extreme, unbearable pleasure, or extreme, unbearable pain.
She found herself hoping it was the former.
She looked over at Draco, who was still rooted to the spot, then to Lord
Malfoy, who had removed his cloak. He was completely naked underneath, as were
both she and Draco, but he had sigils painted all over him. This was not good.
She knew Lord Malfoy had become a little less than sane, but this was scaring
her far worse than she’d thought it would.
She looked at Draco. It would be alright, it would be alright. They just needed
to pretend to take part and then it would be over and she would find a way to
take Draco home with her. There was a bumping sound and she looked round to see
the two bodies sprawled on the floor.
“Remove your cloaks and take your positions over there with the Mudblood girl.
I shall be on this side of the room with the blood traitor’s son.”
Lord Malfoy gave his orders as if he were talking about Quidditch or the
weather or the state of the begonias in his wife’s garden. Pansy and Draco
jumped and obeyed, unclasping their cloaks and letting them drop. They walked
over to Granger and helped her up off the floor, holding her upright. Pansy
heard Draco whispering something to the naked wretch, but she couldn’t hear his
words. Whatever they were, she either didn’t want to or couldn’t reply.
“That’s right, very good.”
Lord Malfoy himself had pulled the Weasley boy roughly up onto his feet,
holding him in place with one hand clamped firmly on his upper arm.
“You must wait for me to finish the incantations, then you must deflower the
girl, slowly and with deliberation. If she experiences pleasure, despite her
unwillingness, it will strengthen the spell. Then when the Potter boy arrives
and we bind him, we shall be redeemed in the Dark Lord’s eyes!”
--00--
As soon as his father had said that bit about Potter, Draco had known two
things. Firstly, that his father was completely and utterly stark raving mad
and secondly that everything was going to be alright. If Potter was going to
show up, that meant some of the Order would show up too, and everything would
be just fine.
Eventually.
He listened as his father droned his way through the incantation. He could feel
the energy shifting in the room, starting to stick to the symbols on the
ground, to collect around them. Mad his father may be, but he certainly knew
what he was doing with magic. When he saw that his father had finished speaking
and was pawing at that awful Weasley boy (such pasty skin he had, and all those
freckles), he turned to look at Granger and Pansy.
Pansy nodded to him, a solemn look on her face, and they both leaned in to kiss
Granger’s cheeks. Tears had started to make their way down to her chin and
Draco bent slightly to catch them before they fell.
“I’m truly sorry about this, Granger. Just hold on there. Potter’s on his way.”
He kept his voice low, barely a whisper, as he breathed over her ear, moving
around to stand behind her as Pansy moved to face her. That was good. His
father would be able to see what Pansy was doing, but Draco would be guarded
from view. It occurred to him now that in addition to saving his bits from a
hexing by Pansy, Granger might rather appreciate not losing her virginity to
Draco.
He caressed her hair and stroked her shoulders, trying to stay as non-sexual as
possible, but it was difficult. The magic conjured by the symbols and his
father’s incantation was attracted to his bare skin. He could feel it tingling
against his bare buttocks, wrapping itself around his balls and his cock,
making him spring to attention.
His cock brushed against Granger’s buttocks as it rose and he gave an
involuntary shudder. Before he realized what he was doing, he was mouthing her
neck, nipping her flesh with his teeth, grabbing hold of her hips and rubbing
himself against her. He could hear Pansy moaning, muffled noises as if she too
had a mouth full of something.
The thought of Pansy with her mouth full of Granger’s pubes, her tongue up in
her cunt or licking over her clit brought sensation alive all over Draco’s body
and he let out a strangled cry, pressing his front flush against Granger. He
felt her quivering and he brought his arms around her waist to make sure she
didn’t fall. His hands found her breasts and he cupped them, grasped at them,
all the while frotting against her behind.
He was becoming frustrated, the sex magic in the room raising his arousal, but
the stimulation of rubbing against Granger not enough to bring him off. The
feeling grew, and he became desparate, making pleading sounds into Granger’s
ear. He couldn’t stand it any longer, he couldn’t stand it, he was going to
die. Then, oh at last, a hand worked its way around his cock, holding firmly,
pushing and pulling up and down faster and faster until he was on the edge of
bliss.
He stayed there, balanced on the edge of ecstasy for an age, for a second, then
he came, crashing down, his hands squeezing around Granger’s breasts, his cock
pulsing in Pansy’s hand, his mouth open and gasping. Just a few moments and it
was over. He dropped his head down to rest on Granger’s shoulder, taking his
hands off her breasts but still clinging to her as he came down from his orgasm
high.
“Oh my God!”
Draco was sure he’d only thought that, or maybe whispered it. He hadn’t really
shouted like that had he?
“Stupefy! Stupefy!”
Oh dear, he thought as he slipped into oblivion, we’ve been rescued.
--00--00--00--
At least, Harry thought, one good thing had come out of this. He wasn’t
embarrassed to sit next to Tonks any more. He didn’t think he would ever be
embarrassed again. Nothing, nothing in this whole world, could possibly be as
mortifying as seeing your best friend with a madman’s cock stuffed up his arse,
and apparently enjoying it.
He was back at Grimmauld Place. They all were: Harry, Moody, Tonks, Remus, Ron,
Hermione, Draco, Pansy and Lucius Malfoy. Hermione had insisted. Moody had been
all for AK-ing the older Malfoy on the spot, and putting a permanent binding
spell on the younger one for good measure, but Hermione had intervened and,
rather bizarrely, defended Draco, saying he’d been trying to protect them all.
Even while Harry was sure she still had some of the wanker’s come drying on her
right arse cheek.
He trusted Hermione, though, they all did, so here they all were, playing
unhappy families at Grimmauld Place. Hermione seemed to be completely
unaffected by the experience, and happily sat in the kitchen talking over
cocoa, or settled in the lounge to read a book or play a round of Exploding
Snap with Harry or Tonks.
But Ron, Ron was a different matter entirely. Harry’d barely seen him since the
rescue and when he had they’d both gone bright red and rushed off in different
directions, mumbling about just having to do something urgent. Like get away
from each other. He asked Hermione about him every other day but she said he
just needed some time to recover his dignity. Harry thought it was going to
take a very, very long time.
--00--00--00--
Epilogue
It had been too easy, really. Stupid Gryffindors. That clumsy Auror with the
pink hair for instance, far too simple to turn into a beetle and catch a ride
on her trouser leg. If only her editor would let her publish all the stories
she’d picked up over the last few months, she’d be the most famous journalist
the Wizarding world had ever known. Forget about the Daily Prophet, she’d be
Anchor Witch for WWN.
But no, her editor had decided it was time to find some morals. Where he’d
found them from she had no idea, at an Ottery St. Catchpole jumble sale for all
she knew. He’d never shown any signs of having them before, it had been one of
his more endearing qualities. Goodness knew he had few enough.
But she was finally getting something out of all of her hard work, she thought,
as she looked at the naked girl spread-eagled and bound on the bed before her.
It had taken very little to convince Miss Hermione Granger that Rita was right:
being involved in a Dark, sex magic ritual with a mad Malfoy was worth so much
more in the currency of blackmail than being an unregistered Animagus.
Rita inspected the finger nails of her right hand and shrunk them with her
wand. She didn’t want the little bitch to suffer too much pain. Not yet,
anyway, and not there. There she would suffer the indignity of unwanted
pleasure, if Rita had anything to do with it.
“How are you doing down there, sweetheart?” simpered Rita.
Hermione scowled back at her, but didn’t move.
“Oh, of course, you can’t speak, can you darling?”
Rita ran the still talon-like nails of her left hand down the girl’s face, down
her neck, over her chest. She clawed and pressed as she passed over the soft
flesh of her breast and nipple, leaving bright red scratch marks against the
pale skin. Sweet revenge.
“Oh, we’re going to have such fun. Perhaps we’ll have to do it again. And
again. And again.”
Hermione’s brow creased and a muffled sound could be heard from behind her gag.
Rita laughed. Sweet, sweet revenge.
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