disclaimer: I am borrowing these characters from the Harry Potter books, and am in no way receiving money from them. I do not own any of them.
Warnings include slash, non-con and rape, hurt/comfort
Possession of Harry
The Great Hall was its overzealous, chattering self as the post owls swooped down into the room, dropping letter and gifts off to all their eager recipients. A very daring Harry Potter took this opportunity to quickly glance over to the Slytherin table, only to lay eyes on the thing he most loved to look at.
“Are you looking at anyone in particular?” snapped Ronald Weasley; Harry’s very possessive and highly suspicious boyfriend. Digging his fingernails roughly across the boy’s lightly clad thigh, Harry bit back a startled yelp of pain.
“No, Ron. I was thinking about something and I suppose it may have looked like I was staring at someone... but I assure you, I wasn’t,” he replied quickly. His breath stepped up it’s pace and his eyes cast themselves downward, but it was too late.
“Um hum,” mumbled Ron. He knew who his boyfriend was looking at. He knew Harry had no reserves in his weak little self to avoid deliberately hurting his feeling. No, his disgusting display right there in front of all his friends was a great insult to him. He’d put a stop to that later.
Hermione Granger; Currently best friends with both of the said Gryffindors, frowned into her lap, feeling simply awful for pressuring the two of them to get together in the first place. It was a disaster from the start. They were great friends once. They were not great lovers.
“Ron, please don’t start in on him today,” she added, hoping it would calm the fire flickering in his eyes.
From the start of their fifth year, until now, the third day of their sixth year; Ron and Harry had been dating openly. Same sex dating in the wizarding world wasn’t all that unusual; in fact it was much more common than in the muggle world. Wizards just seemed a lot more open and receptive to the fact that anyone can fall in love, especially with your best friend.
“Excuse me for wanting to know who my boyfriend is gawking at,” he replied rudely. “If he can’t keep his goddamn eyes off that disgusting Slytherin cock, I’m going to make sure I know about it.”
Several times Harry thought about calling it off with Ron, within the first two months they had started dating. Ron had changed. He had become somewhat possessive towards his new love. Nothing directed at him, to be honest. It was usually directed at anyone who dared to look upon the boy. There was no mistaking it, Harry was very handsome. Not too tall, not too big, he was just right. His face had remained and would always be perfectly boyish. He had cute little dimples in his cheeks and his brilliant green eyes always flashed mischievously as he played his lashes over them.
Ron had grown quite handsome himself. His height shot up to well over six feet and his body filled out a bit with proper eating habits instilled by Hermione. He looked a lot like his older brother, Bill, and the younger girls would literally swoon as they passed him in the halls. His sweet apple-cheeks were still spotted by his freckles, but his sparkling baby blue eyes kept everyone’s attention.
“I wasn’t looking at anyone...”
Simply put - there weren’t many others at their age who were as kind on the eyes; except for maybe Draco Malfoy and a few other unmentionables. Speaking of which; said Malfoy was currently glancing over to the Gryffindor table taking in quick visions he would hold onto for later. As much as he hated Harry Potter, he always indulged himself in a few guilt-free, slippery eyefuls. His pretty face was just too good to pass up on dreaming about at night. Not that he’s ever step over the boundaries of Slytherin and Gryffindor bloodlust; No, never. For one - his father would absolutely murder him. And two - it probably wouldn’t look good to turn in ones resume with “I fell in love with The-Boy-Who-Lived” when applying for a job as a Death Eater once he graduated. Did he say hate? No, not hate. He never hated Potter. In fact-
As if linked at the mind; Harry had dared to attempt another quick look at the silver-eyed Slytherin. Ron be damned. He was already in trouble; what could it hurt? Draco was a vision of pure light and beauty. He carried an elfin appearance; pointy features and slicked-back platinum hair. He was tall, but much more refined and graceful than Ron. He was the perfect contrast, and the perfect escape from his current situation.
Thinking back to when it all started:
Again, those first two months. With a lot of uncomfortable behaviour from the inky-haired boy, Ron began to grow slightly more possessive, fearing he may lose his current best friend and wanton love interest to someone else if he wasn’t more careful. His reactions to events became more domineering and for quite a while Harry resisted them. The words “I want out” sat on his tongue for several weeks, fearing to be spoken only because his troubles other than his relationship seemed much direr. Lord Voldemort had returned into power and was gathering up as many followers as he could entice.
His pure hate for Harry inadvertently caused the boy to withdrawal into a sort of shell and he called his protective covering ‘Ron’.
Ron would always leap into the fight. He was never afraid to defend his lover. He would willingly shed blood over any unkind thing that always seemed to drop into Harry’s lap. He had sworn his body and soul to the boy, an offering Harry willingly accepted as the threats and mishaps steadily increased in their school. It seemed Voldemort had made the boy slightly less popular over the last year as his following grew. Mostly, if not all by Slytherins, though. Not all Slytherins, mind you.
“Look there. Mr. Perfect seems a bit unhappy.” mentioned Vincent Crabbe, pointing over to Harry’s sullen face. “It must really be awful to be so wonderful. If he wants to cry, I‘ll make him cry.”
The Gryffindors were the most loyal, and the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs still tipped their heads with a smile as they passed in the halls. The Slytherins, on the other hand, were never so unwilling to let the boy have a moment’s rest. He was tripped daily, cursed by unseen wands, potions were always sabotaged, and that was the easy parts. His anxiety had grown considerably, turning into meek paranoia at some point nearing the end of his fifth year. Living with the Dursleys for the last two months seemed to calm that a bit, but he could feel it rising once again from the moment he walked into the Great Hall just two days before.
“Shut up, Vince. You don’t know anything about him.” snipped Draco, pouting at the emotional turmoil his pretty boy seemed to be going through. It must be terrible for such a spoiled brat to look that sad. Maybe someone he loved had died.
Sometime after March the possessiveness had shifted a great deal. The anger Ron felt wasn’t being taken out on the other boys and girls who threatened his masculinity; it was being taken out on Harry. Verbally at first. Snide comments about looking at others, a few direct insults to the boy’s small frame, a threat or two about dressing up and looking nice.
“There’s no need to look like that just to go to potions! Who are you trying to impress, anyways?” he would say.
Harry would always falter in these situations. He hated the fighting. There was way too many insults directed at him by his enemies; no need to suffer any more by his friends. He hated to say it, but he almost missed leaving the Dursleys for the first time in his life. They were slightly cruel, but usually just ignored him. Coming back to Hogwarts left a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, as he knew by each letter he received from Ron his feelings towards him had not changed.
He said the words once, just once. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.” and crossed his fingers under the folds of his robes, hoping the redhead would take the news well. Unfortunately the boy flew into a panic, objecting the thought at first, and then declaring openly what a huge mistake he was making.
“I love you
more than life itself. I am a part of you and you are a part of me. I will try
harder, I swear it. Please, oh god, please don’t leave
And the moment Harry agreed; he sealed his fate. The happiness over the next few weeks was blissful in itself. Ron went out of his way to impress the boy. He scraped up all the money he could get his hands on; buying the boy chocolate frogs and small trinkets of devotion. Harry said he didn’t need these things, but it always fell on deaf ears.
About the fourth week after the proclamation, Harry was caught staring off over to Malfoy’s potion table and abruptly slapped on his hand. It was nothing more than an embarrassing sting; but Ron had never hit him before. That night as he lay down to sleep, Ron waited patiently for Neville, Dean and Seamus to drift off into slumber, so he could show Harry what he really meant by it.
Sneaking into each others beds was nothing new to either of them. They did it quite often, usually for the sex. Harry found the sex, at first to be the best part of the relationship; but now it seemed to be the only tiny thread holding it together.
This night was different, however. Ron brought his wand, intending on keeping the spot they sat over very quiet while he chastised the boy. Once again Harry thought about the words he had mentioned to Ron. “I think this thing we have together isn’t working anymore...” he began. “I know you’ve been trying-”
The finishing words were suddenly cut off by a direct slap across his face. “Don’t you ever think about leaving me. I’m all you have,” he spat, rubbing his fingers into his palm to numb the sting.
“Ron... you just hit me,” replied Harry, dumbfounded and stunned all at once. He rubbed his own cheek, feeling the heat of the slap and the light raising of the handprint over it.
Ron stammered then, feeling the shock of his own actions and seeing the frightened look on his lover’s face. “I... I didn’t... I’m sorry, Harry,” he cried, brushing the boy’s hand away and rubbing the afflicted skin for him. “I just get so afraid. I love you.”
Falling for it hook, line, and sinker... Harry ate it up. His own self-esteem was in tatters and Ron knew subconsciously how to open them up larger, and easily sink his teeth into the open mental wounds the boy carried.
The slaps resumed, pacing themselves out over a week or so at a time, but grew quickly and steadily.
Telling the Headmaster was an utter disaster in itself. Dumbledore all but told the boy his worries over something as petty as a lover’s spat was trivial compared to the impending battle he would have to fight once Voldemort wormed his way back into his life. He couldn’t be bothered with this. He needed to work this out himself. Admittedly, Harry had left out a great deal of information about the whole relationship; confusing the old man into believing it was just that; a simple teenaged lover’s quarrel. His own fear and embarrassment about receiving abuse from a trusted friend, a fellow Gryffindor, held his tongue. With a simple nod, he walked out of Dumbledore’s office.
Other professors expressed their ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ about it, but did nothing to help matters. Hermione, herself, was clueless to the situation, but offered her sympathy and a warm shoulder to cry on when Harry looked bad and refused to tell her what the matter was. He even half-heartedly thought about telling Professor Snape about it, but threw that idea out quickly; he’d probably announce it to the whole Slytherin class during story time. No, his limited options had quickly run out and he was left to defend himself against a greater threat than The Almighty Dark Lord himself; his own best friend.
When the slaps didn’t seem to be enough any longer, Ron resorted to more effective means of getting his point across. Humiliating his Harry.
Harry could be standing innocently in the common room chatting with friends and Ron would walk up. He would never say his ‘hellos’ to anyone who was speaking to his boyfriend, he would show them his express disapproval over the intrusion in his own ways. Grabbing Harry in inappropriate places on his body, rough kissing while he was speaking to someone, hard slaps to his backside when he didn‘t see it coming... it just went on and on.
“You know you love it. I’m just doing it to show the guys that you’re all mine. They think it’s funny,”
Harry would have a permanent flush of embarrassment over his cheeks. Small pleas to stop went ignored and the groping only increased with time. It happened for the first time in front of Malfoy, about three months before the summer hols. Once again he was caught looking in that certain direction, and it was only for a fraction of a second it seemed. His head was pulled back violently by a large hand clawed into his unruly black hair and was forced to hold his breath while Ron took his time plundering his bruised mouth.
Harry couldn’t bear to look back to see if Malfoy had watched; but sadly, he had seen it. Draco grimaced as he witnessed the wretched display of dominance in the classroom and hoped Snape would throw Ron into Filch’s clutches over it.
Watching Potter’s hands grope desperately at the desk in front of him as he struggled for breath under the Weasel’s kiss sickened him. He shouldn’t care... but something inside of him made him want to do something about it. His own selfish pride refused to relent though and he kept his eyes averted and his mouth quite shut about it. Well, to almost everyone, anyways.
“If I told you something very personal, would you promise never to tell anyone, ever?” he asked his best friend, Gregory Goyle.
“Sure, I won’t spill,”
“I think I might have a crush on a certain Gryffindor, and no, it’s not Granger,”
“Well, I’m not going through the list of them, and I think I know who it is, but tell me anyways. You know you can trust me,”
“Okay. Potter,” he said reluctantly.
“Oh! That’s a shocker, Draco,” he replied sarcastically.
“He doesn’t know...”
“Then tell him,” Goyle said bluntly.
“He’s already with Weasley. Besides, I can’t risk something like that. If my father ever found out, I’d be disinherited.” he replied sadly. “He’s... he looks bad lately. I want to comfort him; I feel this pull between us... Ugh, I sound like a chump, don‘t I?”
Greg smiled, raising his eyebrows. “You do. But I like it. You’re not so evil when you sound like a chump,”
“I saw him in the hallway the other day. I tried to strike up a conversation with him, but he ran off as soon as I got too close; like I was diseased, or something,”
“Ah well, he’s a Gryffindor. What do you expect?”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right,”
It was two months before summer would arrive and for the first time in his life, Harry found himself in a situation he finally couldn’t escape from. Having somehow angered Ron beyond words, he sat quietly in his bed going over all the events of the day. He hadn’t even thought about Malfoy let alone looked at him; he was stumped, He couldn’t think of a single thing he had done to upset his redheaded mate. But upset him he had, and Ron thought he had a very good reason. It didn’t matter that Harry had no clue as to what had upset him. It made no difference that Ginny had told him that Draco Malfoy was rumoured to have a crush on his boy. He would show him his power. He needed to know who was boss. He should never be tempted by that Slytherin git.
“Come over here and take everything off. I want you good and naked by the time you reach me,”
“I don’t want to do this tonight, Ron,” he whispered, pushing the rough hands away.
“I don’t really care what you want. Now take those off!” he replied in a deep sneer.
“I think you need to cool down...” he said nervously, pulling his knees up into his chest. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,”
“See, that’s the thing. You’re always sorry. You always say it, but I don’t think you mean it anymore. It’s just a word to you. I said take those bloody pyjamas off...” he warned.
His hand lashed out, striking the smaller boy across the face then. Harry heaved in a deep breath and ran his shaky fingers down his top to loosen the buttons.
“Hurry the fuck up! You act like you don’t even love me anymore. Who are thinking about? Is it Malfoy? Are you fantasising about that son of a bitch, Draco Malfoy? You are such a whore,” Another slap in the face quickened Harry’s pace about undressing.
“I’m not. I swear I’m not,”
“Lying little slut. I know you think about him all the time. He’d never look at you. You’re disgusting, no one here thinks of you as anything else but a cheap whore. You do know that, right?”
“I’m not a whore...”
Another flashing blow crashed into his jaw, knocking Harry off balance. He fell to his side and cried out instinctively. Ron lunged forward, ripping his pyjama pants away from his hips roughly before he could catch them.
“Stop it, Ron. You’re scaring me!” he cried.
“Is that what you want? Do you wish I was a Death Eater too? Let me show you what Death Eaters do to little whores like you,” he hissed. He clawed his fingers into the boy’s hips then, shifting him over onto his stomach forcefully as Harry scrambled with his hands to hold onto anything that would give him leverage.
“Oh god, Ron, don’t do this!” he cried, feeling his lover’s throbbing erection rubbing hard against the cleft of his backside. “Please don’t!”
His arms were twisted up behind him and held up behind him so his face was thrust down into his pillows. Ron shoved himself inside then, moaning loudly as the sensations of Harry’s struggles and muffled cries rippled over his flesh. “Gods, you fucking little slut...” he whispered in a daze, holding himself inside for a moment to get used to the feeling.
The warm happiness Ron allowed himself drifted quickly as a thought of Malfoy flashed through his head once more. He began moving then, thrusting his length deeply in and out of the boy, gritting his teeth in anger. He held the arms up higher, locking Harry into place so his head rested in his own lap. Capturing both wrists in one hand, he groped out with the other, wrenching Harry‘s head up.
Gasping for air, Harry screamed into the room, praying it would penetrate the barriers of the silencing spell over the drapes. “Listen to you... you love this.” moaned Ron, quickening his pace with ripping thrusts. The intense struggles and cries of pain rubbed over him in ecstasy and he seized up as his silent orgasm flooded throughout his body. Holding Harry very steady as he came, he fell over him, recovering under heavy panting and gruff mewling.
“I’m going to bed.” he said, climbing over the side without a care.
Harry lay motionless for hours, sobbing heavily into his pillow. He could feel the blood slowly pooling beneath him, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to die.
Please... let this do it. Please let this be the end of it. Let Ron see what he did so that he’d never do it again. Ron loved him, he would be horrified when he realized how badly he’d hurt him.
Seemingly endless tears and rising pain exhausted The-Boy-Who-Lived; and he drifted into a fitful rest - naked, and alone.
“You’re going to make me late for class. Can’t you do anything for yourself? I have to heal you up and bathe you now, too?” Words no one wants to be woken up to, but this was yet another torture Harry had succumbed to.
“I swear you aren’t worth the trouble. You’re a miserable little slut. I should just give you to Malfoy but he’d probably kill you.”
Harry felt his pain filled wounds reopen as he was roughly pulled out of his bed. Crying out in a throaty whimper, a hand was clamped over his mouth and fingernails dug deeply into his jaw. “Shut up! You want the whole tower to hear you?”
Unable to find the strength to even shake his head, he hung limply in the arm snaked around his chest and let himself be dragged off to the boys lavatory.
Casting several healing spells over the boy while he leaned heavily into the shower wall, Ron’s anger subsided. Harry looked bad- really bad. Pale and bruised, drained of blood and spirit. “Hey...” Ron said softly, tossing the boy a cheerful grin, “I’m going to take care of you. I’ll get you all fixed up, and feed you soup and stuff. Won’t that be nice?”
Harry hesitated, and then nodded obediently, fearing he might anger the boy yet again.
The last two months garnered four more rapes. They had all involved Malfoy’s face and Ron’s increasingly overactive imagination. Harry wouldn’t dare look at the boy, think about him, or speak his name... It was unimaginable. Each time the abuse occurred, rape or not, Harry slipped a little further away from himself and deeper into depression. The bruising and marks were becoming more difficult to heal as they layered over each other in sickly hues of purple and blue.
The train ride home was quiet. Ron was visibly distressed. He made Harry swear his loyalty to him several times.
Finding himself excited about seeing Uncle Vernon waving him over should have set off numerous alarms in the boy’s head; but it didn’t. All he wanted to do was go home. Since when was number four, Privet Drive home? He wouldn’t think about that. He would just rest and heal, and live a quiet two months away from Hogwarts.
Over the summer he confided to a very persistent Hermione about a very small amount of the abuse. He really didn’t want to betray his best friend and felt that he had honestly deserved most of it. He would be better this year. There would be no need to be punished.
Looking at Malfoy was bad. Malfoy was bad.
Hermione seemed to care. She sent him sweets and books and told him many times that Ron didn’t mean the hateful things he said in his letters. Ron’s letters to her wrote a completely different picture. He never forgot to mention to her how much he loved his Harry. How much he missed his Harry. He would be different this year. She was sure of it.
The train ride was pleasant. The trio snuggled together in happiness and played games and ate lots of candy. It was just like old times, and it filled Harry’s heart with a brimming hope.
Now, back on the third day of his sixth year; Harry can plainly see for himself all the signs were back. He foolishly broke his own rule and looked at the Slytherin. It was his own fault; he’d be in for it. The touch Ron gave him on his thigh told him he would get it, too. Cringing, he sighed softly and let himself be dragged out of the room towards the tower.