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.
HP DM HP RW
rating is NC-17
Warnings include slash, non-con, heavy violence, hurt/comfort
Written before book 5, so it’s AU now I guess.
Possession of Harry
“Don’t!” Harry cried, finding himself being pushed roughly into the common room. “You promised me. You said this wouldn’t happen again.”
A thick slap across the face shut him briefly, knocking Harry to the floor on his back. He curled up into the foetal position on instinct, waiting for the blows to commence... but they didn’t.
Ron lifted his hands up to his face as he attempted to catch his heaving breath. “You drive me mad when I see you look at him. Can’t you see how much it hurts me? I only try and love you and this is killing me!”
Harry picked himself up off the floor and licked his dry lips nervously as Ron wavered in front of him.
He did look odd. He looked wounded and beaten. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hands trembled as he pushed his ginger coloured hair back away from his forehead. His posture was slouched over and his knees fought mightily to keep him steady.
Hundreds of tiny electrical charges prodded themselves into Harry’s heart as he realized the pain he had caused the other boy. His movements towards Ron were slow at first. He wasn’t entirely certain the other hadn’t lost his anger under his duress and kept his eyes over all parts of Ron as he closed in on him. Taking the larger Gryffindor into his arms, he held him tight, coaxing his head over onto his shoulder once he was certain wouldn‘t be hit again.
Ron stood stiff for what seemed like hours, but his sorrow overtook his want to make Harry feel the way he did. He wrapped his arms around the familiar body he so loved to touch and finally let himself relax.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never thought about it that way before,” whispered Harry. “I won’t look at him. Malfoy means nothing to me.”
Ron whimpered as his lover spoke softly into his ear. Why would Harry even look at Malfoy? He was the main cause of most of their troubles in school. They were supposed to hate him, not stare at him lustfully. It didn’t matter; Harry said the words he wanted to hear. Malfoy meant nothing to him.
Ron lifted his head from his boyfriend’s shoulder slowly, brushing his freshly shaved cheek up against the peachy smoothness of Harry’s flawless skin. He opened his eyes and gazed longingly into the mystifying green irises peering back at him. They were searching for something. Something they needed to see. And Ron would let them see it.
He gave off a soft smile of comfort and Harry sighed contentedly. They hugged each other close again, swelling with hope.
There was hope.
Walking up to their dorm room, Harry knew they would have sex. It was in Ron’s walk, his touch, the way he rubbed his thumb around in Harry’s hand. Heaving in a few deep breaths, he knew he could do it. He didn’t particularly want to, but it would make it better. Ron had given in -- now he could, too.
It was nice enough, with loads of emotion filling the room. Ron poured his heart out to the boy about how much he had missed him, and worried he was with others while they were apart. He lay on top of Harry; it as always that way. He plundered Harry’s mouth with his tongue as he spread his legs with his knee to climb in between.
Blindly fumbling around in his bedside table for lubrication, Harry wiggled around to get comfortable beneath him. Ron loved it when Harry pretended to struggle. He loved it more when Harry struggled for real. It gave him confidence, dominance over the boy who everyone adored, the power he needed to feel on par with his partner.
Snagging the bottle he’d been feeling for, he groped in once more for the silky cord he kept there too. Harry blanched as his eyes caught sight of it; he hated to be tied up. He closed his eyes as his wrists were crossed over the other and bound tightly. He bit his tongue when Ron thrust his hands over his head and secured then to the bedstead, the words of refusal sat quietly on the tip.
His thighs were thrust further apart and cold fingers ran up and down his cleft, oiling him up. Harry kept his eyes closed and his mouth shut, refusing to struggle for him. Without a word, Ron pushed inside, gripping Harry’s hips with clawed hands. Angry fingers would leave bruises, but Harry didn’t care. No one but he would see them.
Within seconds Ron was heaving and panting for breaths, rocking himself violently into Harry without concern. He climaxed loudly, screaming out into the dorms. He rolled off Harry quickly and left -- heading to the boy’s lavatory to clean up. Harry waited long moments for his return to at least untie him, as he never used to leave after only gratifying himself. As Ron popped back inside the room, Harry smiled, knowing he wouldn’t have left him like that. Then he realised he only returned to get dressed.
“Hurry up, mate. We’ve got classes in five minutes.” he said. He leaned in and grabbed up his shorts off the bed, and then walked off to his own side of the room to gather up his books.
Harry let it go. He hadn’t wanted to have sex in the first place, and it would be hypocritical to complain about one-sided sex if he left that part out. “Err... Ron?” he said with embarrassment, lying in a pool of semen, still bound to the bed.
“Ah, yeah, right,” said Ron with a giggle. He dashed over and pulled the knots free. Harry hopped off the bed and hastily cleaned up, and was ready for classes alongside his best friend right on time.
The next few days were relatively easy, with very few problems of any sort. It was almost as if the Slytherins who once went out of their way to cause Harry trouble had all been cursed with a memory charm. He stood in awe as Vincent Crabbe ushered several second years out of the way to make a path for Harry to pass by. Pansy Parkinson herself smiled and waved shyly at him in Care for Magical Creatures class when only two days before she had called him a filthy halfblood.
That sort of attention was something Harry desperately needed, as his guilt-filled moments really ate at his psyche. Well, Ron was better, but he still said little things. Small things that normal people might brush off but things nonetheless that seemed to engrain themselves into Harry’s head. Like calling him a slutty little sex-kitten in front Neville and Ginny, or telling him how ugly he looked with his glasses on and his hair combed that way, which was everyday.
One person wasn’t very happy about Ron’s supposedly wonderful change. Hermione seemed a bit more irritated about his actions than before. She blew a gasket that afternoon when they were all walking up the steps to the tower and Ron slapped Harry’s backside as hard as he could.
“Ron, don’t do that in public! That’s so disrespectful. Look, Harry’s gone all red,”
“Honestly Hermione, he was waving it in my face!”
She took Harry aside later that afternoon and sat him down in the common room while Ron was off practicing Quidditch. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask why Harry wasn’t practicing himself, she was just happy he was finally away from his boyfriend long enough for them to talk. She had been feeling quite guilty about something herself and wanted to know if there was a way she could relieve that pressure from both of them.
“Harry, I know you won’t tell me details, but if there’s something you need to talk to about... whatever’s been bothering you.. I’ll always be here,” she said, giving off a small smile. She patted his hands and watched him closely while he mentally struggled with himself over what to say.
He smiled back and gave her hand a firm squeeze. “I can’t complain. Ron’s been great. We haven’t fought in weeks,”
“Well, I’ll be here. Just remember that,”
“Sure. Thanks, Hermione.”
Sitting in the library, studying up for Arithmancy, Hermione couldn’t help notice a certain Slytherin pacing around in front of her a short distance away. Draco Malfoy would glance up at her from time to time, take a step towards her, back up, run his fingers through his stiff hair, and then repeat all those actions with a nervous look about him.
“If you want to ask me something, come here and ask. I don’t bite,” she said without looking up. Her quill tapped annoyingly over her texts as she waited for him to make up his mind.
Eventually, he gave in and slowly moved his way over towards her, sitting across from her at her table. “Err... Hey, Granger.” he choked out, and then cleared his throat hastily.
“What is it you want?” she replied coolly, still refusing to break her concentration from her assignment. Not that she could honestly study anymore, but she wanted to give off the impression she hadn’t a care in the world as to why Malfoy was sitting by her.
“I sort of wanted to ask you why Potter quit the quidditch team. I mean... what else does he have other than quidditch?” he asked snobbishly, a perfect cover-up for his true concerns.
The quill stopped in mid-tap, and Hermione looked strangely up at the golden haired boy. “What do you mean? Harry didn’t quit,”
“He did. He told McGonagall this morning. She told Snape. Snape told me.” he replied. “Err... if he’s having problems, or is afraid to play against me; I’ve told the others to back off of him. He looks kind of bad lately. He must have noticed by now, but if he hasn‘t, maybe you could relay it to him.”
Recovering from one form of shock -- just as another wave hit her, Hermione sat frozen in place for several seconds, agape and unblinking. After a moment of silence, she allowed the thoughts to flow back into place. “You’re serious? He’s quit the team? But he loves Quidditch. Did Snape say why?”
Draco shrugged. “No. Erm, could I ask you a personal question, though?” he dared, hoping the Gryffindor wouldn’t notice the look of anticipation over his face. “Is Potter having relationship problems? I mean, not that I care, because I don’t. It’s just... something I’ve noticed. I can see the signs of something bothering Harry,”
“Funny you should mention that, actually. Not that I should be talking to you about this. Honestly I shouldn’t.” she said; noticing once more she was not speaking to a friend, but to Draco Malfoy.
Draco’s breath hitched, and he sat up abruptly in excitement. “You can talk to me. I know I’m not your favourite person, but it really looks like you want to spill. I swear on my name I’ll never tell a soul,” He held up his hand and crossed his heart.
Hermione bit her lip hard in uncertainty. “Why would I trust you? What’s this all about, Malfoy?” she demanded.
“You’re a Gryffindor. You’re the trusting sort, the brave ones. It’s in your blood to trust me once I’ve begged you! Why would I risk sitting here by a mudbl- erm, muggleborn if I wasn’t honestly concerned? Listen, Harry Potter is… well, I‘ve seen these signs he’s showing before. They might not be as noticeable to someone who hasn‘t experienced it,”
Hermione wasn’t a Prefect only because of her charm or even her unrelenting capacity to learn. No, she was also a Prefect because she knew things others couldn’t fathom. She could read almost anyone like a book. Reading Draco’s expression, she did trust him.
“I’ll tell you what I know, because I know basically next to nothing. Besides, I have noticed the change in attitude of your housemates. If it was you that called them off, I suppose I can trust you with this. There’s just one thing I’d like to know, though. Why did you call them off? Be honest,”
Draco leaned in close, staring her down with narrowed eyes. “If you tell anyone about this, I’ll have your head,”
Hermione rolled her eyes, and gestured for him to continue.
“Okay. I’ve sort of got a tiny, little crush on- Potter.” he blushed pink as the words left his lips, hoping he hadn’t just made the worst mistake of his life.
“Everyone knows that, Malfoy,” replied Hermione flatly.
Draco dropped his face in his hands, exasperated. “How does everyone know?”
“It’s just something floating around school. It has been since last term.”
“Tell me about Potter. Why is he so different? Last year he was practically a zombie during the last month or so. I admit that so far since we’ve been back he looks better, but looking well and feeling well are two different things. It’s like I can sense his emotions or something. Sometimes it’s so strong, so heavy on his mind that I can actually feel it radiating off of him. He‘s depressed.” he said, sounding very chump-like once more to himself.
“That’s very strange. Not that I haven’t suspected something myself, but he won’t talk about it. Sometimes he has nightmares about You-Know-Who, and he’s had a lot of Slytherins picking on him. I don’t think that’s all of it, though,”
“That‘s the question that needs answering then. Could it have anything to do with Ron?”
Hermione nodded. “They fight sometimes. Ron yells at him a lot, says mean things to him. Harry used to tell me about it a little, but just today he said everything was fine. I don’t think it is, though,”
Draco arched his eyebrow questioningly. “That’s it -- They fight? It has to be more than that. Last year in potions class, Ron forced himself on Harry right there in front of everyone. It was really embarrassing for him, and he wouldn’t look at anyone for over a week after that. Don’t you think that’s a bit of an overreaction for one silly kiss? What would you call that?”
“I’d call it embarrassment. I was there that day, too. I remember how bad everyone laughed at him.” she spat.
“I’d call it submission. It was a punishment, Granger. Weasel punished him for something that day,” he said, pursing his lips. He sat back in his chair with a tight uneasiness settling in his features.
Hermione knit her brow as she watched him. Draco’s shoulders slumped a bit, and he sighed as his eyes scanned the floor. “I don’t mean to pry, Malfoy... but is this hitting a bit close to home?” she said softly.
“Maybe,” he muttered, keeping his eyes to the floor. “I don’t really want to talk about that right now.”
“I understand,” she said.
Harry sat on his bed patiently waiting for Ron to get back from the kitchens with dinner. It was Friday evening and everyone else was in the Great Hall, but Ron had suggested they eat alone on the weekends now. There was a student-held weekend party planned after the feast in an abandoned set of chambers and Harry was very excited to go. Ron made the deal; eat with him alone-- go to the party. Missing a meal or two with Hermione and the rest of his friends was definitely worth it.
“I got loads of stuff,” said Ron, entering the room with a large tray in his hands.
After they ate, Harry leapt up excitedly and ran to his trunk to find something decent to wear. Ron watched his boyfriend hop around with a huge grin on his face. “Why so cheery?” he asked bemusedly.
Harry looked up from the floor as he sat down on his knees in front of his things. “I can’t wait to get to the party, Ron. I heard everyone’s gonna be there,”
The party was the big talk of the school all week. It was planned by a few seventh years from all four houses and all the third through seventh years were invited. Harry was so elated that the Slytherins seemed to have lost their interest in him; nothing could have made him want to miss it.
“Oh,” replied Ron.
Harry changed quickly, throwing on a pair of very loose fitting khakis that hung off his hips, and a tight black t-shirt. The shirt was snug and rode up on his stomach, but it hugged him flatteringly and he loved the feel of it.
Ron dragged himself over to his own trunk and pulled out his best jeans and a knitted roll-neck. He looked down at Harry who was on the floor again, lacing up a pair of leather boots. Harry grinned broadly up at him, looking absolutely adorable. Way too adorable for Ron’s liking.
Ron scowled under his roll-neck as he pulled it over his head.
Malfoy was going to be there. He’d be there looking at Harry in that t-shirt.
“That shirt’s too tight. Don’t you have something bigger?” he said.
Harry frowned. “No,”
“What about that jumper my mum sent you?” he said coolly.
Harry’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t possibly wear that to the party. “I err... I didn’t bring it.” he said softly, hoping he had actually not brought it.
“Well, you’re not wearing that. You’d better come up with something else -- and put a belt on. I can see your stomach,” he said sternly, glaring over at the boy as he stood up.
“You know, you’re not my mum,” said Harry, trying to remain calm.
Ron snorted through his nostrils like a bull. “No, you don’t have a mum. Someone has to take care of you. You’re completely incapable of it yourself. Now change that shirt before I make you sorry,”
He took a threatening step towards Harry then, glowering and shaking with anger.
Harry paled quickly. His heart began to beat rapidly inside his chest and he hoped it wasn’t evident through his t-shirt. “Fine,” he replied. He hoped he had something else to wear in his truck, as Ron tended to see to anything he wore as either too seductive, or not sexy enough. Those clothes always went missing soon after, but today he’d push that aside and change into whatever he had left. He wasn’t missing this party over a stupid t-shirt.
Ron looked down in the boy’s trunk as Harry sorted through a small pile of clothes. “So, you lied to me?” he said, eyeing an ugly, moth-eaten, oversized shirt in Harry’s hand.
Harry shook his head quickly without looking back.
“I can see it. Wear that instead,” he ordered.
“But this is Dudley’s old shirt. I had to wear it on the train. I wear it here, I wear it home, that’s what it‘s for,” he protested back, holding it up for Ron to see. “It’s awful. I won’t wear this.”
“You will if you want to go.” he threatened, growing redder around his cheeks.
Harry fumed, his fear overridden by the threat. “I can’t believe you’d take back what you said. I ate up here with you. I quit the team for you! I do every single thing you ask, why can’t you give me one small break today?” His posture was firm, but the slight crinkling over his brow told another story. His lengthy bangs covered up most of it, luckily. “I’m not wearing this rag.”
He walked towards the door, tossing the shirt at Ron’s feet.
Ron stood awestruck for a second too long and Harry was out the door. “Where do you think you’re going!?” he shouted. He ran out and down the steps, but Harry was quicker and made it out of the common room before Ron got a chance to catch him.
Harry waded through the crowd of students heading to the sixth floor where the party was to be held all weekend. Looking behind him and off into the back of the hall, he spotted Ron's head over the smaller students filing in. Icy panic suddenly ran through his body and he turned back around, slamming hard into someone in front of him. Falling flat on his butt, he looked up quickly -- into silvery-blue eyes.
“What are you doing down there, Potter?” smirked Draco, as he and Greg looked down at the nervous Gryffindor.
Harry didn‘t have time to think. “Hide me!” he blurted out with breathy cry, holding his hands up to the boy for assistance. He couldn’t believe he just said what he said. It just came out. Malfoy will probably spit on him now or something worse.
Greg and Draco both grabbed his hands, lifting the boy up with so much force he nearly toppled back over. Pushing Harry behind them, they closed in together, touching shoulders as Ron ran up. Both Slytherins crossed their arms over their chests and smirked amusingly at the flustered boy scanning the crowd right in front of them.
Harry stood perfectly still between them and the corridor wall with his eyes screwed shut, praying Ron hadn’t spotted him. He’d be in more trouble than he could imagine if he was caught hiding behind Malfoy.
Turning up no signs of Harry, Ron eventually caught sight of the two imposing snakes standing beside him. “What are you looking at, Malfoy?” he spat, breathing heavily, using it to his advantage by puffing out his chest with it.
“Lose something?” asked Draco.
Greg chuckled sycophantically.
Harry gritted his teeth. Were they going to expose him? His heart was pounding hard in his chest now and his knees shook uncontrollably. He instinctively grabbed onto Draco’s back, bunching his silky shirt up in his hands to keep himself standing.
“Have you seen Harry? Did he go by here?” said Ron, pretending to sound polite.
Draco’s eyes widened as he felt the small hands cling onto him. “No, and I wouldn’t tell you even if I had. Now go away, Weasel,” he chided.
“Sod off, Malfoy,” replied Ron, waving his hand to dismiss the duo as he stormed off. “Hey, Seamus, wait up!”
“Thanks,” said Harry, looking nervously around the larger boys’ protective wall. “I guess I owe you one. I’ll see you around.” He walked off without waiting for any reply and Draco ran up beside him, grasping his upper arm to draw him to a halt.
“Hey, what was that all about anyways?” he said curiously.
“It’s nothing. We just had a small fight and it’ll be worse if he sees me talking to you, so I’d appreciate it if you’d let go of my arm,” he replied coolly, jerking his shoulder back from the Slytherin.
“I know what he’s doing,” said Draco. Harry paled considerably before him. “I can help you.”
“No... Malfoy, if you really want to help me-- just stay away,” he said, and disappeared into the crowd without another word.
Draco sighed dejectedly. He reproved himself then, thinking about how giddy he felt when he caught sight of the boy asking him for help. He knew from personal experience that one simple act of kindness wouldn’t exactly make someone like Harry Potter cry out for help, especially to a scoundrel like Malfoy. No, he needed time. Harry was a strong person; but he’d ask... and Draco would be there when he did.
Finding Hermione, Harry glued himself to her side. She refrained from questioning him as to why Ron was staring them both down and decided tonight it didn’t matter. Harry looked relaxed, was chatting up a storm with everyone, even Pansy Parkinson for pities sake. She wouldn’t let anything spoil it.
Eventually Ron stopped glaring at them and walked over, handing Harry a bottle of butterbeer. “Havin’ fun, mate?” he asked. Harry blinked a few times in surprise, but nodded. Placing his arm around the boy’s shoulders, Ron leaned into his ear. “Thought later on you and me could slip off. There are a few rooms in the back we could take advantage of.”
Harry bit his lip. He really didn’t want to leave the party anytime soon, but if Ron wasn’t mad at him, he really couldn’t say no. “How much later? Can’t we stay for a while longer?” he asked sheepishly.
“I heard everything drinkable here is spiked with various potions. I can’t wait to see what happens.” said Ron, ignoring Harry’s questions. “I feel pretty good right now. This stuff is great,” He held up his bottle and clanked it against Harry’s. “Drink up.”
The lowlight of the main room was wonderfully decorated with various enchantments, including a night sky full of bright stars above their heads. A soft breeze could be felt flowing around every once in a while, giving off the effect of being outdoors.
Harry noticed a couple of teachers had graced them with their presences, namely Professors Snape and Flitwick. Both of them looked oddly at ease in the room filled with crazed students and Harry had to wonder if they weren’t actually polyjuice’d impostors.
Within the next hour, the strangest things began happening causing mass chaos and lots of laughter. Like Ron had said, the drinks were in fact, spiked. A few unfortunate souls were afflicted with masses of boils, which an antidote was quickly administered by Snape. That was the worst of the trickery. Mostly, students’ hair turned awful shades of green and pink, some people began glowing, but most everyone else just became extremely drunk. Ron, being one of them, began slurring his speech and leaning heavily on Harry for support.
Harry decidedly chose not to drink anything that evening as he honestly didn’t want any more attention brought upon himself. Hermione’s radiating aura was enough of an eye turner to begin with and she dramatized it up for all it was worth.
Draco watched over Harry most of the evening. It sickened him to see Ron falling over himself, groping him every few minutes. He hated to admit it to himself, but for the first time in his life he felt something other than pity or disgust for Potter. It wasn’t pity that made his heart ache whenever Ron’s hand would cup his face, plant kisses on his lips, or rub his inner thigh; it was jealousy.
Eventually, Ron’s behaviour slowed and no one was surprised when he passed out. Seamus and Lavender volunteered to take him back up to the tower and Harry remained next to Hermione, both having the times of their lives.
“Go on, you bloody coward. If you don’t at least try, you’ll never know,” chastised Greg to a very reluctant Draco. “He’s sitting there on the couch begging to be talked to. Go!”
“Damn. You’re right, you’re right. Okay, here I go,” he said. Pondering to himself as he walked over to the couch, Draco had no idea why he was so timid about approaching the Gryffindor. Normally his overconfident self would be mindset that it was a privilege to be spoken to by his high and mighty self, but this was different. Harry never looked at him in that light, and his money and popularity couldn’t sway the boy.
“Ask him about Quidditch!” mouthed Greg as Draco looked back at him one last time. He acknowledged it with a simple nod and took a seat next to Harry.
Harry looked startled for a brief moment, but calmed himself in a graceful fashion. He relaxed back into his seat, applying a quizzical smirk.
“Potter,” said Draco, trying his best not to return the smirk. “Why’d you quit?”
Harry shrugged his shoulders. “Not really my thing anymore. I need to work harder on schoolwork,” he said.
Draco leaned over, resting his lips against Harry’s ear. “Bullocks, I’m not going to make a big deal about it because I’m sure you have your reasons. If it was because of Ron though, you should consider talking to someone about this.”
Harry looked very uncomfortable. His hands no longer rested in his lap, noted Draco. They were wringing themselves into frenzy and sadness worked itself over his features. The once confident, brave, and powerful wizard was now looking small and cowed by his comments. He could mask it as he proved then- by smiling and sitting back up, but the hands never ceased with their nervous actions.
“Ron had nothing to do with it. Look, I appreciate the concern, but there’s really nothing worth talking about. I should go up to bed anyways,” he said “Will you be here tomorrow?” he asked, turning around as he stood up.
“Yeah, you?” asked Draco.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll see you then,” he replied with a small grin, and left without any goodbyes to anyone else.