End of Term by Halrloprillalar / prillalar
Harry Potter, Harry/Draco, 1000 words, NC17
Harry finds something he didn't go looking for.
Keywords: Non-con, school-age
"I'll take this one." Draco's hand closes around Harry's wrist, his fingers a chilly steel bracelet pressing hard against the bone. Harry goes rigid, tendons already tight with fear pulling further, until he almost thinks that he can hear them scream.
Or maybe that's just the boy. The one in the middle of the circle. The one with blood smeared across his face. The one with Marcus Flint on him, raking him with dirty nails, laughing at him with a dirty voice. Fucking him with a dirty cock.
"I know it's you," Draco whispers and his breath on Harry's cheek is cold too. "No matter what you look like."
"Let me go." Harry spits the words like sand from his dry mouth. He jerks his arm away. Draco catches it again.
"What did you think we were going to do here?" He's not touching Harry anywhere else but he's so close, Harry can feel the cushion of air between them like it's his own skin.
Some schoolboy foolishness, some whiskey and weed, that's what Harry thought. He tries not to look at the knot of dull-eyed Ravenclaws. But the Slytherins are worse, with their hungry grins and the hard light glowing from their faces.
Flint is done, his huge body collapsed on top of the boy, his mouth twisted in satisfaction. The boy's eyes are open, rolled back in his head. Flint's eyes find Harry's and Harry's stomach heaves. He turns his head and vomits on the floor.
"You filthy animal!" Flint staggers to his feet. He lunges for Harry, his hand raised and falling.
Draco pulls Harry away. Flint skids on Harry's sick, catches himself. "Don't be greedy," Draco says. "This one is mine."
"Fuck you." But Flint turns away, back to watch as Zabini pulls another Ravenclaw into the circle.
"Get me out of here," Harry mutters.
"Not possible," Draco says.
Zabini forces the boy onto his knees. He slaps the boy's face, first with his palm, then with his cock. He fucks the boy's mouth and the Slytherins cheer him on.
Harry gags and acid burns his throat. Zabini comes on the boy's face. Slytherins howl. The boy drops onto his hands, saliva stringing from his mouth. Harry swallows.
"Our turn," Draco says.
Harry digs in his heels but Draco shoves him and he sprawls onto the floor. This body is slender and weak; he should have chosen someone stronger to become.
Draco takes Harry's collar in his hands and tears it open. The buttons pop and tumble. Draco drags the shirt off Harry's shoulders and drops it on the ground.
Harry's ears are ringing, his breath is racing. Draco drags Harry to his feet. Then he takes out a knife. Harry's breath hisses out of his lungs.
Draco rests the point of the blade on Harry's face, looking into into his eyes, his voice so faint it might just be the draught. "Why did you have to follow me?"
Harry waits for the sharp shock of pain, but it doesn't come. Draco lowers the knife. He leans closer and Harry feels the blade slip inside his waistband, cold as Draco's fingers. Draco slices and Harry's trousers go, his pants tangling around his ankles. He's naked.
The Slytherins catcall. Harry's skin puckers up in gooseflesh. He's shrivelling, all of him withering up with dread. Draco pushes him and he falls, cracking his knees on the stone floor.
Draco bends over him, the smooth fabric of his shirt brushing Harry's bare skin. Draco runs his hand down Harry's spine, over his backside, up between his legs. Harry closes his eyes.
Then Draco's fingers push inside him. Harry gasps. It's cold, it's slick. A drop of something sticky drips down his thigh.
"You going soft, Malfoy?" Flint calls.
"Just because it's rough on him," Draco says, "doesn't mean it has to be rough on me." He pulls away. Harry hears him unbuckle his belt, unzip his fly.
"No," Harry says. He crawls away. Draco catches him by the hips and pulls him back.
"It's okay," Draco whispers. And then he pushes in.
Harry can't move, he can't make a sound. His mouth is open around his strangled breath. His hands are cold on the stone flagging. His knees are aching. He's naked and gasping and impaled on Draco Malfoy's cock.
Draco starts to fuck him. Harry stares at a crack in the floor, but he can't see it. He can't hear the noise in the room. He can't smell Draco's sweat or his own fear. He can only feel Draco rocking him, opening him up. Draco's nails digging into Harry's hip. Draco's balls slapping Harry's bum. Draco breathing louder, faster.
It's beating at Harry like a storm, wind battering at the door, tide sucking at the boat. Draco twists Harry's hair between his fingers, pulls his head back. He touches the place where Harry's scar would be.
A jolt goes through Harry and suddenly he's Draco Malfoy, naked on his hands and knees, and he -- Harry, the real Harry -- is fucking him, fucking him, fucking him, and it's the only thing he's ever wanted.
Then it's gone. He's lying on the floor with Draco limp on top of him, sweat clammy on his skin.
"Christ, that one likes it." Flint spits and the gob spatters over the crack on the floor. There's more cooling on Harry than sweat. He doesn't even know just when he came.
"Get up." Draco stands, puts himself away. He kicks Harry's clothes at him.
Harry pulls up his trousers. He holds the waistband together. He leaves the shirt where it is.
"Take care of your boyfriend, Malfoy," Flint says.
Draco takes Harry's arm. Harry stumbles after him, out of the circle, out of the room.
There's a cauldron filled with a sharp green potion. "I'm supposed to make you forget." Draco fills a goblet and sets it on the table.
They stare at each other for a long time. Harry feels an itch underneath his skin and he knows his spell is ending. His body lengthens, his shoulders broaden, his vision blurs. But he still aches, inside and out. "Malfoy," he says.
"I'll always know it's you," Draco says. And he drinks.
Comments of any kind are always welcome.