A heavy cock rams him from behind while he sucks a different one. The one in his mouth is thick and long, gagging him, while the one in his arse is unimaginably huge. His hands are wrenched behind him, the hold on his wrists merciless.
"Needed a good fucking, didn't you?" the voice from behind grunts with a laugh. He gives Harry's arse several hard slaps in a row. There is no artistry in them; they are merely designed to hurt. They do. Harry leans into the last, making it worth something.
He has no idea who the man is—the one behind or the one in front. He's blindfolded and naked while they remain clothed, the roughness of their robes scraping across his skin like thorns, absolving him with their scourge.
They come all over him, their ejaculate burning across his skin with whip-crack spurts. It oozes from his mouth and arse, dripping down and staining his hands and feet. They rub their still-weeping cock across his face, his back, his hair, marking him.
He thinks one of them spits on him.
The blindfold falls away, fluttering to the ground. Harry can't look up. The weight of the shame keeps him on his hands and knees, looking down.
"He's all yours," the one in front says.
"Thanks for sharing the little slut," the one from behind says.
Pale fingers at his ear, turning him around, and an aristocratic drawl reminds Harry he is nothing more than a thing.
At the edge of his vision, Harry spies two Knuts next to his small brass key. His payment. Malfoy pockets the money, leaving the brass key for Harry.
He is Malfoy's whore. And he loves it.
A branch snaps under his feet. The sound ricochets through the silence. He stifles a gasp and presses forward.
There. In the clearing. Malfoy's on his stomach, trussed up from head to foot with thick rope, strung taught as a bow. It cuts into his pale, fragile skin as he struggles to free himself.
Malfoy spies him. Struggling harder, he tries to call out to him through the gag wound tight around his head.
Harry raises a finger to his lips and shakes his head. Cautiously—wand drawn—he steals into the clearing, ready to battle Malfoy's kidnapper should this be a trap.
When no one leaps out at him, he drops to a crouch and quickly undoes the gag.
"I didn't think you'd find me," Malfoy rasps.
"Shh," Harry says, gentling his trembling with his hands. "You're going to be fine."
He makes no move to untie him. Malfoy closes his eyes and sighs blissfully as Harry's fingers drift across his skin. His fingers linger on Malfoy's nipples, pinching them and rolling them between his fingers.
Malfoy moans and tries to arch into his touch. "How can I thank you?" he asks with a breathy sigh so wanton even Harry understands what he's asking.
He moves closer and undoes his zip. He pushes down his trousers with one hand and thrusts his heavy cock towards Malfoy's mouth.
Malfoy's eyes glitter with lust and his mouth pops open. His tongue flicks out, reaching for him. "Harry," he breathes through a long sigh before wriggling forward and taking him in his mouth.
Harry drops the brass key to the ground with a groan as Malfoy sucks greedily at his cock.
"You need me," Harry says as he thrusts into his mouth. "You've always needed me."
Harry is Malfoy's rescuer. He needs it.
They're racing through the hall on Harry's broom as the room crumbles around them, Malfoy pressing his body close to him.
"Get us the fuck out of here, Potty," Malfoy hisses, dispatching a Death Eater with a well-cast Severing Hex.
Harry leans forward and puts on a burst of speed.
"Disembowelment Curse straight ahead!" Malfoy shouts in his ear, his warm breath slithering across his neck and making Harry's skin prickle.
They slip effortlessly into a corkscrew dive and miss the muddy brown curse as it zings past. Malfoy tightens his hold around Harry's middle, his hand splayed across his stomach possessively.
Harry zips through the open door, down the corridor, and into the night air. They've escaped death once again.
They fly until they're sure they're safe. They touch down in the middle of the forest.
Malfoy hops off and drags him from the broom. He throws him against the nearest tree and slams his body against his, keeping Harry from moving.
"No more fucking heroics!" Malfoy snarls. "We're partners, you arsehole."
Harry nods and licks his lips, anticipation building in his groin. He knows what happens next—it always plays out the same way. And when Malfoy leans in and kisses him with ferocity reserved for him alone, Harry goes slack, looking forward to the way Malfoy will strip him, turn him around and push him into the tree, not caring a whit about his comfort. Malfoy will undulate against his back, rub his hands all over Harry's body, kiss and nip and suck wherever he wants. He'll kick Harry's legs apart and bind his hands to the tree. He'll drop to his knees and worship Harry's arse with his tongue until Harry sobs incoherently and begs for him to stop.
Harry will wish for it to never stop—will weep when it does, but only for a moment, because then Malfoy will thrust into him hard, banging him against the tree.
Harry will love it.
And then the spell will be broken. Malfoy with vanish—just like he always does. The trees, the clearing, everything will vanish, leaving Harry sprawled on a dusty floor trying to catch his breath as he desperately casts about for anything to fill the gaping void within him.
When the silence becomes deafening, Harry struggles to his feet, shuffles through the door—making sure it's locked tight behind him—and forces himself to walk down the stairs and out of Grimmauld Place once again.
"D'you mind popping round the market when we get back?" Ginny asks him. Lily is busy singing a song in the back of the car as farmland passes by.
"What?" Harry asks, realizing he should have said something.
"Oh. Right. Course," he says and instinctively reaches over to pat Ginny's hand, finishing with a soft squeeze.
"What's with you today?"
"Nothing—Sorry. Just seeing Al off, I suspect."
Ginny nods and looks out the window. "Don't know what I'll do when Lily's off to school. It'll just be us then."
"Hey," Ginny says, turning back around, excitement in her eyes. "We could go on that trip to Fiji we've always talked about."
Harry nods, thinking that sounds grand. "We should. We could go for a few weeks. Could you get that much time at work?"
"Yeah. It's you I worry about. Can you leave the criminals long enough to seduce your wife for three weeks?"
"Mummy!" Lily whines in the back, clearly traumatized at those words.
"Lily, Mummy's only teasing."
"No, Mummy's not," Ginny whispers with a saucy wink.
Harry snickers, shifting as his cock swells and makes his trousers uncomfortable. He loves his wife. That's never been the problem.
"It was weird, though," Ginny says, her head tilted.
"Seeing Malfoy and little Scorpius. It's been years, hasn't it?"
The skin at the back of Harry's neck prickles. "Erm, yeah," Harry says, noticing that his cock has swelled even more.
"Oh, wait. That's not true, though. You saw him four months ago, didn't you? At the Ministry thing? And six months before that, I think. Oh, and there was that time a year ago."
Harry nods, shifting uncomfortably. There's no way Ginny could know. There just… there isn't.
"What did he want?"
"Malfoy. After the train left. What did he want?"
Harry's mind is assaulted by the memory of quirked lips and piercing eyes that see right through him.
"Nothing. Erm, just to say he hopes Al and Scorpius can be friends."
"Like that would ever happen," Ginny scoffs.
Harry nods, saying nothing, wondering how things would have been if he'd taken Malfoy's hand.
"So, the market?" Ginny repeats after a few minutes of silence.
"Yes. Of course."
"You're brilliant. Thank you. I've got loads to do at the house and we've got dinner with Mum and everyone."
Ginny keeps talking but Harry's mind is a million miles away. Those gray eyes refuse to leave him, the ones that haunt his dreams, his memories. His fantasies. His cock feels like it's going to explode. He's going to have to go back, now. He wonders what fantasy will play out for him.
"I've got a few errands to run while I'm at the market, will that be okay?" Harry asks.
Ginny flutters her hands in his direction, dismissing the question. "Just be back by seven. We'll need to Floo over by quarter after."
Harry nods. He glances at his watch. That gives him a little over seven hours to get to Grimmauld Place, the market, and back. Surely that's enough time. It has to be.
He shifts his weight in the seat again. He feels the small brass key in his pocket. He's had it since after the war, since a night in Grimmauld Place he shared with Malfoy when—for a moment—they'd thought the world could exist within the stretch of a bottle of Firewhisky, stolen kisses, and childish dreams.
Malfoy had pressed the key in his hand the next morning and left—mumbling something about knowing more Black secrets than Harry—never turning back.
Ginny had once asked what the key was for. Harry had told her it was for a room in the attic at Grimmauld Place—one full of broken things that spoke of forgotten passions, lost wishes—things that could only exist in other times, other worlds, for other people. "Nothing but pipe dreams," he'd responded, his voice tinged with longing.
He'd told the truth.
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