AN: This is kinda dark (M for a reason) not sure where in my brain it came from. Also it's no been beta read so all mistakes are my own.
Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to the wonderful JK Rowling, I'm just borrowing them for a bit.
Harry groaned in exhaustion, leaning against his bedroom door as he let it shut behind him. Today had been especially brutal and he could barely lift his arms to pull his shirt off. When he finally succeeded, Harry just let the fabric drop to the floor where he was standing.
"Boy!" he heard his uncle shout.
As much as Harry really wanted to ignore that man, he knew that would cause much more trouble than it was worth, so, forgetting about his shirt, the teenager turned around and trudged back down the stairs all the while wondering about his summons. The family had guests who were due to arrive at any minute, as Harry had been constantly reminded of all day by his dearest aunt.
"Yes?" Harry questioned as he reached the bottom of the stairs, trying not to laugh at the sight he found; Aunt Petunia was trying to wrestle a much too small bow tie around her husband's rather large neck, without chocking him. The older man was a moderately alarming shade of purple by the time she gave up and wandered off to fetch another tie.
Harry lost his battle and let out a snort of laughter when he noticed the pocket square that sat rather messily in his uncle's top pocket. He supposed it was chosen to match Aunt Petunia's floral pink dress but it made the man look somewhat flamboyant, an expression he would never normally associate with any of the Dursleys; a few of his own friends maybe, but never a dull, sullen Dursley.
"And just what do you think you're laughing at, boy?"
Harry didn't answer, not really bothering to hide his amusement. He sobered immediately at the next comment though.
"You'll be paying your dues tonight," his uncle informed him, "So you'd best go and get cleaned up."
Harry turned to go back up the stairs hearing the voice drift up after him; "Take a shower, you've got two minutes. Make sure you clean everything." He shuddered at the stress on those words. Harry knew what that meant, and it was never anything pleasant.
The young wizard took all of his allotted two minutes, in fact he even dared to stay under the hot spray an extra thirty seconds, enjoying the relaxing water cascading over his tired muscles. He'd spent the whole day scrubbing the entire house and doing a laundry list of other chores in preparation for tonight's guests.
Harry yelped when the water suddenly turned freezing cold. "Bastard," he muttered, stepping out from under the spray and turning in off. Uncle Vernon had obviously decided Harry had used enough hot water.
Hearing heavy footfalls on the stairs, Harry was suddenly glad he had locked the bathroom door, but highly regretful of the fact that his clothes were still in his bedroom. He knew better than to leave the room without them.
The bathroom door rattled in its frame as a hand suddenly slammed against it. Deciding there was no point trying to delay the inevitable, Harry took the tiny towel he'd graciously been allowed to use, and wrapped it around himself. Though it barely managed to hide is modesty – it was still better than nothing – Harry braced himself and opened the door.
He had to dodge the fist that very nearly collided with his face as it was raised to knock at the door again.
"I told you two minutes, boy!" the man owning the hand smirked dangerously as he lowered said hand to grab a very sensitive part of his nephew's anatomy. "I hope the extra time was worth it. You'd better be very clean." His hand gave a tight squeeze before he walked off, nearly reaching the bottom of the stairs before he spoke again just as the doorbell rang.
"You'll find clothes on your bed; wear them and serve your masters," he said looking at Harry with a malicious smirk. Stepping off the last step, he plastered a smile to his face and went to answer the door.
Harry retreated into his room with a foreboding feeling gripping him. It looked like he was right about that tone earlier.
The young wizard hated his life more than ever when he saw what was spread out on the bed waiting for him. The 'clothes' he was supposed to wear consisted of a collar and cuffs that were made to look like they were cut from a dress shirt, and black trousers that had no seat in them, such that his backside was left exposed. The accompanying note, "Go commando or else", filled him with no small amount of dread.
Once dressed, Harry desperately resisted the urge to throw himself down the stairs as he descended them to go 'earn his keep'.
"Master," he said, bowing to his uncle as he entered the dining room.
"Ah good! Serve us our food boy!" Uncle Vernon demanded with glee, slapping Harry's rear-end as he passed by on his way to the kitchen.
As he wandered around serving food to his Aunt and Uncle and their two guests, (Precious Dudders having apparently been shipped off to a friends for the night) Harry tried to valiantly ignore the fingers he felt ghosting over his exposed skin. Serving potatoes to the lecherous looking man sitting next to his uncle, however, Harry jumped as the other reached out and blatantly pinched his backside, prompting a deep laugh from all the men at the table.
'Only one more summer, Harry; just one more then you can hex them all silly' the wizard thought to himself as he picked up another plate of food and once more walked around the table dishing up the contents, and was once again groped. This time though Harry could feel the creep slip his hand round to the front of his trousers.
Harry grit his teeth and mentally congratulated himself when he didn't react to the touch, or to the urge to dump his dinner in the sleazy man's lap.
"Got him well trained then, have you, Vernon?" the other guest asked as he watched Harry's every move.
"That boy's been working off his debt for years." Uncle Vernon gleefully explained, copping his own feel at Harry as he passed.
"Knows a thing or two then, does he?" the first sleaze asked, enthusiastically glancing down at his own crotch.
"Gives an excellent desert, if you know what I mean." Both men groaned appreciatively.
As was expected Aunt Petunia excused herself like a good wife about ten minutes later and left the men to do as they pleased. Harry, who was standing in the corner trying to pretend he didn't exist, was summoned back to the table then by the man sitting next to Uncle Vernon, who Harry had secretly nicknamed 'Handsy', as he couldn't seem to keep his hands to himself.
Predictably Handsy got handsy again, slapping the teen's backside.
"You have a right gorgeous arse, you know," he said, squeezing said muscle in his large hands.
The other man, who had a ridiculously pleasant voice, spoke up from across the table then; "I'd bet you could make a fortune selling that ass."
'Don't give him any ideas!' Harry thought desperately.
Vernon, though, was possessive over his 'ass' and who got to touch it; Harry had still yet to work out if this was a blessing in disguise or not.
"He's too busy earning his keep and paying off his debts here for any of that," Uncle Vernon growled.
The dinner ran on for another hour after that and by the time the men were leaving three hours later, after drinks in the living room, Harry was exhausted. He knew from experience though that his night was far from over even as he collapsed face first onto his bed.
Ten minutes later, Harry heard his bedroom door open. He really ought to move now but honestly he just didn't have the energy.
The wizard felt the hands on his hips and back, but didn't react. He was used to this kind of treatment. He remained still even as he felt the nudge at his entrance; struggling would only make this that much worse, would only prolong the torture.
Harry couldn't stop himself from crying out though when he was breeched raw and unprepared. His uncle set a brutal punishing pace, giving the teen no time to adjust to the much too large intrusion.
By the time Harry was left alone for the night, he was raw and bleeding and in so much pain, he hurt with every move and twitch. Had he the energy, he might have cried himself to sleep, but his tears had dried up a long time ago, long since used to having to earn his keep in this manner.