Vanity
disclaimer This is a work of fan fiction, all characters and settings belong to JK Rowling.
Trigger warnings.
Sex. swearing and non consensual relationships. Potions and blackmail.
Vanity
Harry staggered out of the fireplace into Grimmauld place. It was the end of a long and shitty day and all he wanted was a drink and to sleep.
The last thing he wanted to see was her owl sitting waiting for him. He went to his drinks cabinet and poured himself a large whisky. The owl hooted indignantly and flapped his wings.
"Alright, keep your feathers on."
He took the proffered note and read it. I'm coming round at eight, stay in uniform and don't get drunk.
He glanced over at the clock. 7.30
"Fuck. "
The owl hooted at him again.
"What? I've read the note. Fuck off. If you think I'm feeding you for bringing a note from her you can forget it."
He made his way into the kitchen and made himself a quick sandwich. As he was cutting the bread, he waved his wand at the radio.
The latest song from the Good Omens came on.
I can't help thinking about you
And I can't help drinking about you
And I can't help that I curse out your name
As I fall of my chair.
"You and me both mate, only I'm not going to have enough time to drink that much."
As if his words were a summoning charm he heard his fire roar to life and a voice call out.
"Harry I'm home."
"Fuck." He muttered, knocking back the rest of his whisky.
The fire roared again. "And I've brought a friend."
"Double fuck." Like a condemned man he made his way to the living room. When he had first moved here he had made an effort to smarten the house up, to make it look like a home. The last few months the house had returned to its dusty dank interior of former years. Cobwebs and dust covered the surfaces.
He paused, before entering, a vain attempt to hide his feelings of hate for her. Waiting for him in the living room were two women. One he was far too familiar with. The other was slightly younger than himself, a touch over weight, slightly soft with dark hair and an annoying giggle.
"Harry, this is Abigail, we just call her Gail for short."
He glanced over to the girl who just giggled and looked away. He felt his annoyance levels rise.
"Now Gail here, just doesn't believe that plain old me, dear sweet Romilda Vane and the great and wonderful, man who won, the chosen one have a thing going on." As she spoke, Romilda walked around him. Dragged her nails across his chest then over her back.
"So I thought I'd invite her over and prove her wrong. I brought some toys too."
Harry stood stoically, he might have no choice here but he was damned if he would offer anything that could be taken as encouragement.
"Give me your wrists Harry." From a pocket she produced handcuffs and he found the cold steel biting into his wrists as she cuffed his hands behind him. "Knees."
He dropped to his knees before her. She turned and moved back into an armchair facing him. He noticed that Gail had sat too.
"Closer."
On his knees he moved towards her. "Closer. " As he got closer she opened her legs and hitched up her robe. As usual she wasn't wearing underwear. Her hand reached into his hair. "You know what to do." She pulled him in.
He did know what to do. He had done this too many times. He let his mind drift, it was just like scrubbing pots at Privet Drive. Mechanist. Rub that way at that thing. Find purchase there. It was just his tongue and lips he used.
It wasn't long before he heard squeaks coming from her. Her hand on his head forcing him in harder.
He hated her and he hated the day he had first heard that noise.
It had been a good day until then. It was the last day of Auror training exams. The rest of his group was convinced he could just coast through. The ministry would never fail him but he refused to do anything other than his best. He was feeling confident that he had aced the last practical. He had allowed the others to persuade him to head off for a celebration drink.
She had been there, serving drinks at the bar. His next memory was in the ruins of her apartment. The clothes that she was still wearing ripped to shreds. She lay beneath him making that squeaking noise with a look of wild triumph in her eyes.
He had tried to apologise, to explain, to excuse the inexcusable. She assured him it was ok. Too much to drink, high spirits. He left despondent and desolate. Trying to understand what he had done.
The next day an owl had brought him a vial with a memory. Finding a quiet moment he had watched it. It started with him bursting through her door. Forcing himself upon her. Ignoring her cries and pleas to stop. It made him sick to watch it. He couldn't have done that, would never have done that. It ended before it got to her final smile.
He spent the day with a cold pit in his stomach. He was snappish with everyone.
Later that day her owl arrived. A summons back to her flat.
This time he knocked and waited. She let him in and he sat opposite her trying to finds words to say.
"I'm sorry it must have been a potion." He found himself saying.
She laughed in his face. "Of course it was a potion. Succubus's tears if you want the name. Try and get yourself tested if you want, your system has burnt it all up."
"Succubus's tears is a banned potion. Hell half of the ingredients are illegal."
"Yes, aren't you a good little Auror. I know. I also know I have copies of that memory. If you don't want the Prophet to see one. You do exactly what I say."
Harry's mind came back to the present. Her hand in his hair relaxed, allowing him to sit back upright.
"See Gail, what do you think?"
"He's very good at that isn't he?" Gail's voice was a little breathless from watching them.
"Why don't you have a turn?"
Before he knew it the girls had swapped seats and Harry was back to work. His mind drifted again. He licked and nibbled and tried not to breath.
Eventually they were both satisfied and had left, he was still kneeling on the floor cuffed where they had left him.
Still a wandless unlocking charm was easy these days.
He headed back to the kitchen and the whisky bottle. He drank straight from the bottle. The rough peaty flavour of the Laphroaig washed his mouth clean. He moved over to the kitchen cupboard. He pulled out the little pink pills.
He'd first been given them when he'd told the staff nurse about his nightmares. They helped with the memories. They didn't remove but they took out the detail. He had been helping himself to them whenever he saw the nurse leave her room unattended.
He looked over at the clock, eleven. They would help him to sleep, as he took a handful he washed them down with more whisky.
He stumbled slightly and the radio came on again.
I can't help thinking about you
And I can't help drinking about you
And I can't help that I curse out your name
As I fall of my chair.
"Fucking Vane. He muttered as he staggered out of the kitchen to his bed.
A.N.
Posted for the Hard, Loud and Fast challenge.