By the end of the night, Harry felt like a bug under a microscope, like a prized pony being shown around to all 'the most important people'. Harry cringed every time Slughorn boomed his name, each time louder than the last and more slurring. He'd come out of nowhere and grab Harry's arm, pulling him towards the next VIP- there was always a next VIP- who seemed just as dreading and somewhat terrified of Slughorn as he was.
Slughorn, whose breath was dreadful and smelled entirely too sweet.
Harry's stomach twisted more as the evening progressed, Slughorn's wandering eye and somewhat roaming hands. He'd lost Luna ages ago, grabbed and held hostage the whole night from the start. He watched as everything went on around them; people laughing and dancing and enjoying themselves. It isn't as that he'd come to have fun. In all honesty, he'd expected to be bored out of his mind, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't rather suffer boredom rather than this slimy paranoia he was experiencing now.
It was loud, pretentious, and almost hurt to look at it was so bright- and Slughorn even more so- but it was actually a decent party. Sort of pretty too, even, if you looked at its individual parts. It was the whole that turned the stomach. Harry was suddenly, disgustingly reminded of the world.
And disgustingly unaware of his surroundings.
His stomach dropped the second before he turned and found Slughorn inches from his face, his breath even worse than before. His mouth looked wet and slobbering, and when he spoke, it sounded wet and slobbering.
"Harry, my boy," he breathed, leaning in way too close- breathing into his face and making Harry recoil. "Don't you know where you're standing?"
Harry was cornered near the outskirts of the party, which was nearly empty it was so late, under the mistletoe with a very drunk Slughorn. His stomach dropped and his chest fluttered. Slughorn slung himself on Harry, who instinctively grabbed the man's arms to keep him upright.
"Professor, maybe we should get you to your chambers."
Slughorn laughed, another puff of putrid air in Harry's face, and leaned in as if he were going to whisper a deep, dark secret. Remembering his word to Dumbledore, Harry's interest was piqued until Slughorn's wet and slobbering mouth touched his cheek while he spoke.
"As much as I'd love to, Harry, my boy," he slurred and dribbled, "and as much as I'd love to make you mine, you're Dumbledore's through and through and I didn't get to where I am now by giving in to every pretty face."
While Slughorn talked, his hands too familiar on Harry's torso, Harry felt sicker with every word. He felt dirty and nauseous but was sure that throwing up on his professor- drunk and leering or not- would be considered rude and grounds for a particularly unpleasant detention, if Professor Snape was anything to judge by.
Harry's mouth felt dry. "Y-you've been drinking, Professor, and I should probably- should probably be getting back to my…. to my….. uh, back to my common room."
He moved to leave, but Slughorn stopped him.
"You can't," he slurred. Slughorn grabbed Harry's chin and lifted it so he'd look up at the mistletoe. "Don't be shy, Harry."
Harry pulled his face away and took a step back. "I-I-"
Slughorn took the step with him, his face leaning in close.
Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Harry chanted his mantra as Slughorn's wet and slobbering mouth mashed clumsily against his own. Harry registered himself making a startled, disgusted sound, trying to push him away. Slughorn grabbed him and held him still- his hands harsh and bruising.
Harry broke their mouths free, struggling to get away- his brain frozen and unable to speak. Slughorn grabbed his chin as he had before. "Don't be such a tease, my boy. I know how to take care of you. I take care of all my boys."
Internally, Harry felt himself start to really panic when Slughorn connected their lips again, saliva slick around his mouth. Before it was uncomfortable, disgusting, but now every alarm Harry had in his mind began to scream at him to leave. He tried to pull away again, opening his mouth to say something, when Slughorn's fat, slimy tongue invaded his mouth in a wild, crashing way.
Finally, Harry twisted out of his grasp, standing out from under the mistletoe- gasping for breath and dry heaving. Slughorn was having trouble breathing as well, trying to keep his balance as he'd been leaning on Harry. After a second, once it was clear he wasn't going to be falling, he began laughing. He cackled as though he'd heard the greatest joke. He hummed suggestively, licking his lips.
"Just as sweet as I thought you'd be. The squeamish ones are always my favorite." He took a step towards Harry, and Harry scrambled backwards- wondering mildly when they'd become the only ones in the room, and wondering mildly why he wasn't running as far and as fast as he could.
"I-I'll tell Dumbledore," he threatened when Slughorn took another stumbling step towards him.
Slughorn laughed again. "Please, do. I need to thank him for my lovely gift. I'd thought that one Hufflepuff had been delicious, but he's really outdone himself this time with you."
It was a lie. Dumbledore wouldn't- it had to be a lie. But, what had Dumbledore said? He'd try to collect him? Harry was going to throw up for real this time. He wished he would, he felt sick enough to, but nothing would come out. He fumbled in his robes for his wand, pulling it out and training it at the Potions professor with a shaking hand.
Slughorn pulled a pouting face. "Oh, come on, Harry. Don't be that way. I can teach you so much. I'll be gentle, I promise." -here he continued his laugh- "Well, as gentle as I can manage. It's been a long time, after all, and, well, you're quite the prize."
Harry, beginning to hyperventilate, and finally felt whatever had been holding him back snap and he turned around and ran as fast as he could. He wouldn't bring this up to Dumbledore, not if he'd been the one to offer him as 'a gift'. He couldn't tell Ron and Hermione either.
He wouldn't tell anyone.