Note: This has taken a much darker turn than I originally planned. Explicit non-consensual sex ahoy. You can bail on this chapter without missing anything too important if that bothers you.
6.
Harry was dimly aware of Snape -- Snape yelling at Malfoy, Snape speaking softly to him, Snape slapping him, Snape pushing him into a chair, Snape forcing something down his throat. Whatever it was released the tight band around his chest, allowing him to breathe but forcing him partway back to reality.
"Potter... Harry." Snape crouched in front of him, features cold and clinical, belying the clumsiness of his speech. "Are you... do you need medical attention? Harry?"
Harry forced his eyes to focus on his professor -- *father,* his traitorous mind whispered -- and said the words he'd been thinking for his eternity in Lucius Malfoy's bedroom.
"Why didn't you come?"
Snape flinched.
Harry saw the movement, and wondered why Snape was so skittish. *He* hadn't been held down to a bed, *he* hadn't had a prick shoved up his arse, *he* hadn't come from delicate balance of pleasure and pain forced upon his body.
"Why didn't you come? Why didn't you..." He trailed off, wondering how he could have put any sort of faith in Snape. When the house-elf had popped into Malfoy's bedroom, eyes bugging at the scene before her, and stammered that she was very sorry but she could not prevent Mister Snape from entering the family wing, Harry dared to hope for rescue. After all, Snape had saved him before.
"You disappoint me, Teagle," Malfoy had said, removing his fingers from Harry's body. "Hold still," he added, and slapped Harry's raised arse. "Teagle, make sure there are refreshments in the parlour. Are the mistress' chambers prepared? Nothing of Narcissa's remains?"
"No, Master Lucius, the chambers are ready for Master Harry. Teagle is a bad elf!"
"Yes, you are," Malfoy said. "Now get out. I'll deal with your incompetence later." The house-elf vanished with a sob, and Malfoy turned back to Harry, and nudged his legs further apart. "Sorry for the interruption, darling. You can thank your father for rushing our wedding night."
Harry shrieked as a hot, tearing pain stabbed into him.
"Hold still... relax... you're only making it worse for yourself, stupid boy." The pain doubled, tripled, and Harry could only writhe, limbs flailing weakly, until Malfoy pushed his face into the pillow, repositioned him slightly, and drove all the way in. Harry screamed, sobs muffled by expensive white silk.
"I do apologize for this, Harry. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, but for now we must -- oh, fuck, just like that -- we must make our marriage as binding as possible. I doubt Severus can do anything, but I don't trust that crafty old coot you call a headmaster. Mmm, you are tight, aren't you?"
A large hand rested lightly on the back of his head, petting him as though he were a skittish animal; the other gripped his hip tightly, holding him in place while Malfoy fucked him. As Harry continued to struggle, the hand drifted down to stroke his now-limp prick.
"Damn Severus to hell, anyway. You're not enjoying this at all anymore. Well, let's try something else then." An arm snaked around his waist, drawing him up as Malfoy sat on his haunches, snugging Harry into the slope of his lap. The change of angle made the head of Malfoy's prick rub over that little spot inside him, and the strokes came faster and much shallower. Malfoy was barely moving, and the pain all but vanished, yet the rubbing began to set off sparks.
Harry whimpered as his own prick filled again, and Malfoy murmured approval in his ear, his free hand drifting between Harry's nipples and his cock and balls.
"That's it, good boy," Malfoy whispered. "Let's try again." He pushed Harry back down to his previous position, gripped his hips, and began thrusting again.
This time the pain was less and the pleasure greater. To his intense shame his prick stayed hard, and he realized that if Malfoy kept it up, he was going to come.
He renewed his weak struggles, raised his face from the pillow, turned to look at Malfoy's flushed face and silver eyes slitted with avarice.
"Beg me."
Harry shook his head, then screamed as Malfoy thrust viciously, reviving pain and leaving him sobbing.
"Beg. Ask for release."
"No."
The pace increased, and his flesh mercifully numbed except for the one spot he wanted to not feel, that spot Malfoy's prick kept hitting, that was making him enjoy his own rape. Malfoy's hand moved fast on his prick.
"Come on, Harry. Swallow your Gryffindor pride and beg, and it will all be over."
"No. No, no, no, I won't, I wo--" His breath caught, and pleasure resonated through him, exiting his body in a spasm of whiteness, a wet stain on pale sheets.
Malfoy made a huff of disappointment, gripped is hips more firmly, and increased his pace. Harry barely felt him stiffen, but moaned as he felt a trickle of wetness run down his thigh.
Hammering on the door pulled him from his daze. Malfoy had pulled on trousers and now threw a robe at Harry. "Up and dressed, dear. If your father troubled himself to get this far, the least we can--"
Pain.
Harry jerked back, blinking at Snape. The sting in his cheek told him Snape had struck him again. "Ow. What did you do that for?"
"You were crying and staring out into space," Snape said, looking eerily concerned for a moment before his expression firmed. "You wouldn't answer."
Harry blinked at him. He remembered Snape coming in, Malfoy... Malfoy's amusement. But how did he get in the chair? "Can we go now?"
Snape's face, if possible, went even colder. "It's not that simple, Potter."
"On the contrary, Harry," Malfoy said, handing Snape a glass of wine, which Snape tossed into the fire. "It's *quite* simple. You're my husband. You're over the age of consent but under the age of majority. Therefore, you live where I deem appropriate, and I deem la Maison appropriate. Simple, no?"
"Don't imagine you've won so easily, Lucius." Snape turned his glare on Malfoy, and flicked his fingers to the door. "I wish to speak with Potter alone."
"Very well, I shall leave you to explain the inevitability of the situation to the boy." Malfoy stood and sauntered over to the inner door, paused, glanced back with delighted malice, then added, "Good luck... Father."
6.
Harry was dimly aware of Snape -- Snape yelling at Malfoy, Snape speaking softly to him, Snape slapping him, Snape pushing him into a chair, Snape forcing something down his throat. Whatever it was released the tight band around his chest, allowing him to breathe but forcing him partway back to reality.
"Potter... Harry." Snape crouched in front of him, features cold and clinical, belying the clumsiness of his speech. "Are you... do you need medical attention? Harry?"
Harry forced his eyes to focus on his professor -- *father,* his traitorous mind whispered -- and said the words he'd been thinking for his eternity in Lucius Malfoy's bedroom.
"Why didn't you come?"
Snape flinched.
Harry saw the movement, and wondered why Snape was so skittish. *He* hadn't been held down to a bed, *he* hadn't had a prick shoved up his arse, *he* hadn't come from delicate balance of pleasure and pain forced upon his body.
"Why didn't you come? Why didn't you..." He trailed off, wondering how he could have put any sort of faith in Snape. When the house-elf had popped into Malfoy's bedroom, eyes bugging at the scene before her, and stammered that she was very sorry but she could not prevent Mister Snape from entering the family wing, Harry dared to hope for rescue. After all, Snape had saved him before.
"You disappoint me, Teagle," Malfoy had said, removing his fingers from Harry's body. "Hold still," he added, and slapped Harry's raised arse. "Teagle, make sure there are refreshments in the parlour. Are the mistress' chambers prepared? Nothing of Narcissa's remains?"
"No, Master Lucius, the chambers are ready for Master Harry. Teagle is a bad elf!"
"Yes, you are," Malfoy said. "Now get out. I'll deal with your incompetence later." The house-elf vanished with a sob, and Malfoy turned back to Harry, and nudged his legs further apart. "Sorry for the interruption, darling. You can thank your father for rushing our wedding night."
Harry shrieked as a hot, tearing pain stabbed into him.
"Hold still... relax... you're only making it worse for yourself, stupid boy." The pain doubled, tripled, and Harry could only writhe, limbs flailing weakly, until Malfoy pushed his face into the pillow, repositioned him slightly, and drove all the way in. Harry screamed, sobs muffled by expensive white silk.
"I do apologize for this, Harry. I'll make it up to you tomorrow night, but for now we must -- oh, fuck, just like that -- we must make our marriage as binding as possible. I doubt Severus can do anything, but I don't trust that crafty old coot you call a headmaster. Mmm, you are tight, aren't you?"
A large hand rested lightly on the back of his head, petting him as though he were a skittish animal; the other gripped his hip tightly, holding him in place while Malfoy fucked him. As Harry continued to struggle, the hand drifted down to stroke his now-limp prick.
"Damn Severus to hell, anyway. You're not enjoying this at all anymore. Well, let's try something else then." An arm snaked around his waist, drawing him up as Malfoy sat on his haunches, snugging Harry into the slope of his lap. The change of angle made the head of Malfoy's prick rub over that little spot inside him, and the strokes came faster and much shallower. Malfoy was barely moving, and the pain all but vanished, yet the rubbing began to set off sparks.
Harry whimpered as his own prick filled again, and Malfoy murmured approval in his ear, his free hand drifting between Harry's nipples and his cock and balls.
"That's it, good boy," Malfoy whispered. "Let's try again." He pushed Harry back down to his previous position, gripped his hips, and began thrusting again.
This time the pain was less and the pleasure greater. To his intense shame his prick stayed hard, and he realized that if Malfoy kept it up, he was going to come.
He renewed his weak struggles, raised his face from the pillow, turned to look at Malfoy's flushed face and silver eyes slitted with avarice.
"Beg me."
Harry shook his head, then screamed as Malfoy thrust viciously, reviving pain and leaving him sobbing.
"Beg. Ask for release."
"No."
The pace increased, and his flesh mercifully numbed except for the one spot he wanted to not feel, that spot Malfoy's prick kept hitting, that was making him enjoy his own rape. Malfoy's hand moved fast on his prick.
"Come on, Harry. Swallow your Gryffindor pride and beg, and it will all be over."
"No. No, no, no, I won't, I wo--" His breath caught, and pleasure resonated through him, exiting his body in a spasm of whiteness, a wet stain on pale sheets.
Malfoy made a huff of disappointment, gripped is hips more firmly, and increased his pace. Harry barely felt him stiffen, but moaned as he felt a trickle of wetness run down his thigh.
Hammering on the door pulled him from his daze. Malfoy had pulled on trousers and now threw a robe at Harry. "Up and dressed, dear. If your father troubled himself to get this far, the least we can--"
Pain.
Harry jerked back, blinking at Snape. The sting in his cheek told him Snape had struck him again. "Ow. What did you do that for?"
"You were crying and staring out into space," Snape said, looking eerily concerned for a moment before his expression firmed. "You wouldn't answer."
Harry blinked at him. He remembered Snape coming in, Malfoy... Malfoy's amusement. But how did he get in the chair? "Can we go now?"
Snape's face, if possible, went even colder. "It's not that simple, Potter."
"On the contrary, Harry," Malfoy said, handing Snape a glass of wine, which Snape tossed into the fire. "It's *quite* simple. You're my husband. You're over the age of consent but under the age of majority. Therefore, you live where I deem appropriate, and I deem la Maison appropriate. Simple, no?"
"Don't imagine you've won so easily, Lucius." Snape turned his glare on Malfoy, and flicked his fingers to the door. "I wish to speak with Potter alone."
"Very well, I shall leave you to explain the inevitability of the situation to the boy." Malfoy stood and sauntered over to the inner door, paused, glanced back with delighted malice, then added, "Good luck... Father."