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The steering wheel's leather groaned beneath Vernon's grip as he drove them home; his jaw was locked, and there was a persistent vein pulsing at his temple. Harry kept his eyes determinedly down, not wanting to catch his Uncle's eye and increase his ire. Harry knew Vernon was angry with him; he could feel Vernon's stare cut into him like a knife, scraping against his nerves like a scouring pad. Harry fidgeted in his seat, preparing to flee to his room as soon as he stepped through the door.

Harry got out of the car slowly, approaching the looming house like a man to the executioner's block; he wondered if he would survive the night. As soon as he entered, the door slammed shut, and the breath rushed out of him as Vernon slammed him against the now-closed door.

"Who do you think you're playing against, boy?!" Vernon hissed in Harry's ear, "I own you; I own every part of you. What's yours is mine to take, and no one can stop me."

Harry shivered in revulsion and fear as Vernon pressed himself flush against him. Harry couldn't gain purchase with his feet off the ground, and he felt Vernon's hardness poking into his thigh. Vernon latched his teeth to the skin beneath Harry's ear and bit down hard enough to break skin. Before Vernon could continue his ministrations, a throat was cleared, and Harry felt himself drop to the floor like a puppet with his strings cut.

He slowly edged around Vernon's hulking figure, hoping to put some distance between him and his Uncle. Vernon's eyes were locked challengingly onto Petunia's, daring her to question him about his actions. Shooting a disgusted look at Harry, Petunia raised her eyes back towards her husband and gave him a sultry look.

"Vernon," she crooned, slowly stepping into his space. She placed her thin hand on his shoulder and slowly glided it down his torso to brush teasingly against his erection.

Vernon watched his wife's movements clinically, wanting to see how far she would go. Seeing her husband's less than lustful gaze, she pressed herself ardently against him, hoping to elicit a more favourable response to her seductive efforts. She began palming him through his pants, whispering in his ear that she wanted him, that he could do whatever he wanted to her. Vernon began responding, touching his wife explicitly through her dress, uncaring about Harry watching them; if anything, it excited him more.

As Vernon's face was buried in her throat, Petunia looked at Harry, a glint of triumph shining in her eyes as she gave a breathy moan. Harry was desperately searching for a way to escape unnoticed by his Uncle. His face was red from the sights and sounds in front of him and only grew deeper with every licentious expletive that left their mouths. Vernon's hands had hoisted up Petunia's dress and were pumping into her unmercifully as she stroked him with equal fervour. Harry hoped they would retire to their room soon but was sure his presence somehow lent itself to their passion.

"Look at me, boy!" Vernon commanded.

Harry reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the floor to flick up to meet his Uncle's eyes quickly. Petunia's face twisted in displeasure at seeing her husband's attention elsewhere but knew better than to stop her action's so close to his release. Vernon's eyes raked over Harry's form, appreciating his rumpled appearance and the flashes of skin exposed from his earlier activities. Vernon caught sight of the blooming bruise on Harry's neck, and his pupils blew even wider as he imagined littering the boy's skin with them. Giving a guttural moan, Vernon ejaculated into Petunia's hand, staining the front of her dress while never taking his eyes off of Harry.

Harry refused to look down despite Vernon's lecherous expression. He watched Petunia step away from Vernon and wander to the kitchen in his periphery, hoping she wouldn't leave them alone for long. Vernon and Harry were at a standstill, neither removing their gaze from the other nor making a move either towards or away from the other. Petunia returned a few moments later with a damp cloth; she had obviously made some efforts towards cleaning herself up as the front of her dress was now spotted with water and her hands clean of semen.

She began cleaning Vernon off, finally moving his eyes away from his nephew and towards his wife. Finished, she told Vernon to wait for her in their bedroom; she'll clean up downstairs. He stared at her for a few moments, considering her request before nodding and moving towards the stairs, not without giving Harry one last libidinous look.

Petunia stayed in the foyer waiting until her husband disappeared into their bedroom before fixing a hateful glare onto Harry.

"Get up," Petunia spat at the crumpled figure of her nephew.

Harry stood up from the floor shakily, wondering if he should thank Petunia for diverting Vernon's attention away from him. Before he could make his decision, Petunia slapped him, throwing Harry's head to the side. Harry put his hand to his burning cheek in shock and looked at his Aunt with wide eyes.

"Stay away from my husband," Petunia hissed.

Harry watched Petunia's retreating form in resentment, and only when she had closed her bedroom door behind her did Harry finally make his way to his room. He paused outside of Dudley's room, seeing his door slightly ajar and gave it a gentle push. Dudley was sitting on his bed, his elbows resting on his thighs, his head in his hands, fingers pulling harshly at the hair on his scalp. His eyes swung to Harry on hearing his door creak open, and he gave him a vicious glare.

"You ruin everything, Potter," Dudley said despondently.

"Dud…" Harry hesitantly responded.

"Get the fuck away from me!" At Harry's hesitation, Dudley stormed towards him, "I said get away," screamed Dudley, harshly pushing Harry away from his room, causing him to bump into the balustrade behind him.

Dudley slammed the door, the sound echoing in the hall broken only by the muffled moans coming from Vernon and Petunia's boudoir.

Harry entered his bedroom, tears building at the corner of his eyes. He shut the door firmly behind him and collapsed into his bed, screaming into his pillow until his throat was hoarse. Harry started ripping his suit off, uncaring of the sound of tearing fabric or the sound of pinging as buttons fell to the floor – he just needed to get this off. Harry stared at the pile of clothing on the floor and willed it to burn.