The Death Eater

Harry enjoyed waking up before Malfoy in the morning, because for a brief few minutes he could just lie there, with no need to worry about Malfoy, and following his wishes, and falling pregnant with his baby. For a few seconds he could be just Harry, and he could be as miserable as Malfoy refused to let him be during the day.

Today, especially, Harry wanted to wallow in his self-pity. Malfoy was returning to Hogwarts today, and Harry was to be left on his own. Dumbledore had given Malfoy permission to return home when he wanted to and spend time with Harry, but Harry could not pretend that this would be enough. Malfoy’s company, as cruel and gentle as it was, kept Harry sane here. Malfoy’s attentions, Malfoy’s very presence, helped keep the memories and worries at bay, and with Malfoy gone Harry would have precious little to distract him from them.

All too soon, and yet not soon enough, Harry heard the familiar and dreaded sounds behind him of Malfoy waking. He shut his eyes quickly, feigning sleep. Occasionally, Malfoy would know he was awake, or would fuck him anyway, but most of the time Harry could get away with a few minutes before Malfoy would wake him and commence with the first rape of the day. He hated that a part of him would miss this.

This time, it appeared, Malfoy wasn’t going to give him a moment’s rest, and Harry whimpered into his pillow as he felt a gentle kiss on his shoulder and a dry finger smuggle it’s way into him. Harry relaxed a little; unless Malfoy was indulging in one of his tricks, this usually signalled that Malfoy was not going to bother trying to make Harry accept it. From the beginning, Malfoy had openly expressed his adamance that their child would not be conceived in rape, and as dubious as it may be, he did secure consent from Harry every time he used him vaginally. He also expressed, although not in as many words, his preference for using Harry as a man. Harry thought the vagina was probably as disquieting for Malfoy as it was for Harry. As a result, although Malfoy would use Harry several times a day, he only tried to get him pregnant maybe once or twice, and when not fucking him there, he concentrated his sexual efforts on Harry’s male attributes and ignored the fake vagina.

Harry relaxed unconsciously as he felt the nearly dry cock pressing at his anus, and gasped in pleasure at the mixed, nearly painful feeling of Malfoy fucking him like this. He relaxed helplessly into it in a way he never had before, and with a whimpered “Please, Draco” escaping his lips, Harry gave up on any plans of maintaining dignity or hatred of this sacred, cruel act.

Draco

When Draco woke up that morning, he considered making Harry beg for sex; and trying once more to get him pregnant. It was a brief consideration, as it was an act Draco had taken great delight in forcing Harry into. This day, however, Draco wanted Harry normally, he wanted the responses Harry would give without begin whipped, tortured and teased mercilessly into giving the responses first. Besides, Draco much preferred taking Harry like a man rather than using the strange little hole behind his balls.

He decided that it would be nice for Harry to remember, when he was gone and all Harry had left for most of the day, or sometimes several days in a row, was fierce memories of being fucked, literally and figuratively, by Draco. With this in mind he used only a minimal amount of lubricant, so Harry would have the physical discomfort for most of the day. He’d been prepared for resistance, so sinking easily into Harry’s body had been a surprise. Harry’s whimpered begging had been even more of a surprise, and Draco had jerked in shock, prompting another gasp from his lover. He curled one hand around the erection Harry had gained and beginning to fuck him with a gentle earnest. Could it be that Harry actually wanted this, he wondered, hope flaring within him. After a few more minutes of leisurely strokes and soft pleas, Draco pulled out and turned him over, cleansing his cock with a quick wave of his wand and pushing into Harry’s other opening.

He found himself hoping that Harry would conceive during this round of sex, as he’d been unable to previously. The Medi-Wizard had confirmed the previous day that Harry was still not pregnant and Draco knew that, despite the fact he’d only had two weeks with Harry, Voldemort was impatient that the boy wasn’t broken or pregnant. Yet.

Once they had both come; Harry in fluttered, squeezing sucks and warm spurts of come across their chests and Draco, soon after, pushed as deeply in Harry as he could be; Draco lay with him for a precious moment, just holding him and feeling himself inside Harry. It was a tender joy he reserved for only special occasions, like the first day Harry allowed him to give him an enema without struggling, the first time he whipped the boy, or the first time Harry let Draco feed him from his kneeling position by Draco’s feet. It was only allowed on brief occasions because Draco always slipped into fantasies that Harry was here because he wanted to be, because the sex they’d had was completely mutual and loving. That he wasn’t the rapist Harry constantly decried him as and Harry wasn’t his prisoner, his Slave.

When he finally clambered out of bed - leaving Harry for the few minutes he knew he loved - he went for a shower before finishing his final preparations for his return to Hogwarts. He could only hope his Harry would be alright without him here.

Harry

Malfoy had finally left, and Harry was alone with his studies for the day. He found, however, that he couldn’t concentrate. He kept expecting Malfoy to come in and demand his time, and it was always a painful shock to realise that he wasn’t there. Harry’s life for the last two weeks had centred on Malfoy and his desires, so for Harry to suddenly not have to jump to Malfoy’s ever whim was unusual. Almost unwanted. Harry was alone with his embarrassed memories of the morning, the painful thoughts of his capture, and his worries for his friends and, by far the worst, the shocking and terrifying realisation that he had somehow grown attached to Malfoy.

Harry ate the lunch the House Elves brought, and finally gave in to their urgings to go for a bath when he realised that the reason he’d been holding off from his normal schedule was because he could still feel Malfoy on and in his body. A thing that he would have been scrubbing viciously from his body in the first days.

The small tunic he was wearing was supremely uncomfortable for studying and just distracted him even more, and he considered asking Malfoy if he could wear proper clothing when studying, but he had a feeling Malfoy would probably make him go naked instead. The stupid little straps slipped down his arms constantly, and when sitting down the silky bottom rode up from mid-thigh until it couldn’t really be called a bottom at all. He finally got his History of Magic studying done, but he gave up on the rest and went for a lie down, feeling surprisingly despondent.

This despondency lasted until dinnertime, whereby Tidus arrived to escort him to dinner, making him sit in the same intimate little parlour that he and Malfoy ate in. This time he would be eating alone. He remembered the first few days here, when he would be lead to this room on feet heavy with dread and a heart tight with anger. Now his feet were heavy with the lassitude of loneliness, and his heart had tightened in sadness. He hated Malfoy more in this moment than he ever had before.

He escaped from dinner as soon as he could, wondering if anyone would bother to scold him as Malfoy had once done for not eating. He curled up sadly on his bed and was soon deeply asleep.

He woke up to the feeling of something hot, and hard thrusting into his body without a single preparation, and the surprise coupled with the direct hit to his prostate caused him to let loose a loud scream that caused a soft chuckle from behind him.

“I’d always hoped to do this to you, but you’re always awake before me and you never seem to sleep until I am. How was your day?” Malfoy asked, thrusting lazily into Harry’s body as he made this pretence of polite small talk. Harry hated that he was doing this, but hated that a part of him liked it even more.

“Ungg… It was… Good, without you… To disturb me…” Harry gasped, panting through the combined mix of pleasure and pain that came from being taken like this.

“Don’t lie to me Harry; you know how I loathe it. I’ve been told you were lazing around despondently all day. Tidus even said you reminded him of a kitten that had lost its mother. Did you miss me?” A harder thrust accompanied the question, and Harry blamed it for the tear that sprung to his eye.

“I’d never miss you… Never… Never…” Harry’s voice trailed off into a soft whimper, sobbing quietly. “You… I kept expecting you to come in and you never did… I’m not used to being here without you…” Harry whispered, whimpering, trying to wipe his tears away discreetly. Malfoy didn’t say anything else, just continued the painfully gentle thrusts until they both came.

There were trousers laid out for him the next day.

Malfoy didn’t return for three days, and Harry was pitifully desperate for the weekend to come. Malfoy had reduced his visits with the Medi-Wizard to once a month, and he was the only other Wizard Harry saw. The House Elves just ignored his presence unless they were getting him for something, or getting something for him, and the one time Harry had desperately asked Tidus to keep him company Tidus had stared at him with big, wide eyes and then spent half and hour shamelessly letting him win at exploding snap, crying out loudly whenever the cards exploded and looking like he desperately wanted to be anywhere else. Harry didn’t ask again.

When the weekend did finally arrive, Harry surprised himself by sleeping through Malfoy’s arrival, only waking up when the other man was balls-deep in his body. He writhed and cried under him like he was being slowly disembowelled, not sodomised, and curled pathetically in his arms afterwards with a gratitude born of desperation. He just wanted to be loved, and to stop this aching loneliness.

Harry curled on the couch in his trousers and shift on Monday, doing his Transfiguration work. Rather, he was pretending to do Transfiguration, mostly he was reliving the weekend. After waking the first morning to the pleasure of being buggered by Malfoy, they’d spent the weekend barely out of bed, and never out of the bedroom. Even their meals had been taken in the room, and their desert had been taken off the other’s body. He'd almost believed that they were just lovers, that it wasn't a rape.

The memory was catching up to him now, however, and his thought circled between humiliation and confusion. He shouldn't be enjoying this, shouldn’t be giving in willingly to his rape. The pleasure was unavoidable; Malfoy was very good at pleasuring him. He was confused by Malfoy’s attentions in that regard; Malfoy’s feelings on the subject of consent had been made clear, but even consenting, he didn’t need to bring Harry pleasure. He certainly didn’t need to be doing things like rimming him, or going down on him.

He rubbed his nose, feeling and ignoring the blush staining his cheeks. Under other circumstances, Malfoy was an unbelievable lover. He was considerate, skilled, and supremely talented at knowing exactly what his lover needed, even when Harry himself didn’t know. He sighed, completely flustered and humiliatingly aroused.

Giving up once again on his work, he pushed to his feet and limped to the sideboard. He poured himself a drink from the water-jug sitting there under a cooling charm for him, and brought it to his lips. It never got there, sliding to bump harmlessly to the ground at the voice behind him.

"Hello, Mr Potter."