Fun with Harry, Draco & Blaise

Chapter 2


Harry had had to brush of Ron and Hermione’s attempts to engage him in conversation upon entering the Gryffindor common room. He denied politely and made his way up to the dormitory. He really wanted to have a shower before crawling into bed. Draco and Blaise had left him feeling pained and dirty, and a shower was the only thing he could do at that time which would give him any sort of comfort.

Harry made sure that he was alone before stripping off his clothes, and stepping under a hot stream of water. He washed every inch of his body, until he got to his groin. Purple bruise had already decorated his balls and penis, and it was very tender to touch.

Reaching back, Harry couldn’t help but sate his curiosity of the butt-plug. He had to admit to himself that, though it was still uncomfortable, his body was beginning to feel accustomed to the lodged intrusion, moulding to its shape. So long as Harry didn’t make any hard, jerky movements, he was almost able to ignore it. Unfortunately hard and jerky movements were what made up a game of Quidditch, and sitting on a broom while doing that… tomorrow would be torture.

Fingers brushed over the flat of the plug, feeling how it sat flush to the outside of his arse. Then, feeling a little daring, Harry took a firm hold of it and pulled, testing the truth of these sticking jinxes.

As soon as Harry did, though, he fell to his knees on the hard tiles and let out a cry of pain. The sticking charm was diffidently in place, but there was something else that the bastard Slytherins' had added without telling Harry. As soon as he’d tried to take the bloody thing out, it had expanded, grown in length and width within Harry.

Harry rested on his hands and knees under the shower, breathing hard and trying to concentrate on anything apart from the huge plastic plug imbedded within him. Harry waited for it to go back down to the size it was originally, but nothing happened.

Eventually Harry managed to get himself up, dressed and crawled into bed, limping the whole way. As soon as his bed curtains were shut and blanket pulled up around his head, Harry cried.

***

Noise was coming from every direction as Harry stood with his team across from the Slytherin’s, all fourteen player’s holding their brooms. Draco and Blaise had kept a constant stare on Harry from across the pitch, smirking like they knew what Harry had done – unintentionally enlarging the plastic toy within him, and being unable to do anything about it.

As soon as Harry saw their intense glares, he looked away and was unable to stare back. After last night, he had decided he’d put everything into this game, and win, even with the bloody Slytherin’s being their sneaky selves, cheating to win this title.

The whistle was blown, and Harry mounted his Firebolt, doing his best to ignore the shooting discomfort in his arse. He jetted up through the air to immediately watch the chasers go at each other with the Quaffle. The wind flicked through Harry’s hair, covering his eyes. Harry lifted his hand to brush it back, but was stopped short when he found he couldn’t life his hand more than an inch off his broom.

Looking down, Harry saw two bands of thin silver on the handle of his broom that he hadn’t noticed before. Somehow they had magically attached themselves via short chain to the thin silver bracelets Draco had placed on his wrists last night.

Gripping the broom with his thighs, Harry struggled with the bonds, pulling them and twisting his wrists. If he couldn’t move his hands away from his broom, how was he going to catch the snitch and win the game? He’d gotten lucky once, catching the snitch in his mouth, Harry wasn’t so sure that it would happen again.

“Having fun,” a voice leered in his ear.

Harry flicked his head around to see Draco hovering right behind him, wide smirk plastered on his face.

“Get these off me! It’s not fair,” Harry cried, struggling even harder. The cheating scum had resorted to tying him to his broom, just to win!

“Now that’s not any way for my baby to talk to me,” Draco said seriously. He wouldn’t dare touch Harry while there were in such plain view of so many people, but no one could hear what they were saying.

“I don’t care,” Harry snarled. “I’m going to Hooch right now to get her to stop the game.”

But before Harry could fly off, Draco had grabbed the tail of Harry’s broom with one hand, and discreetly pulled his wand from his uniform with the other.

“If you dare tell anyone, baby,” Draco growled, “You won’t like the consequences.”

Draco whispered a spell, and the butt-plug, which was further up Harry’s arse thanks to the broom, began to vibrate and thrum through Harry.

Harry gasped and grabbed back onto his broom. His still tender prick was beginning to harden as the plug shivered against his prostate.

“S-stop… P-please,” Harry gasped.

Draco smirked again, and stopped the spell. Harry could still feel tingles radiating from his arse.

“Now if I see you going near anyone, close enough to talk, I will start up that spell again, and leave it.”

Harry nodded, trying to think of a way to let someone know of his predicament.

“And Blaise will also be keeping an eye on you, baby. He is, after all, our new keeper.”

Harry couldn’t help but glance over at the Slytherin hoops, and as expected, Blaise was watching Draco and Harry’s interaction.

“Now be a good boy, baby. We will punish you if you disobey,” was what Draco said before flying off.

Harry bit his lip and looked around erratically, as if trying to find an escape to the situation those bastard Slytherin’s had put him in. How would he face his team when it was his fault they’d lost the Quidditch cup? The only thing Harry could do would be to let someone, anyone know without Draco or Blaise watching what he was doing.

The problem with his plan, though, was that Draco and Blaise were keeping a sharper eye on Harry than they were on the game. Blaise had let in way too many of the Gryffindor goals, much to the distaste of the rest of the Slytherin team, just because he’d been glaring at Harry. The raven-haired boy hoped that perhaps the Gryffindor chasers would be able to win the game for them, but the score was only 90 to 30 and there would still be a long way they’d have to go before Draco caught the snitch.

A number of times Harry had flown up to Hooch, Ron or around the teacher’s stand, but he’d barely get into shouting distance before the vibrations would start up. Harry’s body would then suddenly tense, and he’d fly back in the other direction despondently, fighting back tears at the unfairness of the situation he’d been thrust into.

Having given up, Harry got back to the game, looking around for any sign of the snitch when he saw Draco, at the other end of the pitch, speeding through the sky after a glint of gold.

Harry panicked. He zoomed after the blonde boy, but it was too late. Draco pulled up and held his arm high in the air.

Harry hung his head and looked at the offending silver bracelets. At least now, Harry though, his team mates wouldn’t question why he didn’t lift his hands off the broom.

“WITH THE FINAL SCORE AT 110 TO 180, SLYTHERIN WINS!!” the commentator shouted, and with those last two words, Harry heard a small click and jingle past the roar of cheers. The bonds had detached with what was a password. Of course the sneaky Slytherin’s had to have chosen something that would only be said with the success of their team.

Harry scrubbed at his face to wipe away his tears of frustration, and slowly made his way back down to the pitch. The only good thing about Slytherin winning, was that the game was over and Harry could finally get off his broom, and the pressure in his arse would ease, if only slightly.

***

It was horrible walking through the change rooms after the game for Harry. From both side of the room his teammates were yelling at him.

“Why weren’t you watching for the snitch, Harry?”

“What the fuck were you doing out there, Potter?”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Loser.”

Harry slumped down on a bench at the far end of the change rooms. Only too late did he realize that he’d dropped hard on THAT part of his body, but the burst of discomfort eased, and Harry remained where he was, head in his hands.

The green-eyed boy didn’t notice Ron sit down next to him.

“What happened out there, Harry? I was watching you, and you hardly paid any attention to the game. Why were so distracted? You lost us the game, you know?”

Harry could hear the barely repressed anger and resentment in Ron’s voice. He knew that the redhead was trying to be a friend, yet hating that they’d lost the cup because of said friend.

For a minute Harry thought about telling Ron what he’d gone through, maybe having a rematch called, and winning fairly. But Harry just shrugged and said nothing. Not only would explaining his situation be beyond embarrassing, and cause Ron’s suppressed rage to bubble over, but Draco and Blaise would always find a way to punish Harry, and from what his ‘presents’ were like, he didn’t what to be punished.

Ron clearly didn’t want to sit around Harry in his silence, so he got up, grumbling, and went to scowl with the rest of the team. Harry didn’t care. Why should he? It was his fault the team had lost, really. If he’d put a stop to what Draco and Blaise had started a couple of months ago, then the two Slytherins' would never have been able to use him to win the Quidditch cup.

But, Harry hated admitting to himself, he had liked it, and that was why it had never stopped before getting out of hand. There was something appealing about being dominated, giving up all his choices and control to someone else, leaving only what he was feeling for him to think about.

No matter. The two bigger boy’s had taken their games too far and it was time to stop. He wouldn’t report them, but he would face them and let them know that they were going to have to find another toy to use.

Mind made up Harry showered, dressed, stored his broom in the shed and went up to Gryffindor tower, far away from any cheering, jeering Slytherin’s.

***