Broken Toy

Warnings: angst, violence, abuse, some romance, hurt/comfort, simply NC17…
Author's Notes:
So, all right, ok, you’re right. I’ve left you hanging for quite a long time. But again the chap turned out to be more difficult than I thought. And again I had to rewrite a lot until I was satisfied at last.

Enjoy it!


Chapter Twenty-Four

“Come on, Malfoy!”

That voice…

“Hurry up, worthless slut!”

Why couldn’t he place that voice?

“Stop gaping at me like an imbecile!”

Harry was sure he had heard that voice before… But where?? Where was he, anyway? The ground he was lying on felt cold.

“Get going!”

His head hurt terribly. He couldn’t think properly, and lifting his eyelids seemed to be too big an effort.

“Are you deaf? Get yourself into gear!”

What the hell was going on?

“I want to have him fixed up before he comes around. I don’t need to get acquainted with his legendary ability to perform non-verbal magic, not to mention his uncontrollable anger.”

Pickles!

“Quick. As soon as I have unfastened the gag, you will press his jaws tight. There’s some stuff I want him to swallow.”

Harry’s stomach turned. It was Pickles’s voice. But how…

“Sorry, sir, but I can’t do it.”

Draco.

Draco had betrayed him…

“What the fuck do you mean, you can’t do it? Don’t tell me you’re distracted by silly sentiments! I know about you and your intentions. So get going. I don’t want to have to repeat myself anymore, am I understood?”

Harry’s mind was whirling; memory set in. Jack. Harrykins. The stunner.

Draco…

Fear flared up, piercing his stomach violently.

“He forbade me to touch him ever again.”

The Pensieve. Blaise. Return ticket. Wet hands. Easily deceived. Draco…

“Imperius.”

Harry didn’t stand a chance. His head hurt terribly, and he only became aware of the gag in his mouth when it was removed. The command in his mind was irresistible, and he mumbled the words being dictated obediently.

“See? He wants you to touch him wherever you please. So get going. Squeeze his jaws.”

“Yes, sir.”

Frantically Harry struggled to come to his senses. Breathing seemed to be difficult, his whole body ached; and why was he feeling so damn weak that he wasn’t even able to open his eyes?

Cold fingers touched his cheeks. It hurt when they pressed his gums against his teeth, and involuntarily, Harry opened his mouth.

“That’s it.”

No!

Harry’s hands twitched instinctively, but… he wasn’t able to move his arms. He wanted to knock the hand away, Draco’s hand, knock it away, hard, as hard as he could. But something was holding him back. Anxiously he strained his muscles again, in vain. It hurt. There were ropes pressing deep into his arms and legs.

Some viscous liquid was gliding down his throat.

NO!

He didn’t want to swallow. He choked. He coughed. He retched. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t spew it out. The fluid kept on running slowly down his throat, tickling his Adam’s apple, and it was almost suffocating him. Panic set in.

Harry tore his eyes wide open.

Draco’s pale, expressionless face was right above him.

Draco…

Harry swallowed hard. Immediately he noticed his fatal mistake. Too late…

Harry coughed, spat, coughed hard again, forced himself to choke. It was too late. Whatever they had forced into his mouth, it was on its way down toward his stomach. His breathing sped up. How long would it need to take effect? Minutes, seconds? Harry had to concentrate, now. If it ever had been important to focus upon his powers, it was now!

He just had to concentrate. He didn’t need a wand. He was an expert. He had done it hundreds of times before. He just had to focus.

His eyes narrowed with the effort to concentrate. He wanted the ropes to vanish. He wanted Pickles to be bound and gagged.

Pain shot through his right temple, spreading fast. His head felt like being jammed between solid millstones, and the pressure on his skull was increasing.

He wanted the ropes to vanish. He wanted Pickles… He wanted… Concentrate!

It was… odd. From one second to the other, Harry couldn’t feel the tight ropes any more. His muscles had stopped to consist of flesh; they were cotton wool. His whole body seemed to float; there wasn’t any solid ground underneath him any more.

Concentrate!

He wanted the ropes to be gagged. He wanted Pickles to… what?

He wanted Pickles to vanish, yes, sure; and he wanted…

He wanted… He wanted the gags to be pickled?

It was a pleasant sensation. He actually enjoyed it. He felt warm and at ease. His body was weightless, the pain was ceasing, almost nonexistent, and he was floating…

Harry started to grin softly. He was happy just to be alive… and floating… just floating… He had always wished that life was as easy as that… No need to struggle… No need to fight… No need to… whatever...

NO!

Merlin! He was losing control of his mind! He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t!

He grinned broadly. Why not just give in for once? It seemed to be so easy… It didn’t hurt… Nothing hurt anymore… He could float on like this forever… If only his stupid mind didn’t keep on bothering him, insisting he had forgotten something, something important.

Now, what was it exactly?

Fuck, concentrate! Get angry! Get angry. GET ANGRY! He had to get rid of the dizziness, he had to stop feeling at ease, he had to face the danger, and he had to get Draco out! He had to get both of them out of here! He needed power, he needed strength, he needed…

Where was Draco? He couldn’t see him any more.

Harry turned his head. Damn. Why was his head moving so slow?

Anger flared up, pure, uncontrollable anger. He smiled again, this time determined, relieved. He clenched his fists. He was satisfied that his fingers reacted, though only reluctantly.

Concentrate!

He wanted to concentrate. He wanted to clench his fists, clench his fists. Yes. He needed to clench his fists. He heard a chuckle.

Harry turned his head toward the sound. Why was his head moving so slow?

Pickles’s face, glistening with perspiration, was very near, too near. A drop of sweat fell down upon Harry’s cheek. Harry felt like retching.

Anger. He needed anger.

“There’s no need to get yourself agitated, Potter. You just digested pure BJ. The basic ingredients, you know? I’ve heard you analyzed my potion, so you’ll know what that means.”

BJ? BJ? Oh, yes, Beautification Juice…. Yes. Harry remembered BJ. BJ had made Draco calm and beautiful. BJ… no hairs, no wrinkles. BJ, an obedient whore…. They had been able to part the ingredients – the familiar beautification component had been easy to separate from the basic potion; the basic, unusual potion which was responsible for the strange calmness.

It was a wicked potion. Oh yes. And once taken, it was addictive. And it had side effects, Harry knew. Harry had taken the BJ away from Draco, and Draco had suffered. Harry had seen Draco with his body covered with bursting, ulcerous pimples. Draco had crawled on the floor, almost unconscious, and blood had rapidly gushed from the abscesses. But Harry had been there right in time with the antidote, and he had stopped it, he had stopped them, stopped…

“It might interest you to know that you are the first to have taken a triple dose.” Pickles told him happily. “You always go to extremes, right Potter?”

Triple dose. BJ. Basic.

Now Harry understood. Now it made sense why his head would only move slowly. A triple dose of something as wicked as BJ was sure to leave almost completely immobile. Now he had the explanation as to why it seemed so hard to concentrate on even the simplest thoughts. Another wave of panic shot through him.

He was… he was as inefficient as a turtle trying to crawl on its paws. Turtle on paws? Codswallop! Turtle on its back, of course. A turtle is helpless when turned on its back, not the other way around. A turtle moves slowly, but it moves. That was important. A turtle moves. He had to remember that. He had.

“Don’t waste your energy, Potter. You’re done!” Pickles smiled benevolently. “You aren’t a serious danger any more, see?” With a flick of Pickles’s wand, the ropes were gone. Harry hated the careless chuckle Pickles gave. “You are as dangerous as a slug.”

It started in his stomach. It always started in his stomach. It felt a little like indigestion, but Harry wasn’t fooled. It was pure rage, ready to burst.

“Malfoy!”

As usual, Harry started to sweat.

“Yes, sir.”

Harry’s nostrils flared, he had to remember to deliberately slow his breathing.

“Come here.”

One breath in, one breath out.

“Yes, sir.”

Draco’s obedient responses hurt, but Harry was determined. The turtle had to move!

“Kneel down. Yes. Right beside me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry could feel the well-known heat rushing through his veins, building up pressure. Soon, very soon his uncontrollable rage would be ready to burst and with it, there would be power. And he wanted power, he needed it badly, he had to have it, he had to get them out!

Pickles held out a small phial. “I was informed that you stopped taking BJ. You will start again right now. Drink. You remember the dose, I presume?”

Harry could see Draco’s hand trembling slightly when he took the phial.

No, Draco, please, don’t do it!

Draco uncorked the phial and opened his mouth.

Don’t, Draco, please, don’t…

Draco turned the phial upside down over his outstretched tongue.

It’s your worst nightmare, you told me that; it can’t have been a lie, please, don’t drink, don’t…

The drop was spilled. Eyes closed, Draco gulped it down.

“And now, let’s share the expression of despair on his face. Isn’t he pathetic?”

“Yes, sir.”

Cold fury blurred Harry’s vision. He roared, “Bedeffecuss… Be.. Be…”

FUCK! Why the hell couldn’t he spill the curse out? His tongue seemed to have swollen double size.

Bedeffecuss Dodaless! His heartbeat quickened. Why couldn’t he even spell it out correctly in his mind???

“Pathetic!” Pickles had been eyeing Harry closely. With eyes reduced to slits, he smirked, “You aren’t able to voice any curse or spell, right?” his grin broadened. “You aren’t able to even think about a curse or even a harmless spell properly, right?”

Luhhmoss… LUHHMOSS!!!

Nothing happened. Harry’s left eyelid started to blink nervously. Darantellaghraa. There. He got the spell right this time. He did, didn’t he? But no, he didn’t, and of course, nothing happened. Whricktussemprah. The same. Nothing.

Harry barely held back the sob forcing its way up his throat. He wouldn’t give up. Never. He wouldn’t. Remember the turtle. Fuck BJ. He would concentrate once more; he had will power, he had strength, and he had that almost uncontrollable energy. Anger. All he needed was more anger or panic or pain or whatever emotional instability that was necessary to let it break out and then he would be able to cast a curse, he would be able to fight the BJ paralyzing his senses, he would, he simply had to get Draco out.

“You see? He tries to fight it.” Pickles had turned toward Draco. “He’s just a stubborn little fool. But quite entertaining…” The little pig-eyes focused once more on Harry. “Give up. My potion is very effective; one of my best inventions, by the way. I don’t want my whores to think the wrong way, you know? And I don’t like magic, unless I perform it myself!”

Pickles leaned over to pet Harry’s cheek. “Just quit struggling, Potter.” The touch of Pickles’s hand on his face was more than Harry could handle. ”It is quite amusing when you get excited, but boring nevertheless in the long run.” Pickles rubbed his thumb gently along Harry’s lips. His voice got lower, almost affectionate. “Save your strength. You will soon need it, believe me.”

“BASTARD!”

Harry was startled by the noise his own voice had been able to produce. Good. He had never felt as satisfied as now. The shock on Pickles’s face was just priceless.

The sudden blow hit Harry by surprise. The pain was exquisite, and his lips cracked open instantly. Blood was trickling down his chin. His heartbeat quickened; fear made it hard to breathe.

“Don’t dare insult me!” Pickles’s nostrils were flaring. So he didn’t like that, did he? That was it! Adrenalin shot through Harry’s veins. To move his split lips hurt horrendously, but he managed a contemptuous sneer. Blood gushed down his chin again. His gum was bleeding, too.

“Dirty bastard,” Harry’s voice was clear. “Filthy swine. Fucking bugger.” Harry relished the quick change of colour on his captor’s face.

“Crucio!”

Harry’s head exploded with agony. His brain swelled to an enormous size, pressing against his skull, finding no way to expand. Blood was rushing hectically through his veins, increasing the pressure. Instinctively Harry’s hands jerked up to shield his head, too slow… TOO SLOW! His head tossed from side to side uncontrollably, knocking his temples, cheekbones and jaws alternately against the hard ground, again and again. His skin split open by the repeated impact; desperately he tried to force his hands up faster, to touch his head, to stop his head, but his hands didn’t obey, and it hurt, it hurt so badly. His skull was cracking, any time now, it would just crack open, and his brain would be splattered upon the ground and Draco would be lost and Harry would die here with Pickles grinning down at him and it hurt, it hurt so terribly, and he started screaming, howling at the top of his voice, and his hands couldn’t reach his head to stop the pain to stop it to stop it…

It was over. Pickles ended the curse with what sounded like a giggle.

Harry’s head rolled over to his left side, his glasses askew. His hands had almost reached his throat; but there wasn’t any strength left, they sank lifelessly to each side of his shoulders. Blood roaring in his ears was deafening him; his brain still seemed to be pulsating with a life of its own, pounding against his skull, about to burst; and each heartbeat produced another hammering wave of agony, and he felt sick, and it didn’t stop hurting; and his stomach turned and something in his brain exploded and he had to retch, and he couldn’t take it anymore, no more of the pain.

Every single muscle in his body started to shake uncontrollably. Tears mingled with blood, and he dazedly became aware that the constant, obtrusive sound in his ears was created by his own, miserable moans.

That was it. The end. Over. Finished. He was done. He couldn’t take any more. He would just die here and there was nothing he could do about it.

Pickles sniggered. “All right, Potter. I think we have now reached a point of mutual understanding, haven’t we?”

Harry stared at the repulsive brute; his vision blurred. If he could only get rid of the constant throbbing in his head; it hurt so much, why did it hurt so much? Turtle. He felt sick, and he retched once more, but his stomach was too weak to throw up. Turtle… Never on its back… Moving. His breathing was laboured, and it hurt, each breath hurt. He couldn’t imagine uttering a single word.

“Now that you had your first lesson about who’s in charge, you will behave like a good boy, won’t you? Just like Malfoy, right?”

Draco. He had to get him out!

“The fuck I will, bastard,” Harry croaked, staring up into the tiny, pig-like eyes. He wouldn’t give up. He wouldn’t. He tried again, desperately. Bedeffecuss Dodaless! Fuck!!

Pickles’s eyes widened with utter disbelief. Then the contemptuous sneer returned on his face.

“Always the hero?” Pickles smiled lazily. “Don’t you think it’s time to grow up?”

Pickles leaned down; his breath was touching Harry’s sore and bloody face. A wave of nausea rushed through Harry, but he didn’t care. It would be fun if his last action would be throwing up all the insides of his stomach into the repulsive face.

Gently Pickles readjusted Harry’s glasses. Again he patted Harry’s hair with mocking affection, then straightened up. Slowly Pickles let his eyes run over Harry’s body.

Harry was all too conscious of his open shirt exposing his bare ribcage. He didn’t try to move his hands to protect his vulnerable chest. He knew what to expect. The next Cruciatus Curse would hit his heart. With an effort, he raised his chin up. He felt dead tired. He could only whisper, “You fucking…”

“Sorry to interrupt you,” Pickles honoured him with one of his pleasant smiles again, “Although I’m quite enchanted by your beautiful, melodious voice, I get bored by it.” His upper lip curled up condescendingly.

“Silencio.”

Harry’s eyes opened wide in shock. The … BASTARD had deprived him of his ability to speak! Fuck him! But that didn’t matter, did it? He wasn’t able to perform magic anyhow, thanks to the fucking potion.

“There, that will put an end to your childish outbursts,” the brute had the nerve to pat Harry’s cheek in a mocking, consoling way. “From now on it won’t be necessary to open your mouth anymore, unless it’s to lick some cock.”

Pickles was watching him closely again, obviously waiting for another fit of rage or despair. But Harry didn’t do him the favour. He kept on staring into Pickles’s face, trying to display as much disgust as possible. Although he dreaded what he was about to hear next, he wouldn’t as much as blink at any further revelations.

“Of course I was looking forward to your pleas and sobs. But now I find it far more satisfying to see you suffering without any sound at all.”

The turtle had to keep on moving. So Harry continued to stare, waiting. There was more to come.

“Of course you want to know why I didn’t kill you right away,” Pickles’s tone was conversational. “It’s quite simple. You lost me my source of income. I want my money back. And you will help me. I will make a fortune when I sell the arse of the wondrous Boy-Who-Lived. Hm, by the way… I assume your body is attractive?” Pickles cast an appraising look down Harry’s form. “Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry forced himself not to glance at Draco.

“Strip him. I want to check on him.”

Harry gritted his teeth so hard it hurt his sore gums.

“Are you deaf? Get going.”

“Yes, sir.”

Had Harry imagined it or had he detected a small tremble in Draco’s obedient response?

Draco appeared in Harry’s range of vision. Harry scrutinized Draco’s features, but they were bare of any expression. Draco’s fingers were cold when they started to fumble with Harry’s shirt. Swallowing hard, Harry’s eyes shifted back to Pickles, and continued to stare at him. He would have to endure it. He was too weak to fight off Draco’s hands; his body hadn’t recovered from the Stunner and Crutiatus yet. Any resistance would be senseless, anyhow. His reactions were too slow. He didn’t stand a chance.

“Of course I could have stripped you with a flick of my wand. But it wouldn’t have been half as entertaining,” Pickles started to chat amiably.

Draco grabbed Harry’s shoulders and heaved him up into a sitting position. Then he leaned Harry’s head against his shoulder and unceremoniously shoved Harry’s shirt down. Draco’s even breathing was tickling Harry’s ear. Inevitably memories of soft lips nibbling his sensitive earlobe and warm breath caressing his neck flared up. Harry pressed his lips together as tight as he could, hell-bent to get rid of the memory, of any suchlike memory. His mouth felt wet, and he realized he had pressed too tight. More blood was flowing down from his split lips.

“I quite enjoyed the quarrel of you two cute lovebirds. So heart wrenching! I was there all the time, by the way, watching. An Invisibility Cloak can be so useful, right?” Pickles rubbed his chin with amusement.

Draco grabbed Harry’s naked shoulders; his fingers were boring into his flesh with unnecessary roughness. Obviously Draco had intended to push Harry back to the floor fast. Harry’s head jerked backwards with the rash motion and lolled helplessly from side to side. Draco halted at once, shifted his position hurriedly and steadied Harry’s head with his hand; his other arm slung around Harry’s shoulders to support him.

When Harry was lying on the floor again, he couldn’t resist a quick, side along peek at Draco. His shirt was stained with dark, red blotches. Draco was always so particular and neat with his appearance. And Harry had bloodied him up. Good. It was a small triumph and a silly one, but it created malicious joy.

“It was a present from the Dark Lord, by the way. Invisibility Cloaks are rare, especially high-quality ones, so you can imagine how honoured I felt. And I still do.”

Voldemort. Harry’s heart missed a beat. Although his foe was long dead, the sudden mentioning of him still made him shudder. But Harry wasn’t surprised. A wizard being able to create a potion like BJ and curse people to die the very instant they thought about his name could only be a Death Eater. Although, according to public opinion, Death Eaters didn’t exist any more, but Harry had never agreed with the Ministry’s propaganda. With the downfall of Voldemort, the vision of purebloods ruling the entire world by Dark Magic hadn’t died with him. Harry had always argued that although an alarmingly high number of Death Eaters had been killed or captured during the war and the time after, it was simply foolish to believe that all of them had vanished. It was a fact that half of the Wizarding World consisted of pureblood families. No one could convince Harry that there wasn’t a high percentage still idealizing another world, another order.

“What are you waiting for, Malfoy? Keep going!”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry hadn’t misheard. Draco’s voice was trembling slightly.

“I still can’t believe that I didn’t recognize you when you showed up in my quarters the other day! If I hadn’t been that greedy, I could have spared myself a lot of trouble.”

Draco was taking off Harry’s shoes, then his socks. He took his time arranging the shoes and socks in a neat pile.

“So I can’t put the blame solely on you, Potter. However, you are responsible for the mess. It took me years to get the business flourishing, and at last I was making real money, money we urgently need to finance the collapse of the ridiculous establishment called the ‘Ministry’. And you just walk in, get yourself a new pet, and destroy everything I built up within a week.” Pickles cleared his throat then bellowed, “What do you think you’re doing, Malfoy? Leave the socks and keep going! ”

Draco flinched and instantly turned on Harry to tear down his zipper.

“Like I said, to lose the money and my obedient little whores was bad. But I have to admit, what really made me furious was being forced to leave my headquarters and hide like a common criminal! But, of course, I was prepared for such a scenario.”

Draco was slowly wriggling Harry’s shorts down his legs.

“I was clever enough to transfer some of my money to my hideout; and when I had to run, I was able to take two of my best sluts along. That was enough to start business anew.”

Draco folded up Harry’s shorts and put them slowly on top of the neat pile of Harry’s clothes.

“It’s nothing much.” Pickles waved his hand dismissively. “Just a little cottage in the suburbs. But it has got a large cellar, just about right for my little whores. It’s of course undetectable and soundproof. Ah, but I forgot. You can’t cry out for help anyhow, can you?” Pickles chuckled derisively.

Draco turned around and reached for Harry’s boxers.

“Most of my regular customers accepted the new conditions, so nothing’s really lost. But I’m afraid, Potter, that I still resent the fact that I was forced to hide. I can’t accept being beaten by a dirty, snotty-nosed half-blood such as you. I want revenge, and I want compensation.”

All of a sudden Draco jerked at Harry’s boxers and pulled them down in a rush.

Harry had prepared himself for being naked. It was just another attempt to humiliate him. He had thought he could handle it. However, he couldn’t prevent shivering. Pickles’s cold eyes upon him were one thing. Draco standing right beside Pickles was something else.

It was pure idiotism, but Harry searched Draco’s face. Hoping against hope, he scrutinized the grey eyes intently, desperately wishing to find something of the warmth he had been sure he had seen there during the past weeks. He didn’t expect deep affection, oh no, that would be too much to ask. But maybe Draco would pass him a small wink, however tiny; to assure him he hadn’t been wrong? Please?

The grey eyes returning his stare didn’t reveal anything; neither hate, nor disgust, nor affection. Nothing at all.

Harry’s heart didn’t break. It was too numb to feel anything.

Harry shut his eyes, held them closed for a short moment then opened them resignedly to fix Pickles’s face again.

Pickles had been right.

He was done.

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, and he couldn’t perform any magic anymore. He couldn’t think, he… now wait a minute!

He hadn’t noticed it before; he had been too busy listening to Pickles’s monologue. He was able to think coherently! Sure, it was a slow progress, but nevertheless he was able to think in complete, sensible sentences.

“Nice!” Pickles was whispering into Harry’s ear. When had he moved? Harry cursed himself for not having paid attention. He observed Pickles’s hungry expression with increasing unease. His little eyes were moving appraisingly up and down Harry’s naked body. It seemed as if he liked what he saw; he was licking his fat lips lecherously.

Pickles turned his head abruptly and stared at Harry’s face. Harry’s insides went cold then cramped painfully. Fear merged to blank terror, upsetting his circulation. His heart was racing, his breathing quickened, and sweat started to pour out of every pore. By instinct each single hair on his body stood up simultaneously. Thick goosebumps were littering his cold wet skin and caused a shudder as if shaken by high fever.

Pickles turned his head around again and stared at Harry’s privates. Instinctively his penis shrank to sheer non-existence, and his balls disappeared into the depths of his crotch.

Harry was paralyzed with absolute, all-consuming fear. Even if he hadn’t been already poisoned, he wouldn’t have been able to move now.

Because when Pickles had stared at him, Harry had stared right back. And for one moment, just for one moment, Harry had been able to look beyond those wicked, pig-like eyes. He hadn’t been able to read his mind. But for that split second, Harry had been able to get a vivid insight into Pickles’s soul.

There was no pity, no mercy, no sympathy; but recklessness, cruelty, and sadism. There was no affection, no respect, no concern; but brutality, egoism, and narcism.

Harry’s mind had been confronted with pure evil.

Harry didn’t even flinch when Pickles grasped his privates and squeezed.

“A little bit shy, aren’t we, Potter?” Pickles groped and pulled until his fingers forced Harry’s balls out of their hiding place. “Hm. They’ll do, I think.” His fist closed around Harry’s penis and started to pump, pull and twist until Harry’s healthy body reacted to the demanding strokes and blood poured into his member. Inspecting Harry’s glans closely, Pickles muttered, “Okay. Nice prick. It doesn’t impress me, but I’m not disappointed, either. Excellent. But, Potter, I expect more effort when you serve your customers. They will anticipate a perfect, stiff prick to play with. Don’t disappoint them! I could add some conventional BJ, of course. It provokes a perfect erection at the mere touch. But customers have gotten used to it lately, and I don’t want to bore them… No, I want to present them with something new… Maybe I’ll start a contest to see who can arouse the Boy-Who-Lived the quickest.“

Harry had stopped paying full attention. Fighting the BJ had exhausted him; he felt tired as never before. The effort to use his power added to his fatigue.

It didn’t seem to matter whatever future Pickles had chosen for him. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. If all of this had happened yesterday, it would have been different. Yesterday he had been happy and in love with a warm-hearted, beautiful man he thought he could trust his life with. But he had been forced to accept that no such man existed. Draco as Harry had seen him had only existed in Harry’s childish dreams.

He had been easy prey; Harry realized that now. He had spent the last years as a recluse, had hidden in his cottage; an unhappy man with an active guilt complex and a sex life not worth mentioning. Oh, yes, he had been easy prey, and he had been hungry and grateful for the tiniest, gentle touch.

Harry was to be blamed. He had practically asked to be betrayed. Lonesome as he was, he had dreamed for too long about finding someone who would share his attitude on life, who would laugh at the same jokes, and who would detest unfairness and injustice just like he did. He had been longing for a family, for a partner he could trust, and who would trust him just the same. He had wished to find someone who loved him, Harry, unconditionally; who would love him despite his clumsiness, his embarrassing shyness, his lack of self-confidence and his shortage of perfectionism. And he had longed for someone he could love just the same. Someone Harry could make happy, someone whose wishes Harry could try to fulfill, someone he could cuddle after a bad dream, someone he could listen to when his advice was needed, someone who would call his name when they made love. Someone he could trust his life with.

What an imbecile he had been! He had been so blind.

“Now how could I sell you best?” Pickles was still musing. “Let’s see. I want revenge and I want compensation. Compensation is easy to achieve; the two of you will have to work nights and days to earn the money I have lost. And revenge? Well, of course it satisfies me a lot to sell your bodies, especially the fresh, unused body of pretty Potty here… I don’t think you will like it, Potter, am I right? Being fucked for money is something far different from your comfy job at the Ministry.”

Pickles’s grin was malicious, but his grimace was lost on Harry. Why couldn’t the fucker just hurry up with his speech? Spill out whatever he wanted to say? He was so tired… Harry had difficulty keeping his eyes open; he was sure it wouldn’t take much time until he would pass out. It didn’t matter, did it? Harry didn’t care about Pickles’s plan and meanness. He didn’t care about anything anymore. He had already lost everything that had been worth living for, so what the fuck?

“Your little conversation I happened to witness gave me some ideas. Malfoy feigned affection and can’t stand to touch you? Bad, bad boy.” Pickles tsksed. “And your soft heart broke when you found out that Malfoy only used you? Poor Potter… Well, obviously the two of you can’t stand to be near each other now. So sad that you forgot about the contract. You have to know, Potter, that Malfoy still belongs to you. You clueless, little halfwit were so eager to buy the contract without the slightest idea what it meant. I regret to tell you, but you will have to stay together. The bond that goes along with the contract cannot be broken. Not even by me… So prepare yourselves. You will live together here in this tiny cellar room for the rest of your lives. Or until somebody comes along and pays a nice fortune for both of you. Or until I get bored of you and deliver you from your miserable lives with the good old Avada Kedavra.” Pickles’s laughter sounded like a bark.

Harry almost wished that the time of Pickles getting bored would have come already.

“I almost forgot… Little Harrykins is still a virgin, right, Malfoy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pickles stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Hm… I didn’t expect that… Let’s see… Doubtlessly I could sell your virginity for an exorbitantly high price. Yes, that’s an idea!”

Do whatever you please. Harry sighed. He longed to give in to his fatigue. He had no energy left in his body. He couldn’t feel anything but the wish to close his eyes and give in to complete blackness. Just give in…

Pickles grabbed his crotch and let the palm of his hand run over the bulge. “On the other hand… You’re quite a dish. I would like to fuck you myself.” There was an evil glint in his eyes. “But, thinking about it, I’ve got an even better idea. Malfoy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did I understand correctly that Potter wanted you to be his first?”

No answer came. In spite of himself, Harry turned a dazed glance toward Draco. He was deadly pale.

“Malfoy?”

Draco’s eyes were burning with … hate? A pause, then, “Yes, sir.”

“Brilliant! We will fulfill Harrykins’s greatest wish. You will do it.”

Smirking, Pickles conjured an armchair and snuggled comfortably into its upholstery.

He nodded to Draco.

“Get going. Fuck him. And fuck him hard!”