Picking Up the Pieces

I laid on the worn common room couch, my fingers pressed firmly against each lidded eye. But no matter how hard I pushed or what method I tried, nothing quelled the incessant throbbing inside my head. Instead it continued to ache and pulsate, just as it had been doing for the past ten hours.

I had woken up that morning in a good enough mood, my next lay being the only thing weighing on my mind. But the second I stepped out of my room, my day took an unexpected turn. Actually, not just one unexpected turn, a couple of unexpected turns, spinning me until I was dizzy, my head swirling continuously as it tried to catch up with everything that had happened.

It began with Malfoy confusing the hell out of me by asking me to align with him in an attempt to bust out of the crazy house. It was odd enough that he had spoken civilly to me, but the idea that he wanted me on his side seemed downright preposterous. And on a typical day, that would have been enough to throw me off kilter. However, just moments later I got sacked with more information that sent my mind spiraling out of control.

I discovered that Malfoy's parent's had been murdered, and by Death Eaters no less. That meant that Death Eaters were still out there somewhere, exacting their revenge on the people that helped take Voldemort down, and nobody chose to tell me about it. My friends and family members were potentially in danger, and no one thought that it was important enough to mention? Why couldn't they understand that ignorance wasn't bliss for me? I, of all people should be told of these things!

And as if that wasn't bad enough, I learned perhaps the most vile and disturbing thing I had ever heard in my life. When Malfoy's parents had died, Dolores Umbridge, the fat, squatty toad of a woman, had been asked to care for him. But rather than watching out for Draco, she obscenely abused her position as caretaker and instead opted to use him as her own personal sex toy.

Regardless of my distaste for the former Slytherin, my heart bled for him. No matter their past actions, nobody short of Voldemort deserved that kind of defilement. No one deserved a woman old enough to be their grandmother violating them, porcine fingers and waning skin forcing themselves upon unwilling and unsullied flesh.

A sickening image filled my mind, making me shudder.

No, not even Draco Malfoy deserved that abuse.

I squeezed my eyes shut tightly and attempted to wrest the picture from my head. But when I finally did, it was only replaced by other horrible images. No sunny meadows or babbling brooks, just visions of masked Death Eaters capturing my friends, torturing them until they plead for death. Visions of loved ones that had already fallen at the hands of blood-thirsty Death Eaters. Visions of body after body lining cold stone floors.

Bodies already touched by death, blood trickling from their mouths and pooling around their mangled bodies. Yet, despite their cadaverous condition, they began pulling themselves towards me, their fingers gnashing into rough stone as they hefted themselves closer. But I couldn't move, I stood there frozen. I had been there before, escaping their ensanguined grips with seconds to spare. But how did I do it? How did I get away?...Aha! My dagger. My silver savior. I reached deeply into my pockets searching for my guardian, my protector. But pocket after pocket turned up nothing. It was nowhere to be found.

My heart fell heavily as the realization came over me...I didn’t have it.

I looked back at the writhing bodies. They were getting closer, only three or four arms lengths away. I couldn't let them get me, let them take me to their murky graves, their never-ending expanse of nothingness. Despite my self-contempt I wasn't ready to go with them, not yet. So I ran.

I ran as fast as I could, down the interminable hallway, the door at the end never getting any closer. I ran and ran, pushing my legs harder than they had ever been pushed, but it was all for naught. I was stuck in the same place, the corpses inching closer and closer to me as each second passed. I tried to run one last time but my traitorous legs failed, buckling under me after only a few strides. I hit the floor hard, my head cracking loudly as it collided with solid rock.

It was all over. I could feel the bloody hands and sharp nails starting to dig at my ankles. They grasped me tightly and dragged me across the rough, unforgiving floor. With each pull, my face rubbed more and more raw against the jagged stones, leaving behind chunks of my flesh like some sort of macabre bread crumb trail.

But it didn't hurt.

Maybe death wouldn't be so terrible after all. I could just give in and let them take me, let them have their way with me and before I knew it, it would all be over. It was tempting.

But succumbing to death would be the easy way out. And although part of my brain begged to me to slip into that eternal sleep, the other part told me to keep fighting. I am Harry Potter after all. The Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One—I could get out of anything, dagger or no dagger.

I frantically began kicking my legs, my feet striking the corpses’ brittle heads with a force so great that their skulls began to crack and crumble.

“Help me!” I yelled to no one. “Please, get me out of here!” I continued to kick until I eventually freed myself from the dead bodies’ grips. I quickly picked myself up and began running towards the ever-evading door. But this time I was getting closer. After only a few long strides, I was in front of it, banging on the dark wood as loudly as I could.

“Please, someone help!” I furiously banged my fists until my knuckles split open and started to bleed, but no one was coming to help me. I looked over my shoulder at the cadaver-ridden floor. The bodies were still coming, still crawling towards me, ravenous expressions on their otherwise lifeless faces.

“Please!” I wailed.

Suddenly my body began to shake, not trembling in fear, but shaking violently, like invisible hands had grabbed my shoulders and were shaking me as hard as they could.

“Harry, wake up!” a disconnected voice called. I breathed a sigh of relief. Someone was here to save me.

“Harry, come on!” my angel’s voice echoed in my ears. “Open your eyes!”

I did as he asked and allowed my eyes to slowly flutter open. I was no longer in a dark, dank hallway, but in a bright room, florescent lights shining down on my face. The sudden, severe contrast made my eyes sting and blinded me for a moment.

When my vision came back, I looked around and took in my surroundings. To my left was an old rabbit-eared t.v. balancing on bright blue milk crates, next to that, a broken book case with only two usable shelves, and directly in front of me, on the wall, was a creepy cat clock that's eyes and tail moved as each second ticked. All of these things indicated that I was still in the common room. Even the ratty couch I was laying on and the even rattier pillow I was clutching indicated that I hadn't gone anywhere. But I did go somewhere, didn't I?

"What the hell happened?" I asked the group of people that had gathered around me.

"Well," a familiar voice began. Draco pushed through the thin crowd until he was standing right in front of me. "I was trying to watch the telly and you started mumbling in your sleep. I ignored it, but then the mumbling turned into screaming. You kept yelling 'help me' so I shook you awake to shut you up."

"Oh," was all I managed to reply. What was wrong with me? It seemed like the line between fantasy and reality was slowly fading away; I didn't know where one ended and the other began. Dreams seemed real and reality felt like a dream. I had to get a hold of myself. I couldn't afford these kinds of fuck-ups if I ever wanted to get out of the loony bin. I had to get back in control--in control of myself and in control of the world around me.

"Harry, please come with me," Davis called over the crowd. Perfect. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Excuse me," I said as I shoved through my audience. "Get a move on, show's over." When I finally broke through the crowd, I danced over to Davis' side.

"To my office please," he said curtly before he took off down the hall.

When we got to his room he cast some silencing charms on the door and then gestured for me to sit on the couch.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat loudly. "Harry, I want to know what just happened," he said as he sat in the chair across from me.

"Why don't you want to sit next to me?" I asked making my best puppy-dog eyes.

"Harry, let's not do this, okay? That thing that happened between us was a mistake, a mistake I could lose my job for."

"But I would never tell," I cooed.

"It doesn't matter. It's not professional and it's not going to happen again. I don't want it to happen again. Now please, tell me what just happened out there."

"Nightmare, I guess."

I studied Davis carefully. Sure he had said he didn't want anything to happen between us again, but looking at him, I could tell he was lying. The way his eyes scanned me slowly from top to bottom, the way he kept moistening his lips with his tongue--everything about his posture, his demeanor, told me that he wanted me. And sure his position as my doctor might have made him a little apprehensive, but I could tell that wasn't the reason he was holding back. If I had to bet money on it, I would say someone was a little miffed about our previous encounter--a little upset maybe that his needs were not fulfilled. So if an equal opportunity fuck was what he wanted, then that's what I would give him.

"Harry, please. We are not going to get anywhere if you don't tell me about this dream."

And as if my eyes were simply faucets, I instantly turned on the water works. Tear after tear streamed down my cheeks, my nose, my pouting lips.

"It was awful," I choked. "There were bodies everywhere. It was just so, so..." I let the tears overwhelm me; consume me until I was nothing but a big, blubbering mess. My body heaved with each sob, and before I knew it, Davis was by my side with a box of tissues.

He sat down next to me on the couch, tentatively putting his arm around my shoulders.

“Harry, it’s going to be okay, I promise. Things will get better,” he soothed.

Cautiously, I leaned in closer and nuzzled myself into the crook of his neck. I inhaled deeply, his glorious, musky scent dancing through my nose and swirling around my already libidinous brain. My cock twitched eagerly.

I couldn’t wait around resting on my laurels any longer. I prepared to pounce. Slowly, carefully, I brought my mouth to Davis’ neck, my lips ghosting across his goose-pimpled flesh. A small moan escaped him. That was a good sign.

I trailed my lips, my tongue up the column of his throat, my moist, wispy kisses leaving a cool trail in their wake. When my mouth reached his, I kissed him gently, his soft lips responding ever so slightly. Another good sign. I kissed him a little harder, a little deeper, and when he responded with his own kisses, my tongue found the slight part in his lips and traced around it, begging for entrance. And to my surprise, he readily obliged, sucking my tongue into his mouth.

Our tongues swayed in unison, like some perfectly choreographed dance that we had practiced a million times before. The irony being I I hadn't kissed anyone that passionately, that intimately in what seemed like an eternity. But I reminded myself, that was all part of the plan. Seduce him by being the caring, giving lover that he yearned for, but when things got heavy, reign him back in and take control. Whether he knew it or not, I was always in control.

We continued kissing feverishly, but Davis suddenly pulled away, a wanton, pleading look in his eyes. He thread his fingers through my tousled hair, grabbing a small clump at my crown. And then, with an almost undetectable amount of pressure, he gently coaxed my head towards his still clothed groin.

Great, he wanted oral.

I had only a handful of times in my life allowed myself to be the giver of fellatio. I had of course received, many, many times, but giving just seemed so demeaning to me. Sitting there on your knees in front of someone, as if you were a street urchin begging for a morsel of food, was not something I enjoyed. I was the one whose dick everyone craved. I was the one that blessed people with the gift of my cock, not the other way around.

But again, I had to play it cool. I had to play the part of the loving partner for just a little while longer--kiss him, caress him, give him what he wanted, and then he would be mine.

I slowly lowered myself to the floor, situating myself between Davis' parted knees. Gently trailing my hands up and down his legs, I tried my best to prolong the inevitable, but his excitement got the best of him and Davis quickly tore off his pants and boxers and cast them aside like useless trash. He sat back down in front front of me, his cock inches away from my face.

I leaned in closer, his shaft firmly grasped in my left hand, and dutifully licked the clear liquid that had begun to weep from the tip.

"Mmmm...uhhh," Davis moaned incoherently.

I smirked--putty in my hands.

I continued to lick and suck the head until I couldn't bear to do it any longer. In one swift motion, I took the entire length of his mediocre cock in my mouth and slid up and down the shaft in liquid, undulating motions. I sucked and sucked to the point where my mouth was beginning to get sore, but Davis didn't seem close to finishing

So to sweeten the pot, and hopefully end the torture sooner, I snaked my right hand up Davis' leg, his thigh, until I reached his balls. I carefully grasped them between my fingers and gently rolled them around, in time with the bobbing of my head. The added sensation seemed to help.

Davis began bucking his hips wildly, his impending orgasm evident. But just before he reached climax, I pulled away and stood up in front of him.

"What the hell," he whined between pained gasps. "I was almost there."

"Well," I said, doing my best to look sweet and seductive. "I really like you, and I thought maybe we could share something a little more special."

Realization dawned across his face. "Oh. Really?" he asked. "I would love that."

I offered Davis my hand, which he readily accepted, pulled him up and walked him over to the end of the couch. Bending him gently over the arm, I began planting soft kisses up and down his back, my warm breath making him writhe and squirm beneath me.

He wanted my dick and I was ready to give it to him.

I continued to kiss and caress him, anything to distract him from the fact that I was undressing and positioning myself at his entrance. Once I was finally ready, I debated as to whether or not I should ask him to cast a quick lubrication charm, but I thought better of it. That would take away the element of surprise, give him time to prepare for me. Instead I spit in the palm of my hand, rubbed it over my cock and then without warning, plunged into him.

"Uhh," he grunted with a mix of pain and pleasure.

With just the first thrust my dick was entirely sheathed inside him. I sat still a moment, giving Davis a second to get used the sensation. After all, I didn't want to hurt him too badly. I wasn't that cruel.

Then, grabbing on to his hips firmly for leverage, I began pumping in long, even strokes, my dick moving in and out of his tight hole with relative ease.

And each time I forced my dick back inside of him, Davis moaned loudly, like a shameless whore. It was....inspiring.

As I continued thrusting, I pulled my right hand back, and with as much force as I could muster, I slapped his ass.

"Uhhh!"

"You like that bitch?" I growled into the doctor's ear. He nodded in response. Ignoring the stinging and tingling in my hand, I pulled it back again and planted another firm slap on his backside.

"Are you my whore?" I asked, my voice suddenly husky with lust. Dominance turned me on to no end.

"Are you?" I asked again as I grabbed a clump of his hair and turned his head to face me.

"Mmm hmm." he mumbled.

"Good." I released my grip on his golden locks and once again grabbed his hips tightly. I began ramming into him as hard as I could, in and out, in and out. After a few moments, I couldn't take it any longer, and with one final, strong thrust, I exploded, spilling my seed inside of him.

I fought back the urge to collapse onto Davis in exhaustion. I couldn't afford to put myself in that vulnerable of a position--it might be misconstrued as cuddling or as showing affection. I had to stay in control. So instead I quickly got up and threw on my clothes.

"Wait, where are you going?" Davis called, still bent over the couch.

"I have to go," I called as I ran out the door. "See ya around!" And with that, I was gone.