Scream of the butterfly

Warning: Non-con, Slash, violent. Credit to JKR. Song lyrics by the Doors.
Pairing: HP/AD

Screams of the Butterfly
By Black Cat


Scream of the butterfly: The Doors

Harry Potter sat silently watching the shadows creep across the dark wood panel that lined the walls. He watched as time passed and the shadows settle in, as night fully fell upon them. He was trying to block out the on going order meeting he was sitting in on. He simply didn’t want to hear another role call of names of witch and wizard families that had died or been attacked.

He couldn’t listen to another rant from Alabaster “mad-eye” Moody. He couldn’t listen to another moment of Snape raging angrily at everyone in the room. He didn’t want to look at the tired faces of each order member, nor the bruised eye of Snape that had yet to be healed or the permanent scar on Lupin’s face, the mng ang arm of Moody. All he wanted to do was flee to his dorm and sleep.

Harry shut his eyes again wishing it away, though he knew it was no good. No matter how he tried to block it out he still caught snippets of names and details of battles.

To silence his mind, he stared at the half empty teacup before him, the pattern swirled and danced it’s way around the rim of the cup, he waited impatiently for that moment when his eyes would cross making everything hazy. He doesn’t know how long he sat there, silently waiting for the meeting to end. He rarely spoke anymore.

Remus Lupin touched his arm bringing him out of his thoughts, the Order of the Phoenix meeting had just ended. Most of the members rose instantly and took their leave. Several more stayed after the meetings to chat among themselves or to finish their tea and biscuit. As Harry was the only student allowed to attend Order meetings he usually left immediately in order to return to classes or quidditch practice. But as today was Saturday and it was already late, near midnight from what he could guess, he could stay, if he choose.

Today he could linger, visit with Remus Lupin and Moody. Moody was in the habit of telling long stories that involved his father, stories that usually had no ending and would end abruptly or were meant to be amusing but rarely was. On other occasions Moody would pull out some artifact that had some association with his fathers, a photo, a hat, a coin. Each had a story or logic Harry couldn’t quite figure out. Lupin usually stepped in to stop Moody’s ramblings or to ractract him.

Something Harry was grateful for.

Truthfully he wanted to hear about his father. Since Sirius’s death it was just down to a select few that could tell him about his father. Remus tried at times, but had trouble unlocking the ghosts from his own mind. Sirius death was hitting Lupin just as hard as it hit him. It made his head and heart ache that he would never know Sirius well gh, gh, that the mans name would always be stained with the memory of Azkaban.

But his heart aches even more for the knowledge of his father. While Moody told him absurd things that made no sense, Lupin would tell stories that were strong and subtle, warm and welcoming. That is if you could get his tongue loose enough to speak of James.

Tonight Harry watched as most filed out, Flitwick was speaking with Snape just outside the door, Snape himself looked ready to bolt to the dungeons. They were the only ones who had stayed in the conference room. Moody was in full story telling mode, though Harry was only half listening, Dumbledore who had stepped through into his office stepped back, “Harry, may I see you in my office?” the headmaster beckoned the boy forward and disappeared into his office.

Harry stood instantly, grabbing his school bag at his feet, he had been in the library studying when the Order meeting had been called. He nodded at Lupin and Moody who looked a little disappointed at the interruption. Harry rounded the table and headed through the doors to Dumbledore’s office quietly shutting them behind him. Dumbledore had been unusually quiet as well during the past fewtingtings. He looked older, and tired, the wrinkles of time had creased his once strong face, he looked nothing like the old man Harry knew.

Harry could hardly blame him. Voldemorts actions lately were wearing on everyone mentally and physically. The violence and destruction that the death eaters were wrecking upon the wizard and muggle community was unbelievable. Brilliant plans carried out in the night, leaving death and no clues, leaving them little more then ghosts in the dead of the night. Not to mention the last several efforts of the Order to stop the Death Eaters had failed.

Harry dropped his bag in one of the chairs in front of the massive desk and went over to where the Headmaster stood by the bay window. His office was dark, as Harry noticed seem to be his custom as of late. He had a heavy red and gold curtain pulled back gazing out onto the lawn. Hagrid was in the distance by the lake doing something with a rake by moonlight. Flickers of light shone from twisted trivets of the tower windows and balcony’s. But the school was silent otherwise.

“…Harry” the headmaster started, still facing the window, “…Moody and I have decided that it was best you stayed at the castle this summer.” He held up his hand as if the boy was going to protest, thought Harry hadn’t intended to, “No Weasley’s, no Grimmauld place… You will stay here. Most of the teachers will be gone, you will tell no one…neither Mr. Weasley nor Miss Granger. No one must know Harry.” his voice was solemn and final as if it pained him to deny Harry the freedom outside the castle walls.

But Harry didn’t care, he nodded looking at his feet, he had half expected something like this to occur. Dumbledore let the curtain drop back in place shadowing the room more so, turning to look at the boy. The boy who had in the last few years grown up to be a handsome young man. So like his father. So like him…

Dumbledore shook his head as if to clear his mind, he looked as James had his own sixth year. His thoughts were way laid. Was Harry seventeen now? Or was he going to turn seventeen this summer? He couldn’t quite remember, time kept slipping from him, his own ghtsghts seemed tangled at times. Dumbledore rubbed his forehead, at the light headache that was threatening to settle in for the night. He sighed a strangled frustration, the boy was looking at him nervously. Their friendship had never quite recovered from that time in Harry’s fifth year. Something Dumbledore deeply regretted. Dumbledore pressed a thin smile to his lips, “you look so like your father Harry…” he stopped, the boy had the same twist to his hair, the same outline to his cheeks, same pale skin.

Harry bowed his head looking at his feet, his fingers twisted in the hem of his T-shirt. The raven head shined, hair stuck up every which way, the long curve of his neck, the deep flush to his skin… the same flush James use to have. Dumbledore raised a hand to touch the arch of the boy’s neck, how like his father he looked. Yet more beautiful for his mothers delicate features and green eyes. Dumbledore’s hand stopped in mid-air, bringing his fingers to his own lips instead.

“…Just like your father\", he choked, “so much like him”.

Harry looked up, his cheeks tingled red at the compliment, \"thank you sir\" he muttered. A strand of hair falling in his eyes. He looked young and innocent…the same way James use to look. The only thing that did separate Harry from James is that glint of innocence in his eyes and manner. His blush was genuine. James never had that, James was wild and free spirited. If James ever gave an innocent look it was an act.

Harry could feel Dumbledore\'s eyes on him. It made him feel uneasy with someone watching him so intently. But Dumbledore\'s eyes seemed fixed on him. Harry tried not to look at the older wizard as he stepped closer.

\"Your father and I were very… close, Harry,\" he said suddenly.

Harry’s head snapped up, something in the silent tone of Dumbledore’s voice sounded strange, his eyes meeting those of the headmaster. Startled he took a step back, the normal pale blue eyes of Dumbledore had darkened, a glint of something Harry couldn’t quite read was within them. For a moment he didn’t seem like the Albus Dumbledore he knew. They stood there staring at each other for what seemed hours, though only minutes passed.

“Sorry to interrupt professor” Remus stuck his head in, “But Harry, McGonagall said it’s late best be getting back to the dorms as soon as you’re done.” He looked from Dumbledore to Harry and back, “is everything alright”?

Both nodded in unison, Harry moved suddenly keeping his eyes on the floor, grabbing his school bag and dashing for the door back down the winding staircase to the main castle.


***

I’ll get mine: The Doors

Harry stood before the gargoyle fidgeting nervously. He sighed in frustration. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him. Since his last conversation with Dumbledore in his office Harry had felt insecure and tense. He had a strange feeling Dumbledore was watching him but every time he looked up Dumbledore was talking to someone else or engrossed in his own meal.

It weighted on his mind the way Dumbledore had said that they had been very close and that he looked like this father…just like everyone else did. Hell, Dumbledore had even commented on it half a dozen times before that day. So had McGonagall, Lupin, Moody…even Snape, to an extent mind you. Everyone reaction had been the same “you look lyouryour father but have your mothers eyes.”

It just seemed strange the way Dumbledore was saying it. ‘That he was close to his father…very close’ what did that mean? He knew that Dumbledore had been his father’s friend, had been friends after James had left school, they had been in the Order together. It made sense that they would be close… you didn’t almost choose someone to be your family’s secret keeper and not be close to them.

He had an uneasy feeling though. Something about the way Dumbledore looked at him. The way his eyes deepened in color, the way every movement was watched. Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on it but it definitely made him uncomfortable. Such an intense look for an innocent comment.

Harry looked over his shoulder back down the hall, it still seemed unusually quiet within the castle. It was only mid afternoon, most of the students were still in class or in the library. Harry gave the password quickly and let the moving stairs wind it\'s way up to Dumbledore’s office and the meeting room that only appeared as needed. Harry was quickly learning the castle did many things only as needed.

He walked into the circular meeting room to find no one within. Walking around the table he dropped his school bag in his usual chair and headed toward the other door leading to Dumbledore’s office. The door was slightly ajar, so he nudged it with the toe of his boot. \"Headmaster?\" Harry called as the door slowly creaked open.

\"Ah, Harry my boy come in,\" Dumbledore was hunched over what appeared to be an old map. Paper and scrolls littered the desk and stack of books opened and others simply bookmarked. Harry inched closer, the darkness that had been there previously seemed to have disappeared.

\"Where is the Order, I thought we were having a meeting?\"

The headmaster looked up, \"they will be here shortly,\" he waved him forward. Harry leaned over the map seeing that it was a really a floor plan, he leaned closer, the rough sketches for a very elaborate mansion lay before him. ddleddles Manor?\"

\"Yes indeed, Harry\" Harry looked up to see Dumbledore’s eye looking at him, they were the deep blues similar to the look from the other day.

Startled Harry’s stiffened suddenly realizing that look. It was the look Ron gave Hermione before they disappeared to the astronomy tower to ‘talk’. The look of need and re, re, wanton hunger, of pure lust.

\"See here,\" Dumbledore continued, pointing to the map, “hidden tunnels...might be our only defense” he looked thoughtfully. Harry shakily leaned over the map squinting at the crude hand made tunnels that had obviously been added on later.

But he couldn’t really focus on the map. He had to be imagining that look wrong. It couldn’t be, Dumbledore couldn’t possibly think those things of him. Dumbledore couldn’t possible desire him. He almost laughed out loud, that notion was just plain absurd…Dumbledore want him. “Oi, Harry you’re losing it” he whispered to himself.

So lost in thought Harry wasn’t aware that Dumbledore had come around the table, he was surprised to see the man so close.

\"Tea?\" Dumbledore thrusted a cup and saucer at him, causing him to take it automatically. Harry stared at the man before him, taking a sip of tea he forced himself to look back to the floor plan, trying to commit it all to memory. He came around the table so that he was looking at the map from the side to get a different perspective. Dumbledore followed him setting his own cup and saucer down. Harry had a sudden urge to continue walking around the map, he felt like prey. He circled the table, Dumbledore trailed behind him. It was a strange game they played. Cat and Mouse.

Dumbledore all the while pointing out different aspects of the map, as if it all was nothing more then a learning experience. \"See here, this is a patch of forest and I believe a rocky cave we may be able to have a mock headquarters in.\" he brushed past Harry’s arm as he pointed out several different points of interest. Harry’s skin prickled as the tangle of Dumbledore beardchinching his arm and clothed body. He swore he could feel the heat of the man behind him, the brush of robes and warmth.

Harry leaned forward more and tried to move away at the same time. The move wasn\'t as smooth and subtle as he would have liked.

The old man smelled of incense and something lemony, tea and bird feather, leather books and mildew. The room seemed to brighten as rain clouds threatened. Harry could feel Dumbledore’s glaze settle on him though he refused to look up andt itt it.

“Is this what the meeting is about, sir?”

Harry came back around the table to where he had set his teacup, making a gesture to drink it even though he had no interest in it. They now had the table between them. He knew he was being watched. It took all his will to concentrate on the table. All his will not to look up and meet the intense look of Dumbledore, of those blue eyes.

Dumbledore stared at him a long moment, his eyes seemed to get hazy for just a moment. Lost in his own thoughts.

“…It is James”. He finally answered.

Harry froze, his mouth gaping open, had the man just called him by his fathers name, know one had ever done that before. Not even Sirius or Remus…

“…Harry” he stuttered softly, he regretted it the moment he whispered it.

“…What?”

“It’s Harry…sir”.

“Yes, of course…what did I say?” he said jovially.

Harry held his breath, “nothing… never mind…I better get going, dinner is soon” He turned toward the meeting room to get his school bag.

\"It’s…. Just you look so much like your father\", he heard the old man mutter, Harry looked back over his shoulder but Dumbledore didn\'t seem to notice. He didn\'t seem to notice anything that was happening in his office. The headmaster looked lost in thought and memories. Dark wrinkles of a long life creased his face, he almost looked innocent.

\"I have to go sir\" he moved toward the door. But Dumbledore suddenly came around the table to stand between Harry and the door.

Harry’s finger twitched, he wanted to go for his wand but that just seemed silly. This was Dumbledore, his headmaster… his friend. A man whom had been friends with his father. A knot slowly formed and turned in his stomach, Harry suddenly felt scared. Suddenly felt like running. Something burned in the air, the mans aura radiated a color Harry couldn’t quite pick up on.

\"I\'m sorry child...Just a old mans rambling,” Dumbledore came closer to him, “I just have so many memories…Some better then others mind you” the humor in his voice sounded forced. Unreal, unlike Dumbledore. “Then I see you every day… the image of James. Playing the same part he once did within the Order.”

Harry looked up Dumbledore’s eyes were nearly black in color, \"The same tilt to your head… same smile. I just have so many pleasant memories of your father\" Dumbledore whispered forcing a smile to his lips, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from Harry’s face.

Harry surppressed the chill that crept across his skin. Forcing his body to stay still. When had the man gotten so close to him, he stiffened as the cold finger of Dumbledore brushed against his forehead and across his scar. One long croaked finger traced the outline of the lightening bolt. Harry’s slender shoulders tensed. The touch was more intimate then anything else he had ever felt. It left him felling more violated then it should have.

“Just like your father…James…” whispered from the old mans lips. Muttered over and over again. The cool fingers lingering on his bangs, touching his scar, petting him. The silence in the room seemed deafening.

Harry whimpered, he didn’t know if he was being called James or being compared to James.

“It\'s okay\" the Gryffindor muttered, \"I really do have to go” he repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Dumbledore looked at him cross-eyed. He had a pinched look on his face as if unsure who stood before him. His fingers stopped petting him suddenly. His hand froze in mid air.

“…Harry?” he whispered, realizing for the first time that the boy stood before him. Not James.

Harry swallowed in relief, nodding. “Right, Harry sir…” he breathed heavily, just having realized he had been holding his breath. The headmaster’s shoulders slumped, a confusing, sad look crossing his face. “Harry” he muttered again.

Harry took this moment of weakness and darted toward the door while the headmaster was seemingly lost in his thoughts.

***

The old get old: the Doors

Harry stumbled down the winding staircase in a hyperventilating panic nearly colliding with the gargoyle. He ran down the hall then turned to look back the way he had come. His eyes suddenly felt heavy, his breathing was rapid. He hurried down the hall though turning and looking over his shoulder half a dozen times as if he half expected the man to follow him.

He wanted to put as much distance from himself and Dumbledore as possible. Harry looked back at the gargoyle from the other end of the hall, shifting his school bag back onto his shoul Wha What the hell had just happened? He wanted to scream.

His mind blank as it searched for answers. Yet all he could come up with was silly notions and half thoughts; the headmaster was coming on to him, he had been drugged, stress…stress did strange things to people didn’t it?

Harry felt foolish. Is that what he thought the Headmaster was doing? The touches sure had a more familiar touch than should be allowed between a headmaster and student. But all the touches felt as if they alluded to something more. All the talk of his father, of being close to his father, of being friendly. How deep had their friendship gone?

Harry shuddered, this was stupid, the headmaster was probably feeling nostalgic for the past when his father had been alive. Moody sure was, telling his stories and his pictures, Dumbledore probably felt the same way. They were after all in similar situations, the war, Voldemort, the Order, both being hunted by a mad man, they looked alike.


But he couldn’t shake the feel of those “innocent touches”, it felt different some how, not right som.
.

Harry reached up and touching his fringe, pulling the hair back over his scar. He could still feel the fingers ghosting over his skin, he certainly did feel violated in a sense. No one had ever touched his scar except him.

Harry wondered if he shouldbackback and apologize for the stupid way he acted. He wondered if he should ask the man about his father, he was probably desperate to talk about it. Most likely he would enjoy it. He obviously wanted to talk about him.

\"Harry.... Harry\"

Harry turned in time to see Lupin coming up the stairs. Pale and shaking he ran to the man, “Professor…”

“What’s wrong Harry?” He pulled the boy towards him visibly concerned.

“Dumbledore called me…James…”

Lupin’s nodded, “My Gram’s use to do that to my brother and I all the time.” he smiled, “I think it’s a old person’s right of passage to mix up names.”

Harry shook his head, he didn’t think it was that at all.

“Harry, Dumbledore might be getting a little senility about him.” he said kindly, “He’s over one hundred and fifty from what I understand. Stress wears on people minds and memories as age progresses.”

“Oh,” he had heard about that, “right”.

“I know it’s rough everyone telling you that you look like James. I’m honestly surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Harry felt stupid and childish suddenly. Of course it was senility, what else could it be? Was Dumbledore going to touch him inappropriately: No of course not. Harry could kick himself for even thinking such things.

“Are you coming to the meeting?”

“I have homework to catch up on…” Harry said still lost in thought.

“I’ll stop by Gryffindor later to give you a brief rundown, okay?” He clasped Harry on the shoulder and headed towards the gargoyle.

***

No one gets out alive: The Doors

“Alas, Harry my boy you wanted to see me?” Dumbledore sat at his desk writing a letter, setting his feathered quill down as Harry came in dropping his school bag in one chair and taking a seat in another. He slumped down in the seat a little, concentrating on the carvings on the desk instead of the man sitting behind it.

“Sir, I’m sorry how I acted the other day… It was just…the talk of my father…” H…” Harry searched for the word.

“…Unsettling?” Dumbledore answered solemnly.

Harry looked at his hands, then nodded once. “Moody is always going on about him and so did Sirius. Remus doesn’t talk much about him… I think it still bothers him.” he pulled himself up resting his arms on the chair leaning forward. “I would like to talk about him, if you have the time sir?”

Dumbledore gave a fleeting smile, “I would be honored Harry.” he rose slowly coming around the desk, “Lets sit here,”. He gestured toward the small sofa in the alcove behind the desk that was in the research part of his office. Harry stood to help him move the books that had been resting on the sofa. Dumbledore started to place several books back in their place, as he glanced at the titles of others he set them aside. Harry stood holding the remaining few waiting for instructions for them.

The alcove was warm and comfortable, it was slightly dimmed. With a lamp high above the sofa that provided perfect reading light. Dumbledore took the last few books from Harry’s arms placing them in their respected place, his back to Harry. Harry sat on the sofa cross-legged, pulling one of the smaller pillows on to his lap, playing with the frayed corner, it was more something to do with his hands,

“What would you like to know about your father Harry?”

“Anything…everything…whatever you are willing to tell.”

“Of course…I’ll start with how he joined trderrder. Your father and I were very close.” He started, setting the final books on a shelf and coming to sit down besides Harry, He turned so that he faced Harry comfortably.

Harry just couldn\'t get the words out of his head. They were chilling. It made him uncomfortable some how even now when it seemed there was no underlying tone.

“Contrary to popular belief I did not let your father and Sirius get away with everything. They both spent plenty of time in my office explaining themselves and their actions.” Dumbledore sighed, “But your father… later on started to come for visits of his own accord.”

Harry looked to Dumbledore, he had his head tilted towards the domed ceiling. He had a look as if it pained him to continue on. “…His father, your grandfather, had died the summer before his sixth year… he needed to talk. I admired his wit. How he had grown up. What a beautiful person he had become. Gone was the arrogance, the cruelty, the ego was deflated. He was someone your grandfather would have been proud of. I was proud of him.”

Harry nodded, his eyes locked on the fabric of the pillow in his lap. A lump in his throat. He was glad his father had become a better man, better then the imagines he had received from Snapes pensive.

“Your mother and him became friends… seventh year. He liked her a long time before she gave in and went out with him. They married a yea years after school and after careers had begun. His final year here he joined the Order, was active all that summer in it.” Dumbledore’s voice grew rough and ragged, his tone was heavy. “We spent a lot of time together. Long hours, missions, Aurors duties…your father would have been proud of the man you have become.”

Harry nodded keeping his eyes on the floor, fighting back tears. Images of his father floated through his mind. The pictures in the photo album Hagrid gave him seemed to have more meaning, more life. They were silent a moment.

Fingers lightly touched the back of his arm, caressing him. The small hairs reacted standing on end. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Dumbledore leaning forward, not quite touching him. “You are so like your father…Harry” he hissed.

“.... We were very close,\" Dumbledore moved closer to the boy. “I had hoped that someday you and I would be as close...you look so much like James...” he trailed off.

Harry made a sudden move to get up, uncrossing his legs, tossing the pillow aside. A hand reached out and snatched his wrist pulling him into a tight grip, losing his balance Harry fell back into his seat. Dumbledore pulled the hand to his face, forcing the fingers to uncurl and to open so that the palm faced upward. A twisted old finger traced the creases of the boy’s hand moving over his lifeline. The soft pad of his finger ghosted over the line, soft puffs of air hit his out stretched palm. It was a tender intimate moment.

\"Headmaster?\" Harry croaked, half standing, trying yet again to pull his wrist from the older wizard’s grip.

What had been the comfortable darkness of the office was strangely chilling now. The long shadows that crept across the floor and walls cast eerie glows and secrets across the room. Harry half stood in the middle of it all. Dumbledore before him holding his wrist, painfully.

“Headmaster?” he whispered again.

His words went unnoticed. Dumbledore was lost in a verve of his own. Muttering to himself, Harry only caught glimpses of the words about his father, looked just like him, it is him, James, murmured over and over again.

Scared Harry forced his voice to correct what Dumbledore was saying, “Harry, sir…. It’s Harry” he rose his voice louder, “not James…. It’s Harry”. He hoped that his words would wake Dumbledore mind that he was indeed not James.

But the old man was stronger then it seemed he pulled Harry back down onto the sofa. His eyes the funny deep blue of pervious encounters. Eyes half-laden with need and want, Dumbledore held firmly to the wrist in his hold and with the other hand reached up and caressed Harry\'s face. Nuzzling his own in the crook of the boy’s neck, so warm, young, innocent. His hand palmed the boy’s face holding him in place. Holding that warm body to his own.

Dumbledore pulled the boys hips towards him and then onto his lap, this was always James favorite position. He always liked to sit on his lap and it’s been so long. So so long.

Harry instantly made a move to stand, \"I have to go... I have to go,” he cried out. Dumbledore held fast to his wrist pulling the boy back down onto his lap, causing the boy to whimper. \"Sir...please...I...\"

\"You what James...hmmm...” He smiled into the hollow of the boys neck. “I always did like when you act the shy blushing virgin James. You know how that turns me on...\" Dumbledore whispered, flicking Harry\'s earlobe with his tongue.

Harry stilled, what the hell type of friendship had Dumbledore and his father had.

He pulled Harry hips and rear back further on his lap thrusting his hip up, grinding his clothed erection into the boy’s bottom.

Harry yelped and whimpered, “Not…not James.” He cried. What kind of sick relationship did his father and Dumbledore have?

Dumbledore laughed, “James your bedroom antics always make me laugh…putting up a little fight…so truly lovely”

Rocking the boy’s bottom back and forth over his growing erection. Harry felt the hardness dig into the cleft of his arse. Dumbledore held fast to his hips, pulling the boy downward, pressing against him. Harry whimpered, struggling to get off the mans lap. Harry wiggled, twisting his body hoping to break the grip of the man holding him. The twisting seemed to do nothing more then entice a strange thrill through the older wizards body.

Harry clawed at the arm of the sofa, he kicked at the tea table before him and only succeeded in knocking it over. He lurched forward grabbing a sofa cushion but they were sewed down to the frame.

Suddenly he smashed on Dumbledore foot. Grinding the heel of his boot into the mans toes painfully.

Dumbledore stilled. A furious look came over his face.

He stood suddenly knocking Harry from his lap and letting go of his wrist. Harry lay sprawled on the floor. He slowly pulled himself to an upright position. Dumbledore towered over him, he looked over the half moon shaped rim of his glasses.

“James if you insist on playing rough. Then we will play rough.” He began unfastening his robes, letting them hang open. He tugged on the cord of his belt, then the old-fashioned eyehooks of his trousers that normally housed a zip. Dumbledore let his pants fall open, apparently no undergarments were required.

Harry could see the outline of a hard cock bulge through the material. Frightened Harry half crawled half stood to escape. Dumbledore pulled him by the cuff of his robes throwing him into the sofa with enough force it nearly tipped. Harry’s face hit the wood carved arm rest, his bottom lip smng ing into his teeth as his mouth filled with his own blood from the busted lip.

Dumbledore was on him, pressing him into the sofa face down. His arms flailed, clawing, struggling, he tried to kick, if he could at least get to his knees he felt he had a chance of escaping this. But the weight of the man, along with being tangled in his own school robes hindered his movement. He could feel a crossed arm pressing on his back.. His long black robes being tossed up, another hand tore at his pants. Hands on his hips, on his thigh. His hips being lifted as the pants the Headmaster had been struggling with were finally freed.

He felt the rush of cold air on his behind. The feel of fingers rubbing his arse, touching, petting, what he thought, what he hoped wasn’t the old mans cock. Long fingers dipped along the crevasses of his arse. Touching, prodding, familiarizing themselves with the shape of his unwilling body. Harry whimpered. Still struggling, heavy hands held him firmly. The strength of the man was unwavering.

He heard a muttered spell behind him and felt a cold gel coat the rim of his arse. Harry screamed, kicking back a leg, he tried to roll off the sofa, this was not happening he pleaded. No not to him, he cried, tears streaming his face. He screamed again, wailed for help.

Yelling for his life, someone had to come. Someone had to help, Harry choked on a sob. His breathing shallow, he couldn’t breathe.

He felt the brush of robes, of skin on skin, of a tongue and lips kissing, exploring, tasting. Just as quickly the touches stopped, soft moans followed by the sounds of a hand pumping a cock to full hardness.

Harry whimpered.

The throb of a cock places against his opening, teasing, the tip of the leaking prick danced across the opening. The head breaking the rim. Resting there, small kisses placed in the small of Harry’s back. His lower back rubbed, “James”, Dumbledore whispered, “my boy James.”

His legs kicked fully apart and he thrusted up into Harry.

Harry screamed as if being tore apart. His hips were rocketed back, thrusted into, speared. He could feel the cool gel leak down his thigh and what he suspected was blood.

Hands sprawled on his hips pulling him back. Lust was breathed through the air. His hips were lifted, his knees barely touched the sofa, and he was impaled again and again. He could feel the pulsating cock ride it’s self in his arse. Pounding in and up, his prostate was hit at random intervals. This was not for his pleasure, he couldn’t stop it now.

The moans and grunts were not his, his virginity was being taken unwillingly. Harry cried, clawing, his hands twisted in the fabric of his robes. Shutting his eyes, this was not happening he repeated. No, no, no

Dumbledore thrusted a final time, “James” he called, his pleasure and seed released in the boy beneath him. He reached up a hand grabbing a hand full of black unruly hair pulling Harry’s head back. He kissed the boy thrusting his tongue into that young mouth, licking the palate of his boy. “Thank you James” was muttered into his mouth, “thank you”.

Dumbledore pulled out, casting a quick cleaning spell, dropping Harry back onto the sofa.

Harry lay there shaking, a cold chill seemed to have found him. His arse still bare, no longer clawing and fighting his way out, he was silent. He didn’t think he could move. He was numb, aching, he didn’t feel alive. Silent tears poured down his face.

“James,” better get back to the dorms, “Sirius will be wondering where you are.”

He felt the weight shift on the sofa as the old man rose, “I’ll try and schedule a time us us next week love.”

Harry flinched at the romantic endearment. He pulled himself to his knees pulling up his pants, he felt as if he was moving in slow motion though he was moving as fast as he could. His fingers did not seem to be working anymore.

Harry fled from the room, pulling at his robes, clutching his school bag to his chest. Tears streaming down his face, blood from his lip splattered his white shirt and robes. Sufferable sobs rung through the halls. Harry rounded the corner toward Gryffindor tower, though he couldn’t face going back there just yet. He ducked into the Owlery. Sliding down the wall resting his head in his hands, his knees pulled to his chest.

Harry pressed his face into the stone of the wall. It was cold and felt good against his skin. He continued to cry, he rubbed at his tear-streaked face. His mind shutting down. He sat there the remainder of the night silently, not thinking and numb. His body ached and felt listless. Tears still edged down his face until he fell asleep there in the wee hours of the morning.

***

When the music’s over: The Doors

Moody eased out of the shadows, \"Impressive show Dumbledore, nice touch playing on the dead father aspect but this doesn\'t mean you’ve won\".

Dumbledore looked up from buckling his robes his face still flushed, \"I believe it does Alastor.\"

\"Severus has yet to produce a child, I\'m still young enough that he could have one while I\'m alive.\" Moody satselfself comfortably on the deep red sofa.

\"I don\'t think Severus will ever have children.” Dumbledore said pulling the final clasp on his robe, “Now I\'ve defiled five generations of Potters and you only four generations of Snapes. The last Snape is in the dungeons Alone mind you...now hand over my winnings old boy\".

Moody growled sneering, he hated parting with galleons, grudgingly he pulled the coin purse from his belt. He opened it and started counting, as he stacked the coins on the desk a strange gleam rose in his eye. \"Double or nothing\".

Dumbledore looked up slipping his slippers back on. \"I\'ll be dead be the time another generation of Potters comes around\" he laughed, sweeping the pile of coins into a tin on his desk, “but we’ll see.”

The End: The Doors
Black Cat