The Perfect Prefect

The Perfect Prefect

His large feet shuffled along the corridor deliberately and with purpose.

He could not stifle a gleeful chuckle as he anticipated what was to come. He was glad to receive word that the meeting was on despite the horrible death of an innocent girl discovered earlier that day.

Hagrid had always been a bit of an outsider. Hiding what was not really able to be hidden, he knew that everyone suspected the worst of him and they were right. But late in his second year something new had developed to make his unbearable burden a tiny bit more bearable….

The unexpected attention of a certain prefect had made his life that much more.
After the death of his father Hagrid had felt so alone with only the Transfiguration teacher, Professor Dumbledore, to offer comfort. He desired so much more then Dumbledore could offer. But he unexpectedly found a bit of solace in another. The Perfect Prefect, the handsome, swarthy, brilliant prefect had caught him out of bounds one night and instead of reporting him, a new game had ensued. It was game of chance, a game of control, a game of utterly humiliating, yet desirable pleasure.

The first time was beyond his imagining. He did as he was told for fear of being expelled. The worst thing that could happen to Hagrid was being expelled. With his father gone, Hagrid would have nothing and the very thought had sent him into humble submission to the whims of the Perfect Prefect.

He did as he was told without question. Grovelling, submitting and begging anything to keep himself at Hogwarts. But he had not anticipated the pleasure that he experienced in the humiliation. He did not anticipate the need of pleasing his master. He did not anticipate enjoying the pain coupled with pleasure. He begged for more when it had ended. The Perfect Prefect had laughed at his need, told him he was a “great, blundering oaf,” and he rejoiced in the dulcet tones of that voice. When the Perfect Prefect had left him alone and exposed he sobbed at the emptiness he felt. He wanted more…… and he hoped his tormenter did too.

To his great and relieved surprise the Perfect Prefect desired a reliving of that nights debacle as much as he did. Three days after the embarrassing event the Perfect Prefect stopped Hagrid in the corridor outside the Transfiguration Classroom for some small indiscretion. He was berating him for having knocked over the statue of Camibus the Confunded, an accident to be sure, but a punishable offence none the less.

“Rubeus Hagrid you great, blundering oaf,” - the words alone made Hagrid’s cock twitch - “that statue is worth more then a thousand of your sorry souls!”

Oh Gods…. the voice wrapped around his heart like a heated cord. “Ten points from Gryffindor, you sorry excuse for a wizard.”

Hagrid gaped at the lithe form in front of him unable to utter even a single word.
Suddenly the voice was in his ear, as the Perfect Prefect grabbed him by the hair and pulled his head down to meet that beautiful mouth. “Tonight, same place, same time,” he whispered. Hagrid shuddered with desire as Professor Dumbledore appeared at the door. “Problem, gentlemen?” he inquired a look of concern on his furrowed brow.

“No, Professor,” they both answered at once as the prefect turned, and repairing the statue, he glided away leaving Hagrid with nothing but a needy cock and a look of utter embarrassment.

Since then Hagrid looked forward to the invitations. He longed for them. Everything was at the whim of the prefect. It could be one day or several weeks before he would receive the invitation. It did not matter to Hagrid as long as the episodes continued. He did not care how he was being used and he did know he was being used as long as it continued.

It was attention and attention was what Hagrid craved above all else. He was tired of being avoided. Even his fellow Gryffindors ignored him, for the most part. They found him odd and dangerous. The Perfect Prefect didn’t seem to fear him - in fact, he seemed completely unaffected by his unusualness. This only increased Hagrid’s desire for the prefect’s attention. He knew he was becoming obsessed with it. The need for it drove him mad.

When he was forced to wait weeks, it fairly well destroyed him. The thoughts that ran round Hagrid’s head during those long droughts would drive him into severe depressions that only Professor Dumbledore seemed to notice. Hagrid brushed off the Professor’s concerns, not wanting anyone to know of these secret night-time rendezvous’.

But here he was happily plodding along to the next meeting with his master, the Perfect Prefect.

Hagrid found himself at the door of the room and he entered quickly. He was very early but that was because he needed to feed Aragog and he thought the spider needed some time for play. He moved across the room to the box where he kept the now-large spider.

Aragog had grown so much he no longer could carry him in his pocket or books as he had done in previous years. He had started keeping him in the empty ill used room last year, the reason he was caught out of bounds in the first place.

Hagrid moved across the room to the elaborately-carved chest. Unlocking it, the spider nearly burst out into his arms, nuzzling as best a spider could into Hagrid’s neck.

“Thar, thar Aragog,” Hagrid whispered, “hungry m’lad.” Hagrid pulled some dead mice out of his pocket, picking the spider up and placed him on top of the trunk. He carefully placed the mice down for Aragog to feed on and sat in a chair in the corner waiting for the creature to finish his meal.

He found himself thinking about what was to come. When the Perfect Prefect would arrive, entering the room quietly. Like every time before the prefect would stand in the shadows, directing him.

“Remove your clothes Rubeus.”

Hagrid would immediately obey, removing his clothing quickly to stand before the Perfect Prefect completely nude, his cock steadily becoming harder.

“Touch your penis, I want to see you hard.” the prefect would command.

Hagrid would comply, stroking his overly large prick in his overly large hand. He could quickly bring the barely flaccid organ to full erection.

“Where is your wand, Rubeus?” the gorgeous voice would demand.

Hagrid would move quickly, retrieving his wand and handing it to his master.

“Kneel down on all fours you great oaf,” the insult a term of endearment, to Hagrid’s mind he did as he was told, always placing his large backside toward the prefect essentially exposing himself to the other boy, ready for whatever was to come.

“Engorgio,” he would hear whispered from behind him.

Then he would feel it - the hard blunt of his own wand against his opening… magically being controlled by the Perfect Prefect. Oh, how very fond of his wand he had now become. No lubricant ever offered and none ever desired, Hagrid hadn’t any way of knowing that this might ease the initial pain.

But The Perfect Prefect seemed to enjoy Hagrid’s pain at the forced entrance. Sometimes, he would ease it in slowly other times it would thrust in so forcibly Hagrid would scream in pain. The Perfect Prefect’s eyes would blaze when he screamed and Hagrid soon learned that he would be rewarded for his displays of discomfort. The wand would twist and turn or heat up causing sensations in Hagrids arse that could not be described.

The Perfect Prefect would abuse Hagrid with the younger boy’s own wand, and he relished it, enjoyed it, he desired it even. Screaming the prefect’s name over and over hoping for his master to touch him, but all for naught, as the Perfect Prefect never touched Hagrid’s flesh. Though Hagrid wanted it, desired feeling those long fingers around his rock hard cock, those plump lips upon his. But this was never part of the arrangement.

The wand would drive in and out of him harder and faster twisting and heating up and cooling down at undetermined times. The whim of the Perfect Prefect alone, he controlled the situation. He alone allowed Hagrid to come or not. The prefect would give him permission. On occasion the Perfect Prefect would open his own pants and rub his own erection into completion demanding Hagrid to take it in the face, to lick up all of the semen released. Hagrid gladly opened his mouth to accept the hot, bitter liquid, tasting his master. He would lick it off the floor mingled with his own as he came hard at the taste of the Perfect Prefect.

“Oh fook me, Hagrid stop ye,” he thought as his trousers suddenly became far too tight around his growing arousal. He got up and paced about the room, waiting for Aragog to finish. When he was sure the creature had had his fill he plucked the spider up and trying to coax him back into his hiding place.

Suddenly the door burst open forcefully. “Tha’s diffren‘,” Hagrid thought. He turned to look at the older boy standing in the door.

Something was off. He became nervous and confused.

“Evening Rubeus,” said Riddle sharply.

Hagrid slammed the door of the box shut and stood up.

“What yer doin Tom?”

Tom Riddle stepped closer.

“It’s all over,” he said. “I’m going to have to turn you in, Rubeus. “They’re talking about closing Hogwarts if the attacks don’t stop.”

“What d’yeh –“

“I don’t think you meant to kill anyone. But monsters don’t make good pets. I suppose you just let it out for exercise and –“

“It never killed no one!” Hagrid said, backing against the closed door.

“Come on, Rubeus,” said Riddle, moving yet closer. “The dead girl’s parents will be here tomorrow. The least Hogwarts can do is make sure that the thing that killed their daughter is slaughtered…”

“It wasn’t him!” roared Hagrid his voice echoing in the dark passage. “He wouldn’t! He never!”

“Stand aside,” said Riddle, drawing out his wand.

His spell lit the corridor with a sudden flaming light. The door behind Hagrid flew open with such force it knocked him into the wall opposite. And Aragog a tangle of black legs: a gleam of many eyes and a pair of razor-sharp pincers – Riddle raised his wand again, but he was too late. The spider bowled over him as it scuttled away, tearing up the corridor and out of sight. Riddle scrabbled to his feet, looking after it; he raised his wand, but Hagrid leapt on him, seizing his wand and threw him back down yelling

“NOOOOOOOOO!”

A powerful magic struck Hagrid square in the chest forcing him off Tom. He staggered flying back against the wall.

“I am sorry Rubeus, but I shall have to report you.”

Tom got up brushed off his robes and stormed from the room.

“Wha………!” Hagrid thought to himself.

He never knew what fate lay ahead of him.

He only knew that things tonight……… did not go as he had hoped.

The End