Payment

Warnings: cross-dressing, mild non-con, unrequited Harry/Ron

Author’s Notes: I don’t know where this fic came from. It just hit me on the head, bound me to a chair, glued my fingers to the keyboard and raped my brain. Now I need to share it with someone! I hope someone will like it. I have also ideas for prequel and sequel.

*
Harry followed the house-elf into one of the guest rooms, his insides clenching and unclenching as if he had eaten a pair of magically-activated tweezers for lunch. The corridors and the stairs were long and winding, lit by candles, paved with awe-inspiring carpets and crowded with portraits of Malfoys past and present, their eyebrows raised. Their indignant whispers followed him all the way.

The instructions of his payment for his best friend’s mistake when dealing with Malfoy were left on a huge four-poster bed with hangings of thick burgundy velvet – Harry hoped it wasn’t someone’s blood – in an elegant scroll on top of what appeared to be a dress of some monstrous construction. The instructions were clear enough: he had to put it on and join Malfoy in the drawing-room for dinner.

Flushing and cursing, Harry started taking off his clothes. He hoped that Malfoy was not lurking in the shadows, enjoying the sight of his humiliation. But then, Malfoy didn’t have to hide to enjoy it as he had the whole evening ahead and judging by the dress Harry could only imagine what else he would have to endure in order to keep Ron and his big fat stupid mouth out of Azkaban.

The dress was heavy, huge and grotesque. Once naked and shivering in an unfamiliar room that could have been as hot as hell but still sent goosebumps all over his flesh because of its dark atmosphere, Harry stared uncertainly at its bulk. How was he supposed to put it on and wear it? Wasn’t it enough that Malfoy practically held him by his balls? Did he have to divest him of his manliness completely? He was not a bloody woman to wear dresses! And this one looked like it was fashionable at least three centuries ago with its low neckline, frills, puffed sleeves that narrowed down past elbows and were interlaced with ribbons and a corset that looked like it wouldn’t fit at all. At the waist the dress expanded due to a number of contraptions fixed under its huge skirt. Harry’s only saving grace at this point was that the dress wasn’t some lurid pink but done in dark shades of blue and occasional white.

But putting it on wasn’t as tricky as Harry expected, because the dress seemed to know what to do and it took up the task of fitting Harry in with eagerness so that Harry almost suffocated when it started lacing the corset. Harry wondered if he would ever get used to magical households and items and the fact that they didn’t necessarily need human touch or tip of the wand to operate. Besides, Malfoy Manor was one of the oldest wizarding dwellings and everything here was pure magic.

Once dressed and laced, Harry twirled around on the spot out of sheer insanity. His arms were stuck out at odd angles until he realised that the sides of the dress were so wide for a purpose and arranged his arms on top of them. It looked like he was walking with two shelves stuck at his sides. Taking a step, Harry tripped over a pair of matching embroidered shoes that looked like something from Cinderella: with bows, peculiarly curved toes and thankfully small heels. It was all so ridiculous that Harry looked around for a wig.

Taking a deep breath, after a bout of insane laughter, Harry was ready to leave the room and face the dragon but was stopped by an enquiring house-elf, who looked at him and squeaked that he hadn’t used make-up, before presenting Harry with what he instantly christened a make-up kit. Harry gaped at the house-elf who blinked curiously back.

‘Make-up?’ Harry whispered horrified. He spread his hands helplessly. ‘I don’t know how to use it. There is nothing in the note about make-up. There must be some mistake.’ he said desperately. But it appeared that he was not the only one with instructions for the night. The house-elf looked business-like at him before leading him back into the room to a fancy dressing-table that Harry hadn’t noticed before. With practiced movements the tiny house-elf applied make-up to Harry’s eyes, lips, cheeks and even brushed his hair.

Harry closed his eyes the moment the kit was opened and would not look at himself. This image of him – in a dress and wearing make-up – would not be planted into his mind and unless every inch of the drawing-room was covered with mirrors he would not have to know how he looked tonight.

Feeling edgy and surreal Harry finally left the room and followed the house-elf downstairs, clutching onto the railings, wobbly and unsteady, and feeling exposed despite the fact that he carried several kilos of dress on him. But he was naked otherwise and he wondered if there, perhaps, was a charm on the dress to make it transparent to anyone looking. He was obviously paranoid.

To Harry’s relief the drawing-room was not covered with mirrors, but its tall French windows posed a threat and he asked the house-elf if it was possible to draw the drapes over them. That done he sat down at the table laid for two and waited for Malfoy to make his grand entrance. He was surprised that Malfoy wasn’t here to witness his humiliation and decided that it could mean only one thing: whatever Malfoy had planned would be far more humiliating than Harry wearing a dress, make-up and slippers. He fidgeted in his chair and almost jumped out of the dress – if it wasn’t held tight by magic – when Malfoy did enter, his soft steps accompanied by his usual drawl.

‘So eager to see me, Potter?’

‘Malfoy.’ said Harry through gritted teeth by way of greeting, his face going the colour of the canopy in the bedroom.

Malfoy, he noted with an explosive mixture of anger, resentment and injured pride, wore normal robes and shoes and looked very smug about the whole situation. He didn’t comment on Harry’s look and simply motioned for him to help himself, as simple as that. One would think sharing a meal in Malfoy Manor drawing-room in the candlelight like lovers was the usual thing for the two of them instead of an out of place occurrence that it actually was. Harry surreptitiously pinched himself, because if not a dream he must have been transported into an alternate universe. Maybe the slippers did that. Slippers, he remembered, were often used as portkeys in muggle fairy-tales. Harry wasn’t particularly hungry and his insides squirmed with too many emotions to allow for food, but it was dinner on the menu and Harry didn’t want to anger his host until he knew exactly what he had on his mind.

*
The dinner progressed in silence. Malfoy seemed to be enjoying himself, while Harry was getting more and more nervous. When their eyes met, Harry couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

‘Malfoy, if you wanted to invite me for a cosy get together, you shouldn’t have bothered with charging my friend with offence he hadn’t committed and demanding a sentence in Azkaban for him. It would have been a real hardship but I would have joined you. All you had to do was ask me nicely enough. Though, I don’t think I would agree to wear a dress for the occasion. But I appreciate your touch of creativity all the same.’

Malfoy sipped his wine, his laughter echoing delicately across the room.

‘Really, Potter, as much pleasure as I get from seeing you in this ridiculous get-up, I’m afraid your real payment is yet to come. And Weasley had seen it coming with the way he behaved. He should be more careful with what he says and does. It would save him and you a world of trouble.’

‘What is it then? What do you want me to do?’ asked Harry, agitated. ‘Sing for you? Or would you prefer a dance? Believe me neither will bring you much pleasure. I am a very bad singer and I can’t dance to save my life. But I suppose it would be humiliating enough to satisfy you.’

‘I’m touched by your concern, Potter. Truly. But you’ll have to curb down your eagerness to please me until dessert.’

Harry scowled and looked away from Malfoy’s arrogant face.

A feeling of dread assaulted him when the house-elf brought in dessert. It looked really scrumptious – some sort of soufflé – but Harry didn’t touch it. He looked at Malfoy for instructions. Malfoy motioned for him to stand up and approach him. Harry scowled. He hated being ordered around like he was some kind of man-servant. He stood in front of him and stared, while Malfoy’s eyes roamed his body. His hands followed their path next and Harry froze. His mind snapped. Oh no…this is…this is what Malfoy called him for…Harry didn’t need instructions this time to know what Malfoy wanted from him – soufflé wasn’t the dessert – he, Harry was. Bloody hell, Malfoy wanted him! He would have to sleep with Malfoy to get Ron out of trouble! No, he was not a man-servant – he was so much worse now. He would sleep with Malfoy for a favour. He was no better than a whore.
Harry gulped when he caught Malfoy’s eye next. His look was full of smugness and hunger. His hands travelled down the skirt and as long as they stayed away from Harry’s body it was ok, but the corset hugged him like second skin and when Malfoy traced its contours shivers erupted all over Harry.

‘What – what do you want?’ he whispered. He couldn’t stand this slow, deliberate exploration any more. It was torture and his nerves couldn’t stand it another second. Malfoy chuckled.

‘So much enthusiasm, Potter? So eager to please me? Why, if I knew you were so easy, I would do you while we were still at Hogwarts. Do you remember that time on the train when you were spying on me? Oh, what an opportunity lost! You were quite helpless, lying there on the floor, gaping at me – ’

‘And you broke my nose.’ hissed Harry, flushing darkly. He was still very much embarrassed over the episode.

‘Well, what can I say? I was young and stupid. Now, I know better.’

‘I know what you want. So why don’t you get on with it?’ snarled Harry.

‘Like it fast and hard, Harry?’ said Malfoy. ‘Well, it’s not about you today. So we will have to do it my way.’

‘Does your wife know what you do here?’ asked Harry, unable to control his mouth.

‘What my wife knows or doesn’t should be the least of your worries, Potter. Now be still.’

Malfoy took his wand out and sliced the skirt in the middle. It fell open, leaving Harry exposed and covered only by the spindly contraption, holding the skirt in place. But it was spelled away next. It hit the floor with a dull thud and Harry closed his eyes as he felt the skirt fall loosely around him.

‘Undress me.’ was Malfoy’s next order that brought Harry’s eyes open and his hands, trembling, to Malfoy’s robes. Corset was squeezing all the air out of him and Harry was left gulping like a fish out of water. The robes was the easiest part, because then came trousers and Harry’s fingers shook so badly that he could barely get all the buttons out. He thought that ripping the trousers open with one tug might not be the best thing, because the material looked expensive and though he wanted nothing more than to rip Malfoy into pieces Harry didn’t need another debt to pay. When that was done, Malfoy motioned for Harry to straddle him. Harry stared at Malfoy’s cock that was ready for action.

‘You want me to…’

‘Potter, I‘m not going to do your job for you.’

‘Malfoy, that’s hardly my job.’

‘Maybe not your daily job, but this is what you are here for, so I’d suggest you to be on your best behaviour.’

That was ridiculous. Harry snorted.

‘It’s not like you can complain to my employer if I’m not.’

‘But I can make sure that Weasley gets a stint in Azkaban if you’re not.’ pointed out Malfoy with a nasty sneer. ‘Have you already forgotten how you came to me, begging to take off the charges, swearing on bended knee that you’d do anything for your precious Weasley to be restored to his family and his pregnant wife?’

Harry braced himself. He put his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders but instantly stood back as if burnt. Malfoy raised an eyebrow as if asking ‘What now?’. Harry could almost hear the drawl.

‘Shouldn’t you – er – prepare me first? I mean, it will hurt.’ said Harry.

‘And I should care because?’

‘Malfoy, please, I don’t – I mean – I’m not – I haven’t – ‘

‘You’ve never had sex before?’ asked Malfoy, before bursting out laughing. ‘What? Were you saving your virginity for the man you love? Waiting for Weasley to come around and claim you as his true and only love?’ he asked when he calmed down enough to get the words out.

‘Shut up talking about Ron.’ snapped Harry.

It was bad enough that he was in this mess, but to be reminded of the impossible in such a way was simply unbearable.

‘Will you do it? Prepare me? You must know the spell.’

Malfoy shrugged, but took pity on Harry.

Now slick with the spell, Harry once again put his hands on Malfoy’s shoulders, spread his legs and slowly, carefully, shaking with the effort and shame, impaled himself on Malfoy’s waiting cock.

‘Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod…’ he chanted all the while. It still hurt and Malfoy did nothing to make it any better. He was not accommodating and he expected Harry to do all the job. Once Malfoy’s cock was buried to the hilt in his ass, Harry let out a shuddering sigh and dropped his head on Malfoy’s shoulder.

‘I can feel you in my tonsils.’ he gasped.

‘You flatter me.’ replied Malfoy, petting him patronizingly on the head like an indulgent parent.

Harry got the urge to bite him. The corset dug into Harry’s flesh and Malfoy’s hands started kneading his ass. Harry wanted to scream. But not with pleasure. Still he was hard and hated himself for it. If only he could show Malfoy that it didn’t affect him in any way, he would feel much better about the whole thing, but his body thought differently.

‘Now,’ said Malfoy so pleasantly that it made Harry cringe. ‘Why don’t you feed me this delicious dessert?’

Harry sat straight and stared at Malfoy.

‘I can’t feed you while your – when you’re – inside me.‘ he stuttered.

‘I don’t see why not.’

What an insufferable git, thought Harry, glowering at him. He wanted to kick him badly. Unfortunately his position didn’t allow much movement of the kind. Sighing helplessly and wrapping his legs around Malfoy for support, Harry took the plate and started spoonfeeding him. It was like feeding a cat, because Malfoy made all sort of purring and mewling noises and his tongue often got in the way. Harry wondered if he wanted to snog the spoon, but refrained from asking in case the spoon was shoved down his throat and met Malfoy’s cock somewhere there.

He was almost used to its intrusion by now and wondered when Malfoy would move. It was ridiculous to have cock in his ass and not to be fucked. But when Malfoy cleaned the plate and the spoon and Harry used his tongue instead of a napkin (on Malfoy’s orders) to make sure that the dessert was indeed consumed, Malfoy had no intentions to move.

‘Potter, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s your job to please me? So unclench your ass and ride me like a good whore.’

‘Don’t call me that!’ snarled Harry. ‘I’m not a whore!’

‘No?’ asked Malfoy, tracing Harry’s face and smudging his make-up along the way. ‘I suppose I should have set up a camera and made several pictures of you to prove that you are indeed a whore, spreading your legs for me to get Weasley out of trouble. Do you think he would appreciate your efforts?’

Malfoy shook his head, tilting Harry’s chin up.

‘Do you know what he’d call you if he saw you right now, wearing a dress and make-up, straddling me?’

Harry shut his eyes against the tell-tale prickling of angry tears and started to move. There was no point talking to Malfoy. He just wanted for it to end, to get off Malfoy and out of this stupid dress and go home to curl on his bed and lick his wounds in peace.

Soon Malfoy grabbed his hips and before long was thrusting into him. It hurt and Harry bit down on his lip to stop from screaming. When Malfoy came Harry could have died with relief. He awkwardly left his lap and staggered. His legs were cramped and sticky and his whole body shook with revulsion. He turned his back to Malfoy and put his head in his face, smudging make-up still further.

‘Can I take a shower?’ he asked quietly.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked Malfoy and Harry just knew that he was sneering. ‘Semen and blood dripping out of your hole and down your legs are not to your liking?’

Harry felt like retching.

‘I need to take a shower.’ he repeated stubbornly.

‘Go ahead. Make yourself comfortable.’ replied Malfoy. ‘I’m sure you know the way. Which is just as well, I’m not going to draw a map for you next time you’re here.’

Harry span around and stared at Malfoy, horrified.

‘Next time?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘What do you mean ‘Next time’? It was a one-time thing, wasn’t it?’

‘Was it?’ asked Malfoy, idly twirling his wand. ‘I don’t remember stipulating the number of times I would require your services, Potter.’ he drawled.

‘You bastard!’ hissed Harry, his fists clenched at his sides. If only he had his wand with him, he would have hexed Malfoy so badly… But, of course, he ordered Harry to leave the wand with the house-elf when he arrived.

‘Yes, I think next time,‘ said Malfoy, stressing the last two words, ‘we will find a better use for your tongue. And maybe something with lingerie…or leather…maybe stockings…’

Harry didn’t stay to listen to the rest of it. He stormed out of the drawing-room, shaking with anger, and took the stairs at a flight, skirt and heels notwithstanding. He had no idea that when he agreed to meet Malfoy and produce the payment of his choosing that he signed himself up for lifelong servitude. But, really, he should have known better.