A/N This fic is specifically designed as a squick fic (though its not quite as bad as originally intentioned) Harry is 16, but its a lot more paedophiliac than most Harry is 16 fics.

If You Dare

No one should ever accuse me of being good. They do though. It's muttered around Dumbledore's cluttered desk or the antique table at Grimmauld Place – when the questions are raised whether I should be trusted, there are always those there who will defend me, even to the death, saying a man is entitled to make mistakes, and to move on once they are made. But they will never know. They should never accuse me of being good.

I am a dark creature, I was born there, and I live there, hidden in my festering dungeons, only when someone drags me am I allowed out into the light. And only then in the presence of one who shines so bright that others can't see me for the glare, normally Dumbledore. I happy in the dark, it suits me. But sometimes I come creeping out just to make things that much more interesting.

***

Potter really should know better, but when I saw him sneaking back to his dorm 30 mins after curfew I could resist no longer. I had had a trying day. Two classes of first years. Double classes. What sort of insane old maniac would give me four classes in a row with first years, they'd have to be totally off their rockers, oh, thats right, Dumbledore. Well. I'd had enough, and Potter was all too tempting a sight. Long legs, hollow stomach, gangly knees (not that I could see his knees, but oh I would,) I could feel myself hardening then and there at the thought of that body under me, blank eyes staring up at me as I used his body to my hearts content. I'd prefer him a little younger, by sixth year the set of his jaw and shape of his shoulders betrayed a maturity he had not yet gained, but I wanted him all the same, and I would have him. I was too close to pull myself away.

***

Harry cursed under his breath as he heard footsteps and Snape's silken voice questioning why he was out of his dorm. Ready to fight back Harry halted as something about his professor seemed different. His scar, just for a fraction of a second, lit up with pain as it had in his first year. Knowing whatever excuse he came up with would prove futile to Snape's undying malice, Harry resigned himself to whatever would happen, forgetting the flash of pain in his annoyance as Snape sharply told him to follow him and proceeded to wind himself down to the dungeons.

***

As I near my office I sped up so Potter was trailing slightly, this meant as he entered he was faced with my wand, and had no time for shock before I whispered a quiet “Stupefy.”

I moaned as I unclothed the boy. I had considered magical removal, but it was just so much more appealing to watch as inch by inch more of that pale creamy skin was revealed. I revised my earlier opinion; Potter was by no means too old. His ribs stuck out at odd angles beneath the skin, the knees were more knobbly than I dared imagine and his eyes, opened in surprise at seeing my wand, gave him a wide-eyed innocent look that completed the image. And the clothes the boy wore below his uniform, a t-shirt too large, boxers all added to the sight. I had been tempted for a moment to leave some items on, but in the end removed it all, the thought of all that flesh presented to me too overwhelming to ignore.

Once my prey was free of his garments I didn't know what to do next, so many options. I wanted to prise him mouth open and fill it up, tie him over my desk and enjoy the sight of ribbons patterning his skin, touch him all over, crop him, rub his skin with a rough stone til it was all chafed and red, spread his legs and taste his sweet pucker, fuck him. It was too much and not enough.

I settled on clamping my mouth to his, moaning as my lips hit his motionless skin. With one hand on his cheekbones and the other his jaw I opened his mouth to taste him completely and then shoved four figures inside as my mouth moved south. I kept flicking glances back up to my hand as I violated his mouth completely. Rolling his tongue between my figures, tickling the back of his throat, and to my overpowering delight wriggling a tooth that was loose. I stared transfixed as I did this, kissing forgotten at the power it gave me to have the best part of my hand inside someones mouth. A defenceless young boys mouth. He couldn't even squirm or bite down. Unable to control myself anymore I worked my thumb in so my hand was mostly inside his mouth, if he was awake he'd be gagging, but this was better – the stoic stillness, with only a whisper of air passing my figures to show the body was still a boy.

However, even the amazing feeling of power this gave me could hold back my desire for more for so long. Leaving my left had where it was, his sharp teeth scratching the back of my hand, I accioed a stone that was used to prepared some potions ingredients and set to work scuffing his skin. Moaning as his left shoulder gradually took on a angry red look, the progress slowed by impeded blood flow as he was stunned, but all the more satisfactory as, after swiping in one line from collar to pelvis I could watch as the red gradually appeared.

Once almost a quarter of his chest was thoroughly abused, I decided to move on. With a final push of my left hand I enjoyed the pressure of Potter's throat on my fingers before reluctantly removing my hand.

I lowered my head to Potter's chest and bit and sucked and pulled at his nipples until they too were red and sore, and then, reaching into my robe pockets I brought out some vicious nipple clamps to place on them. My hard penis throbbed as I watched the teeth in the clamps sink into the boys buds. What a terrific sight. My desire once again got the better of me and I reached into my robe to unclasp my trouser and brought my angry red cock out to enjoy the activities. I was caught in two minds as to what to do. Should I remove my robes so I could rub my body all over that precious skin, and feel the gratifying pinch as the clamps dug into my chest as I squeezed the boy? Or remain clothed, to enjoy the feeling of being fully clothed while another was naked? In the end I choose to stay clothed, after all, I could easily remove them later, and the feeling of all that skin may test me beyond my limits.

I thrust my penis against his thighs, leaving a smear of precum and loving how it defiled his perfection. Begging patience from my manhood, I circled my desk to open the invisible second drawer bypassing the hessian cord I had there – for the boy was in no state to enjoy the itch of it on his skin, I extracted a piece of soft red satin ribbon which would contrast amazingly with the creamy flesh, and draw out the colour as I used the boy.

Sweeping everything else off my desk, I spun the boy around so his head was closest to the door, and decided that the ease would be worth the lowering of enjoyment, I levitated the body so I could touch any part. Hands were pulled above his head, ribbons crisscrossing up his arms, pulling them tightly together. The ribbon was made to broaden as it hit his head, so it could be drawn over his eyes and then around his throat, tight enough to cause a slight wheeze in the body's til then silent breathing.

The dance of the ribbon on the chest was tight and unforgiving, with many knots and twists. Somehow I found the fortitude to skip past the child's penis, flaccid, but still so exciting and tempting, and continue down his legs, drawing them apart and bent, so that his ankles were strapped to his thighs, leaving him delectably exposed. The feet could not be ignored. So I lowered my head to inhale and them taste them in fullness, til I was giddy with the scent and flavour of a young boys soles and toes and arch, all slick with the sweat of an entire day on his feet. Finally I connected the hoops around his knees up to the clamps on his nipples. Holding him in place, though he couldn't move. Now everything was bared to me and I inhaled again, as though I could smell the smell of a child spread for the taking. Looking as those soles I had tasted were brought up, I decided it was the perfect place to start, and reached for the cane I kept as part of my chair – hidden in plain sight.

The first strike was magnificent. While the line took almost a minute to form, the feel of bamboo colliding with soft but rigid skin was worth all the years I had maintained my “good” personnel. After eight more hits I sat back in my chair and watched the lines appear, slowly, one by one. My hand on my cock, but only squeezing gently as I dared do no more. I pondered whether I'd like to hear him scream. It was hard to remember as he was – stunned and vacant, that this was Harry Potter. Not that it really mattered, but taking one so golden made the victory all the sweeter. But I decided – as I always had, that it was better like this. The motionless terror of one unable to even feel what is happening to them. My cock throbbed harder just at the thought. He wasn't there. Only his body was. When Potter woke up he would still be just a child in a room, never knowing to just what use his body was put to, unless, I thought, and an evil grin appeared on my face, unless...

Once the lines were fully formed, slight ridges above the pale foot, I elected to move on. Though I would have enjoyed to continue to strike the boys feet til they were nothing but shredded skin and red red blood, his thighs were just as appetizingly bared, and I felt it was my duty to share the pleasure. The red lines formed quicker here, closer to the heart. So I was happy to thrash for some time, exalting in the human body's ability to change colour. I moved on just before they would bleed. Blood, I thought, was for another time.

So close to my prize I could no longer contain myself, and though I willed myself to continue on my pleasure of the entire human anatomy, I succumbed to my temptation. I gave a silky thought to all the other things I would enjoy. Shaving his underarm – to make it as it should be, and then bathing it in my saliva as I tasted more young-boy sweat. Pushing my cock around his face, splattering it with precum, shoving it in his eyes, to see their natural reaction with tears flowing freely, then shoving it down his still gaping mouth, where just recently I'd had my hand. Pouring a potion over his stomach that would literally melt through his skin, forming a sealed hole, just another orifice to plunder. And, of course, caning, whipping, flogging his arse, his back, his chest, til he was one mass of angry red lines and scars. But all of this was outdone by the sight before me. His cock and balls, which were resting peacefully in their place and arsehole which was still not yet red or angry or gaping.

Slicing some more ribbon, I lifted his cock into my hand. Of all the things on this boy body, it was the one which proved the most that the boy was now a man, but I pushed that thought from my head and revelled in the thought of abusing it. The bright red of the thin ribbon looked perfect on the soft skin and I bound it tightly, til it was a mass of red with diamonds of skin sticking out between. Below the head I wrapped it two, three times, pulling the foreskin down so the head was free. I now reached into the drawer again and drew out a ridding crop. The feeling of it hitting the head of Potter's cock was almost good enough for all my fun to be over. Six more times I struck the head, in my mind I could hear the boy screams and then breathy pants as it was too much to even scream.

Too far gone for anything except my final victory now, I threw aside the crop and shoved two dry fingers cruelly inside that arse. Collecting myself slightly, I reached for some lubricant to stretch the hole out til I'd be able to slide inside that warm frozen heat.

The moment of entry put all else before it to shame. It was perfection itself. I closed my eyes and hummed and I thrust into the ungiving chamber. Forcing my eyes open to experience this to its fullest extend I glowed and moaned and thrust and screamed at the beauty of it. The red skin on Potter's chest, his gaping mouth and blindfolded eyes. The nipples which looked raw to the point of coming off, seeming to be holding up his legs, though the muscles were locked in tight. The diamonds of flesh between the glorious red ribbons, his throat, pulsing against its confides, and his rasping breath. I revelled and moaned and I came. Perfection spilling into the body of the boy on my desk.

***

It was some time after I finally managed to draw myself from the depths of the boy that I could convince myself to move again, I'd fallen into my chair, my hand stroking the abused flesh of his thighs, just letting myself enjoy the moment as I hadn't done since my return to the light side.

Eventually I pulled myself from my daze. I murmured healing charms, which while they would heal to some extent would leave an ache behind, a whisper of what had past, with shadows of a mark to confirm them. Ropes were removed by magic, clothing replaced by hand. Now on my desk was a boy frozen lying down, with red strips on the parts of his arms and legs visible. I manoeuvred him into the chair, for the final fulfilment of the plan which had sprung to mind.

I loved the feel of a body, with muscles pulled taunt between the skin, unable to move unless I forced them, but I wanted the boy to know what he was, a token for my pleasure. The stone bowl had been resting in my first draw, Dumbledore was forever leaving it with me incase I needed some relief. Though it hurt me to part with the memory, I extracted it carefully and placed it in my bowl on my desk. Next to it I wrote a note. “For your viewing pleasure. If you dare to know.” Everyone knew a Gryffindor never backed down from a dare.


The End

A/N I'm assuming Snape stops Harry from telling somehow and does it over and over, but thats up for you to decide :)