Issues

It was with a sense of optimism that Harry returned home to his flat late that evening, or rather, the early hours of the morning. He and Malfoy had discussed further the possible ramifications of Snape having kept a diary. If he had and if Harry could find it and if he had written about Malfoy in it, then it might just be the thing that they needed to prove Malfoy's claim. So many 'ifs'.

At least it gave him somewhere to start.

Malfoy had given him specific directions on how to find Snape's house; else Harry wouldn't be able to see it. Spinner's End. He would go there tomorrow morning. Oh damn, he couldn't, he realised. He had, if he remembered correctly, to attend an opening of a new wing of St. Mungo's Hospital that would be specialising in post-war trauma. It was desperately needed and long overdue, really. Even during the war, there had been wizards that suffered from various mental illnesses caused by the stress of battle. The numbers had steadily grown and the hospital administration had decided on specialising in battle stress illnesses.

Spinners End would have to wait until he was free from that obligation. Now that he had something to work with, Harry was keen to get onto it and he was deep in thought about this when he entered his flat; so deep in thought that he failed to sense his wards letting him through. It wasn't until he opened the door and looked at the destruction of almost every piece of furniture in his lounge, that he realised his wards had been breached.

How they had been taken down he had no idea, but he stood in the doorway barely even thinking about his wards, in too much shock to do much thinking. Instinctively he pulled out his wand, though, and made himself move through each room to establish whether or not the intruder was still here. Upon finding the flat was empty and discovering that each room had been given the same treatment as the lounge, he stood amongst the wreckage and stared at it.

His mind was currently operating in only one dimension, the destruction of his possessions, but eventually he thought to re-cast his wards, and did so, adding an extra layer just in case. There were things in his flat that were precious to him but the rest was just furniture that he had no real attachment to. So, once his wards were re cast, he hurriedly moved to the bedroom, crawled under what was left of his bed, raised a loose floorboard and established that the things that meant the world to him - his father's Invisibility Cloak, the Marauders map and various photo albums - were all safe.

"Thank God, " he whispered into the empty room, as he sat on the floor cradling the small trunk to his chest.

What the fuck was he to do now? He had to get his thinking straight; he couldn't sit here on the floor all night. Staying in the flat was out of the question; he didn't even have an undamaged chair to sit on let alone a bed to sleep in. And he had no idea if it was even safe to stay here any longer.

As he calmed down, his mind began to function in something that resembled a normal fashion once more. Taking down his wards would have to have been done by a wizard with training at least that of an Auror. His wards had been strong, but Molly had advised him only the day before to strengthen them. Even so, they weren't easy to take down. It would have taken a magic dampening spell of some magnitude to reduce the wards to the extent that they could be removed by anyone other than himself. Then Harry remembered that his mirror had been acting weirdly that morning, having been able to laugh at him through the charms he normally placed on it. Which meant - Harry followed this line of thought through - that someone had been watching him. This was not a random attack; not with the magic needed to remove those wards.

Harry stood and surveyed the wreck of his bedroom one more time before picking up odd pieces of clothing and putting them into a pile. He shrunk them and shoved them angrily into his bag that he'd found scrunched up under the overturned dresser. As he stalked through to the lounge, he kicked out at the pieces of a broken chair, fuming that someone had managed to drive him from his home. Had the audacity to come in and wreck his home!

Too angry to Apparate, Harry tossed some Floo powder in the fireplace, jumped in and snarled "Grimmauld Place."

When he stumbled out at Grimmauld Place, even more furious as he hated both Floo travel and this fucking house, he tossed his bag into a corner and stormed into the kitchen, looking for something to drink. Normally, he didn't drink anything stronger than butterbeer, but tonight...the last few days' events were crowding in on him and he needed to let go.

He'd let the Aurors know about the attack on his flat in the morning; there was nothing to be done about it tonight; it was well warded now. And if he didn't slam cupboards and break things, he wouldn't wake Remus or Tonks, who lived here now, and he could deal with everything in the morning.

A few moments later, a bottle of fire whiskey and a glass found; he dropped into a chair in the lounge and poured himself a long drink. He had no doubt who was behind all of this, though he had no proof of it. In fact, it could have been almost anyone with a grudge against him for killing Voldemort; surely there were Death Eaters out there they hadn't caught or known about - they were not infallible after all.

But, as Harry drank, he knew it was Coghill. Coghill probably using Polyjuice Potion at the press conference, Coghill dropping the chandelier on him, Coghill trashing his flat...and it was all Malfoy's fault. He topped up his glass and downed it in one shot, which caused him to cough and splutter and his eyes to water. He ignored it and poured another, sniffing it before tossing that one back, too.

Bloody Malfoy. Everything had always been Malfoy's fault, he thought uncharitably. If he hadn't been such a git in school, he would not have got under Harry's skin so much, and if he hadn't done that Harry wouldn't have been obsessed with him in sixth year. Then he wouldn't have cared about getting answers from him when he was captured and then he wouldn't have kept him separate from the other Death Eaters. He wouldn't have had to listen to his bloody sob story, feel sorry for the git and get pissed off that the flirting hadn't been real and decide to try and prove the stupid sod's innocence and almost get himself killed and had his flat wrecked and...holy fucking hell, why was he pissed off that the flirting wasn't real?

He dropped his head back on the chair and groaned. The fire-whiskey was really getting to him. That's what came of not normally drinking strong spirits, obviously, he thought. Maybe he should just pack up and move to Australia and get away from all this. Wasn't he supposed to be able to live a quiet, normal life now?

He looked up, startled, as a weight settled onto the couch next to him. Obviously, he had made too much noise after all and Remus had come to see what it was. Great. He loved Remus, he did. He counted him as part of his family, but just now the man's gentle, calming presence was not what he needed. He didn't want to feel comforted; he wanted to punch something. Preferably something with blond hair and sad grey eyes. Fuck.

"Well, you look like you've had a rotten day," Remus commented, eyeing the blood on his collar. "I heard about what happened at the Ministry Ball, I'm glad that you weren't injured."

"Luck," Harry replied, sniffing and pouring himself another drink, then holding the bottle out to Remus. At the shake of his head, Harry put the bottle between his legs and drank from his glass.

"Molly was looking for you earlier. I think she wanted to thank you for pushing Fred out of the way."

Harry merely shrugged. He wondered why Molly hadn't checked his flat; but then she might have and it still might have been in one piece when she did. Coghill could have trashed it long after the Ball, while Harry was chatting to Malfoy.

Remus didn't speak for a while and Harry finished his drink in the silence between them but he could feel the man's eyes on him, studying him thoughtfully.

Then he cleared his throat and spoke.

"I'm not even going to ask why you are here and not at home but I think you should stop seeing the Malfoy boy, Harry."

"What? Why?" Harry asked, confused.

"Obviously seeing him has upset you enough that you cannot even be civil to me. Now is the time for you to enjoy your life, not be held down in some petty argument with young Draco or the Ministry. He can bring you nothing but trouble."

Harry couldn't make up his mind to laugh or explode. For a moment he just looked at Remus, wondering when he had taken it upon himself to think he could dictate what Harry did. Yes, it was all bloody Malfoy's fault he was like this but things had reached a point where Harry couldn't back out now even if he tried. Not with Coghill after him. Not with his obligations with the Ministry for the next month and not with sad grey eyes locked up in a cell counting on him to help.

Harry took the bottle from between his legs and stood, a little unsteadily. He 'd have to leave. Go to his room or go somewhere, anywhere away from Remus, or else he'd lose his temper completely.

"Don't tell me what to do, Remus," Harry warned. "You have no idea what's been going on the last few days."

"Sit down and tell me then," Remus replied, sternly.

Instead, Harry paced the room angrily. Maybe it would do him some good to get it all off his chest. But there were things he just couldn't tell Remus, yet. And anything else would just make Remus more determined to stop Harry from seeing Malfoy and while Harry was pissed that his predicament was all Malfoy's fault, that didn't mean he was going to abandon him.

"No." Harry shook his head. "I appreciate the concern, Remus, but I can't..."

Just then the Floo roared to life and George stepped through, looking very relieved that Harry was there.

"Harry, thank God you're here," he said, shaking the soot from his robes. "I've been trying to find you for ages and I was coming to wake Remus and ask him to help us look for you. We thought..."

"George, what's wrong?" Harry interrupted, worried about his tone.

"Fred told us about the Ball and what happened there and that..." he paused and looked at Remus, then back at Harry giving him a telling look "...he was there. So, I went and sat by the thing and listened and heard him."

Harry shook his head. This conversation was getting too cryptic; he could follow it but he'd had too much to drink to think logically. "Just tell me; it's all right, I'll have to tell him some of it, anyway, as I'll be staying here for the foreseeable future," Harry said of Remus who was looking bemused and more than a little confused.

"Yes, please tell me what's going on," Remus agreed.

George nodded. "I was listening to the device we planted on that bloke at the press conference this morning - or was it yesterday morning? Anyway, it was him, Harry, I'm sure of it."

"How? Why? What did he say?" Harry barked out.

"He was rambling on about blasted Death Eaters not being worth the ground they walked on and how he was going to make sure that you paid for destroying his life and that you were lucky to escape the falling chandelier at the Ball and that he'd get you another way. He muttered about dampening spells and wards...? We tried to find you, but mum had already said you weren't here or your flat and we had no idea where you could have been. We were worried that something had happened to you."

"That's him all right," Harry raged. "I was at the Ministry seeing Malfoy after the Ball and when I got home I found my whole flat ransacked. Totally destroyed. It must have been him. To take down those wards like they were, could only have been done by an Auror. Fuck," Harry yelled, pacing the room again and running his hand through his hair. "I knew it was him, but to have virtual proof...I'll let Kingsley know in the morning and he can run him down."

"I can get a copy of the recording sent to him, as well," George added.

Remus spoke then. "I think you had best tell me what's been going on Harry."

Nodding, Harry sat down to tell him what he could. About Malfoy being in the ministry cell, about the abuse he'd suffered from the Aurors and the consequent firing of Coghill and Hoxley. About the events of the press conference, the attack at the Ball and the ransacking of his flat, too, although he didn't tell either of them anything about Malfoy's story, or how he had helped the Order. Not yet. He just couldn't deal with more people telling him he didn't know what he was doing; not trusting him enough to do what needed to be done. You'd think that after all he'd done that someone would trust him to know what he was doing.

Even so, Remus still attempted to talk Harry out of helping Malfoy.

"Harry, have you forgotten who his father was? That boy is a Death Eater. Why would you let yourself get involved with someone of that ilk when you didn't have to?"

But Harry refused to budge; telling Remus Malfoy's story was not for Harry to do. It would be hypocritical of him to blab Malfoy's private business when earlier that night he had been arguing rights to privacy with Kingsley. "Just leave it, Remus. There are things I just can't tell you. Believe me, I would if I could."

Remus just gave him a searching look; one that Harry faced down. He persisted.

"Harry, look at the trouble you are in now because of that boy. You could have been killed tonight, who knows what this Coghill will do next or who he will recruit to help him. After all you've been through you deserve a break. He's not your problem."

"Don't you think I've argued this with myself a hundred times?" Harry stalked the room, ready to slam out of it. He'd had enough. Today had just been one big huge fucking mess and yes, it was bloody Malfoy's fault, but even if he could abandon Malfoy now, he was fairly certain that it wouldn't change Coghill's mind. That particular problem was going to follow him around until either Coghill was caught or Harry was dead. "Don't you see?" Harry yelled. "It doesn't matter what I do with Malfoy now, none of these other things are going to go away, so just lay the fuck off!"

"Harry, you know you can always count on Fred and I. Just let us know what you need," George chimed in, in an obvious attempt to calm the atmosphere.

"Look, it's really late and I'm entirely pissed off with today and as much as I love you both, I really just can't deal with this tonight, or I'll say things that I'll regret. I've had too much to drink and I'm too angry, so I'd appreciate it if you'd just let me go to bed now." Harry was almost gritting his teeth with the effort of holding his temper. "George, thanks for that. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, Harry," George said and prepared to Floo back to the Burrow.

"Oh," said Harry suddenly remembering. "Could you tell Ron and Hermione I need their help in the morning? I'll drop in about 9."

"Will do, Harry, sleep well," replied George as he tossed the Floo powder into the fireplace and jumped in, heading for home.

"I'm sorry, Remus. Tonight is just not a good night. I'll speak to you in the morning," Harry said, not looking at the man, just wanting to escape those sad thoughtful eyes and go and plan a hundred different ways he could pay Malfoy back.

"We will talk about this more. You go and sleep. Your room is made up as always, I'll see you in the morning."

Harry nodded. With a bit of luck he could be up and gone by the time Remus woke. He headed up the stairs to his room, flopped face down on the bed and screamed his anger into the pillow. Before long he was sleeping restlessly.

Surrounded by hooded and masked figures, all sitting in the semi dark, he felt a small knot of tension in his stomach. His Master was choosing the lucky person to play with the toy tonight and he really hoped that he would be the lucky one. He'd seen the whore give him a look earlier on in the day, and for as long as he could remember he had wanted to get his hands on that arse.

The Dark Lord looked around at his assembled Death Eaters, scrutinising them closely. None of them were identifiable as they wore the mask of the follower, but somehow his Master knew who was who.

Sitting at his Master's feet was the toy. He was blond and naked, adorned in only a black leather collar and restrained by a chain. His eyes were downcast, implying obedience and respect if not abject defeat, as his shoulders were set and his neck stiff and proud. He made an extremely enjoyable toy; one that his fellow Death Eaters took great delight in breaking as he broke so prettily. Though, lately the toy had learnt a few things and now, when he was broken, he asked for it.

Feeling his Master's slitted eyes land on him before moving on, he'd felt a moment of elation, which was quickly doused when that gaze no longer singled him out. He shifted uncomfortably in frustration, careful to hide it deep in his thoughts lest his Master see into them and punish him for having the temerity to question his choice.

Then, a moment of complete triumph, as again his Master's eyes fell upon him and he nodded, saying in his hissing voice. "You may have the toy tonight." The toy's chain was yanked and the blond stood quickly and looked toward him, vacant disinterest the only emotion visible on the pale face.

As the toy had no way of knowing his identity, he stood and removed his mask, leering at Malfoy, running his eyes the full length of the toy's body, centering on the boy's groin and licking his lips. The toy would be his to do with as he pleased, and tonight his pleasure was to watch the toy perform for him, before he took him. And everyone else should have the pleasure of watching, too, he thought and cast the spell to raise the lighting over the centre of the room. Now the pretty thing would be the centre of attraction.

"Come here," he said, raising his eyes to the now interested grey ones of the toy. He watched as the slender body took smooth, graceful steps towards him, noticing that he was clean and unmarked, apart from the black brand on his arm. Someone was taking care of the toy then, healing him and preparing him for his nightly activities. He nodded; that was as it should be, there was no fun in playing with broken toys. The fun was in breaking them, always to be discarded once broken.

When the blond was standing in front of him, looking directly into his eyes, he reached out and slapped him hard across the face, satisfied when he saw a vivid red hand print appear on the boy's skin. "What makes you think you can look me in the eye? You do not deserve that honour. Keep them lowered until I tell you otherwise."

He noticed a slight pursing of the lips and smiled inwardly. The boy had some fight left in him, after all. He was a survivor, then. This made him smile and consider that it would be even more fun to watch this pretty blond shatter.

"Dance for me. Show me you want me. Make me want you," he said.

"May I speak, Sir?" Malfoy asked, his eyes downcast and his voice respectfully soft.

"You may."

"Thank you," Malfoy said, and ducked his head in thanks. "Would Sir please allow me the honour of removing his outer robes?"

"You may."

"Thank you, Sir."

Small hands reached tentatively to the collar of his robes and began to undo the buttons one by one, occasionally flattening the palms of his hands over the chest still covered by the robes. All the while, Malfoy spoke softly, almost purring, keeping his eyes on the robes and what his hands were doing. "Sir is so strong under these robes. I can't wait to see you without them."

The hands worked the unbuttoned robes aside and Malfoy moved closer to him to push them over his shoulders, deliberately handling his biceps, feeling their strength.

"So strong, Sir," Malfoy cooed, fluttering his eyelashes and licking his lips.

He watched this display in amusement, not believing a word of it. The toy was very practiced now and had learnt that the pretty words and flattery meant that he was treated better.

Ha!

Malfoy's hands were on his shoulders now, fingers digging in lightly to his skin. "Please sit, Sir," Malfoy said. "I want to entertain you." He acquiesced and let Malfoy push him back down into his chair. He wanted to see Malfoy's show from a comfortable position.

"Hurry up, toy," he snapped, reminding Malfoy who was in charge here. Malfoy nodded, still standing right in front of him, eyes lowered but gaze resting on his face, where cool hands were caressing his cheek.

"Sir is good and beautiful," came the purring, sultry voice and he felt the hands sliding down across his cheeks to his neck and shoulders where they stayed as Malfoy began to sway his hips, pale, thin thighs brushing his knees at each movement. The bare legs spread and Malfoy gyrated forwards to be straddling his thighs and the hands moved to the front of his shirt, undoing the buttons, there, and pulling the fabric open to reveal his chest, allowing Malfoy's hands to rub across bare skin. He watched as the boy's eyes fluttered with the skin contact, and then let his eyes take in Malfoy's penis, which was still flaccid. That would be the acid test.

He'd rarely seen the toy become erect when he'd been required to entertain. Occasionally with Snape and once with his father but those times were few and far between. Not that he cared about the toy's pleasure but it would be so much better to break a willing, begging, wanton toy. Fuck, now he was hard as a rock.

Malfoy's hips were still swaying to some internal music, knees bent and arse brushing the tops of his thighs. Hands were working open his trousers and giving him room to move and one cool finger stroked its length. Malfoy cooed delightedly before stepping back off his lap.

The dance with the grinding hips continued but now Malfoy's hands were rubbing themselves all over his own body, starting at his chest, stopping to twist his nipples. They kept going, brushing over a taut abdomen before bumping over the swaying bones of his hips and down his thighs. Nimble fingers seemed to dance around his balls fondling them and making his penis move enticingly, though it looked only mildly interested in proceedings.

He watched as those hands trailed themselves back up his body and over his head, entwining the fingers of his hands in the air and swaying his entire body. Malfoy's eyes were closed and his head angled to the side and the picture he made did nothing to dampen his erection, only enhance it. The toy was very good.

"Turn around and let me see your arse," he demanded, brusquely, as he stood to push his trousers out of the way, readying himself for ramming into the pretty toy.

Malfoy did as he was bid and turned, slowly, seductively and whispering, "I am here for your desire only, Sir. You and you alone are the one that keeps me awake at night, dreaming of you possessing and owning me."

There was not a catch or a tremor in Malfoy's voice and if he hadn't known better or was weaker in character, he might have believed the pretty words. He watched, arousal drumming in his ears, as Malfoy thrust his arse out and rolled his hips, still swaying to imaginary music. Watched as he bent forward, displaying the daintiest puckered hole, free from hair or swelling or discolouring. There really was someone taking good care of the toy.

Oh, this was going to be a wonderful defilement.

As Malfoy continued to undulate in front of him, he reached forward and grabbed the toy's hips, digging in his fingernails and ignoring the sharp hiss.

"Bend over and stay there," he demanded in the same brusque voice.

"Of course," murmured Malfoy and did as he was bid, leaving him open to anything that he could think of to do to him. For now, all he wanted was to watch that pretty hole clench in fear and so he reached to his trousers and removed the belt. Wrapping it I around his hand a few times, leaving the buckle on the end free, he told Malfoy not to move, then raised his hand and bought the belt buckle down with a loud crack on his bare, bony bottom.

Impressively, Malfoy didn't stumble or fall, merely clenched his buttocks and gasped with the pain. It was lovely to watch and so he did it again and again and again, really enjoying how the buckle was beginning to leave deep red scratches in the skin that sported a few drops of beautiful crimson blood.

He would have kept going but Malfoy's knees were starting to give way on him and he didn't want his toy broken and not capable of performing, so he stopped, reluctantly.

"Stand up and turn around," he ordered.

He was most gratified to see that Malfoy's lips were swollen, perhaps from biting them to stop his screams. Malfoy's eyes, however, were looking at him adoringly and he was impressed all over again, though he did not for one minute believe the blond actually meant it.

"I thought I demanded that you show me you wanted me," he said, eyes traveling down to Malfoy's groin. "You're not hard, toy."

Malfoy lowered his eyes, coyly. "I was waiting for Sir's permission."

"Liar," he replied, reaching forward and grabbing a handful of blond hair, so silky and soft that he thought for a moment his hand would slip all the way through, but it didn't; he got a decent purchase on it and yanked the toy closer, snarling into his face.

"Get down on your knees. If you use too much teeth, I will destroy you. When I yank you off, if you are not hard and begging me for it, I will hurt you so badly you will wish you were dead. If you had any self-respect you would wish that already. Now, down!"

With that he gave a sharp tug on the blond hair and Malfoy fell to his knees. "Thank you, Sir, I was waiting for you to give me permission..." but the words were cut off mid sentence as he filled the mouth with his erection, instead.

Malfoy groaned a little and didn't appear to need much encouragement to take him all the way in, the convulsive gag reflex massaging him, forcing a small whimper from his throat. "That's better, toy," he said, gripping Malfoy's hair tighter and holding his head steady as he pushing his hips forward into his face.

He registered that Malfoy's hand had slipped to his own groin and was stroking himself in time with the thrusting into his mouth. There was something so potent about the power he felt running through his body right at this minute. It was gathering in his groin, building into an orgasm, but he held it back, he didn't want to come in the toy's mouth. Instead he yanked on Malfoy's hair and pulled him to his feet, noticing with smug satisfaction that the toy was now as hard as he was.

Obviously, the whore toy liked it.

"One might think that you like me, toy," he said silkily. "Now turn around and get to your hands and knees."

The hungry smile that lit up Malfoy's eyes as he obeyed was very gratifying and again, if he had not seen the toy flirt and play all the other Death Eaters, he might have believed it was all for him. That reminded him that all his fellow supporters were watching him and he looked around at them, seeing the avid attention they were paying to the show, and also noticing that more than a few of them had their hands under their robes and were surreptitiously jerking themselves off at the spectacle.

He smirked and knelt down. He pried Malfoy's buttocks apart with harsh fingers and rubbed himself over the wrinkled hole, smiling at the clenching response. Without any warning he plunged forwards, forcing aside the very muscles that had held it perfect and unmarked.

Malfoy screamed at the intrusion but he ignored him and laughed at the trembling body he held under his grasping stabbing fingers and the burning heat that surrounded him. He used his hands to push Malfoy's body forward, so that he dragged partway out, then with a snap of his hips and a yank of Malfoy's body he slammed them both together again, exulted now as Malfoy began to sob.

"You don't sound too happy now, toy," he ground out.

"No!" Malfoy cried. "I am crying because... it's such an honour to have S-sir...Oh God..."

"Liar," he hissed once more, and yanked the toy's hair so hard that Malfoy's body was brought up on his knees. As he continued to thrust angrily into him, he spat, close to Malfoy's ear. "Never lie to me."

Malfoy's head dropped back on to his shoulder and his body began to undulate moving with the hard vicious thrusting inside his now unresisting body, and his tears dripped down the sides of his face. "No," he whispered. "For all the men I've been made to be with, I only ever wanted you."

He growled furiously, a part of him wanting to believe Malfoy but he knew it was all just part of his act, so he cruelly bit down on the toy's shoulder, grinding his teeth into the skin. This made Malfoy whimper and grab himself, stroking feverishly in time. "No," he cried. "I only ever wanted you, Harry."

Harry woke with a scream on his lips. He threw himself off the bed and hit the floor with a thump, his heart pounding, thumping in his head and making it hard to think. Overriding all that was a slick nausea rising in his gut. How could he... Oh shit, how could he...? Fuck!

He stumbled to his feet and tried to make his way to the bathroom but his legs gave way and he fell to his knees, eventually crawling, sick and disgusted with himself, to the bathroom. He only just managed to lean his head over the toilet bowl before he was violently ill.

When he was done, he slumped to the floor, shaking, and feeling sick and achy all over. He never even gave a thought to the fact that he was probably hung over, he was too sickened by the details of his dream to think of anything else. He would never... No, no matter how mad he was at Malfoy, he would never, ever, do that to him. How could he have dreamt that? To have said and done those things... His stomach heaved again and, barely able to lift himself to the bowl, was thankful that there was only bitter drool to bring back up. Tears smarted in his eyes as he dropped limply back to the floor. How was he ever going to face Malfoy, now?