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Infortunium	By : spintwin Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Infortunium
- 1
There was not a single time in Adrian Pucey's life at Hogwarts that the Slytherin changing room had been dead silent after a Quidditch match.

That is, not a single time until Oliver Wood, Harry Potter and the Gryffindorks beat them. Pucey's mind was dead still, still frozen somewhat in disbelief. Beside him, Terence Higgs was the utter opposite - fumbling with his robes, snapping a button, and rushing. Adrian was about to turn and tell him to just calm down, when the door slammed open.

Everybody froze. Terence snuck a glance at Adrian and Adrian swore, he'd never seen as much terror in someone's face as he did at that very moment.

"You." The door slammed. "Fucking." That was a fist on a locker. "Pathetic." A broomstick being thrown on the ground. "Talentless." He couldn't see, but it sounded like a boot on the wooden bench. "Bunch of cock-sucking cunts."

All at once, the team turned to face their captain. Marcus Flint's face was twisted in pure anger, his sneer so rife that for once Adrian was too scared to even consider flinching away from his teeth. He looked as if he was about to kill one of them. Or possibly five of them. Six, if he went and found Bletchley.

Nobody spoke as Flint looked around, staring each of them down. He reached Pucey and his glare was of pure loathing. Pucey hadn't done much wrong - he'd scored several times, in fact. Marcus couldn't be nearly as angry at him as he was at--

Flint's glare turned to Higgs, and he stormed up to him, seizing the front of his robes and slamming him hard into the locker. Flint was big for a Chaser (big for a person, and Adrian had heard the rumours for enough years that he believed them by now) and Higgs was a Seeker, and Adrian momentarily considered laying a restraining hand on Marcus's arm. One look at the way Flint was baring his teeth and he reconsidered. Flint's fist drove hard into Terence's stomach, and the sound Terence made as the wind was knocked out of him caused both Pucey and Warrington to flinch away in sympathy. And again, Marcus punched him, and again, and Pucey stopped watching because the sight of tears being forced out of Terence's eyes was making him feel vaguely sick to his stomach. And Marcus was muttering, and Pucey suddenly decided he had to get out of there. Right then. Or preferably about ten minutes earlier. He grabbed his bag from the bench and--

"Where the fuck do you think you're going, Pucey?"

He froze, and looked around, and Terence was slumped to the floor, and his sobs were the only sound in the changing room. Pucey's eyes were caught on him when Marcus grabbed the front of his robes and in one movement slammed him against the lockers, hard enough that Pucey's head knocked them and he was certain he'd feel it for a week. And suddenly Marcus's face was inches from his own, and he was baring his teeth again, and Pucey couldn't get away - and suddenly he knew what pure dread tasted like. He closed his eyes and waited for the punch to fall.

Instead, a cold, low, growling tone was what he got. "Open your fucking eyes." He obeyed. He had a funny feeling that it wasn't a good idea to disobey Marcus right now. Marcus's eyes bore into his own and he suddenly couldn't have looked away if he tried. "Tell me," Marcus said in an incredibly firm, controlled tone. "What is the point of being a Chaser?"

And his voice was not shaking, really. "Scoring."

"Then TELL me, Pucey, because I can't seem to figure it out. Why the FUCK did I have to knock the Gryffindor pretty-boy out of the sky before you could get a thing through the hoops?"

Pucey winced slightly, almost imperceptibly. Then, and he'd later curse himself for it, he replied, "You didn't score against him, either."

He could hear three sharp breaths being drawn in, and then, Marcus positively growled, "Get out."

Pucey went to take his bag again, and was rewarded by being slammed back into the locker. "Not you, you fucking imbecile." A pause, and Marcus's voice was louder, "The rest of you, get the fuck out." He looked down at Terence, and kicked him so viciously in the ribs that Warrington murmured "Fuck, Marcus, lay off."

In one movement, Marcus dropped Pucey, turned around, and smashed his fist into Warrington's nose. Warrington cried out and dropped his broom, clutching at his face. Blood was everywhere and Marcus yanked Warrington straight again before landing another punch in his stomach. "My fucking name, Warrington, is Flint, and don't you fucking forget it again." He turned around again, roaring, "Get the FUCK OUT, EVERYONE." His glare was enough to pin Pucey to the spot.

Everyone got out, all right, although Terence had to be shoved by Marcus. Marcus then slammed the door shut behind them, and turned to glare at Pucey. Adrian wondered if he'd be safer to actually get into one of the lockers. He stalked over to Pucey and stood there in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. "Anything to fucking say for yourself?"

Adrian opened his mouth, closed it again, and shook his head.

"Wood," Marcus started, sounding almost pleasant, "Is a talentless fucking idiot who couldn't fly his way out of a bag if he was given a map. We all fucking know he got on the team because he's Hooch's fucking lapdog. And yet you seem unable to get the Quaffle past him. Why the fuck is that, Pucey?"

"He's better than he was last year," Pucey said, and it sounded just as lame in his head as it did aloud.

"He's no better. He's worse. And don't fucking start with me, Pucey, a fucking Gryffindor isn't any better than any of us."

Before he could help himself, he blurted out, "I'm sorry, Marcus." And then everything went red, and yellow, and black, as Marcus's fist connected very firmly with his left eye. His knees buckled at the pain and he was falling to the ground, and foolishly and instinctively grasped for the first thing to break his fall - and his fist clutched at Marcus's robes.

Marcus shoved him to the ground. "Don't you fucking call me that, Pucey. Not fucking ever. And you're not fucking sorry - fuck off and suck Wood's cock and see if you can play for him, if you're going to be like that, you fucking pussy."

Adrian stayed there, and remembered reading once that if you played dead in front of a troll, they sometimes left you alone. He concentrated on staying as still as possible, and got a foot to his ribs for the effort. He cried out and moaned as the pain spread everywhere, but eventually just turned and looked up at Marcus, who was looming over him and grinning. There was no scarier sight in the world - and Adrian had seem some pretty frightening things in his time - than Marcus Flint grinning. "Get up."

There wasn't much of a choice and Pucey stumbled to his feet, wincing from the effort. Marcus grabbed the material of Pucey's trousers and ripped, and suddenly he was standing with ripped trousers in front of a grinning Marcus Flint, and the world was not looking anywhere near as pretty as it had when Adrian had woken up that morning. He cried out weakly as Marcus ripped his underwear off, and wondered as Marcus slammed him around to face the lockers, if he was about to be raped by his Quidditch captain.

"Going to teach you a fucking lesson, Pucey," Marcus snarled in his ear, leaning far too close to him. And then there was a pause, and Adrian stayed pressed against the locker, shaking, as Marcus stepped away. He was still shaking by the time Marcus returned and shoved him into the locker again. And then Marcus laid something on his shoulder, and Adrian frowned when he turned his head to see it was a broomstick.

A low chuckle from Marcus as he traced the broom down Adrian's back, and something clicked, something exploded in Adrian's mind, things connected, and he started begging.

"Aw, come now, don't beg," Marcus said in a falsely gently tone, tracing the broomstick over Adrian's hips - and then the tip of the broom parted Adrian's cheeks, and he screwed his eyes tight shut. "Only the Gryffindorks beg." As if punctuating his sentence Marcus suddenly shoved, and Adrian roared in pain, because oh, god, did it hurt, it hurt so much, and he couldn't think of anything because his brain was sparking and Marcus's laughter didn't register, just pain, white hot and smothering. It filled him and Marcus kept pushing it in further, and Adrian's knees gave way and that made it worse and he scrambled for footing and then Marcus's hand was on his arm, holding him up, and he was growling and snarling as some sort of undertone to Adrian's screaming - he couldn't stop screaming, barely even registered that he was doing it any more, and his voice was running ragged but it hurt beyond comprehension and he couldn't do anything else...

He could barely make out what Marcus was saying, firm and loud in his ear, above his own screaming - which now sounded like it was from someone else. "Going to make you come, Pucey. This isn't stopping until you fucking learn." And he pushed it in again, and pulled, and pushed, and Adrian was crying now, tears fucking streaming, and he couldn't have cared less if the whole of Gryffindor house walked in and saw him doing it if someone would just stop Marcus. And he knew what would stop him, but there was no fucking chance, none, he couldn't, he wouldn't, it was impossible, and he was about to be split in half - and he half expected the broom to be coming out his mouth any minute now, it was deeply enough embedded.

"Going to be shitting splinters for a week," Marcus said cheerfully, and it was with more force now, and something was going to break - how was he supposed to explain this to Pomfrey, he couldn't, and holy fuck this was awful and there was nothing, nothing that could possibly ever hurt this much, and Marcus was shouting in his ear, ordering him to come, and he couldn't wouldn't couldn't because this was - god, pure pain, and he was going to pass out, he was going to fucking faint at Marcus's feet and wouldn't Marcus hate that, and it wouldn't stop, it'd never stop if he didn't get through this and he couldn't tell where his screams stopped and silence began, and his head had short-circuited and everything was just focused on how much this hurt.

"You'll fucking come, Pucey. You'll fucking come now." And then, in his ear, very low, "You depraved little faggot. Turned on by a fucking broomstick, aren't you?"

He couldn't form his screams into words as Marcus shoved it harder, and harder, and faster, and it all hurt and small explosions in his head were overshadowed by larger ones, and then--

It was gone.

He collapsed onto his knees, sobbing and split in two and moaning, and everything still hurt and phantom pains traced his body and he looked up at Marcus and shook his head weakly. Marcus nodded and knelt and with a strong fist took hold of Adrian's cock. He looked Adrian in the eyes far too calmly, and said, "You will fucking come, Pucey. Unless you want me to do that again."

"No," he managed to whisper, and took a deep breath, and tried to think - the pictures pinned on Bole's wall, or Oliver Wood's lips, or that Slytherin prefect who'd taken points from him the other day for asking her perfectly politely if he could hold her breasts...

"You fucking whore," Marcus growled as Pucey hardened in his hand. "Fucking want me, Pucey?"

He couldn't even say anything, and Marcus's hand tightened, and Pucey could almost believe it was his own hand, and he was in his bed at night with the curtains drawn and silencing charms to prevent Higgs from hearing. He tried to think of anything he could - the Seeker for the Harpies, everything, anything, and Marcus growled in disgust as he jerked Pucey off roughly.

When he finally came he felt he'd never be able to look anyone in the eyes again.

Silence followed the storm, before Marcus raised a hand to Pucey's face. "Lick it. Lick me clean, Pucey, I'm not having you fucking soiling me."

And he closed his eyes and did it, licked Marcus's hand clean, and hated himself for it.

Marcus stood up and wiped his hand on his robes. He looked down at Pucey. "Don't you ever play like that again." He kicked the broomstick toward Pucey. "Practice tomorrow morning."

He slammed the door behind him as he left.
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Infortunium