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Our Ferret of the Flowers	By : SalonKitty Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 6849 -:- 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-Our Ferret of the Flowers
- 2-Part II
- 1
- 2
This was written for hp_prisonerfest 2010 based on a prompt. Warnings include: Non-con, dub-con, excessive profanity, double penetration, graphic violence, Badass!Harry, Bitch!Draco. Pairings: Draco/Fenrir, Harry/Draco/Fenrir, Harry/Draco, implied Harry/Ginny.

Our Ferret of the Flowers

It’s a scream. I wouldn’t have believed it if Master hadn’t pulled me to the lower floor first, where he’s erected the barred cage. My laugh chokes in my throat at the sight.
Harry Fucking Potter.
Chained to the wall and his clothes torn and filthy, he looks as if Master has literally dragged his sorry arse straight across the rocky ground from wherever he found him. I can just imagine it: one foot clutched in a massive, hairy, backward grip with Potter wailing like a child, grabbing desperately for clumps of grass and immovable stone along the way. Just the image of it makes me smile giddily, my hands curling snug around my scrotum as I watch the git squirm in utter fascination. One of the lenses in his stupid glasses has cracked into a spider’s web, but my gaze drops to his bottom lip, so swollen and bloody. He is panting hard, eyes shut tight as he hangs there, his trainers toed in and just touching the dirt. Poor bastard, I grin, he can seal them shut all he wants but it’s not going to stop what’s coming. Master will see to him and Potter will fold, it’s inevitable. I can hardly wait for the moment of surrender, and the saliva thick on my tongue seems to reinforce this.
“Pup, go see to his water bowl and biscuits while I send word to The Devil,” my Master snarls. “You might need to clean him up a bit.” His burly hand shoots out to brush back my hair and he looks upon me with his own brand of affection, those big, succulent lips twisted into a leer. “I think I’ll have Zevon deliver the message to MacNair first. He’s the youngest; if he doesn’t come back, it won’t be much of a loss.”
My grin falters for the briefest second. I do like that one. He’s quite pretty, and achingly earnest to please.
“Master, if he’s brought before the Dark Lord he’ll scan the boy’s mind like the front page of the Prophet, it’ll be easy for him. They’ll know where you are, where you’re keeping Potter.”
A quick cuff to the back of my head and then he’s growling low in his throat. My shoulders pull up to my ears instinctively and I duck my head into my chest in obedience, trying to shield myself from another, harder blow.
“The whelp has no idea how he got here and no way to describe his surroundings with any accuracy. How will those wizards be able to determine our whereabouts from scant images of trees and rock with no identifiable markings in the vicinity? I know what I’m doing, pup. Don’t talk to me as if I do not foresee these things. I am Fenrir. I rule these woods. You bow to me, child.”
I nod my head curtly in agreement, squeezing my bollocks again to quell the tingling inside them, but my cock has already stiffened.
“Sorry, Master. I meant no disrespect, I was just being overly cautious. You know…you know what they did to my mother.” Lovely, beautiful Mother, how the Dark One had ripped her thoughts from her like wings from a fly, uncovering her betrayal and then sentencing her to death. I see the vision of her face frozen in terror before the Killing Curse hits her whenever I close my eyes in sleep. Every night is the same. I never step in to save her.
It won’t help me any if the Death Eaters find me now; my father had made it perfectly clear that I was on my own long before Master took me as a spoil of war. At this point, I’d merely be swapping one monster for another to serve. At least with this beast I know how to keep him sated, thereby keeping my fate in much better hands. Consistency is not a theme associated with the Dark Lord.
His heavy hand flattens to my head and pushes down, prompting me to go to my knees. In an instant, his crotch is pressed to my face, the dark trousers grimy and smelling of earth and his rigid girth outlined like marble under a sculptor’s cloth. Master is not subtle about what he wants and I waste no time in rubbing my tongue along the rough wool, the cold shock of metal catching on my teeth as I find my way to the zipper.
“Of course, I know, pup. I know everything about you; what you are, what you came from, where you’ll end up.” He grins cruelly then gives a loud snort, like a horse blowing against the hay in its stable. “The Devil will give me what I want this time, if he ever wants to get his hands on the boy. He forgets whom he’s dealing with and this little reminder ought to keep things fresh in his mind.”
I reach up to unbutton and unzip his trousers, letting him talk on boastfully as I release the thing that pervades the rest of my dreams. Master’s cock is massive and thick; he doesn’t fill my mouth as much as he clogs it, packing it between my stretched lips like I was the adder ingesting a weasel, the long shape of it lodging tightly in my throat. I’d had to learn quickly how to breathe in accordance to his size and movements. Master likes to punish me with that bulkhead, push me to the edge until I see dark spots forming in my eyes and I get dizzy from lack of oxygen, but I get through it each time. I show him that I can take what he gives me like a Malfoy should. We’re made of strong stuff, father would always say. I can survive as long as I can figure out the rules of the game.
And this is a game I don’t mind playing, losing myself in the thrill of devouring him, all thought of my former life fading as I choke from his thrusts, my insides wanting to heave but forever finding the strength to curb the impulse. When Master comes it is with howls, and grunts as deep as entrails, before I am showered in bounty, whether on my skin or down my throat.
This time, however, Master does not even allow for us to get to that stage as he is pulling my head back before I have barely begun.
“You need to take care of our guest, first. We will get back to this when I am finished with Zevon’s tight little hole. Might as well get one more taste of it in case he doesn’t return,” he tells me in that gravelly burr. Master finds his own jokes quite funny and his laughter bounces off rock as old as time in his merriment over Zevon’s plight.
He quickly stuffs the turgid piece of meat back into his trousers and pats me on the head encouragingly as I turn to take in the Chosen One. Potter is still slumped in his cell. I lick my lips in anticipation of what’s in store for the wanker. The things I might get to do to him while he’s rigged up like this play across my thoughts and my head swims for a moment, my chest going tight. I remember to breathe again before I stand up, making my way over to his cordoned off space as Master leaves to head upstairs. It is cold down here in the deepest part of the cave and I pull my fur skin closer around me for warmth. I wear it like a robe, my arms through holes in the pelt keeping it snug to my body, but the front of it hangs open enough that my nudity absorbs the perpetual draft of this cavern.
I pad over to him on bare feet. While we have at least a kilometer of passage in the cave before we hit the outside, the upper floor travels into the back of a small dwelling that’s been there for ages, by the looks of it, a façade that hides the depths within. The pack sleeps on the top landing of the cave, there are about a dozen of us, but Master will often sequester himself in the house, holing up in the perfunctory bedroom there. There are but three rooms in the cottage, it’s pretty rudimentary, and I wonder often who built it. On many occasions, Master has kept me there with him, and on the evenings of the full moon, I sleep there alone. It’s a curious thing now, to feel a bed under me, in light of how I’ve become accustomed to sleeping, snuggled up with wriggling bodies on stacks of furs. By morning, I will begin to feel almost normal again, even if I am locked in the room for my own protection. While Master has enough will in his purest state to leave me untouched, he does not trust the rest of them to do so. Sometimes I feel special, think of myself as more precious to Master; assume it’s why he hasn’t turned me. Other times, I don’t understand why I am left out, and then I am confused by my apparent willingness to take the gift, the ‘release’ as Master refers to it. The pack accepts me only because I am his favorite, but I sense their resentment at my continued status as human.
I am close enough to the bars now to see Potter more clearly, his head still hanging down with eyes shut looking like Saint Sebastian after the arrows have hit. He appears more than just roughened up, however; quite possibly wounded. His dark shirt didn’t show it off before, but there is blood all down his front and a funny feeling suddenly insinuates itself into my belly. Potter groans pitifully, as though he senses my presence and is scheming for my sympathy already. I doubt it will work, but I worry where the blood has come from. Master did not seem concerned for the boy’s health before he left him with me. I tentatively reach for the bolt on the cage door. As soon as it slides back into its catch, the clang causes Potter to look up, eyes wide and blinking while his arms are clasped over his head. I give him the old smirk that never fails to touch off his righteous indignation. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, though, and I wonder if he’s still the same, predictable bore. I swing back the barred door to step inside.
“Well, well, never thought I’d live to see this. What a lovely picture you make, Potter. Now, if only the Weasel were hanging by your side, it would double my pleasure.”
Instead of firing off a dull retort, he gapes back at me in utter shock, eyes roving over my body with something approaching horror.
“What the blazes,” he wheezes before breaking into a gurgled cough, red spittle spraying from his mouth. I frown at the sight of it, a creeping shiver fanning across my back. This can’t be good.
“Looks like you got your arse kicked good and proper. Thought you’d take on Greyback yourself, did you? You know, you never were very bright.”
I expect a fuck off, or a get bent!, but Potter says nothing, only stares back at me with big eyes and his mouth still slack in an invitation to flies. Those lips are a dark crimson, but his skin is waxy and white; I can make out scratches along the side of his temple. A tear of blood trickles down to his chin. Following its trail, it is then that I notice Potter’s neck is painted red. I move a bit closer to him, my gaze seeking out more grim details in the dim light.
“Merlin, you look like death warmed over.”
Potter merely shuts his eyes tiredly for a brief moment, seemingly drained by even that small action.
“I could use some help,” he says quietly.
A charmless snort escapes me. Now there’s something I’m not used to hearing. I take a few more tentative steps, leaving me a hand’s breadth away from touching him. I cock my hip and let my hand rest there while I angle my head. “What’s the magic word, Potter?”
Ah. There’s the familiar glower, those famous green eyes shining brightly as Potter’s jaw tightens. “What are you doing here, Malfoy?” he finally spits out.
“Oh, so sorry, not what we’re looking for, I’m afraid. Shall I give you another go?”
But Potter suddenly makes this strange snarling sound and bares his teeth, his eyes going wonky for a bit as they roll around in their sockets, with his head darting around to take in his surroundings. He looks a bit mad, to be honest, and I automatically take a step backward. “I’m not in the fucking mood for this, you shit. You need to get us out of here.”
“Whoa. You need to work on your manners, young man. Won’t get very far with that attitu—”
“Draco! What the bloody hell is wrong with you? We’re trapped in a cave with Fenrir Greyback! You’re walking around freely and you’re just going to stand there and make jokes?” He’s racked with coughs again and more blood laces his mouth and chin. The seriousness of it finally compels me to move next to him, pulling the collar of his shirt back so I can inspect the nape of his neck. Potter tries to drag away from my clutch, but not before I see the deep, ragged punctures in his flesh patterned into a nasty smile across the back of his shoulder. There are more teeth marks running up the cords of his neck and I am reminded of the wide stretch in Master’s jaw. It looks like the jugular was just narrowly avoided, but I’m not sure if that’s going to be any consolation to the Chosen One, his fate is most assuredly sealed. His shirt from the back is completely soaked red.
I remember that I’m supposed to be getting him water and food. Master doesn’t exactly have much in the way of a first aid kit, but I know where I can find some discarded clothes to fashion a makeshift bandage. Without saying a word to Potter, I jog out of the cell and to the dresser at the opposite end of the room. Random furniture populates the caves, looking erroneous and lost, but there are all kinds of useful, stolen items stored within this one. I find a small, torn t-shirt, probably meant for a toddler, but continue searching through a few more drawers hoping to come across some tape or binding. Nothing, so I grab a grotty bowl from the shelves overhead wedged into the rock before bringing it over to the barrel filled with fresh water. Potter is silent during my activity and by the time I’m standing in front of him again he is eyeing me suspiciously. I offer him the water bowl and he glares at me.
“Oh, sorry,” I smirk before holding the bowl up to his lips. Potter rears back his head distastefully at first, but then quickly changes his mind, his mouth fastening to the lip of the bowl as he begins slurping greedily. I tip the bowl higher until the cold water runs down Potter’s chin and chest but he continues to gulp what he can.
“All right, that’s enough, don’t make yourself sick.” Potter splutters and gasps once I withdraw his drink. Setting the bowl on the floor, I dunk the shirt into the remaining water, wringing it out once I’ve drenched it through. Potter gives another guttural cough then moans miserably. The sound of it raises tiny bumps along my arms and down my spine and I feel the chill in the air highlight my body like a nimbus of magic, my thoughts imagining his moans during sex.
When I return to his side, I’m not sure where to start, feeling inexplicably nervous about touching him. Potter has his forehead pressed to the inside of his bicep with his eyes closed again, his arms stretched taut from their restraints overhead. The broken lens of his glasses juts from the side and I instinctively want to pull them off. Those glasses are as much a symbol of the Boy-Who-Lived as his scar. They are useless to him now, I sneer in my head, and my lip curls with the thought. I note his chest rising and falling heavily, the way his pulse throbs in the base of his throat like a tiny, delicate creature living just under his skin. So strong and yet, so vulnerable right now, I could do anything to him and he’d hardly be able to defend himself. But, regretfully, I’ll have to wait and see what Master has in store for him. I snap myself out of my reverie by slapping the wet rag onto his bite marks, wiping up the blood as I move it to his back while brusquely pushing his head out of the way. The git protests as I work, of course.
“Hey! Take it easy! That bloody smarts!” He’s trying to jerk his head free from my hold once more and I expect to see a fresh flow of blood pump from those holes like mini fountains in the struggle, but as I peer closer, they look decidedly less vicious once they are cleaned. Perhaps Master hasn’t bitten him as deeply as I’d initially assumed? But there is too much blood to think the wounds weren’t significant. I wonder if Potter’s healing process hasn’t already begun speeding up dramatically, knowing full well that Master recovers from his injuries faster than any wizard I’ve ever seen, and the idea that Potter has been released sets itself into my brain with the faint sound of howls. Curious, I leave the rag on Potter’s neck and move my hands to the top button of his wet shirt, not even bothering with them but simply grabbing the material into my fists and tugging the seams down the middle apart. His shirt rips open easily enough, buttons flying then raining on the ground. More complaining, but my sight quickly lands on the bruises taking up most of Potter’s right side, a swirl of blues, and blacks, and purples like a sky getting ready to storm. Yet, the edges are unmistakably tinged in a yellowish aura, the restoration of muscle and tissue clearly underway. My gaze drifts from the colorful spread over to the flat belly on display, to the line of black fur snaking down to disappear into the tops of his jeans. Potter swears some more, but his heaving breaths are captured in his stomach as I stare transfixed at the undulating power coursing through there, leading my eyes to his body’s next pulsing point directly behind his zipper. The denim fly seems to mock me in its impassive state. Feeling bold, I put my hand to his crotch, just to feel where that power ends up. Not surprisingly, Potter jolts back from me with a yell.
“Malfoy! What the fuck are you doing?!”
It takes a few seconds to drag my gaze away from that protected patch; I don’t know why I’m so fascinated. I just know that I want to see it, want to see Potter naked and panting in his chains. And hard. My imagination is running wild with pictures of his erect cock, the anticipation for the reveal whirring me up like the building tension of a Reducto about to be cast. I wonder how big it is; I didn’t get enough of a grope to get a sense of the lump hidden there. I look up at Potter with a lazy smirk—I can’t help those, really, they’re automatic—and arch an eyebrow in the way that only a Malfoy can master. As a young boy, I would study Father’s facial expressions at supper as though I’d be taking N.E.W.Ts in his physiognomy, until I had every nuance down cold. I’m quite proud of the accomplishment. Still, my satisfaction at seeing Potter’s eyes narrow in indignation never gets stale.
“Just copping a feel, Potter, no need to get so hysterical, you big baby,” I taunt in a whisper, the smile only getting broader across my face.

Potter gives me a once over before his unease settles in with a gorgeous blush to his cheeks, but he doesn’t turn away, doesn’t look down. “Well, don’t. I’m—I’m not like that.” His tongue darts out to lick the blood drying on the corner of his top lip and then sweep across the bottom. My pulse quickens, and I’m almost disappointed to see it disappear back into his mouth again.
“Not like what?” I ask archly, a challenge in my tone. Let Potter think he’s offended me.
“I don’t—,” his eyes are locked to mine and I watch that confidence snap back into those black pinpricks set inside their emerald baths, “I—I have a girlfriend. I’m not into blokes.”
My laugh is but a strike through the air, I’m quite tickled, really. They always say that, at first. Why should I expect Potter to be any different?
“I didn’t think you were, either,” he adds under his breath.
“Well, don’t bother being shocked by the news, Potter, it’s not like you really know anything about me, at all, do you? You just like to think you have me figured out. Keeps your sense of superiority afloat, doesn’t it?” His eyes narrow at me doubtfully, nostrils flaring with his grimace like he’s been wrongly accused somehow. I look away with a snort of disgust. The Chosen One really gets on my tit, sometimes.
“Besides,” my voice rings out defiantly, “I didn’t really know myself, until recently.” I glance over his chest, down the span of his lean, tight little body. “Thought I was just in my experimenting phase, but then, this happened.” I give him a smug, satisfied grin. “And let’s just say that Mas—Greyback has taught me to appreciate the male anatomy in all of its splendor.”
Potter is still staring at me in that intense, smoldering way of his, eyes boring through me like he was trying to physically burrow into my head, that strong jaw tightened like a steel trap. “Taught? Or forced?” he asks, as though he knows the answer already, but I merely laugh at him again. Merlin, he’s so melodramatic.
Instead of answering, I pull away the blood-soaked tee and kneel by the bowl to rinse it out again. But Potter isn’t ready to let the topic go. “Draco, how did you even get here?” His voice has gone soft, almost tender. “What’s been happening to you? We—we heard about your mother.”
Instantly, I seize up, anger flushing through me top to bottom like the removal of a Disillusionment Charm. “Don’t you dare talk about her, you sanctimonious little prick,” I snarl. When I turn to face him, I crave my wand more than I have in months, wishing I could swipe it across him with that awful cutting curse, the need for revenge suddenly gushing through me. “You don’t need to know a bloody thing about what I’ve been going through. I don’t need your fucking pity!” I stand up and pull away those ridiculous specs. “And these are broken, you idiot, how can you even see worth a damn?!” Flinging them to the stone floor, I can hear the resounding, gratifying smash of the second lens, but I never take my eyes from him.
Potter just stares back at me with that gormless face and its then that I realize I may not have a wand, but I have fists. My punch lands square to the hard plane of a cheekbone and I watch Potter’s head swerve into the wall with the momentum. The double cracks of impact fill me with a flawless sense of righteousness and another shot of adrenaline hits the taint below my balls, causing my arsehole to clench when I feel the blood flowing straight into my cock. I want to see him bent over and taking Master’s knob right up his arse, want to see him cry and beg when I fuck his mouth. Master can’t get back to us soon enough, I seethe; I can’t wait much longer before I get my chance to bring down the Boy Who Lived. He’ll soon just be another one of Master’s wolf whores and I’m going to enjoy every minute of his lessons.
I notice I’m breathing quite heavily while I sneer at him, worn through from my swing. Potter says nothing, his head frozen to the wall as he stares vacantly through the bars to the rest of the cave. The stench of burnt meat is thick in the air and I’m reminded that I’m supposed to be feeding him, too. It’s hard to tear away my gaze, but I finally move off in search of some sort of meal to give the boy. My erection bops along as I walk out of the cell, but it will be hard for a while, a delicious anticipation settling through me like sweet wine traveling in my veins.
XXXXXXXXXXX
“Where is he?! I know you know where he dwells!”
Another meaty slap to his face rocks the boy’s head into the wall, but Potter only grits his teeth against the onslaught and says nothing. Master is hardly breaking a sweat, though, so I expect we’ll be hearing something soon enough once he really gets started. I don’t know why he’s so intent on finding one of the dreadful Weasleys, but apparently there was one that ‘got away’, or something.
I’ve been on pins and needles ever since Master returned, eager to see Potter’s punishment begin, but he’s only been knocking the bastard around for the past half hour with his repetitive questioning and my impatience is starting to show. It’s not enough to see Potter doing his noble suffering act, I’m sick of that one already. I’m ready for total humiliation.
“I grow weary of this game, child. The Dark One can have you and I’ll have my provisions.” Potter finally perks up, eyes going wide as he gapes back at the hulking brute.
“Wha—wait, you can’t just turn me over, Greyback! You can’t really believe that Vo—” Master slaps him rather viciously before the git sets off the Trace, “—Shit! That that arsehole is going to stay true to his word if your plan is to use me as some sort of bartering leverage, do you? It’s not going to work like that, he’ll screw you over! Just think about this for a moment. Whatever deal you imagine you’re going to get him to agree to, it’s never going to come to fruition. I’m the best chance you’ve got in bringing him down from power!”
I have to give the twit credit; he’s surely got some bollocks on him. Even still, I grin foolishly as I gaze up at Master, waiting for the Boy Wonder to get a royal rodgering for his sheer gall alone. But Master looks mightily pissed off.
“Tell me where the Weasley mongrel is, I need to bring him into the fold. It is my right!”
“No. I’m not telling you anything. Bill’s been through enough.”
Master is supremely fast, his hand wraps around Potter’s throat as he howls in rage, and I’m struck dumb for a moment at the thought that he might snap Potter’s neck before we’ve even had the chance to play with him. Thankfully, that deep, throaty laugh rings through the cave a second later and I’m mesmerized by Master’s other hand reaching for Potter’s belt buckle.
“You’ve got some fire in you, I see. This is good. No wonder the Devil is a bit worried where you’re concerned; I could smell his fear all over him during our last meeting.” With the belt undone, Master goes for the steel buttons on Potter’s jeans next, but the boy has already began struggling in earnest. Master is undeterred. “I would love to be there to see his face once he realizes just what he’s been given. Heh, I think you will not disappoint, whelp.”
“Get your hands off of me!” Potter’s objections are almost endearing as he attempts to pull his legs free from Master’s tight grip and I hover close to their side as I await instructions. Potter is able to land a hard kick to Master’s chest, but then the wolf clutches Potter’s foot in his hand, almost crushing it as his grin widens in a parody of pleasure.
“Pup, get his trainers off. I’m going to lift him, so I’ll be needing the straps.”
I move like a demon is on my heels, my excitement ready to spill over at the news. Oh, Potter will fight, but we’ll bring him down in the end, I have no doubts, at all. I grab the thick leather straps hanging off of another hook in the cell and run over to kneel behind Master while I tug at Potter’s shoes. Master has his big, beefy arms wrapped under Potter’s knees already, clasping the boy’s legs to his side, so I have to watch my head as those angry feet continue to kick out. My hard-on is an iron bar, by now, as I manage to slip the sole off of one heel still pumping away futilely at the air.
“GET THE FUCK OFF! YOU SICK MOTHERFUCKER, LEAVE ME ALONE!!”
Potter’s shouting is downright panicked now; a dewy secretion of semen wells at the tip of my knob at the sound of it. I feel like my entire body is buzzing with the vibrations of a powerful spell. There is another yelp and then Master is calling for me to help him tie the boy down. I’m able to get both Potter’s filthy runners and socks off with little damage to myself from the spastic kicks, and as I scoot around Master’s left side I can see that he’s got Potter’s pants and jeans pulled all the way down to his knees. Oh, Merlin, that flaccid bit of flesh is flopping around angrily, indeed, reminding me of my goldfish that time I threw it out of its glass bowl to see what would happen. Poor Sparky didn’t make it. Things don’t look so good for the Chosen One, either.
“Run the first strap under his thigh, Pup, while I get the rest of his clothes off. We need to—“
“—bloody piece of SHIT!! I’m f-f-FUCKing WARNING YOU!!”
“—cinch the bottom of his leg to the upper half once I get them bent. Make sure—”
“—gonna tear you to shreds, you FUCK!! YOU NEED TO STOP!!”
“—that you tie them off once before knotting them to each other behind the whelp’s back. He’s a wild one; best to watch out for those feet.”
I get to work while Potter is now flat out screaming bloody murder. Gods, he does take it to the extreme. I wasn’t even half as worked up, although I admit I might have done a bit of yelling. Wrapping the leather around one thigh, I fall to my knees and double knot it. As soon as Master has a foot out of the trouser leg, he’s pushing Potter back against the wall by pressing flat against his shins and I quickly pull the strap to circle around his ankle. Seeing him trussed up like this will surely be a riot, but having him get into it will be my real reward. I’ll show Potter what a fucking whore he really is, and Master ploughing the little shit will only reinforce it. By the time we’re through with him, he’ll be begging for cock.
“Draco! PLEASE! Make him STOP this! You can’t let this happen!” he cries. I almost laugh. Not quite the begging I had in mind, but I find it amusing all the same.
“Fuck off, Potter. It’s not up to me to let anything go on, least of all, this. Learn your place, arsewipe!” I growl on the slur, baring my teeth just like Master. Potter’s knee is jigging up and down convulsively as he tries to snap the restraint, but Master still has hold of one foot and has stripped the puling brat of the rest of his trousers. Potter’s shirt is still open and it hangs down off his back as he’s pulled horizontally. When I drop to all fours to crawl underneath him, I lean up under his back and stretch at the material until it rips from the seams at his shoulders. Most of it comes away in my hands, but the sleeves and collar, still covered in dried blood, stay attached and clinging to his body. It’s when I pop up on his other side, though, that I can see the tears collecting in his eyelashes pressed tightly together as he keens in his rage once more and I don’t imagine I can get any more aroused than right now. I duck as soon as I see Master’s massive fist come bearing down on us, but its Potter’s cheek again that bears the brunt, bruises already marking up that side of his face. Master demands I get a move on and stop gawking so I work on the other leg until Potter is looking like the Christmas bird brought out for a feast, both legs pinned in half while Master holds him up by gripping his thighs just under his bum. He lifts him off the wall momentarily while I tie the straps behind him as requested, but then Potter stills with a long, guttural groan.
“Get him nice and ready for me, love. Need to get his blood lust going, don’t we? He’ll start to feel the change soon enough.”
It looks as though Potter is trying to drag himself away from us by taking hold of his chains overhead. Muscles mold and flex in his arms as he pulls his body up in desperation and I marvel at the sight of such strength in such a lean and compact form. But it’s only for a moment, and then I dive to the space in between Master’s grip and Potter’s groin. To see him on display like this is a powerful thing, and I’m aware that I’m practically drooling as I prepare to taste him for the first time. Master’s hand curves behind my head in an instant, pushing me towards the wrinkled dot that peeks between Potter’s stretched arse cheeks. I’ve only ever fantasized about this before, taking the Bugger-Who-Lived like this, and it seems surreal, Potter ready for me to suck and lick into oblivion. A zing of fear snaps through me as I move closer, his scent filling my head like the bloom of jasmine at the onset of dusk.
“Oh, God, oh…shit, just STOP! Why can’t you stop this, you fuck?! Draco! Listen to me! You don’t have to—Aaagh! No!”
My tongue has met its mark and he flinches back so violently he almost drops from Master’s grasp. Master grunts with impatience and pushes the boy’s legs into his chest again, pinning him to the wall while I’m pinned by Master’s pelvis grinding into the back of my head. Sweat and musk fills my mouth and I feel a bit transported, reality disconnecting from me again as I close my eyes and try to drown out Potter’s hysterics with the sound of lustful moans echoing through my head. My hands instinctively go to his arse, palms flattening against each hard globe as I press down to split him open further. I lap at and slaver over that tiny opening careful to use every bit of saliva to get him as wet as I can. There’s no need to have Master tear him up, I reason, as I recall my own initiation rite and the several days it took to heal. And Master seems to approve as he strokes my hair encouragingly, his snickering laugh a deep and wicked burr.
“You’re an eager pup. Yes, get him good and wet. We’ll be spending some time with this one.”
Potter has gone quiet—suffering nobly in silence, I imagine—but I’m too busy to look up. I close my eyes as my tongue burrows into that hole for a second, surely the first one to break that barrier! I’m already anticipating the feel of his cock in my mouth, how I plan on owning this body underneath me until it is nothing more than a finely-tuned instrument of sighs and moans and impulses designed around Master’s desire.

I’m encouraged to hawk some more spit on our mark and no sooner am I done then I’m being pushed to the side, Master motioning me to work on Potter from another direction. I look up at our plaything and yes, he’s gone the martyr again, eyes closed as tightly as his jaw while he’s turned as far away to the wall as his neck will allow. His smooth chest belies his sudden calm in the way it heaves in and out in such a rapid rhythm; he’ll hyperventilate at that heart rate. Even as I watch his face, I can tell the second that Master has positioned himself to breach that port by the way Potter’s eyes flash open in alarm, the way his mouth drops open in a low gasp. I turn in time to see Master clasp his hands around Potter’s waist as he stretches him flat again, one hand reaching down to take hold of his cock.
“Draco, get his attention directed elsewhere.”
I feel a surge of pride at Master’s use of my name, as though we are partners in this endeavor. Still on my knees, I lean across Potter’s belly, my face towards this beast-man ready to drive into the boy, and with increasing determination grab the limp todger, still recalling Sparky’s corpse in its grim repose. There’s another shot of adrenaline into the base of my spine that runs through my arse and bollocks when I lick the head, the skin so silky and lush that I want to shout from the sweetness of it. I slip the entire length of him into my mouth and suck as though I were drawing blood, willing that damn bit of flesh to harden as my tongue flutters along the shaft.
Then his whole body goes rigid and I hear Master grunt. Potter gives an anguished, short scream before it dissolves into another long groan, his utter fury and despair so keen that I stop in mid-suck and try to remember why I’m doing this. But then I am reminded the next second that this is what I do; this is what my endless days and nights are all about: sucking and fucking, taking care of Master’s needs, training the younger werewolves and catering to the older pack, letting Master’s desire take root inside of me until it is all that I crave. I can hear Potter muttering in whispers under his breath in a long, uninterrupted stream.
“Ihateyou, ihateyou, ihateyou…”
Poor bastard. It won’t be getting any better, either. I respond by dragging my fingers up over his torso until I can feel the puffy node of a nipple and I slowly circle and caress it until it peaks under my touch. My hand seeks out the other and strokes and pinches until I get the same result, then I follow up by brushing my fingertips lightly from one to the other. Still my tongue dances as the hollows of my cheeks draw in sharply. By now Master’s thrusts are ramming Potter’s knob right to the back of my throat and I somehow manage to gag and laugh at once when I realise that the prat is no longer soft. Pouf. I knew it. There are no more mutterings now, no more talk at all. The only sound is the slap of skin as hard pelvic bone smashes into Potter’s arse and thighs. Master suddenly takes hold of my hair in one fist to keep me in place so that there’s the added score of my choking in the mix. Potter has grown fully erect and his cock has filled my gob quite severely, the pumping so fast that I struggle to breathe. I can feel the drool slipping to my chin, but then just as quickly Master has pulled my head away, still gripping me tightly by the hair, and is motioning me to stand up while I greedily gulp in some air to my lungs.
“Climb up, pup, I’ve got hold of him. I want to see you spear yourself on the whelp.”
And I do. Using Potter’s body like a hammock, in no time at all I’ve got the Chosen One filling me up and the thrill is as potent as I’d expected. Of course, Potter won’t look at me, still staring off at the wall of the cave as if he can pretend none of this is happening. But Master makes sure to give the boy another deep thrust of reality before an arm wraps around my waist possessively and pulls me back into that sprawling chest. Merlin, Master’s strength is something else, and I gasp in delight as he pushes forward so that Potter bangs hard into the wall. Then I’m being bounced up and down on that telling dick until Potter has no choice but to react, his mouth a perfect ‘o’ when he turns to me, back arching while he cries out. That black hair is stuck to him like ink smeared across his forehead and streaked down the side of his face and when he raises his chin to stare up at the ceiling of the cave, all I can see is that beautiful pale neck beckon to me in its exposure. I want to sink my teeth into that flesh, want to hear him moan from it as much as in pleasure as from pain. I extend my body to reach up to his shackles, holding tight to the bracelets around his wrists while I feel every inch of him inside of me as Master punishes his arse. I can see a vein throb near the hollow of his throat, can see him grit his teeth like he’s grinding them down into powder, and I want more. I want to see that face in the grip of an orgasm.
But we’ve barely started. Master and I will go on for quite a bit, long after Potter gives it up for us.
XXXXXXXXXXXX

When I wake up, I’m bloody beat. Wiping my bleary eyes, it registers before I even open them that it’s a bit drafty here, there are no warm bodies surrounding me. I jolt completely awake and dart my head around trying to establish my whereabouts. The bars are the first thing I see and instantly last night’s festivities are crowding my mind.
Potter came hard.
I smile to myself before trying to see what he’s up to. I don’t see him straight away as I peer into his cage, but then I recall that Master finally let Potter down off those hooks and chained him to the bars by the corner, so he could slide to the floor and sleep. I crook my neck and spot the nude lump still curled up on the dirt against the rocky wall. Standing up from my fur bedding, I pull up my pseudo-coat and drape it around me, closing it tightly in an effort to bring me some warmth. I tiptoe closer to Potter’s jail and listen in for a bit, determining quickly that Potter is still knocked out. It’s not surprising; the git kept waking me up throughout the night with his whimpering and mumbling arguments to whomever the sod was bedeviling his dreams. I debate running down the path to the back entrance of the house, sure that Master is keeping himself there and wondering if he’ll need me for anything. He wanted me to stay here as sentry over our wilting flower, I remember, but I’m not sure if I really want to be here when Potter stirs. Liable to be a bit noisy at that point, I imagine.
Speaking of wilting, the grin plastered on my faces downturns as a few sharp images invade my head. The evening didn’t turn out exactly as I’d been hoping, my victory upon Potter’s release dampened by the manner in which it came. Riding that cock, my excitement had been ready to spill over at any minute, but when Master had directed me to curve my hand around my own cock and wank, it hadn’t taken long at all before my climax was upon me. Master could tell what was about to happen and bent my head down painfully as he demanded I jet my load to my face. No sooner could I feel the sticky globs of come splat on my skin I heard a deep groan from Potter and in a blur, found myself back on the floor while Master had me wank the boy until he was shooting more spunk to my contaminated cheeks and nose. I had instinctively opened my mouth to catch what I could on my tongue, even with my eyes thickly shut against the delivery, wanting to savor at least the taste of him. But then Potter’s body had dropped away and I felt Master put his big paws to the sides of my head. I was quite a mess after it was all done. I missed seeing the big moment in its full glory and I’m still feeling a bit put out.
The memory still clinging to me, I walk up to the side of Potter’s cage and bang against the bars that touch his sleeping head. I’m rather looking forward to his tantrum, now; could be quite fun. He’s up like a shot, shouting out a protest before he has his eyes open. When he glances my way and sees my waiting smirk, he just gapes for a moment in that dull way of his until his mouth snaps shut and he looks away pointedly. ‘Little bitch,’ I hear him hiss snidely when he jerks an arm to rouse his chains in a clatter. My scowl is back and I slip a foot between the bars to kick at his back.
“You’re the bitch, Potter. Thought you were straight, eh? You sure got off easily enough. Looks like you loved getting it up your arse. I’m sure your girlfriend will be thrilled.”
Potter twists back to me with a dark look on his face, eyes narrowed malevolently. “Right,” he sneers. He widens his mouth, ready to start throwing accusations but then suddenly stills, a thoughtful expression replacing the anger. He arches an eyebrow impressively. “Yeah, I really loved seeing your ugly mug covered in my load, Malfoy. Seemed so…fitting. Got me really hot.” The tight lines in his face smooth out and he stares back at me blankly. “Is that what you’ve been getting up to around here all this time you’ve been missing? Being Greyback’s whore?”
Immediately, I’m throwing myself at the bars, hands gripping them with white knuckles as I spit venom at the tosser. “Fuck you, Potter! You daft twit, did you forget that I can come in there any time I want and bloody kick your arse! There’s still a few patches on your face that could use some more bruises!”
His face really is a total shambles; Master did quite a number on him. I noticed late last night that his wounds were already on the mend so I imagine his battered visage will heal soon enough. A bit of dried blood has encrusted to his frown line on one side of his lip. He doesn’t jump up and shout back, though, just watches me closely, a dark gleam in those green eyes rendering them icy shards.
“I’d really like to see you try, Draco.” His threat is barely above a whisper, but it’s flinty and thick with malice.
I step back, just in case, not liking this turnaround one bit. “Master will break you, mark my words. You’ll be begging to let him fuck you soon enough, just you wait. We’ll see who’s the whore.”
Potter gives a disbelieving snort before turning away, chains rattling when he lifts a hand to shoo me away. “Be gone, little puppy, I’m going back to sleep. Tell your boss he’ll have to wait awhile if he’s itching to rape me again.” Then he’s curling into his nest of torn clothes, his back to me.
I want to throttle the fucker.

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A/N: This is a two part story. The second part will be posted on Halloween.
- 1
- 2
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Our Ferret of the Flowers