Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Punish Me	By : Sparrowhawk Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 133350 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 45
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form and make no profit from this fanfiction.

Chapter List
- 1-Assertion
- 2-Attack
- 3-Breakdown
- 4-Encounter
- 5-Punishment
- 6-Contact
- 7-Bitten
- 8-Scars
- 9-Play
- 10-Invitation
- 11-Abduction
- 12-Obedience
- 13-Tease
- 14-Learning
- 15-Venture
- 16-Protecting
- 17-Mistakes
- 18-Visit
- 19-Impromptu
- 20-Trigger
- 21-Healing
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Hey, everyone! This is my first HP fanfiction. I've read plenty, but never actually ventured to write one. This idea popped into my head a while ago, though, so I'm going with it. I'm still writing my Inuyasha story, so no worries there (: It's just slow going sometimes, so I need others to write when I can't write in that one. Now, let me just explain that this is completely a work of fiction. I have no experience whatsoever beyond what I've read about D/s relationships. I am not an expert and will never claim as much. I'm taking author's liberties with this work, so I apologize ahead of time if I offend anyone. Reviews, comments, and constructive criticism is always welcome. Flames will be deleted. I don't take well to flamers, so if you have the urge to flame my story, please do yourself a favor and don't waste yours or my time. That's all the warning I'm going to give. For everyone else, I hope you enjoy!
Chapter One
“Harry, dear,” Molly fussed over her favorite non-son. “You should eat something. I haven’t seen you eat a single thing since you arrived here two days ago!”
Harry smiled, but the expression felt unfamiliar and fake. “It’s all right, Mrs. Weasley, I’m not hungry.” In point of fact, he was hungry, but was unwilling to admit it. He just didn’t feel like eating. He knew he must look terrible, sleep deprived and half-starved, but he didn’t care. The Burrow, a place that had always felt like home before, now felt empty. George had moved out to live in a building off the back of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes after Fred’s burial service eleven years before. He visited regularly, but it wasn’t quite the same, not with his twin and fellow mischief-maker gone. Charlie had gone back to Romania soon after while Bill had left to live with his wife and, at the time, new baby girl, Victoire at Shell Cottage on the coast a few months later.
“Hiya Harry,” Ron greeted jovially as he swiped a muffin from the kitchen counter and joined his best mate at the table. Whether he noticed Harry’s less-than-healthy countenance or not, he made no comment. Hermione entered the room soon after, her cheeks aglow, stomach round with child. Their first. A girl, so the doctors said. They hadn’t yet decided on a name for her.
“Morning Harry,” Hermione greeted him. There was concern in her eyes, but like Ron, she didn’t comment on his appearance. As the years went by since the final battle with Voldemort, her friend’s sunny demeanor had gradually changed. She knew it must have something to do with those who had died during that last battle, but she didn’t know how she could help him move past it. She had tried talking to him about it, recommending a therapist, but he had rebuffed her efforts, sometimes violently, and after a while, she had given up. Even Ginny hadn’t been able to get through to him. Their relationship was, at best, strained. In fact, she thought it was near the breaking point. Ron hadn’t been any help. Harry was a full-grown wizard, a man, he could look after himself. But Hermione wasn’t so sure. Her friend looked as if he had, literally, given up on living. “Harry?” she said again, nudging his arm.
“Hn?” His thoughts seemed to be far away from the Burrow’s kitchen that morning. “Did you say something, ‘Mione?”
“Ya deaf, Harry?” Ron asked through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. “She said ‘Morning Harry.’”
“Oh,” Harry mumbled, head bowing. “Sorry, ‘Mione. Morning. How did you sleep?”
“Well enough. You?”
He shook his head. “Didn’t.”
“Nightmares again?”
“Yeah.”
“Haven’t you been taking the dreamless sleep potion?”
Harry nodded despondently. “Doesn’t work anymore.”
“You must’ve built up a resistance to it,” Hermione concluded knowingly.
Ron scoffed, spraying crumbs across the table. Hermione frowned at her husband and did away with the mess with a flick of her wand. “You’d hafta drink that stuff every night t’build up a resistance to it.”
“I would thank you to keep your mouth closed while you’re eating, Ronald,” Hermione scolded, giving him a scathing look. Then she turned back to Harry, her eyes gentle. “Have you been taking the potion every night?”
Harry hesitated, and then nodded again, deciding there was no reason to hide it from her. There was nothing she could do about it anyway.
“Harry … have you thought about … seeing a mind healer or therapist since we talked about—”
“No,” he said shortly, green eyes fierce. “No healers. No therapists. I don’t want anyone in my head. Not ever again!”
“What about a Potions master? I’ve heard … Snape has made quite a name for himself offering new potions for when the usual wear off. He could—”
Harry’s face contorted, cheeks coloring in rage. “No!”
“Harry—” Hermione began, but with a pop, Harry was gone.
“When will you learn to just leave ‘im alone, ‘Mione?” Ron mumbled around a mouthful of the eggs and bacon Molly had placed in front of him. “The war fucked ‘im up. You’ve gotta let ‘im work through it on his own.”
“Hmm,” his wife hummed uncertainly. “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t like seeing him like that.”
Harry apparated directly into his room in Grimmauld place and collapsed on his bed, shaking with rage and grief. Snape. He hadn’t thought of that man for a long time. It was hard to remember the man without some form of regret. He had left him in the Shrieking Shack where Voldemort killed him. Or so he had thought. Later he had learned the snake, Nagini, had not killed his former professor. The snake’s venom would have been lethal to anyone else, but the doctors who tended the near comatose man had said Snape had inoculated himself with antivenin in the event that the Dark Lord thought to use Nagini against him. It was a narrow escape. Harry clearly remembered when he returned to learn Snape was being cared for at St. Mungo’s. He had rushed to the wizarding hospital, frantic with worry and an emotion he couldn’t name. Relief, perhaps? He didn’t know. All he knew was that Severus Snape was alive. He was alive and that, somehow, made everything better, made the deaths all around him more bearable, made the fact that Harry hadn’t died seem almost … right. He knew, had the professor died, he would have regretted it for the rest of his life. Even now, that weight, the weight of life, the weight of the guilt he felt toward being alive, the weight of all his sins was bearing down on him heavily, and he no longer knew how to cope with it.
A pop announced the arrival of the Black family’s last serving house elf, Kreacher. “Master Harry Potter has returned,” Kreacher stated unnecessarily. “How was Master Potter’s trip to see his friends?”
Harry shook his head. Immediately a hot cup of tea was floating in front of him. “Thanks,” he muttered, taking the cup out of the air and swallowing down a good portion of the steaming liquid. It burned his throat, but the pain felt good. “I needed that.”
The house elf bowed. “Kreacher is here to serve Master Harry Potter. It is Kreacher’s pleasure to provide whatever Master wishes.”
“Peace of mind?” Harry asked, half joking. Kreacher looked troubled. His chin wobbled. “Sorry, Kreacher,” he quickly apologized. “I didn’t mean it like that. Forget I said anything.”
“Perhaps … Master Potter will feel better if he visits his friend, Master Malfoy?”
“Draco?” Harry mused. It wasn’t a bad idea. In a weird, twisted kind of way, the former Slytherin’s snarky personality and biting comments did make him feel better. Maybe it was time to visit his old rival. “Kreacher, would you mind fetching my coat? I’ve heard it’s cold in Romania this time of year.”
The house elf’s expression twisted into something resembling a smile. “To Master Malfoy’s then?”
“Yes, Kreacher, to Master Malfoy’s,” Harry repeated, frowning when a thrill of desire passed through him. Desire for Malfoy? He shook his head. Impossible. He had never been attracted to the blonde that way. Then what? Could it be the ‘Master’ part? He shuddered to think what that might mean, and quickly pushed the feeling aside.
“Master Harry Potter?” Kreacher called a few minutes later.
Harry blinked. The house elf was standing on his bedside table, his coat held out as one would hold a coat for a child. “Thank you, Kreacher.”
“I hope you find what you are looking for, Master,” the elf said sincerely as he helped Harry shrug on his coat.
Sighing, Harry smiled slightly and nodded. “I hope so, too, Kreacher. I really do.”
Grasping his wand, though he really didn’t need it much anymore, Harry disapparated. Within moments of feeling like he’d been sucked through a space too small for even a ferret to wriggle through, Harry found himself outside the manor belonging to Draco Malfoy, former Slytherin and Death Eater. The house was warded against apparition, so he was forced to apparate outside the manor’s formidable gate and grounds.
A smiling gatekeeper greeted him. “Mr. Potter, it’s good to see you again. Lord Malfoy is in his drawing room. Would you like an escort?”
Harry waved the man away. “No, thank you. I’m sure I can find my way.”
The gatekeeper gave another smile and bowed. “Of course.” He placed his wand against his temple and murmured a spell. “Lord Malfoy,” he said, apparently to the air in front of him. “Mr. Harry Potter is here to see you. Shall I send him in?” He waited for a moment while ‘Lord Malfoy’ answered, and then inclined his head. “Yes, sir. I’ll see to it, sir.” Removing his wand from his temple, the gatekeeper turned to Harry with a solemn expression. “Lord Malfoy requests that you answer a question, Mr. Potter, to confirm your identity.”
“Was Draco attacked?” Harry wondered, concerned.
“A few days ago. An enemy under Polyjuice potion. Now,” the gatekeeper said, all business, “what spell did you use on Lord Malfoy which nearly killed him in your sixth year of school?”
A fair question, Harry noted. Only he and Snape knew the answer to that as only he and Snape had been privy to the information in the potions book owned by the Half-Blood Prince, which turned out to be Snape himself. Harry grimaced. He still felt guilty for using that spell. “Sectumsempra,” he answered, voice quiet but firm.
The gatekeeper nodded and gestured toward the manor gates. “Go on in, Mr. Potter. Sorry to have kept you from your visit.”
Nodding gratefully, Harry passed through the gates as they opened and through the wards Draco had erected for his and his family’s protection after the war. There were still those that wished him harm—Death Eaters and vengeful ‘good’ wizards and witches alike. He was greeted at the door by Draco, himself.
“Good God, Potter,” Draco said in his usual derisive tones, “you look like the walking dead.”
Harry gave the man a sarcastic look, rather than the relieved smile that wanted to form on his lips. Draco was the only one who didn’t tiptoe around him like some kind of glass vase balanced on the edge of a table—one bump and he might shatter. “I hadn’t noticed.”
Draco Malfoy held the door open for one of his best, and only, friends. “Well, come in Potter. You look like you could use something to eat.”
Harry shook his head. “That’s okay. I’m not all that hungry.”
“Potter,” Draco growled, “you’re half-starved. You need food. I’ll call Nappy to bring something light to eat, and you,” he emphasized with a jab to Harry’s chest, “are going to eat it.”
Resigned, Harry sighed and nodded. He really didn’t feel like forcing himself to eat, but he would because he knew if he didn’t, Draco would likely pin him to the dining room table and force-feed him. If there was a minute amount of excitement in his thoughts at the prospect of that happening, he didn’t dwell on it. “Whatever you say, Master Malfoy,” he muttered. “Whatever you say.”
Draco’s eyes narrowed and his mouth opened, on the verge of saying something, when he closed it again with a snap and gestured for Harry to precede him down the hall. “Nappy,” he called, taking Harry’s coat from him as they walked and handing it to the small, female house elf that had apparated to his side. “Hang Master Potter’s coat and then prepare something light for our visitor.” His sly eyes slid to watch his friend’s reaction to what he said, noting the way the man’s pupils dilated with a hint of … arousal? Interesting.
The house elf bowed obediently and, with the coat clutched in her arms, disapparated to another part of the manor.
“She’s new, isn’t she?” Harry asked, peering back at the spot where the petite creature disappeared, oblivious to Draco’s scrutiny. “Quiet, too. Not nearly as chatty as Dobby or even Kreacher.”
Draco shrugged as they stopped at the door to his drawing room where he held it open for his guest, ushering Harry through with a hand to the small of the other man’s back. It was no secret Draco was bent. After the war ended he had had fling after fling with every wizard from here to London, or so it had seemed.
“Nappy was abused by her last wizarding family. I took her in after they were sentenced to Azkaban.”
“Death Eaters?”
Draco nodded once, mouth tight. “They removed her vocal cords so she wouldn’t be able to give away secrets. As if she could in any case. She was frightened near to death.” Draco sat down, crossing his legs and gesturing for Harry to take a seat across from him. “Speaking of death, you’re looking like you’re circling the drain yourself. What have you been doing? You haven’t started onto another crusade with an evil wizard, have you?”
Harry shook his head, chuckling darkly. He almost wished that was the case. Then he’d actually feel like he was doing something. Maybe then, he wouldn’t feel so worthless. “No, nothing like that.”
“Seriously, Potter, you look like death.”
Just then Nappy apparated into the room with a tray of sandwiches cut into fourths.
“Thank you, Nappy,” Draco said, smiling when the shy house elf curtsied to him. She popped back out just as quickly. He turned his attention back to his rival and friend. He really did look pale, and he had bags under his eyes as if he hadn’t been sleeping well. His clothes hung off him almost as badly as the muggle clothes he had later told him were hand-me-downs from his great bully of a cousin, Dudley Dursley. “Eat, Potter,” he ordered as he took one of the sandwiches for himself. The man was entirely too thin. Again, he paid close attention to Harry’s reaction to his words. He almost expected the man to protest; instead, what he got was obedience. Reluctant, perhaps, but obedience all the same. And arousal. It just got better and better.
With a strange feeling of pleasure—but not because of the food—Harry took another quarter of a sandwich and popped it into his mouth, chewed mechanically, and swallowed.
Something within the Chosen One was changing, and Draco was beginning to understand what it was. “Harry,” he said, steepling his fingers as he watched the other man eat.
Harry looked up, startled by the use of his first name. Even now that they were more friends than rivals, Draco still called him Potter. “What?” he asked gruffly.
“This might sound strange to you, but given how you’ve been acting, I have to ask …”
“Ask me what, Malfoy?” Harry demanded impatiently when the blonde paused dramatically.
“Are you a sub?”
“Sub?”
“A submissive,” Draco clarified with a sigh. He had forgotten to whom he was talking—namely, the Virgin Wonder. “You’re acting like a sub without a Dom.”
Harry flushed, finally understanding what it was Draco was implying. He opened his mouth to protest, but the blonde cut him off with a sweep of his hand.
“You like it when someone orders you, you get aroused when you hear terms of control like ‘Master’ or ‘Sir,’ you find it hard to take care of yourself without being given direction. Harry,” he smirked, “you’re a sub.”
“I-I am not,” Harry managed in a choked voice. No, no, this was not happening! “Th-That’s not … not true!”
Draco raised an eyebrow. “Then why are you so flustered, Potter?”
“C-Cause …” he took a deep breath, knowing he wasn’t getting anywhere with his face flushed a condemning scarlet, acting like a typical liar. “Cause I’m not a sub! I can take care of myself! I have been for the past twenty-five years!”
“Harry,” Draco said firmly, a smug smile spreading across his face when the other man immediately fell silent at his commanding tone. “In the upper left drawer of my desk there’s a key. I want you to take that key, open the safe in the wall, and bring back whatever you find in the topmost compartment.”
“Dra—” Harry began to protest.
“Now, Harry.”
Harry stood, his feet automatically taking the familiar path from the drawing room to the blonde’s office. He didn’t even have to think about it, he just did it.
Once in Draco’s office in front of his desk, he opened the drawer, took out the key, and went to the safe in the wall. It only took a moment to unlock it and pull the door open, but when he did, he froze in shock. There, splayed out before him like some kind of strange exhibit were adult toys of every kind, shape, and size. They ranged from the innocent dildos and vibrators, to the less-than-innocent cock rings, collars, and restraints.
Topmost compartment, he repeated to himself, at the same time wondering exactly why he was following orders Draco Malfoy had given him. Nevertheless, he opened the compartment. He felt his heart jump into his throat and his hands begin to sweat and tremble. Inside was the most innocent looking, most wicked looking object—a black, braided leather crop. He took it up into his shaking hand, feeling the supple leather and wondering, almost subconsciously, what it would feel like to have the flat leather head strike his skin. An involuntary shiver brought him out of the stupor he had fallen into and with a shake of his head, he closed the safe, returned the key to Draco’s desk drawer, and walked back downstairs.
Draco greeted him with a smug grin and an outstretched hand in which Harry dropped the crop as if it had burned him. “Thank you, Harry. I believe I have proven my point?”
“What point?” Harry ground out, refusing to look at his former archenemy or acknowledge in any way that he might be right. He was not submissive!
“Don’t be dense, Potter,” the blonde snapped. “You are a sub.”
“Am not.”
Frustrated, Draco snapped the crop against his palm, the arrogant smirk returning when a low moan greeted the sound and Harry dropped to his knees. “You are a sub, Potter, and a masochistic one if I am not mistaken. Imagine the sensation of the crop coming down across your shoulders. How do you suppose you would feel?”
“Revolted,” Harry responded, the answer much too fast, much too vehement to be true.
Draco’s eyebrows raised in that all-knowing way that had often resulted in a fight between them during their years at Hogwarts. “The truth, Harry.”
This time he spoke with authority, and Harry could do nothing but obey. He shut his eyes against the words, knowing they were the truth, and that that truth would change everything. It was hard to admit it to Draco, but much harder to admit it to himself. It was just one more thing that made him different, made him a freak. Bowing his head, he whispered, “Relieved.”
The blonde blinked, more puzzled than he would care to admit. He had expected something of a more sexual nature. Hot, horny, excited maybe. But relieved? Brow furrowed, he gestured for the other wizard to continue. “Explain.”
“I need to be punished.”
With those five mumbled words, everything that had ever confused him about the Gryffindor fell into place. So simple, so sincere. Draco had never quite understood Harry before, now he did. He understood why the Boy-Who-Lived was all but falling apart at the seams. He was a masochist and a sub by nature. As such, he needed a Master to guide and control him. Fate and ill conceived Prophecy had been his Master in the years during the war with Voldemort. Now that the Prophecy had been fulfilled and the Dark Lord vanquished, his purpose, his reason for being, his guidance was gone. A sub stripped of a Master was like stripping a wizard of their magic. They could live, but it would be harder, crueler, duller, and greatly resembled thrusting someone into their own individualized hell. To top it off, he was weighed down by guilt over the deaths and suffering his actions had inadvertently caused. The result was what he saw before him—a Harry Potter that was slowly but surely wasting away.
Harry needed a Master. The question was, who could give the Chosen One, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Defeater of Voldemort the control that he so desperately needed? Who was dominant enough to be Master to the Harry Potter? More importantly, who was sadistic enough to cause pain to the man who had saved the entire wizarding world from a fate worse than death? Who would dare?
For that, there was only one answer. “Potter,” Draco called, drawing the other man’s gaze up from the floor, “you must seek out Severus Snape.”
“Wha—? I need to seek out … who?! Snape?!” Harry shrieked, not at all thrilled with the idea.
Draco sat back, anticipating the dark-haired man’s reaction. “Severus Snape. Professor Snape, if you prefer.”
“W-Why would you think I need to see him? He hates me—”
“Far less than you might think,” Draco finished for him, “proven by his efforts to protect you during your stay at Hogwarts and his sacrifice for you during the last battle.”
“That was for the sake of my mother,” Harry muttered petulantly.
“If that is so, how is it you can think he would hate the son of a friend as dear as Lily was to him? Go to him, Potter. He may be the only one who can help you.”
“Help me? Help me do what?”
Draco smiled. “Live.”
*****************************************************************
A/N: And there we have it, the first chapter! Bwahahaha! I feel so accomplished (: If you liked it or just feel like leaving some advice on how to improve, feel free to leave a review! Be seein' ya (;
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Punish Me