Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

I Don't Think You're a Waste of Space	By : SparklySprinkles Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Dudley/Harry Views: 10089 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Fictional story based on fictional characters. I own nothing of Harry Potter, and make no money.

Chapter List
- 1-chapter one
- 2-Chapter Two
- 3-Chapter Three
- 4-four
- 5-five
- 6-six
- 7-seven
- 8-Eight
- 9-nine
- 10-ten
- 11-eleven
- 12-twelve
- 13-thirteen
- 14-fourteen
- 15-fifteen
- 16-sixteen
- 17-seventeen
- 18-eighteen
- 19-nineteen
- 20-twenty
- 21-twenny one
- 22-twenny two
- 23-twenty three
- 24-twenty four
- 25-one more to go!
- 26-the end (26)
- 12
- 13
- 14
   His uncle went to the bathroom, and made his usual evening noises, though it was most likely early morning, and Harry stared up at himself on the ceiling. He should have asked LeStrange to remove that. The chair and tables he'd made remained as well. All very unfortunate reminders, but the mirror was particularly acute. And so obvious. Dudley would see that.
   His uncle finished up downstairs, and didn't come back up, letting the house descend into silence.
   The potion wore off gradually, leaving in the hollowed out absence of its high, a crashing low that wrapped about him like a hand around his throat. He couldn't move, couldn't see the sense in fighting it, and stared up at himself, at his body in a sort of time lapse as it bloomed blues and purples in the most telling of places. Marks LeStrange had sucked into the flesh from his thighs to his collar bone. His uncle's death grip on his hips and shoulders. His body told the story in case life were gentle enough on him to grant forgetfulness - which of course it wasn't. A potion that strong and evil, thought Harry, should give at least that. But it didn't.
   He had begged his uncle for things in this life, this new life of his, and had been shut down on any number of them. His success rate with beggary was random, to say the least. But he really thought he'd gotten through to the man his need to not be made to want any of this. He'd hoped. But Uncle Vernon was either too stupid, or simply didn't care. He had a new toy, and he wouldn't be told how to play with it.
   It was a messy haze of toxic spiky self hatred, but through it were truths of clarity, the loudest being that his uncle was a monster, and he would not be tempered in his play by the toy's pleadings. Something almost as loud was the realization that Harry didn't know where this man's lines were drawn. And he had twenty four hours ago. He was still in the shock of hearing his uncle tell LeStrange yes.
   Harry had two options. One, go with it, and that was no kind of option. He'd kill himself just to escape it. And two, he could run. This was no option either, really. His running days would be numbered in a very real way. Six and a half, before he was a shaking puddle of uselessness, but then perhaps he could die quietly somewhere, untouched.
   It was terrifying. But less so than bucking into his uncle's hand like a beast, while he watched from the inside, unable to do anything about it but hate himself more than he already did.
   He had two Orders warring each other in this. One, where Riddle had in his uncle's body given him permission to leave the home, and the other where his uncle had told him he must be in his room every night. He needed his uncle to take that one back. It wouldn't be easy, but the sooner he did it, the better.
   His muscles twitched with his thoughts, and he moved, bones almost creaking in protest at moving again. He was more than exhausted. He was empty. But this had to be the day. He was only prolonging everything, the running, the pain, the time before his uncle would walk back up the steps to him. And he moved, finally, the only sound in the house. He opened his door and stepped out into the hallway.
   He hadn't heard his uncle come back upstairs, so he started going down them, but heard his aunt and cousin come home, loudly and it seemed Aunt Petunia had not enjoyed herself in whatever kind of home LeStrange had. His uncle rumbled in answer, sounding muddled from sleep. He must have slept on the sofa. Harry ducked back into his room and tried to reason with his frustration. There would be another chance. He'd been here for long enough that a few more hours were nothing. Dudley came up the steps quickly after and knocked on Harry's door.
   Harry really didn't want to see Dudley right then. And his room must have positively reeked of sex.
   "Harry, are you alright?"
   "I am, Dudley. Really. But I just want to sleep now. May I? Please, I'll see you tomorrow."
   "But we brought breakfast. Dad sent me up for you." Well, then. Harry looked at his window, and noticed that the sun had indeed risen, and it was tomorrow. He hadn't noticed from the bottom of his pit.
   "I'll be right down." He found his spare pair of pants under his bed; the other was downstairs, in the living room where he'd been dressed the day before. Both of his shirts were down there, but the pants mattered more right then.
   He crept out into the hallway and down the stairs and ducked into his cupboard, where he'd thrown his shirt the night before. Then he tried a few faces to wear in the dining room before he was brave enough for that.
   Breakfast was already on the table, and it was a trifle more elaborate than Aunt Petunia normally put out for them. Harry's stomach growled at it all, and he knew he was starving. He sat and dug in, ready to fill his face.
   "Don't you want to know where it came from?" Harry looked at his cousin, deciphering the question. He wasn't really the kind of person who asked questions anymore, was he? He had reached a level of acceptance that didn't question things. And why would he wonder where food came from?
   "Where?"
   "That guy. He sent a house elf home with us, and it filled the table."
   Harry swallowed a mouthful of sausage that was only slightly less delicious for the information. He scanned the table, taking in what he saw. But it wasn't very well like LeStrange had cooked this himself. Had come home with his filthy fingers and set to work in the kitchen. Right? It would be an awful lot of work for one dirty little joke no one else would get.
   "So what happened with that guy last night?"
   "Nothing. I mean, I don't know. I don't even remember most of it," while very much not looking at his uncle. "I went to bed early. Did you see Ron?"
   "Yeah, we saw Ron. She was real nice, and showed us the whole house."
   "She was very young," his aunt decreed. "And they weren't married either, Vernon. It wasn't appropriate company for your son to be around."
   "Did, did she seem happy?"
   "I guess?"
   Happy wasn't what he'd meant. He'd been asking, without asking, if he was bruised, limping, puffy faced. Afraid of sudden movements. But he thought with bitterness that LeStrange wasn't the beating type. His methods were eviler than that. "Did she seem ... calm?"
   "I mean, maybe? Sort of. I mean, she talked more to Mum than me."
   Harry looked at his aunt. She was glaring at him. Through him. Always with the eyes. He looked away. She would give him nothing. These people had spent an evening with Ron, and Harry ... Harry had taken the consolation prize. He'd wasted an opportunity. He could have begged to see him. Could have gotten something out of all that.
   Dudley was hugely enjoying his breakfast, but he stopped suddenly, fork poised halfway. "It's alright to eat this, right? I mean, it's not going to do anything to me, or disappear after, in my guts? Like Mum said?"
   "I don't think so. I mean it's real food. Probably cooked by house elves then brought here." Dudley was eating that up, too, so Harry added, "that's how they work usually."
   "Yeah. I told mum, you have one, don't you? "
   "I what?"
   "And I told you Dudley, it's filthy."
   "That's right, boy. You inherited some things, didn't you?"
   "I gave most of that away." The house, that was.
   "Yeah but you own one of those. House elves. Don't you?" Harry nodded reluctantly. The man was thinking again. "You could call him here-"
   "That thing is filthy, Vernon." It was her most uncompromising tone.
   "Right, Mum but maybe it could help us.
   "And I told you that's not what they do. They cook and clean and ..." she waved her hand about, searching, "Give tours of homes."
   "Help what, Dudders?"
   "With that bastard possessing you, of course."
   Harry looked up at the boy in almost shock. Was that what elves did? He didn't think so, but what did he know? It didn't matter, though. If Riddle was stopped somehow from possessing his uncle, he - "He would just come himself, then, Dudley. And he would be able to do magic then, in his own body. He would be more deadly. To you. All of you." Dudley frowned at him. "But it was a good idea."
   "How would he come here?"
   "Floo."
   "And we could just -" he stopped. And looked at his parents, like they shouldn't be there. Like they were intruding, and looked back at Harry, as though he were sending it through thought waves. And Harry wanted to hear it. What would Dudley do about Lord Voldemort, in all his corporeal horror, in their home?
   Harry shook his head. "You would die." Dudley obviously needed to know how dire it would be for him. He didn't seem to get it.
   "Where does he live?"
   "At Hogwarts."
   "Huh." His uncle entered it. "Funny we didn't see him last night, then."
   Harry agreed. He'd been expecting it. Fearing it. Watching for his entrance all night. "I think he's in France."
   "And what does he say to get through the floo? To where he lives?" Dudley was still on it, and it made Harry afraid for him. No one would ask those questions for any purpose they'd survive.
   "Why?"
   "Dad, tell him to tell me what he says."
   Harry quickly looked at his uncle, before the man obeyed like he often did in these situations. There were many Dad, tell Harry to's that had ended badly for Harry, but this one would go the other way. "It's dangerous. He'll hurt himself with it."
   Uncle Vernon blinked at both of them. Was he thinking? Or eating? It could never be both. He was all happy determination, and Harry decided it was for the food.
   As they were sitting, in more than the usual awkward silence, an elf cracked into the room, one Harry didn't recognize.
   "Master Dursley, sir?" it squeaked.
   "Yes?" He didn't seem too upset to see one in his home.
   "Master LeStrange sends his regards and this," and produced a basket. Harry looked at Aunt Petunia quickly. What on earth did she think? But she'd seen this one, probably, last night and this morning earlier. She didn't seem anything but disgusted with everything. He looked back at the basket as Uncle Vernon hummed. Full of fruits.
   "Well. That's." He searched for a word. "Thoughtful of'im."
   "Good day sirs and madam." And he cracked away. Harry bored holes into his toast. How was the evening from hell not over?
   His aunt finally spoke up. "A fruit basket?" And this was where the old Dudley would have snickered. Harry didn't dare look up, but he was heating. It was growing terribly warm in the dining room.
   "Yes. Well. It is nice, isn't it?"
   "I could say some things, but I won't."
   "Mmm. Thank you."Yes, thank you Harry thought. He would die here at the table. It would happen some day.
   "So. Funny fruit at my table. Funny ... creatures appearing here, in my dining room? Putting funny food on our table. This is just wonderful, Vernon." She hadn't touched her fork the entire time, and her plate was empty. "Dudley. Go upstairs." She said it with no sugar, no compromise, and Dudley sent quick looks to his father and Harry before he left, at a quicker than normal pace.
   "Please, may I go, too?" Whatever it was, Harry wanted to be no where near it.
   "No. You stay." She spoke at him and Uncle Vernon stayed quiet. Permission denied. "Did you sleep with that man, Vernon?"
   "What?" He nearly had a seizure. This was such a grave insult that he set down the fork, and Harry braced for the explosion. "What the hell do you think I am? I never touched him."
   "Really?"
   "Harry, tell her the truth! Did I touch that man?"
   "Yes, Master. He maybe, by accident, once or twice, but no. He didn't. On purpose."
   "There. I don't know what you think is going on here, but I would never!"
   "How am I supposed to know anything about who you are now? You seem to enjoy being with him enough." Harry shut his eyes. "And what did you do, then?"
   Harry turned his head towards Uncle Vernon. What would he say to that?
   "Tell the freak to tell me what you all did last night. And that same wording. To tell the truth."
   "What Harry does when you're gone and when you're here is none of your business. I don't need to explain these things to you, or give you answers! He's completely mine. You know what that means? It means I own him!" A fist landed on the table, making plates jump.
   "And did it happen in my bed, then?"
   "It didn't," Harry said, still with his eyes closed. "May I go?"
   "No. Tell me what happened."
   "Uncle Vernon, may I please go?"
   "And do you think you should still be calling him uncle?" She was stabbing now. Out for blood for the evening she'd had to spend in such unsavoury company as Ron Weasley and a house elf. Harry shook his head. But what the hell should he call the man? She didn't like Master. And Harry could think of fifty worse things. "You think that's still appropriate?"
   "I suppose you could call me Vernon, now, Harry. Considering." It was said in that sickening soft way the man had sometimes.
   Harry nodded. Then, because it was a, a familiarity being granted, "thank you." But he would rather die. And yet, it was better than Dear. And that was better than Love, or Sugar Tits. He would not be calling this man Vernon, not without direct orders. "Please, may I leave?"
   "Go to your room, then. Get some sleep."
   "Yes, Master." Worst breakfast ever. He ran. To his room and shut the door, and immediately stripped, as per the bond enforcement. The blanket was permissible, he'd learned, so he wrapped himself in it and sat down, wishing the order hadn't been so specific. He was desperate enough to think about the window in the spare bedroom, the one that Aunt Marge used when she called. Sleep wasn't the worst thing, though. He was exhausted. Then Dudley knocked on his door. Harry jumped up and stood at the door.
   "Yeah?"
   "Can I come in?"
   Harry didn't want that. He hugged the blanket and stepped out as quickly as possible, trying to block Dudley's view of anything damning. And everything was. Not that Dudley's room was much better - the boy said funny things in there that left Harry reeling sometimes.
   He shut the door behind him quickly and stood in the hallway, and Dudley scowled through his thoughts, staring at Harry's door. "What's in there?"
   "Nothing. I just never clean it and it's filthy." All too true. "We can go to your room."
   Dudley nodded, and Harry took his free out for the day and followed. There were still bars over his window, but he could open it from time to time and air it out, at least. He really should.
   "So what does he say to get through the fireplace? To ... floo there?"
   This again. It was worrying to see he wouldn't let it go. "It doesn't matter, Dudley. It doesn't lead to - to where he sleeps. Nothing leads there, and you have to apparate into it. You can't do that." He was studying the floor and added quietly, "There're no doors or windows."
   "Yeah, so you don't even want us to try?"
   "I don't want you to try." Did he mean him and Malcolm? Did he have a crew?
   "You think I can't do anything?"
   "I think - I know you'll get killed. You don't know what magic can do."
   "I'm not stupid, Harry!" The outburst brought a million little unfortunate memories with it. This was Dudley Dursley, Harry remembered. The boy who tormented Harry for the simple reason of curing boredom. "I know what they can do! And they don't know what we can do. Because they grew up that way, and only think weapons have to be magic." He was angry, and coming closer to Harry, explaining the most obvious things, like he'd said this a million times before, and he was sick of it. "They don't know we have'em, too. You forgot that too, from your time with them." He pounded his chest for emphasis, "I'm not the one who needs protecting here! Now you tell me, or I'll go down right now, and make Dad make you tell me, and maybe I'll make him make you do other things, too."
   Harry looked away, curling in on himself slightly, and terrified of what that had sounded like. And Dudley was very likely to run to his father and order the man to make Harry do something, as he had done countless times before, just for fun, just to prove he could, just because he was bored. And had Dudley ever been more bored?
   "Oh, god. Harry, I didn't mean that. I meant other things. I meant. I meant clean my room and shit. I'm sorry. And I didn't even mean that, not really." Complete deflation. Harry nodded, just to help that deflation. But he was still shaking inside. It was all possible. Everything was possible. His uncle had brought a strange man home last night, had seen him naked, had been seen naked, and done things in front of him. Everything was possible, on this terrible new day. Dudley rushed him, and Harry covered his face in the blanket as Dudley wrapped massive arms about him and held him. "I'm sorry, Harry. I would never do that to you."
   "He said 'The Dark Lord's home.'" He was thoroughly chastened. That's all he wanted to project. And he wanted to be alone. Forever. Soon.
   Dudley nodded, perhaps still uncomfortable, Harry didn't know, and couldn't look at him to find out. "Thank you," he mumbled over Harry's head.
   He nodded, face still in the imaginary safety of the blanket. "May I go?"
   "Of course, Harry. I'm sorry."
   Harry nodded quick. He was free to go. That was the point. He fled the room to his own, and laid down, a little too rattled to sleep. His uncle came up soon after that, and Harry waited, but the man went to his own room. And mere moments later the dull absence of emotion, the lovely void of safety that meant the man was sleeping. Harry was getting pretty good at reading what the bond told him; the determined satisfaction of eating, the determined thinking that meant he was taking his morning shit, nearly everything he did was with that determination that Harry took as his uncle's very core.
   He bolstered himself, trying to feed off that very determination as a defensive weapon to use against the man himself, and left his room, and went into his uncle's room. It was the first time he'd ever done so without being forced to. And this was close to it. He was shaking. The chances of this going south and being turned against him were immediate and ugly. But if it worked it would be worth it.
   He came up to the man and put a hand on him to wake him.
   "Harry?" He frowned as though something were wrong. What else could have brought this about? "What is it?"
   "I didn't want to sleep in there." And it was true enough. The changes made to that room were the least of it, and at times the most. He lost courage there, or the complete lack of self respect needed to say the rest.
   Uncle Vernon blinked under it, then smiled as he bridged the gap. "You want to sleep with me?"
   Harry nodded, feeling every inch the whore for such a horrible if untrue motion. It was making this man far too happy for it to have been a healthy thing to say. His uncle pulled back the blankets for him and nodded.
   Harry made to crawl in, but stopped. "But you told me I have to always sleep in my room."
   "Right. Well you don't have to every time, then. Get in."
   "Yes, Master. Thank you." And he could do it, one more time, get into a bed with this beast. It was worth it. He was swallowed up by the man, but he'd known that would happen. It was still worth it.
   "You can't make a habit of this, though. Petunia wouldn't be very pleased to see this, would she?" But he sounded pleased enough about it all. As though they were sneaking pudding without permission. Harry shook his head into a huge chest. "You have to be in your own room tonight."
   "Yes, Master." He tried to temper his disappointment by telling himself that he'd gotten what he'd come for. And he could always skip out at dawn. His uncle didn't really understand words had their specific meanings.
He begged his way out of dinner, absolutely terrified of more poison from his aunt, and told his uncle he was still very tired. Not that he disagreed with anything she said; she was the only one of them who knew this was all wrong. Even Dudley, as opposed as he was to the current state, would have jumped to have Harry for himself. He'd said so. But Aunt Petunia kept trying to remind them that it was horrible. She was his ally in a way, though he would never have said that to her. God only knew what that would have done.
   Then later his uncle came to his room, and Harry stayed on his stomach and waited. The man laid down beside him and held him, then turned him over. He stroked his face and stared at him. At his eyes, and Harry forced himself to keep them open. He knew there would only be a command to open them if he tried otherwise.
   "You really are very pretty, aren't you?" Harry met his eyes for a fleeting moment, silently begging him to shut up. "Should I have them turn you into a girl, Harry?" His blood ran cold at that. The threats this man just casually backhanded about the room, like they were random thoughts of his, and they were. The randomest.
   Harry didn't think it was one of those questions he needed to answer. Pleading had rarely gotten him anywhere with this man. And what would it take for Uncle Vernon to find someone who could do something for him? Probably more than he could accomplish. He had just a scant few braincells to work with.
   "Did you mean what you said last night?"
   "Last -" And he remembered. Of course he did. Almost everything about that night was clear as day to him. Avoiding LeStrange's mouth, until the end, where he bargained for the man to leave, screaming for more as he was pounded, begging his uncle for pleasure and gratefully cuming in the man's hand. And telling him that he'd always loved him.
   But of course he had. That's what children do. Uncle Vernon hadn't raised him like a son, but he'd been the man in his life for so many years, and all that entailed. He was the authority, the source of the roof, the breadwinner and the loud voice at the table all others quieted for.
   And then Sirius had come in, and overnight Harry had someone worthy of it. At the time, Hermione had told him to temper himself, but it just wasn't possible sometimes.
   He wished he hadn't said those things to Uncle Vernon. This man needed no more leverage. And it wasn't true, not the way his uncle heard it, anyways. Harry dearly wished it wasn't true. "I think that potion erased some memory for me. I'm sorry."
   "It's not your fault, boy. I told you to drink it, didn't I?"
   Harry nodded. That was pretty big of him to admit, he supposed.
   "That's too bad. You said all sorts of things, Harry. And they were all good. Things I'd like to hear you say again sometime." Did that mean LeStrange was coming again? But that seemed like a done deal already. His uncle was quite taken with the dark wizard who'd seen him fuck a boy. Harry stared up at himself, waiting for his uncle's hands to increase in determination. But they seemed to be wandering about without thoughts driving them. Idling in odd places and halting funny.
   "You can speak your mind, you know. You can say things you want to say, sometimes." He was just so very stupid, as was everything he said. "It's alright if we don't do anything tonight, right?" Harry nodded quick. God, if his uncle had been doing all this because he thought Harry wanted it? That would have been a bloody tragedy. "I'm not as young as you, Harry. I don't have what it takes to go all night, and then go again the next night." And he sounded truly sorry. "Truth to tell, I'm a little sore." But he didn't sound sorry to say that. Proud. Of himself or Harry, and either way, it wasn't some applaudable sentiment.
The man went to sleep, and Harry waited for him to roll off. But it wasn't like every other time he'd waited. This was different. Tonight he was running - before his uncle chipped away more of his soul. His fingertips felt electrified by the fear and excitement of it, until he was worried his uncle would feel it. Did the man feel more than just his pain? Harry almost laughed when he realized the man couldn't possibly feel his pleasure. Something that unfortunate would have reared its ugly head long ago if it had been true.

He slept a little, in fits like he did with this man in his bed. Every time his uncle would move, Harry would wake, and his uncle was a mover. Harry hadn't had a full night's sleep in a long time. He woke several times before dawn's light in the window let him know he was free.
   Then, gentle as anything he'd ever done in his life, he got off the bed without jostling it, and crept for his trousers and shirt. He opened the door and his uncle scared the everliving shit out of him by asking him where he was going. Harry jumped and turned about. "I was just going to go and shower." Was that it? Would he not have time?
   "You'll wake them if you do."
   "I was going to use the one downstairs."
   "Alright. But be back when you're done."
   "Yes, Master! What else would I do?" He had said that too loud. His uncle blinked at him, and Harry whispered, "I'm sorry. I'll be right back." It was hard to temper his disappointment that time. His uncle was a strange man, and getting stranger every day when it came to Harry.
   Harry jumped into the shower feeling far too angry considering it was just a few more hours before he could do something, and he'd been here for months. But it was hard, since he'd finally decided the price was too high to pay, it was harder to keep paying it. Half way through his rush job he wondered why he would rush, and slowed down. It was only back upstairs he could go, and what was waiting there? Nothing good.
   But then it came down and met him, opening the door and coming into the washroom.
   Harry turned off the water and stepped out quick, soaking the floor without a thought.
   "No need to hurry. Get back in there."
   "Yes, Master. I was done, though.
   He smiled. "Were you? There's still soap on you." Harry stood in the tub slumped in defeat and aggravation. And waited. His uncle joined him, crowding him to the end and turned the water back on. Then he pulled him closer and went in for a kiss, and Harry couldn't. It was a part of that price that was too high, and it burned harsher than it had the day before. He turned his face away.
   His uncle grabbed him, and turned him, stared at him, and Harry fought the grasp. "What the hell is this?"
   "I don't want to." And before he could shut his mouth, "why can't you ever just stop?"
   The fingers dug in and Harry felt his uncle's anger brewing, a warning sign he should have listened to. "Why would I?"
   He had to think. There had to be a good reason. "Because I want you to?"
   "I could fix that." Right. Harry remembered then. How could he have forgotten? His uncle had kept threats away from him for a long time, and Harry had gotten complacent in it all. But this man could order him to want it. He looked down. All that I want you to phrasing in place of outright commands had lulled him into a place of imaginary safety. He kept his eyes down and made his tensed body relax in the hold. "I wish I had more of that potion. Maybe I should go to town and see what there is, eh? There have to be whole shops of the stuff. They make it, right? And if people make something, they sell it. Don't they, boy?" He stroked his face as he spoke softly.
   "I don't know."
   "You don't know? I think that's a yes, Harry. Tell me the truth, are there shops that sell potions?"
   "Yes, Master. There are."
   "Right. And do you think they would sell what I want? Tell the truth.'"
   "Yes, Master. I think so, yeah." God, what if his uncle found love potions? Where would he be then? He thought of how brain dead Ron had been when a girl at school got him by accident. His uncle smiled. "Yeah, I bet they do. I could have you ready and eager every night." Harry kept his eyes down and his mouth shut. He'd been stupid already, and he didn't need to push it. He didn't need to show this man anything that he would feel the need to weed out. He could still escape if he wasn't rash.
   His uncle held his face in place and leaned in, and Harry held still for it, getting his face smeared either way, whether he fought or didn't. It wouldn't matter. He relaxed some more and the hand holding him moved lower, holding his body close. Uncle Vernon took some hair conditioner and poured it on his fingers, then reached behind him and rubbed Harry's crack, grunting softly as he went.
   He slowly worked a fat finger in, and Harry felt his dick twitch. But he didn't pull away. That would have made it worse. Would have brought attention to it, maybe. And it would have accomplished nothing. Perhaps the potion was still in his blood.
   His uncle pushed his face up against the wall and parted his cheeks and went back at him with two fingers, while he made out with the back of Harry's neck. Perhaps it was the sounds of this man's pleasure, or the path that had been laid the other night with LeStrange, Harry didn't know, and he didn't want to, but he was hard against the cold tiles.
   His uncle hummed happily as he stroked, then shoved his way inside Harry, rushing through the path his fingers had eased for himself. His uncle was getting worked up, breathing hard and probably loving how much Harry hated it, he didn't know. But he loved when Harry wanted it, too. None of this made sense when he looked at it closely, and he usually tried not to. But this morning had started out a little more honestly than most, and he was set off by it.
   He pulled Harry back and reached around him, growling happily over Harry's stiff prick, and with conditioner still coating his hand, jerked him off as he pounded giving Harry those sheets of light that he unfortunately remembered. It was horrific how good this felt. And smelled. Like lavender and cucumbers. He raised his hands to the wall and braced himself against it, moving against the man the way he liked. Hatred for himself warred with hatred for Uncle Vernon as an angry grunt escaped and he released into the slick hand, and felt every pulse against the hot palm.
   "Good boy," like a breathy weak stupid whimper and he was cuming then, too, so pleased with himself. He felt he'd proven a point.
   Hands still held him, and his uncle turned them about so Harry was the one facing the stream, and washed him. Then he washed himself and stepped out, and dried himself. When he pulled out a second towel and called Harry into it, he did as told. The man wrapped him and rubbed him down. "I meant what I said." Harry had to think back; this man said so many things, none of them good. "About going to town."
   Harry hunched himself against it. "I need to find something that will keep you happy for me, boy." He thought a moment. "You can come if you want. Then you might have some say in what I bring home." Harry shook his head. If the man was gone all day? He might have a chance somewhere in that. "Alright. Then you go to your room, and stay there until I come home."
   Harry looked up at him finally. "Yes, Master! Why are you doing this?"
   "Doing what? I told you, I want you happy for me."
   "No, telling me where to be for how long like this?"
   "The hell are you on about? I've been doing it for months. Now you have a problem with it?" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. Harry thought about it and realized it was true. Uncle Vernon had been telling him, go to your room and wait for me, or, go upstairs, be in Dudley's room for an hour, then yours after that, or even the bathrooom, like that since Harry had spent the night with Dudley. He just hadn't felt the chafing until now. And he was going to ruin everything by showing it.
   He had to save this. "I'm sorry. I just didn't notice." And how was that even true?
   "Hmf." He was still scowling. Good god, was he thinking? "You, go to your room, and stay there, until I come up there for you." All very deliberately, as though he were searching for loopholes in his words that Harry might use.
   "Yes, Master." Harry grabbed his clothes and escaped. No food today. But that was fine; he'd eaten more than well enough the day before.
   His room felt like a cage, and he even paced it a while. What was the man going to bring home? There were worrisome things all day, little spikes of excitement from the man, and veritable floods of it. None of those could be good news. Perhaps he should have warned the man of LeStrange's mention of brain damage, but that would mean he remembered some things. He wasn't sure how to bring it up without questions. And there was always the threat of being ordered to tell the truth, and Harry was in no way ready to own up to the awful rubbish he'd said. Would never be ready. But if the man brought home something fowl enough, Harry could be saying worse before the night was over.
   His uncle came home after Aunt Petunia and Dudley had gone to bed, and Harry felt he might be out another night of the freedom he was so hoping for. Uncle Vernon was humming. He was no where near Harry for him to hear it, but he knew. He listened to the house's sounds of the man eating in the kitchen, going for his evening shower, and doing other things Harry hadn't gotten around to identifying yet. But he was sure if he lived this life long enough, he would know all of them, would know if his uncle farted into a sofa cushion in the living room during the evening news.
   The man came up after that, like he normally did, and went right for Harry's room. He was still so excited. Harry only felt dread and waited for it, watched silently. The man had a nameless paper bag with him. But his uncle had something else in mind, and pulled out some hardware. A hasp and lock for Harry' door. But on the inside. Harry had never had one for the inside before. Both his doors, the one to the cupboard, and the one to this room, had locks on the outside, but he'd never had one on the inside.
   And he knew it was for Uncle Vernon, but wouldn't it be something if one day, he could lock it himself, and have everyone shut out on the other side? Uncle Vernon pulled out a screwdriver and set it up without a word. He didn't think this needed explaining, and it surely didn't. Harry understood. He tried to look out the window, or anything, and not pay too close attention to this. Because this couldn't be what Uncle Vernon had been so worked up about today.
   Finally he was done, and locked the door with a thick well of satisfaction that was so strong it almost bled into Harry and made him feel the same way. He held the key like a trophy. A prize. A monument to his foresight and determination.
   Harry had done some thinking in that time. "Uncle Vernon, what if the Dark Lord takes your mind when it's locked?" A tiny voice for a tiny question, and it had gnawed at him for some long minutes of all that.
   His uncle nodded, as though he had thought of that. Harry was skeptical. "Yeah. Right. So this is yours." Harry's eyebrows climbed before he could stop them. That was unexpected. "You may lock anyone out but me, unless I'm taken over, that is." Harry nodded, dumb. "And other than that, you may lock it when I'm in here." He smiled wide, proud of himself, and Harry allowed that he should be. That had been a big thought for this man. Then he handed the key over to Harry, still very pleased with himself.
   Harry stared down at his hand, closed about the little metal bit, and didn't know what to say. This wasn't some gift, it was more comfort for Uncle Vernon, but the man was making some serious effort here to show him something. Harry nodded and put the key on the table by his bed. His uncle came up behind him and Harry tightened as he embraced him, bringing into his vision the bag that had carried the lock. It wasn't empty.
   He kissed his ear and whispered, "something else for you." Harry took the bag, still wrapped tight in his uncle, and peaked inside. Coils of rope. He reached in and pulled at it to make sure there was nothing under. Just rope. And what if his uncle was possessed when Harry was in these? He felt ill, and told himself that it didn't matter. Riddle had the power of obedience already when in his uncle's body. Ropes would mean nothing to him.
   His uncle was getting handsy, roaming his body freely. "Well? Pull - I want you to pull them out, boy." He was so pleased with himself. Harry wanted to tell him no, because he could, but he couldn't, really. Uncle Vernon would make it a command.
   He pulled them all out, and dropped them on the bed like they burned. This man would drive him insane. He held Harry's hips and rutted against him, grating his stubble into Harry's neck. "Know what those are for?"
   Harry shook his head. He didn't want to. What if his uncle tried to play with him again, while he was in them? Tried to ... please him? Harry jumped as a hand grazed his inner thigh, dangerously close. His uncle chuckled as though it was a harmless joke, and backed away. He took off his house robe, and laid down, right in the center of the bed, and Harry knew he would be doing the work tonight. How the ropes would come into play, he still wasn't sure, but he knew he would be told soon enough.
   "I want you to come here, Harry." He followed the command and lowered over his uncle, knowing what he would want for this stage. Snogging. He was very glad to have skipped eating that day. Food in his stomach never helped any of these chores along, least of all the kissing. His uncle lapped it up for a few moments of near silence, aside from the sound of his wet mouth and disgusting little moans that showed this meant far more to him than it should.
   He reached for the lube, ever present, just a little lower in the bottle every night. He fingered Harry, still licking up at his face, until he grabbed the back of Harry's head and kept him in place. Harry must have been pulling away without meaning to again. His thighs gripped the man when he was deep enough, and he was told to grind himself against him. Harry was hard again, and his uncle had noticed. Again. Like he was holding a never ending vigil for Harry's cock. He slipped two fingers in and Harry was pushing against him, seeing the sense in getting him too worked up for toys he'd brought with him.
   It almost worked. Uncle Vernon was very into everything until he pulled Harry's face back and gasped, "I want you to take those and tie me down." His eyes were alive with this, and Harry stared at him, rattling the words about in his mental echo chamber until understanding. They weren't for him. That was a relief. In fact, relief was too a weak word. He was silent for too long, and his uncle had to speak. "You can do that, yeah?"
   Harry nodded quickly, and reached back for them before this man changed his mind. He reached over Uncle Vernon's body to do this, and endured excited pets until the wrists were both safely put away held by far too many and never enough knots. Uncle Vernon was writhing already for it.
   Harry did his ankles and thought of Riddle coming now. A nervous giggle slipped out, almost a cough. His uncle heard it, though it had been a quiet little thing. "You like this?" Harry nodded quickly. He really couldn't hold the bouts of what was nearly joy that he wasn't being chained down tonight. "Yeah, I thought you might." Harry kept quiet and stilled his face more. "Make sure you tie'em tight, boy."
   "Yes, Master." He rechecked all knots and added a few more. There was no need to make sure untying the man would be easy, either. It would be alright if that took a while.
   He went right for the lube and greased his uncle, ready to get it over with. The man jumped in his hand and pulled at the ropes, and his excitement really did bleed into Harry. It was just too overpowering. Harry hovered over him and lowered quickly, and his uncle interpreted that the way he wanted to, and smiled and clenched his fists.
   Then his uncle started moving, and Harry watched his hands, like they would burst free any moment. Could they really be just regular ropes, or would they release the man when he wanted? Where did he get them? Were they enchanted?
   "Was this all you bought today?"
   "I didn't buy these. They were in the garage, and I thought you were a little down today, and you might like them."
   "But you bought something today?"
   "I did." He smiled. "I bought a few things, but we can save them, yeah?" Harry nodded, not really knowing what else he could do. "This is doing it for you, isn't it?"
   "Erm."
   "You're loving this. I can feel how hard you are."
   He didn't understand why he was hard, but what else could he do but go with it? LeStrange's potion again? Could it be taking this long to wear off? He didn't know, but it was the best conclusion he could have drawn, and he went with it, because it was happening. His uncle wouldn't see it, but he must have felt it, thrusting into his gut. Harry shook his head for the nothing he could do about it, and kept going, trying to not give himself too much friction.
   "Harry. Kiss me."
   "Yes, Master." He leaned down and obeyed, hating that he could feel himself jutting into the man this close. His uncle sucked at him and licked like he was needing it, letting out his gross little sounds. Harry wished he would be quieter.
   "Scratch me."
   "Yes, Master." He ran his fingers along the man's chest, not sure how much he wanted.
   "More. Harder. Deeper."
   "Yes, Master." And he carved. Huge angry furrows that were red everywhere, interrupting scars Harry had left before, and eventually even drawing blood. It seared his fingers to do it, to cause this body pain, but it felt good. And the marks, the blood where he'd managed to break the skin, it was nice to see damage he could do for once. His uncle was whining and bucking, pulling at the cuffs and sweating, though Harry was the one doing the work. This man could break a sweat in his sleep.
   "Yes. Claw me."
   "Yes, Master." Harry dug his nails in and watched his uncle's face waiting for him to say stop. He moaned weakly and surged wildly, nearly reaming Harry on every thrust, but that just helped him dig in further. Like Uncle Vernon knew that would be the result.
   The command had set in deep, blending harmoniously for once with Harry's wants, and he was clawing at his face. Every gouge screamed its way through his own fingers, but he hardly felt it, as he became only eager to carve more. And then he was angrily working to shove the head of his prick into the man's stomach, centered on the gouges and the give of this flesh for his thrusts.
   His uncle craned his neck to give Harry more of a canvas, basking in it all, hissing and flinching and rolling his hips and crying out far too loud. Enjoying himself far too much, and Harry finally couldn't take the sound anymore. Everyone had to be listening to this man cry himself out under him. Harry clamped his hands over Uncle Vernon's mouth and put all his weight into it as he continued to ride.
   He felt the tickling rumble of the man moan more for that, his eyes glued to Harry, still thrusting into him, and Harry couldn't look away. And he realized he could win this, if he could stop his uncle from saying anything ever again. If he could keep his hands in place for ever, but that was obviously not possible.
   Then Uncle Vernon was shouting at him through his hands, but Harry couldn't make out the words. It felt amazing. Like freedom. Harry rode him faster, actually loving this but not ready to admit it, and leaned all the weight he could into his hands.
   Harry stretched some fingers higher, over the man's nose, and near silence followed, ruined only by the sound of skin, and his own unfortunate little moans, now fully audible until he shut them up. He hoped he hadn't been doing that for very long. That left only the sound of Harry's cheeks bouncing on his uncle. Why he kept it up he didn't know. But he did. And all he could have room for was how amazing this felt. His dick, pressing into the man's stomach over and over, as he rode him, and it was amazing. There was release if he just kept it up, and he did. His uncle was turning red, the whites of his eyes very clear in the dark room, and he was struggling to get away from Harry's hold.
   Harry's hands were on fire, it seemed, but he didn't dare let go. The excitement of that overtipped, and he came, clenching everything, including his hold on the man's face. And then his uncle's massive body heaved upwards, a heat flooded Harry's arse, and the man went limp, passed out.
   Harry was shaking on top of him, more than anything ready to lie down and sleep with a strange vibrating laxness, but this wasn't the time for it. He'd done something, and he would pay, or he could run. It was that kind of crossroad, and his uncle wouldn't work in half measures, not with much in life. And not with this. He jumped off the man and wobbled his way to his clothes, pulled them on in a second and went for the door. The bloody thing was locked. And wouldn't it be perfect if he could lock it on his way out? But there was a hasp still on the outside. He giggled and cut that off quick once he heard himself.
   Harry went for the key on the table and tried not to fumble everything in his haste. He looked quick at his uncle. The man was still out, limp and leaking on his thigh. He ran back to the door, unlocked it and pulled the lock off, then left for the hallway, shut the door and looped the lock in the hasp and shut it with equal measures of madness, terror and triumph.
   He turned around and Dudley was staring at him wide eyed. Harry didn't have time for this.
   "Harry. I can help."
   "I, I don't think you can."
   "I can. Let me." Harry nodded. He just needed to be out of this house before that man came to. He couldn't deal with arguing with Dudley. He ran downstairs holding up his trousers, and Dudley followed to the back door. Harry opened it and was outside. He didn't pause to marvel at it. Dudley grabbed his hand and pulled, and Harry followed, since it led away from the house.
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