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Bella's Harem	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 28885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 18
- 19
- 20
Warning: This chapter contains SLASH. If you don’t like reading SLASH, you know where your “Back” button is—please exit now!
19: Shall We Dance?

Theo fell asleep in Filch’s office reading files and ended up sleeping there all night. When he woke in mid-morning he was rather stiff from having slept cocked back in Filch’s ancient wooden desk chair. And he was very hungry. He put the invisibility cloak over himself and made his way through the corridors to his parents’ suite, performed a quiet Alohomora, and let himself in.

The Howler nearly hit him in the face where it hung suspended inside the door, waiting for him. Taken aback, but assuming it must be from one of his parents, Theo took the ominous red envelope and saw that it was from Lucius Malfoy. He checked again—yes, it was definitely addressed to him and not his parents (although why he should suppose Lucius would be sending Howlers to either of the adult Notts one can only imagine). Gingerly he opened it, cringing at the deafening volume of the voice that issued forth.

“Theo Nott!” Lucius thundered. “Where are you hiding yourself, boy? What the devil kind of mischief are you up to that a squad of Death Eaters and all the castle elves have been unable to find you for the past three days? I have grave news for you. Report to me immediately!”

The Howler chittered at him and then ripped itself into a frenzy of shreds that fell harmlessly to the floor. Theo was puzzled. Grave news? What grave news could Lucius Malfoy have for him? He walked through the apartment quickly, looking for his mother or father, but they weren’t there. Sighing, he decided he’d better do as Lucius said and not put it off any longer.

He trudged down the hallway and around the corner to the large, gracious suite the Malfoys occupied and knocked on the door. He was kept waiting for so long he was on the point of leaving, thinking no one was there, when the door finally opened with a soft click. Narcissa stood there looking at him with—was that pity in her eyes?

“Why, Theo,” she said. “How very nice to see you, dear. How are you holding up? Is there anything I can do for you?”

How am I holding up? Well, that was weird. But he said politely, “I’m fine, thank you. I’m looking for Mr Malfoy, please. He left me a note to come see him immediately. Is he here?”

Narcissa’s eyes turned glacial and she gave a little sniff, as if the mere mention of Lucius made her smell something bad. “No. He isn’t,” she said. “I’m afraid I have no idea where he is—probably with that sister of mine. Try the audience chamber.”

Theo nodded. “Oh. All right. Th-thank you, Mrs Malfoy.”

He turned away and Narcissa called softly, “Chin up, dear!” He waved at her, wondering what that was all about, and went back down the corridor past his parents’ suite and on to the Great Hall. Harridge was on day duty again and he seemed to eye Theo a bit more sternly than usual, but the same peculiar expression Narcissa had had was on Harridge’s face as well.

“We’ve been looking for you, boy,” he said gruffly. “About time you showed up. Best hurry on inside, now. Lucius has been waiting for you.” He opened one of the great doors to let Theo pass in.

More and more mysterious! Lucius was looking for him, Narcissa had told him to keep his chin up, and Harridge was looking at him like Theo was about to be sentenced to the gallows. Suddenly he got an awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. The spying—did someone know? Had he been found out? Did Lucius know? Trying to look as if he wasn’t panicking, Theo looked about, searching for Lucius among the crowds that seemed to throng the place today. Ah—there he was, talking to Snape. Snape saw Theo and said something to Lucius, who turned. There again was that odd expression, almost of pity, but on Lucius’ countenance it was mixed with anger.

“Ah. I see you got my note,” Lucius said. “I will have to ask presently about your activities over the past few days, I think, but first—Theo, when did you last see your parents?”

“My parents?” Theo looked from Lucius to Snape. “I—two or three days ago, I suppose.”

“I see. You have not been back to your family’s suite in all that time?”

“Well...I have, but mostly at night. Why—”

“But you weren’t there last night,” Lucius pressed. “As I presume you have only just now received my summons, isn’t that correct? You didn’t return home last night, get the summons, and decide to just...ignore it overnight, perhaps?”

“No, I—no!” Theo denied. “Why would I ignore it?”

“And tell me, Theo: in all these late-night returns to your family apartments, did you not see your mother and father at all, even in passing?”

“Well, no. I suppose they were either asleep or—or off somewhere else,” Theo said weakly. He was beginning to have a very bad feeling.

He was pinned by Lucius and Snape’s ruthless gazes; and he had the oddest sensation that Snape, in particular, was listening for something. Then Snape seemed to relax a bit and gave Lucius an infinitesimal shake of his head.

Lucius put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you that your parents disappeared two days ago, Theo. Your mother and Mrs Dunstan spent the day in Diagon Alley and didn’t return. Your father and Mr Dunstan went looking for them, headquartering at the Leaky Cauldron for the night, and they, too, disappeared. None of them have been heard from since; I’m afraid we suspect the worst.”

Theo stared at him, feeling dazed. “Disappeared? What—have they been murdered?”

Lucius glanced at Snape. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, you just said it yourself—you suspect the worst! What else could you mean?” Theo cried.

“Actually,” Snape said, “we don’t know what’s happened to them. We were half expecting a ransom attempt, but so far there’s been no word from anyone. You...haven’t heard anything like that, have you?”

“No.” Theo stared at Snape, not really seeing him. “No, I haven’t heard anything...from anyone. What can have happened to them?” To his dismay, he could feel the burn of gathering tears. He couldn’t cry in front of these men—couldn’t! “If—if that’s all, I’d like to go back to my rooms now,” he said quickly, and he turned to go before he could disgrace himself.

“Wait.”

Even distraught as he was, the command in Lucius’ voice would not be disobeyed. Theo stopped and turned reluctantly. “Yes?” His voice was rough with the tears he was holding back, and did not come out sounding as respectful as it might have otherwise.

“I will expect you in my quarters this evening,” Lucius said. “Seven o’clock, and no excuses. We have some talking to do.”

“But—I thought you said you didn’t know what’s happened to them,” Theo said, confused.

“Not about that. About your absence of late.” Lucius watched as Theo’s expression turned from bereft to sullen. If he’d blinked he would have missed the change.

“Oh.”

“Indeed. Seven o’clock, mind, not a minute later.”

Theo, eyes on the floor, nodded grudgingly. “Can I go now?”

“Yes. But Theo?” Theo stopped yet again but did not turn around. “Don’t make me come looking for you. I can promise you won’t like the result.”

With a shudder Theo walked the rest of the way to the doors and let himself out. Once the door closed behind him, he took to his heels and fairly flew back to his parents’ suite—now his, he supposed. It occurred to him to wonder whether, if his parents really weren’t coming back, Bella would let him continue to live in the castle. He had not yet taken Voldemort’s Mark when the battle broke out, so he wasn’t a Death Eater—and now never would be. Perhaps she would have no use for him. He supposed he could always go to his father’s country estate; actually, he mused, if his father was dead, the estate and everything else now belonged to him, as their only child. Maybe he should see about a visit to Gringotts to straighten out whatever legal tangle there might be.

That is, if his parents were really dead. His mind kept coming back to that: if, if, if. How would he ever know for sure? If they didn’t return and their bodies were never found, how could it be determined that they really were dead and he was to inherit? And where will I live until then? Aha—back to that question again.

He decided that if he was ever going to impress Bella with the results of his spying, now would be a good time. It might be a very wise move to demonstrate what a useful person he was to have around. Theo wasn’t good at much; he’d been an indifferent student and had mostly looked forward to getting out of school so he could raise hell with his friends, join Voldemort’s Death Eaters if he really had no choice, and spend his allowance as quickly as he could come up with things to spend it on. He hadn’t given more than a passing thought to earning a living; his father had inherited his comfortable fortune rather than working for it and Theo had fully expected to do the same—just not quite so soon.

He walked into the silent apartment and looked around. Odd to think his mother might never sit in her favorite chair again; her lap blanket lay across the arm of the chair just waiting for her to use it, for her feet were always cold, and the book she’d been reading lay open face-down on the little table next to her chair. It looked as if she’d just walked away for a moment. Theo walked slowly into his parents’ bedroom, something he had never done since they’d moved into the castle. It all looked neat and tidy, thanks to the castle elves, but a thin layer of dust was already starting to accumulate on the dressing table and the ornately carved footboard of their bed.

He wandered into their small bathroom; his father’s shaving things were neatly laid out on the countertop, ready for use. Obviously he hadn’t expected to be gone more than overnight. He must have thought his wife and Livvy Dunstan had just—what, got a little too tipsy to make it home and stayed in town overnight? Gone to visit friends and been invited to stay there overnight? Something of the sort, surely. Theo was sure his father and Harold Dunstan had never imagined that they, too, would disappear without a trace.

There was a lump in his throat as he wondered whether he would ever see them again. He never really thought about his parents all that much; they were just there—always had been, always would be. Since his graduation from Hogwarts they’d pretty much let him run wild, his mother making coy reference to “wild oats” and his father averring that “boys would be boys”. Given the choice, of course Theo had not spent much time with them. After all, who hung out with their parents? Certainly none of his friends would admit to such a thing, and Theo wouldn’t dream of it either. Thus had begun his daily excursions about the castle under the invisibility cloak—first because he was bored and later because he came to depend on the excitement it brought, which he craved.

To his credit, Theo did miss his parents...now that it seemed likely that he might never see them again. He did not immediately wonder how much his father was worth, or start mentally spending his inheritance. No, his first thought was to secure his immediate future—to ensure his continued welcome and abode in the castle, and to make himself invaluable so Bella would come to depend on him and wonder what she’d ever done without him. And maybe...just maybe...she would begin to like him a little. And then, who knew? Theo was willing to wait practically forever, if necessary, if only he could see some sign that Bella returned even an ounce of the affection he had for her. In the mean time he would help things along as best he could.

Theo hoped Lucius wouldn’t waste too much time tonight lecturing him about wasting his life, or whatever he intended to say. Theo had things to do; he was anxious to not miss Draco and Ron's preparation for their audience with Bella. He planned to make a point of looking in on them today during their after-lunch nap and see what he could see, although he supposed if they were really just sleeping (and that was the big “if”, as he would already know had he been present for the naptimes when anything out of the ordinary had taken place) they wouldn't be getting up to any mischief. He had far greater hopes for the enema-and-bath period when the slaves were personally handled by their attendants. So far he hadn’t been able to catch any of the eunuchs doing anything they shouldn’t, having missed Harry’s first evening prep when Marshall was in attendance; but he lived in hope.
After lunch Draco and Ron repaired to the sleeping quarters. Draco lay on his back with his hands folded over his chest, and Ron ostentatiously turned his back and faced the other direction. Harry’s pallet lay between them, an unbridgeable chasm of hostility. They lay there for nearly ten minutes before Draco finally heaved a sigh.

“Stop thinking so loud, Weasel. You’re making it impossible to fall asleep.” Ron snorted indignantly. “I mean it. I know exactly what you’re thinking, but you’d better get over it. We’re both going tonight, and I’m pretty sure she’s doing it because she knows we hate each other.”

Ron flung himself over on his other side. “Get off it, Ferret. You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

“Of course I do,” Draco said airily. “Something along the lines of ‘Die, Ferret, die!’, right?” He waited, but Ron didn’t say anything. “She had me and Harry together because Stuart told her we hated each other. We didn’t by then, we'd more or less...come to an agreement, so she seemed rather disappointed. But I think it’s fairly common knowledge that you and I—well....” He trailed off, leaving the obvious unspoken.

“She would,” Ron said bitterly. “Gods! To think I’m going to have to—to—”

“Touch me?” Draco taunted. “Suck my cock? Or let me suck yours? Or—”

“Shut it,” Ron said, his tone dangerous.

“Oh, bite me, Weasel. You might not like the idea but we’re stuck with it. Unless, of course, you intend to tell her you’re not going to cooperate. I’m sure she’d be very understanding—after all, she’s known far and wide for her compassionate nature, is my auntie.”

There was silence from Ron’s pallet. Then, “Harry said to think of it like a game.”

“Pardon—a game, you say? How so?”

“Use strategy against her so we come out the winners. Always think one move ahead of her so she can’t take us by surprise. Expect the unexpected. As if there’s ever anything but the unexpected with her.”

“A game.” Draco lay there and thought about it. “I suppose that makes sense. Although how we’re supposed to second-guess a whacked-out nut job is beyond me.”

Ron gasped. “Not so loud!” he whispered. “What if they hear you?”

“And just who might ‘they’ be? I doubt my father’s going to go running to Bella to tell on me. Or yours, for that matter.”

“No, but what if there really is a spy in the harem? I mean, we don’t really know there’s not...do we?”

Draco looked over at him. “I’m touched, Weasel. Does that mean you don’t suspect me of being a spy any longer?”

Ron’s face was a study in conflicting emotions. “I want it to be you,” he said honestly. “But I don’t see how it can be. I mean, she put you under the Cruciatus.” He stared at Draco. “Why would you let her do that just so no one would suspect you of being a spy?”

“I wouldn’t, I can tell you that,” Draco said fervently. “Personally I don’t think there is a spy. I mean, how’s that supposed to work, even? There’s no one in the enema rooms with us, or in here now, when we’re alone with each other; so who’s to spy? And when we’re getting bathed, everyone’s with us! How many of us would be stupid enough to do anything with all those eyes on us? I think it’s just one of those rumors everyone gets worked up about but there’s no real basis for it. Anyway, if there was a spy I’m pretty sure he’d have died of boredom by now.”

Ron grunted. A moment later he was snoring softly, his cheek resting on his hand and his red hair flopping over his eyes.

Draco lay there watching him sleep. He’s not so bad when his mouth’s not running, he thought. And when his eyes aren’t all squinty and suspicious. It was true that with his eyes and mouth closed, Ron bore a passing resemblance to a sleeping—albeit freckled—angel. He looked younger, somehow carefree.

A stray thought flitted through Draco’s mind: I wonder if he and Harry know each other is gay. And then, with another look at Ron’s face: Nah—probably doesn’t even know it about himself, let alone Harry.

Draco wondered what Bella had made Ron and Harry do when they were summoned together, and thought back over his own evening there with Harry. He looked down at Ron’s shadowed groin, since Ron was safely asleep and he could do it without being accused of anything in that snotty, threatening tone Ron normally used with him. Ron’s cock rested limply in its nest of hair which was a light reddish gold, looking like a little cloud of spun copper. Even in its resting state his cock was of considerable size, and Draco winced a little at the thought of being speared by it. He privately determined that if there was a way it could be done, Ron, not he, would be on the receiving end of anything Bella might require along those lines tonight.

In a way Draco was glad they got to have this time apart from the others; he was feeling pleasantly sleepy and a nap would help to pass the time until tonight. Tonight, when he could be with Marshall. Draco was more grateful than he could say to Arthur for agreeing to let Marshall attend him. He was determined to be good...or as good as he could be. It wouldn’t be like being home and free to continue where he and Marshall had left off; but it was so much better than nothing at all, better than having to sit there while one of the other eunuchs gave him his bath and seeing Marshall’s eyes flick up from across the room and then look away so he didn’t have to watch someone else performing duties he wished were his.

Draco’s mind shifted to all that that evening might bring, and he pictured Ron’s dismay when, inevitably, Bella made them do things to each other tonight. Ron would hate every minute of it—it was obviously all he could do to even make himself visualize it—so maybe tonight would be sort of fun after all. Good for entertainment value, at least. Draco snickered.

And then he slept.
Alfred came to get them before dinner. “Rise and shine, boys,” he said. He waited until he was sure they were both standing and wouldn’t simply fall back asleep the moment he left the room, and then went out to start the others clearing up before dinner.

Ron and Draco folded up their blankets and replaced them at the ends of their pallets. When Alfred was out of earshot Ron said, “So—Draco—is it horrible for you, being summoned? Do you, er, mind the stuff she makes you do? With Harry...or whoever?”

Draco stopped to look at him. “Mind? No. Why should I?” He fluffed his pillow and replaced it precisely at the head of his pallet. “Mind you, I don’t like the spanking much—and the Cruciatus, well, you know how I feel about that—but the other, no, I don’t mind it.” Ron looked like he wanted to say more, but then he turned away. “Why—does it really bother you all that much?” Draco asked.

Ron whipped around, his face redder than Draco had ever seen it. “No!” he whispered loudly. “It doesn’t bother me—that’s what bothers me!” He stomped angrily out of the room.

Draco watched him go, amusement lighting his features. About time you figured it out, he thought.

Neither of them ate much at dinner that night, Ron because he was busy dreading what was to come when they went to Bella’s suite and worrying that he might enjoy himself and obsessing over just what that might mean, and Draco because he was so distracted by the thought of finally putting himself into Marshall’s hands—literally—in just a little while.

But finally dinner was over and the company dispersed about their evening diversions. Edwin would be giving a test in geography in a couple of days and several people clustered around the globe, studying it and comparing notes. Fred asked Ron if he wanted a game of wizard chess, but Ron rather absently shook his head.

“What’s the matter?” Fred asked, pulling up a cushion next to him. “Worried about being with Draco tonight?”

Ron glanced at him and shrugged, looked away again. “Not really,” he muttered. “At least not—well—” He broke off, looking flustered.

In turn, Fred, of course, looked intrigued. “At least not what?” he asked.

“Just you never mind.” If such a thing was possible, Ron turned even redder.

“Ah,” Fred murmured sagely. “I see.”

“What? What do you see?” Ron demanded hotly.

“You’re not worried because you’ll have to do things with him, are you? You’re worried that you might like it.”

Ron looked aghast. “How did you—I mean, what—what’re you talking about?”

Fred snorted. “Nice try, little bro, but the damage has been done. But if you think you’ll like it, shouldn’t that make it easier?”

“No!” Ron hissed. “For Merlin’s sake, Fred, it’s—he’s a guy! And a Malfoy, at that! Don’t you get it?”

Fred just stared at him. “I’m not the one who’s confused here. I get it—I just don’t believe you. If you’re gay, so what? It’s practically a family tradition! You do know that most of us—Charlie, George, me, even Bill a bit in his younger days—well, not Percy really, he's always been one for the ladies—but the rest of us all play on the same team, don’t you know that? Gods, Ron, how could you not, by now?”

Ron stared at him, wide-eyed. “Wh-what?” It was, admittedly, a bit much to take in. “You’re—you’re all...gay?”

“As the merry month of May,” Fred grinned. “Or bi, in Bill's case. And frankly, I think you’re being a bit hard on Malfoy.” He looked over to where Draco sat with his feet up and arms clasped around his knees in his favorite windowseat. “You’re all wrong about this spy business, you know. If Harry can let old grievances lie and just start from where we are right now, can’t you try to do the same thing?”

“I am trying,” Ron said. “We talked a little bit this afternoon in there.” He pointed to the sleeping quarters. “I’m trying—that’s all I can say. I'm willing to believe Draco's not a spy, at any rate.”

Before Fred could reply, Edwin approached them. “Time to get ready, Ron.”

Ron rose and Fred patted him on the leg. “Don’t worry about it,” he said cheerily. “Things have a way of working out, you know.”

Ron shook his head and followed Edwin, threading their way between groups of boys and stray cushions over to the enema rooms. Marshall was ushering Draco into the far room so Edwin held back the curtain to the near one for Ron. Ron sighed gustily and followed him in and the metal rings slid across the rod, hiding the room from view.

In the next room Marshall and Draco stood staring at each other just inside the curtain, identical goofy grins on their faces.

Marshall took a step toward Draco and laid the back of his hand against Draco’s cheek. “Good to see you, lad,” he said, his voice husky.

Draco flung his arms around Marshall’s neck and hugged him hard. “Yes,” he said. “I was so—I couldn’t believe it when—we were so—we had to leave Malfoy Manor, and I had no way of knowing if you—” His words tumbled over each other in a mad rush to get out.

“I know,” Marshall said. “Believe me, I know exactly how you felt. It was a right mess there for a while—no way of knowing what was happening with anyone.” He gently unwound Draco’s arms and indicated the table. “We—er—we’d best get started while we talk. Don’t want to fall behind the others, make you late.”

Draco nodded and hitched up onto the table. He lay down facing Marshall, wanting to look his fill until he had to turn over. “So how did you end up in the harem instead of as a castle slave?” he asked.

Marshall gave a snort as he measured and mixed and stirred. "I think I was just standing too close to the damned castle, really,” he said. “When she killed You Know Who and was busy giving her little talk I started to sneak away, thinking I could nip round the castle and get up into the hills and then sort of work my way back home eventually. But who did I run into the minute I turned around but Ted Nott—under his invisibility cloak, so I didn’t see him there.” He shook his head. “As to why she didn’t make me a castle slave, I don’t know. Suppose we’ll just have to be glad she didn’t, eh?” He came over and hung the bag on the stand. “Over you go, lad.”

Draco obediently turned on his other side, facing away from Marshall, and waited, eyes closed and nearly holding his breath, for Marshall to spread his cheeks and insert the nozzle.

“Draco.”

Draco looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Marshall was grinning. “You have to relax, boy. If you could only see your cheeks—clenched tighter ’n’ a miser’s vault.” He ran a hand lightly over Draco’s buttocks. “And you’re not doing yourself any favors thinking that kind of thoughts, lad—” he nodded at Draco’s erection— “as it’ll be that much harder for you to finish up when we’re done here.”

Draco said, very softly, “I can’t help it. I’ve waited a long time for you to touch me. It’s—I just can’t help it.”

Marshall cleared his throat. “I know. It’s all I can do to keep my hands off you right now.”

Draco sat up. “Then don’t! Can’t we skip the enema and pretend we did it, just this once? Who’s going to know?”

“Well, I suspect young Weasley will, for one,” Marshall said. But irresistibly, albeit against his better judgement, his eyes were dragged back down to Draco’s cock.

Draco didn’t give him time to think. He reached out and pulled Marshall toward him so he was standing in the vee of Draco’s legs. “Kiss me,” Draco said huskily. Marshall stared hungrily at his lips for a brief moment of hesitation, then he closed his eyes and went for it. Draco’s lips closed over his, warm and wet and luscious, and Marshall’s knees were weak at finally being exactly where he wanted to be.

He cradled Draco’s face in his hands, tracing the finely-drawn brows with the lightest of touches. When Draco finally broke off the kiss so they could breathe, he was startled to see tears in Marshall’s eyes.

“What’s all this?” he asked in astonishment, rubbing a thumb across Marshall’s cheek where he was unable to keep them from spilling over.

Marshall engulfed Draco in a hug and snuffled a bit wetly into his neck. “Just...glad,” he whispered. They remained like that for several minutes, their arms wrapped tightly around each other, not needing to speak just now. It was fortunate that the table was high enough to make their positions not uncomfortable, although Marshall thought he wouldn’t have minded an aching back since it was for a good cause.

Finally he straightened. Draco was looking at him with a mischievous expression. “What?” Marshall asked.

Draco glanced down at his cock and back up at Marshall and raised his eyebrows. “Would you want to...?” he asked, trailing off uncertainly.

Marshall’s knees practically buckled yet again. “Do I want to?” he whispered hoarsely. “My boy, you have no idea how much. But you gave Arthur your word. I don’t want to jeopardize this time alone with you.”

Draco hunched over a bit. “Right. Sorry. You’re right. And I don’t want you to think I’m only interested in you for sex.”

Marshall almost laughed aloud at the chagrin on Draco’s face. “Gods, boy, do you hear yourself? That’s my line! You’re the beautiful one—I’m just glad to be allowed to worship at the shrine.” He shook his head in amusement. “Not just interested in me for sex.” He couldn’t seem to stop chuckling at the thought of Draco, with his young-Greek-god looks, lusting after Marshall’s grizzled, weather-beaten, old self.

Draco reached for his hand. “Why is that so funny?” he asked quietly.

Marshall turned eyes full of laughter on him. “Oh, come on, lad. It’s all right. I can see it as well as anyone. I’m not making fun of you. It’s just—” he waved his hand between them— “anyone looking at us would think I was the one only interested in you for sex. I mean, look at you! You are one of the most abso-bloody-damn-lutely beautiful young men I’ve ever seen in my life. No one would ever imagine you to be full of unrequited longing for me.”

Draco took Marshall’s hand and placed it squarely around his cock. “Does that feel like a figment of your imagination?” he asked in a strained voice. He locked his legs around Marshall’s thighs so he couldn’t escape and grabbed the other man’s cock through the thin garment, giving it a squeeze that elicited a strangled moan from Marshall’s throat.

“And this?” Draco asked relentlessly, pulling the garment up for better access and rubbing his open palm over the slippery cock-head, mute evidence of Marshall’s desire for him. Despite Snape’s potion, Marshall felt the ache in his cock and balls every bit as strongly as if he had a powerful erection. “I know you can’t respond like you want to,“ Draco went on, “but I think you want me just as badly as I want you. And that’s just it.” His tone was casual, as if they were discussing the weather, his palm never stopping as it lightly tormented Marshall.

“I want all of you—this, yes—but everything else, too. We had our time together stolen from us just as we were getting to this. I got to know you in the last few those years, Marshall—how you think, what kind of person you are—and that is what I want. This—” he wrapped his fingers around Marshall’s cock and his hand stilled— “this is just the icing on the cake.”

Marshall tried to slow his breathing so he wouldn’t hyperventilate. “Gods, Draco! For years now I’ve wanted—but I never thought you—I tried to be so careful not to show you how I felt. The time I spent with you felt almost magical, charmed somehow. You always seemed so happy to be doing things with me. But I thought that was all it would ever be. I never dreamed—”

Suddenly Arthur’s voice came from just outside the curtain. “Everything all right in there?”

Startled, Marshall and Draco withdrew their hands from each other’s cocks. “Er—yes, just finished,” Marshall called back. “Steady there, lad—will you be able to make it?” he asked Draco, hoping Arthur would think he was asking if Draco could make it to the loos with all the water he was supposedly full of.

“I’m okay,” Draco grunted. He hopped off the table and laid his hand on Marshall’s chest for a moment, and Marshall nodded back with great affection in his eyes. Then Draco assumed a strained, anxious expression, visibly clenched his ass cheeks together as if desperately trying to hold the water in—nearly causing Marshall to guffaw and give the game away—and raced to the curtain, whipped it aside, and ran for the loos.

Arthur looked after him, uncertain. It had been awfully quiet in there...but then, enemas weren’t really all that noisy, were they? Draco’s ass had been clenched hard enough to hold back Niagara Falls, and the noises coming from the loo were certainly authentic enough to satisfy anyone. He peered into the little room to see Marshall industriously scrubbing out the bucket and wiping up the counters.

“All right, then?” Arthur asked.

Marshall looked up inquiringly. “Oh yes. I must say, he’s a very good sport about it all.” He waved at the enema table.

“Ah. Good, good. So...are you up to doing a bath for him as well?” Arthur asked. He wondered for about the sixtieth time whether he ought not to put a stop to this after all, despite having told Draco that Marshall could be his attendant.

“Certainly! Just coming!”

Arthur nodded and withdrew, and Marshall quickly ran a towel under the freezing-cold water and wrapped it around his beleaguered cock. As he ostentatiously clanked the bucket and opened and closed cabinet doors and drawers as proof that he was still busy cleaning up, he tried to think of the most unpleasant things he could, and after a couple of minutes he unwrapped the icy towel. There was no erection to get rid of, of course, but the cold numbed the ache so it was just bearable.

When Draco came out of the loo Marshall was waiting for him by the pool. Ron was still in the loo and Edwin was cleaning up the second enema room, so for a few minutes Draco and Marshall were virtually by themselves. Arthur, reading aloud to the group over by the bookshelves, appeared to be studiously avoiding looking in their direction.

Draco reached out and plucked at Marshall’s garment. “Take this off,” he said huskily. Marshall whipped it off over his head without hesitation. Draco took his hand and Marshall followed him down the steps into the pool. The water immediately began to warm, and masses of foamy soap bubbles spread across the surface. Draco made his way over to the far side, leaving plenty of room for Ron and Edwin, and knelt in the warm water.

Marshall fetched soap and a washcloth from the basket at the edge of the pool and waded over to join Draco. His hands were trembling, a fact he hoped the suds would hide. He rubbed the soap across the cloth bemusedly until finally Draco said in amusement, “Planning to use the whole bar in one go?” Marshall’s weathered face reddened as he realized he’d been staring at Draco and fantasizing about the two of them.

With slow, steady strokes he began to wash Draco, circling around over his back and down his sides, and around to his chest. After a bit Marshall unobtrusively put the washing things on the edge of the pool and resumed running his hand, sans washcloth, over, around, between, under, and even, just a little, into Draco’s body.

Draco tipped his head back to wet his hair thoroughly. Marshall moved up so Draco knelt in the vee of his own legs and began to run his soapy fingers through the fine, wet silk of Draco’s hair. Draco all but purred at the pleasant sensation.

They remained like that for several minutes, Marshall gently massaging Draco’s scalp and Draco’s hands clutching Marshall’s thighs tightly beneath the cover of bubbles. Marshall damned Snape and his potion yet again; although he knew better, he felt impossibly hard. He would have given anything to be able to clasp Draco to him and take him right there in the pool—damn Snape, damn Arthur, damn Lucius, and damn Bella too! Damn all of them! He knew what he wanted—no, needed—and it felt like they were all conspiring to keep it from him. Maddening!

Edwin cleared his throat and Marshall looked over to see that he and Ron were getting out of the pool. Marshall reluctantly nudged Draco. “Best if we get out, too,” he said, jerking his head toward the others. “Time to be getting dressed.” He helped Draco out and handed him a towel. Draco rubbed at his hair a bit, then slung the towel around his hips.

“You ready?” Ron asked. Draco looked at Marshall and said with a little smile, “So ready.” Marshall’s lips twitched as the two boys headed for the wardrobe, where Alfred was already busy exploring the possibilities for that evening’s costumes.

Edwin finished drying off while Marshall gathered up the bath things and put them back in their basket. The suds had disappeared and the pool was refreshing itself after the bath, as it usually did. Edwin added his wet towel to the pile and reached for a dry garment. He said softly, “Be careful, mate. Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.” He gave Marshall a tentative smile.

Marshall studied him, his look faintly mocking. “And what would the ‘wrong idea’ be, exactly?”

“Ah—well, er—that there might be something going on between you two, of course,” Edwin sputtered.

“If anyone thinks there is, they have entirely the right idea,” Marshall said gruffly. Edwin said nothing, just raised his eyebrows a little and stared pointedly at him. “Oh, all right,” Marshall groused. “I know, I know. I’ll be careful.” He nodded to Edwin. “Thanks.”

“All right, then,” Edwin murmured. He went over to the table and sat down to listen to the reading until the boys came back out. Marshall waited by the doorway out to the reception room. He occupied himself with vividly remembering the feel of Draco’s slippery, soapy skin; the softness of the fine hairs at the small of his back; the slight sucking of his anus against Marshall’s finger when it circled the small opening. It reminded Marshall of the small green and purple sea anemones he used to find in tide pools when he lived by the seaside as a boy, the same sensation of something trying to suck him in.

And for a few glorious minutes, while he shampooed Draco’s hair with one hand the other had been busy, shielded by the creamy suds (although apparently not as shielded as he’d thought if Edwin knew what he was doing) as it found Draco’s straining shaft and worked it until Marshall could tell from the way Draco was digging his fingernails into his thighs that he was on the point of coming. He backed off then, lest Draco cry out and draw everyone’s attention to them.

His musings broke off abruptly when Ron and Draco walked out of the sleeping quarters. Ron looked striking in a set of the sheer harem trousers like the ones Harry had worn the night before, but in a rich royal blue. His cock stood erect in its silky harness, and Marshall, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, wondered just when that had happened, as it had been limp when Ron emerged from the bath.

Draco was dressed identically, although in a different color. Alfred had again chosen for him the pale, silvery shade of blue that did wonders for his eyes, although this time there was not the faintest suggestion of fairy princess about him: Draco’s cock stood up magnificently in its harness. Marshall looked from his erect cock to Ron’s and his eyes rose to meet Draco’s.

“What?” Draco asked. He looked down. “Is something wrong?”

Marshall strode over to stand next to him and said softly, with a jerk of his head in the direction of Ron’s cock, “Only if you had anything to do with that.”

Draco looked down and laughed. “Oh! No, Alfred did that.” Marshall’s eyebrows shot up, and Draco hastened to explain. “Not on purpose. Weasley has this...thing....”

“‘Thing’?”

“Yeah, this thing about being touched. If anyone so much as brushes against him he gets hard. And Alfred had to untwist his harness so...well....”

“Ah. I see.”

Draco looked at him. “You see...what?”

Under his steady regard, Marshall flushed a bit. “That, er—that you were telling the truth.”

“Do you think I’d lie?” Draco asked slowly. “To you?”

Marshall had the grace to look ashamed of himself. “No, lad. I’m sorry, Draco. Suspicious by nature, you know. It’s just that the idea of complete honesty in a—a—”

“Relationship?” Draco prompted.

“Yes. Exactly. It’s not what I’ve been used to, you see?” When Draco said nothing, merely continued to look at him and wait, Marshall bumbled on. “What I mean is, with my—my wife, it was never so much about lying, exactly, as it was about...not telling. There’s a difference,” he finished lamely, sounding defensive.

“Oh. So which is it to be with you and me, then—lying, or not telling?” Draco’s expression seemed to say he wouldn't be very happy about it either way.

Marshall looked at him and shook his head. “I think with us, lad, it can’t be either. Can it?” Draco shook his head no, and a little smile played about his lips. “So—it’s to be complete and total honesty, is it?” Marshall asked.

“Yes. Between us, yes. Always. Otherwise we don’t have anything, really.”

There was a loud throat-clearing behind them. Marshall and Draco both jumped a little as they turned to see Arthur, who had just come into the room to see the boys off.

“Everything all right here?” Arthur asked with a sharp look at Marshall.

“Yes. Fine. Just—just going over some ground rules, is all.”

Arthur looked a bit startled but murmured, “All right, well, Lucius is here. Mind yourselves.”

“Ah! All ready to go, are we?” Lucius said. He looked a little oddly at Marshall where he was standing close beside Draco. Marshall wondered just how long Lucius had been there.

Ron and Draco joined Lucius and he swept out of the harem with a hand on each boy’s shoulder. As he went, he flung a glance back over his shoulder at Marshall, who felt certain that some fatherly inquiries would be made before long.

When they arrived at Bella’s suite all three were mystified by the sound of music issuing from somewhere up above. Lucius shrugged and they walked up to the waiting area, where he applied the mallet to the gong and turned to leave.

“I’m not sure what We have planned for this evening,” he said, “but if I were you I’d watch my step. We are in a very world-dominating sort of mood today.”

Ron and Draco looked at each other with raised eyebrows. World-dominating? That didn’t sound good.

They heard high heels tapping across the stone floor above and Bella came into sight. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she asked briskly. “Come along. We have a lot to do tonight.” She turned and bustled back out of sight.

“Never knew there was a deadline for this sort of thing,” Ron whispered, and Draco snickered. They mounted the metal stairs to find a greatly altered space. The bed was gone, as were the vault, the rack of torture implements, and Dumbledore’s desk. The sumptuous Persian rug that had covered the floor was gone as well, revealing a stone floor worn smooth from centuries of Heads pacing about their quarters. The only item of furniture in the room was a comfortable-looking sofa against the far wall and a small table upon which stood an ancient victrola, from which the music was coming.

“Well!” Bella said brightly. “What do you think?”

“Whoa!” Ron breathed. “I never knew it was this big.”

“Yes,” she said with satisfaction, “and a good thing, too. We’ll need every bit of space for practicing.”

“Practicing?” Ron said, looking mystified. “Practicing what?”

Bella looked at him as if he was being dense on purpose. “Dancing, of course,” she said impatiently. “You two have a lot of catching up to do.” She looked at their costumes critically and frowned. “Although we could certainly do without that.” She waved vaguely at their matching erections.

“But aren’t we—” Ron began, only to be cut off by a sharp nudge from Draco’s elbow.

“Sorry,” Draco apologized. He even managed to sound sincere. “What would you like us to do?”

“It’s very easy,” Bella said. She stepped up to Draco and said over her shoulder to Ron, “Now pay attention. I’ll show you, then you’ll take my place.” She hummed along to the music and led Draco around the room in a creditable waltz. “Very good—but then, you’ve had a dancing master for years, haven’t you? I’d forgotten,” she murmured. Ron caught Draco’s eye and grinned, and Draco gave him a nasty look.

Then they came to a halt, and Bella motioned to Ron. “Now you. Step up here, and put your hand round Draco’s waist,” she said, showing him. “And this hand out here, clasping his, like so. Yes! Now, Draco, lead off.”

Draco started off and Ron clumsily adjusted so as to be on the correct foot. Draco was a fair dancer, but Ron was terrible. He was bewildered by the fact that they were dancing at all, rather than any of the numerous other things he’d thought they might do tonight. And he had horrid memories of the Yule Ball in their fourth year, when he’d been more or less forced to go to the dance with Padma Patil since Harry had, at the last minute, asked her sister Parvati. Ron, knowing he couldn’t dance, hated to look like a fool and had spent the evening sulking, alienating Padma, and generally making a fool of himself. He had more or less succeeded in taking the shine off Hermione’s evening, as well, snapping at her because he was eaten up with jealousy over her accepting Krum’s invitation to partner him at the Ball. The whole thing had left a nasty taste in Ron’s mouth that persisted to this day.

And now he was being forced to dance with Malfoy! What was the world coming to?

“What does she mean, we have a lot of catching up to do?” he muttered to Draco. “Catching up to who?”

“Dunno. Pretty weird, isn’t it?”

Ron snorted, then tripped; he couldn’t keep time if he wasn’t counting, and he couldn’t count if he was talking. He gripped Draco’s hand and waist and grimly plodded on, determined to do what he had to do.

Bella waved her wand at the victrola and it stopped abruptly. She approached them and sighed. “This isn’t working at all. Draco, stand aside. Now, Ron, concentrate.” She waved again and the music restarted. Bella began to move. “You want to stand closer, like this.” She all but plastered her body against Ron, and his cock eagerly approved. She frowned and glanced down. “Stop that. Time and place, Mr Weasley—” she sounded just like McGonagall, he thought— “time and place. Now follow me. Sway with the music—sway!” She demonstrated, dipping and swaying as she circled, and Ron had no choice but to keep up or trip over her and send them both crashing to the floor. Not an option she would approve of, he was quite sure.

Eventually it got a bit easier. He stopped counting after Bella told him to keep his mouth shut and said, “Just listen! Listen!” and it really did help. “Feel the music, Ron! Do you feel it?”

He shrugged and nodded, not sure he really did, but at least he seemed to be keeping up with her for a change.

And then she swirled them to a stop. “Now with Draco. Draco, you lead. Tight together—yes, like that. Now, off you go!”

Draco pulled Ron right up against him and their cocks mashed together, the slippery contact making beads of sweat pop out on Ron’s forehead. He wouldn’t have minded Draco having a go at him right about then, or even the other way round. It was agonizing to rub and rub like this without being able to get any relief, and he was suddenly afraid he might come right there while they were dancing—

—and what Bella would say about that didn’t bear thinking of.

At last the waltz came to an end. But that was not the end of the torture. Oh, no. There was more...so much more.

Foxtrot. BOR-ing!

Gavotte. Ga-what?

Minuet. Who dances like this?

Tango. Gods, Draco looks hot when he—no no no no no! I did not just think that!

At the end of two hours Ron and Draco were exhausted. Bella finally allowed them a brief rest and they promptly flopped down on the sofa, panting and sweaty. Bella waved at the victrola to stop the music and then turned.

“Oh!” She appeared startled to see them. “Are you still here? Well, run along, run along! The bell will be ringing any minute—you don’t want to be late for your next class, boys. Hurry, now. Shoo!” She prodded them up off the sofa and literally shooed them out of the room and down the stairs.

Lucius had not arrived yet but, anxious to escape this weird evening, Draco and Ron entered the elevator anyway and descended rapidly to the main floor. They peeked out of the elevator, but all was quiet. The Death Eater on guard duty outside the Great Hall appeared to have fallen asleep standing up.

“Do we make a run for it?” Ron asked, panting.

Draco shot him a look. “What—escape, d’you mean? Too dodgy by half. She’ll have wards up, won’t she? Alarms, too.”

“No, I meant back to the harem,” Ron said. “But...alarms? Really? You think?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I don’t think, I know. Father warned me when he was walking me to the harem that first day. If any of us slaves cross the threshold of the castle without a Death Eater accompanying us, we set off alarms all over the place.”

“Huh. Well, do you suppose we can just go back to the harem, then?” Ron wondered. “I wonder where your dad is.”

“She usually summons him with her Dark Mark,” Draco said. “I wonder if she forgot or something.”

“Come on.” Ron moved boldly out into the main hallway. “Let’s just go. If anyone asks, we’re only returning to the harem, right? They can’t say anything about that.”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

They started off, their bare feet making no sound on the stone floor. The guard in front of the Great Hall never knew they were there. They turned the first corner on the now-familiar route back to their quarters.

“So...that was pretty strange tonight, huh?” Ron said conversationally. “Do you think she actually thought she was teaching a class or something?”

“Dunno. It sounded that way. Wacko,” Draco whispered, glancing about to make sure he wasn’t heard.

“I’ll say. I hate dancing. You were pretty good, though. Dancing master, eh?” Ron snickered.

“I’ll have you know it’s common practice in pure-blood families to train their children in all the society arts,” Draco said, refusing to rise to the bait a second time. He looked rather pleased with himself when he added, “I guess if I can pass muster with a Weasel I can’t be all that bad.”

Ron’s head whipped around, but Draco’s laughter had none of the nasty, sarcastic tone it used to have. It seemed odd to realize that he was only teasing, much as Ron’s older brothers did.

When they turned the next corner they almost ran into Lucius.

“What on earth are you doing out here?” he cried in astonishment. “Does B—the Queen know you’re gone?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “She’s the one who dismissed us. Didn’t she call you?”

“No—I haven’t heard a thing,” Lucius said. He caught the look that passed between the boys and said sharply, “Why? What’s going on?”

Draco reluctantly told his father what that night’s “entertainment” had consisted of. Lucius was dumbstruck.

“Dancing? Dancing?” he exclaimed. He looked taken aback, and a little disturbed. “How...very odd, indeed. So there was no...sex?” The boys shook their heads. “No punishment?” More head-shaking. “Just dancing.” Nods all round. “Most peculiar. I don’t know what to make of it.” He shook his head and exclaimed to himself all the way back to the harem.

Ron and Draco trailed into the reception room behind Lucius. Arthur met them in the doorway to the sleeping quarters and looked at their costumes in astonishment.

“But—but—you still have your clothes!” he blurted. “I—that is to say, did—did you—”

Lucius said, “Apparently she had a little dancing lesson lined up for them tonight. Seemed to think she was teaching a class.” He gave Arthur a significant look, which Draco and Ron noted with interest.

“A class? Did she indeed?” Arthur said thoughtfully. “How very interesting.” He nodded toward the sleeping quarters. “Best get a move on, boys. The others have only just gone. Er, I think it would be best if you left your costumes here. I’ll see to getting them back to the wardrobe. If you’re seen in them you’ll never get any sleep for all the questions they’ll fire at you.”

Ron and Draco peeled off the harem trousers and harnesses and piled them in Arthur’s arms, then headed for their pallets.

Arthur looked at Lucius. “Escalating a bit, is she?” he asked, and Lucius nodded.

“It would seem so. I’m curious to see what she’ll have to say about it tomorrow. We’re to meet first thing in the morning.” He gave a little salute and started out of the harem, then had a sudden thought. “Oh—she never summoned me to come back and get the boys, so I don’t know who she wants to see tomorrow. I’ll send a house-elf to let you know, well before lunch.”

Arthur nodded. “Of course. Good night, Lucius.”

Lucius gave a nod in return and turned to leave, his mind in turmoil. Was Bella starting to crack? He’d been wondering when this would happen. He wondered how he might be able to use it to the Order’s advantage. With any luck at all Bella could be largely responsible for her own downfall.

He was almost—but not quite—so caught up in his thoughts that he missed seeing a glimpse of brown leather down at floor level. He glanced back: yes, there was something. Eyes narrowing, he turned and walked toward it, and suddenly it moved—and then disappeared! There was a flurry of footsteps and a swish of fabric, and a little panicked noise as Lucius pounced.

He yanked the invisibility cloak off to reveal a pale and frightened Theo Nott.

They stood staring at each other, Theo in scared silence and Lucius in complete shock. Lucius found his voice first.

“So,” he said with a grim look on his face. “Been spying on the harem, have you?” Theo shook his head in speechless panic. “Oh, but you’re right here, Theo. In the harem. Hiding under an invisibility cloak,” Lucius said gently. “I hardly think you could be doing anything else.” He gripped Theo’s arm. “Come with me. It’s time we got to the bottom of this.”

He marched Theo out of the harem, but instead of turning toward the main castle he went in the opposite direction, twisting and turning and going up and down stairs until even Theo, who had explored a good deal of the castle, could no longer have said just where they were.

Finally they came to a heavy wooden door. Lucius performed a wand movement Theo had never seen before and muttered something under his breath, whereupon the door clicked open. Lucius motioned to Theo to enter, and with many apprehensive glances over his shoulder, Theo did as he was told, Lucius right on his heels. He swung the door shut behind them; it closed with a heavy thud that reverberated around the mostly empty room.

“Now, Theo,” he said, leaning back against the door, “first things first. Give me your wand.” When Theo shook his head and hid his wand behind him like a naughty child, Lucius started toward him with a bored expression. “If I have to take it from you by force I shall,” he assured the boy. “I think we’d both prefer it if you just handed it over willingly.”

With a shaky hand Theo produced his wand and Lucius, eyeing him cautiously, took it.

“Now then. How long have you been spying on the harem?” Lucius asked, tapping the wand against his palm. Theo said something too soft for Lucius to hear. “Speak up, boy.”

“I said, ‘For a while’,” Theo repeated resentfully.

“And who else knows about this? Was someone telling you to spy?”

“Telling me...?”

“Yes—whose idea was it for you to spy on the harem?”

“M-mine.”

“But why on earth would you want to do that?” Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “Wishing you were part of it, perhaps?” he purred. “We can probably arrange that.”

Theo’s jaw dropped. “A slave? Never!” he exclaimed. He drew himself up proudly. “Some day I intend to be k—” He stopped abruptly and darted a glance at Lucius.

“You intend to be what?” Lucius asked in amusement.

“Nothing.”

“I’m sorry to tell you, Theo, but it’s looking rather like that’s what you are right now,” Lucius said, deliberately cruel. “So tell me—what did you hope to gain from this little spying endeavor? Do you enjoy looking at naked men?” He raised his eyebrows. “Hmm? Is that it?”

Theo glared at him and shook his head adamantly but refused to say anything.

“What, then?” Lucius persisted. “Watching their games, listening to their conversations? Watching them sleep?” Theo’s head jerked and Lucius said, “You watch them sleep?” He was honestly puzzled. “Why?”

“Not at night,” Theo said hastily.

“But it’s night now,” Lucius pointed out.

“I—but—I just thought—” Theo rattled to a halt and stopped, his lower lip jutting out mutinously.

Lucius looked at him thoughtfully. He moved away from the door and strolled the length of the room, looking around at the dusty chandeliers and the odd bits and pieces of furniture lying around.

“You do realize, my dear Theo,” he said finally, coming to a halt before Theo, who stared at him defiantly, “that no one knows where you are. No one saw you leave the harem with me. Your parents are missing, presumed dead. It is painfully obvious that no one is aware of what you’ve been up to—for who knows how long now? I have your wand. You—” he leaned down until his face was inches from Theo’s— “are helpless. I advise you to start talking. Let’s start over. Who are you spying for?”

“No one!” Theo cried. When Lucius aimed a doubtful look his way, he insisted, “I’m not! I just thought—I wanted to—” He reddened under Lucius’ stern look. “I wanted to impress her,” he huffed.

“Who?” Lucius was genuinely puzzled.

“Bella.” Theo said her name reverently.

“Impress her, is it?” Lucius snorted. “And how is spying on the harem supposed to accomplish that, pray?”

“I thought if I could catch some of the slaves breaking the rules,” Theo said, “I could point it out to her. And maybe she’d have to give one of them the death sentence—you know how she likes that—and she’d want to meet the clever person who had caught them. And then she’d—she’d talk to me, and she’d see how useful I can be.” It sounded lame even as he said it, but having started, he couldn’t stop now.

“Ah. So you intended to have a slave sentenced to death for breaking a harem rule,” Lucius said. “And I’m sure it never would have occurred to you to just...make something up, perhaps...if you didn’t happen to see anything worth tattling about, would it?”

Theo recoiled in horror. “No! I wouldn’t do that!”

Lucius eyed him grimly, then resumed pacing. “And what was to be the outcome of this—of her talking to you, seeing how very...indispensable...you are?” he asked, although he suspected he knew the answer.

Theo swallowed hard. “I love her,” he said, his voice almost inaudible. “I would have been a harem slave if she wanted me to...but there aren’t any Death Eaters’ children in that little club, are there? Except Draco, and that was for punishment.” Lucius’ eyebrows rose at the bitterness in Theo’s voice. “Besides, I don’t want to be a slave. I w-want Bella. For my own.” He looked at Lucius defiantly.

“What? Are you cr—” Lucius bit off the word before he could finish. “Putting aside for the moment the fact that you seem to be living in some sort of fantasy world, whatever makes you think you’d catch any of the slaves breaking the harem rules? Especially one that carries a death sentence?” He snorted.

“B-but I have!” Theo cried.

“What?” Lucius looked at him, his heart pounding. “What do you mean? You can’t possibly have.”

“I have,” Theo repeated. “I’ve seen a eunuch messing about with a slave when they were supposed to be doing an enema, and wanking him in the pool while they were bathing—just tonight, actually.”

Lucius had a bad feeling about this, but he had to ask. “Who?”

“That scruffy-looking eunuch, what’s his name—Marshall? And...Draco.”
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Bella's Harem