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Last Chance	By : DragonOfVenus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 26994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and other copy-righted entities. I do not, nor do I make any profit from this piece of writing.

Chapter List
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Title: Last Chance

Author: Dragon_of_Venus

Pairings: Voldemort/Harry

Rating (Fic): NC-17

Rating (Chapter): PG-13

Word-Count (Fic): 35,000-40,000

Word-Count (Chapter): 5,667

Summary: AU after Half-Blood Prince. Voldemort is in control of the wizarding world. Harry is captured and placed under Voldemort's protection because of the horcrux.

Warnings (Fic): Discussions of rape, graphic attempted rape (not in the main pairing), suicide, character death, slurs, sexual harassment, abductions, history of violence within the main pairing, mentions of hate crimes and torture.

Warnings (Chapter): Bigotry, discussions of torture, mentions of minor character death

Contains: Consensual sex between adults, BDSM, masturbation, voyerism, Voldemort-wins AU.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. I receive no money for writing this or any other Harry Potter related piece.

~*~

Most Death Eater meetings were really not very bad. They happened once every two weeks or so, and there was a certain rhythm to them that, once you got used to it, was almost relaxing. The location of the next meeting would be passed around by word of mouth several days before the meeting itself, and if it was taking place in the home of a poorer Death Eater the wealthier ones would complain about the "bad entertainment" and if it was in the home of wealthier Death Eater the wealthier Death Eaters would complain that the poorer ones were trying to eat them out of house and home. In either case, they'd all be summoned a good twenty minutes before Voldemort planned to begin the meeting, so everyone would have plenty of time to greet their friends, grab whatever alcoholic beverage their host had been able to find an ocean of on short notice, and form a crude circle on whatever seats were available. Many a poor half-blood spent every other meeting on the floor. Hermione, of course, was one of those "half-bloods" and shunned even by the rest of them.

This was more unpleasant than usual on this particular week, because Walden Macnair was apparently not a firm believe in brooms or in cleaning his work equipment after a job. There were drops of blood every five feet or so on the filthy wooden floor. The best Hermione had been able to do for herself was sit as far from the dirty walls as she could without it looking unnatural and promise herself that she'd throw her robes away later. After some intense debate, she'd decided not to take anything she was offered to drink in this house.

Once everyone was settled down and getting a good start at not being able to stand by the end of the meeting, Voldemort would arrive and launch into a long, tedious update on ministry affairs, the birth rates of pure-blood children and what could be done to raise them, the education children were receiving at Hogwarts, and any enemies or potential enemies that he wanted the Death Eaters as a whole to start casually keeping their eyes on, as well as updates about the people they'd been keeping their eyes on. Then he'd give a few short notes to individual Death Eaters and dismiss everyone but those he needed a singular audience with. There was very little change in this routine.

However, two things were different on night of Hermione's third Death Eater meeting.

The first and immediately noticeable difference was that Harry had arrived with the Lestranges. He hadn't been allowed to attend the meeting; Instead he'd been shoved into a bathroom on the main floor and a quick sticking charm had been cast on the door to keep in it, but he certainly hadn't attended the last two and obviously he wasn't quite welcome at this one, so his presence stood out not only to Hermione but to a number of other people.

The second was Neville Longbottom walking into the room five minutes before the meeting formally began, trembling from head to toe but completely ignored by all of the other Death Eaters, and sitting down next to Hermione, begging her for help with his eyes. He'd certainly seen better days. He'd put on a few pounds and was sickly pale. He didn't seem to notice the disgusting floor, and he immediately threw back a drink of firewhiskey that was much larger than Hermione would have guessed him to be capable of keeping down. He sat the rather tall glass down on the floor next to him and turned to her silently.

She ignored the sneers of everyone around them and threw her arms around him and squeezed as though she were afraid that if she let go he'd be taken away from her. His arms warped around her thin body and squeezed back just as tightly. He was definitely rounder, so Hermione took some comfort in the fact that he was being fed, at least. He was stess-eating, almost certainly. He always had put on a few pounds right around exams. Hermione always lost weight, and Neville would offer a few extra pounds. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she was so glad to see someone. A thousand questions came out simply as a breathless "Neville," to affirm to herself that the man in her arms, Death Eater robes and all, was her old friend and classmate and that she wasn't in some absurd and terrible dream. And it was absurd and terrible to find Neville Longbottom at a Death Eater meeting, but Hermione couldn't help but feel the closest she'd come to happiness in weeks.

Neville's trembling lessened slightly. "Hermione," he said.

"Why?"

There was a long moment of silence, and then: "My Gran, Hermione! I wasn't going to, but he said he'd—she'd—like my parents. I—I didn't mean—"

Hermione just held him even tighter. "I know, I know. Me too."

"How?"

"Harry."

"Is Harry—?" Neville actually let go of her to pull back and look her in the eyes. Suddenly, the terror was gone. They were wide and filled with wonder and a desperate hope. Hermione wished she knew if that hope was baseless or not.

"Yes! He's in that bathroom over there..." Hermione nodded toward the hallway where Harry's makeshift prison was just out view.

"Then we have to—"

"We couldn't if we wanted to now, Neville," Hermione said. She tried to keep her voice calm but she was sure that she heard it crack and that Neville heard it to.

Still, Neville's eyes lowered and the glint of hope that had lit up his face a moment ago faded.

"They don't mean to harm him," Hermione said. "He's a horcrux. That means that Voldemort is going to protect him..."

Neville's mouth opened, but he didn't say a word. Everything within him rebelled so completely against the idea that he couldn't prepare a single argument for why it was absurd, because it seemed too obvious. "Well, maybe it'll be good for us if Harry's protected," Neville said after some thought. He decided against going any farther than that. Hermione would know what he meant, and Neville was not going to say anything that the Death Eaters near them could infer to be about their master's death.

"It comes at a high cost, Neville," Hermione said. "As long as Harry's alive—"

The whole room went silent as Voldemort entered.

"My friends..." Voldemort said, smiling and glancing around the room at the Death Eaters crammed onto every surface.

Neville gave Hermione a curious look, and Hermione rolled her eyes, ducking her head slightly so her hair kept it hidden from everyone but Neville. Hermione had been wondering for weeks now whom Voldemort thought he was kidding by calling them his friends. It was nice to know that it wasn't Neville, at least. When Hermione looked back up at Voldemort, he was glaring at her, but he didn't say anything to her.

"I have excellent news," Voldemort said, not taking his eyes off Hermione. "A small camp of mudbloods..."

Every eye in the room fell on Hermione.

"...Who were apparently too stupid to flee our proud pure-blood nation when we gave them the chance, were discovered last Thursday in Surrey. They were captured, of course, and promptly brought to Azkaban. Lucius did some work on them well into Friday morning, got a bit of sleep, then continued his work on those that hadn't already slipped into madness for most of Friday night..."

Hermione felt a warm rush in the back of her throat and swallowed hard to keep herself from vomiting up her dinner. There was nothing that could have prepared Hermione for this part of Death Eater meetings: The part where they discussed brutal torture as though the Death Eaters in question had just been up filling out paperwork all night. This wasn't Hermione's first time hearing such a discussion, but she was still far from numb to them. Neville was paler than he'd been a few minutes ago and begging Hermione with his eyes to do something, but Hermione could do nothing but meet his eyes looking apologetic. He looked away to the floor.

She was nudged in the back by something and turned around to find Snape, the only half-blood who was ever allowed to sit in a chair in these meetings, raising his eyebrows at her as though she was a first-year who'd been caught giggling with her partner when they should have been brewing. Hermione bit her tongue and looked back to Voldemort. Not because Snape raised his eyebrows at you, she told herself, But because you need to stay alive. To protect Harry. And Neville.

Neville's hand slipped into hers and intertwined their fingers. They both kept their eyes on Voldemort but squeezed each other's hands for what little comfort there was there.

Voldemort nodded to Lucius. Hermione was actually grateful for this, as it got most people's eyes off her. "Thank you, Lucius, for doing such a thankless job so well." Most of the other Death Eaters raised their bottles in a toast, and Hermione was very glad not to have a bottle of her own.

Lucius held up his hands. "You're too kind, my Lord. The job does have its rewarding parts."

"I'm glad you think so," Voldemort said. "There is a wonderful future for you in torture, Lucius..." His eyes moved over to Draco. Draco moved almost unnoticeably closer to his father. "And perhaps for Draco too," Voldemort said, allowing the false note in his voice to ring very clearly. "Anything is possible."

A number of other Death Eaters chuckled.

Voldemort glanced around the group as a whole again. "Whatever personal rewards there may have been for Lucius, the rewards for our society were minimal. All ten of the mudbloods slipped into madness or died without revealing the whereabouts of any other magic thieves. But don't fear, my friends. The snatchers and the dementors are always about, and we will soon have our magical homeland."

A few of the more intoxicated Death Eaters clapped, but Voldemort's glare quickly silenced them. Voldemort asked Snape for a report on Hogwarts, and after listening for ten minutes and biting her tongue so hard she tasted her own blood, Hermione decided to sing her least favorite Celestina Warbeck song in her head until Snape stopped talking. It wasn't as effective as she'd hoped it would be. Teaching children to perform Unforgivable Curses, abolishing the house system, Death Eaters in the staff positions, no more muggleborns, horrific detentions... Hermione was actually glad to have left school a year early...

When Snape and Voldemort finished a very one-sided discussion about what needed to be done at Hogwarts in the next few weeks, Voldemort had a look on his face that generally meant the meeting was over. He instructed the Lestranges to stay behind, chided Nott Sr. for not bringing Theodore and said in a rather commanding tone that he hoped to see Theo at the next meeting, then finally walked over to Hermione and pulled a roll of parchment out of his robes.

Hermione took it without a word to him.

"Have it solved by Tuesday," Voldemort said.

Hermione unrolled the parchment. Even in rather small handwriting, the original equation took up the entire width of the page. Hermione recognized it immediately as alchemy, but wasn't at all sure where to go from there, even though Voldemort had been kind enough to do the first three steps for her on lines immediately below. There were easily a dozen variables, and Hermione remembered enough arithmancy to know that some of them could only be solved for with yet another equation. She didn't remember any of the equations. All Hermione knew about the equation she was solving for was a hastily scribbled water=blood at the top of the page. Hermione couldn't imagine what Voldemort would want to turn water into blood for, but that was hardly the most pressing question on her mind.

It didn't seem like a good idea to ask any questions at all.

Voldemort noticed the worried look on Hermione's face, but he did nothing to reassure her. As he walked away, he said, "And you are allowed to go speak to Harry until I call for him. Please behave."

"I—Thank you!" Hermione said. "Neville too?"

Voldemort sighed. "Yes, children. Go play. Everyone's dismissed."

Hermione and Neville didn't mind the insult in the slightest. As the other Death Eaters began to disapparate they jumped to their feet and rushed to the bathroom. The door was locked from both sides, as it turned out, but when they called Harry's name the door was quickly unlocked from his side. Hermione rushed into his arms as soon as it was open.

Harry held on to her for far longer than would probably have seemed prudent to outsiders, even rocking her slightly when he felt how she was shaking. "Where have you been staying?"

"Malfoy Manor."

"And how's that been?"

"Dreadful. And you?"

"The Lestranges'. Also dreadful." Harry sighed and let her go, then turned to Neville. "And you? What's your story?"

"I joined the Order after I left school..." Neville said, glancing around quickly, "And I tried, Harry. Really, I did. I—I even—" He shivered. "I killed a few of them." Without giving Harry and Hermione time to respond, he added, "Not fairly, either. They attacked the Order headquarters while I was in the loo of all places..." Neville sighed and shook his head. "I had the element of surprise, at least, so I used it and got a few of them in the back..." He flinched and waited a second, but Harry and Hermione didn't say anything. "...and then I ran and barely made it out with my life. And that was it for the Order. He-who-must-not-be-named had control of everything, Dumbledore was dead, Kingsley was dead..." his lip trembled. "And then one night I woke up hearing my Gran screaming. I ran downstairs and there he was and I..." Neville struggled for a long minute to find the words but couldn't. At last, he settled for rolling up his sleeve and showing Harry and Hermione the mark.

Harry let go of Hermione, turned to Neville, and opened his arms. He and Neville embraced, yet there was something cold in their embrace. They were each trying to offer the other strength that neither of them had. It was too hard to simply be glad for each other's company when they had both changed so much in just a few short years and both knew that their presence at this meeting meant horrible things.

"I don't suppose he told you what he plans to do to me...?" Harry said, looking from Neville to Hermione a few times.

They both shook their heads.

"The Lestranges didn't tell you?" Hermione said.

"I asked and they laughed. They've just been buckets of useful information ever since I was brought there."

Neville craned down the hallway for a moment. "Reckon they're discussing it now?"

Harry and Hermione instantly got quiet.

"No, my lord," Rodolphus was saying. "All I mean is that I don't know. The boy isn't exactly welcome to climb into bed between us whenever he has a nightmare."

Bellatrix laughed. "I'd give baby Potter something to be afraid of—"

"Bella!" all three men said at once, Voldemort quite sharply and Rodolphus and Rabastan with more than a hint of alarm.

Harry scoffed. "As if sleeping under the same roof as her isn't already something to be afraid of..."

Hermione shushed him.

"Give him a minute more with Baby Blood-Traitor and the mud..." Rodolphus cleared his throat. "...half-blood, then ask them. He might tell them."

"Or," Harry said, loudly enough for them to hear, "You could ask me whatever you want to know about me. I'm on rather good terms with myself, you know. I tell myself everything."

Hermione moved close to Harry again and gripped his sleeve tightly. The house was quiet for a moment.

"Very well, Harry. Come here... In fact, why don’t all three of you come?"

Hermione and Neville swallowed hard. Harry's heart sank and he wondered if he'd just gotten his friends into a great deal of trouble. Still, he couldn't go back now, and trying to would only make things much worse for everyone. Harry gently stepped away from Hermione grip and slipped past Neville to lead the way down the hall. If Voldemort intended to punish Hermione and Neville for eavesdropping, perhaps he'd hesitate to do so if he'd need aim around Harry. It was a very faint hope, but still a hope.

Voldemort did not hex Hermione or Neville the instant they were in view. "Sit," he said. "All of you."

Harry suppressed a shiver as he settled uncomfortably onto the middle cushion of Macnair's stained sofa. He was reminded of his position between Ron and Hermione on the bed several weeks ago. Harry could see Macnair now, huddled over a newspaper in the kitchen but obviously keeping his eyes trained on the scene in his living room. He met Harry's eyes and smirked, and for a moment Harry wouldn't have put it past the man to stick his tongue out at him. Macnair didn't, though, and Voldemort didn’t seem to notice the interaction at all.

"Bella," Voldemort said, glancing at her from the corner of his eyes, "I want you to watch Neville and Hermione for me. You shouldn't have any trouble doing both at once. His mind is no stronger than his parents' and hers is no better."

Bellatrix laughed. Harry saw Neville tense and had to quickly turn and grab his hand to prevent him from pouncing on them both. Neville's mouth was half open, but when he felt Harry's hand on his he remembered himself quickly enough to avoid saying anything he'd regret.

Voldemort's right eyebrow went dangerously high for a moment, but it quickly fell and a satisfied smirk appeared on his lips when he was confident that Neville was just going to take the comment.

"Let's start with your dreams, Harry..." Voldemort said. "When was the last time you dreamt about me?"

Harry shifted in his seat. That question had been rather unfortunately worded, and a the small smirk on Macnair's lips assured Harry that he wasn't the only one who thought so, but Harry had a feeling that it would not be in his best interest to say that. "Three months ago," he said.

Bellatrix eyed Neville for a second then let her eyes skim over Hermione just as quickly. She gave a very non-committal grunt and looked to her master like a schoolgirl hoping to be dismissed to recess from a very dull history lesson.

"I see..." Voldemort said. "Tell me about it. What did you see?"

"You should know," Harry said. "You were there."

"Cru—"

"You were torturing a Death Eater! I don't know who and I'm not sure why. Draco was there. That was all, really!"

"And you were...?"

"You."

"You were me?"

"I always am in those dreams." Harry sank back into the sofa, expecting Voldemort be terrified or furious about this revelation.

Voldemort was neither. "And can you control me?"

"No."

"Crucio!"

Neville's scream was actually the loudest in the room. Harry's torture was so short-lived that he barely got a yelp out, though Neville quickly had a tight grip on him and was demanding to know whether or not he was alright.

"Fine, Neville," Harry said. He didn't pull away.

"Would you like to try that again, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. Even though it had been years since he'd seen Neville, the man's scent—sweat mixed with a vague aroma of dirt and herbs (some things never change)—was familiar and calming. He'd rather 'face' Voldemort from Neville's arms, even if it meant trading off a bit of dignity.

He hadn't lied, though. Or, at least, he hadn’t meant to. "I... I've never tried," Harry said.

Voldemort glanced at Bellatrix. Again, he eyes flicked over Neville and Hermione in a matter of seconds. "They don't know, my lord."

"Hm... Very well," Voldemort said. He eyed Harry oddly for a moment, but pressed on before Harry could say anything about it. "And how long has the pain whenever I touch you been an issue?"

Harry shrugged. "Forever." He didn't like that look, but since Voldemort was not hexing Harry or either of his friends at the moment, he wasn't sure what to make of it or his uneasy feeling.

"Harry..."

"What?!"

Voldemort sighed. "You need to be more specific. Did it start when I was reborn?"

"No. If it had, I would have said 'since that night in the graveyard.' It's hurt me to be near you since I was a first year... But not always consistently when I was around Quirrell... Before then I couldn't tell you. Believe it or not, I don't remember being one very clearly."

Voldemort tisked him. "So rude, Harry. This is for your benefit as well as mine, is it not? I'd assumed that you'd find a relief from some unnecessary pain quite welcome. But no matter. Go home. I will take care of you..." He smiled wickedly. "Hermione, Neville, you two as well. Don't forget your assignment, Hermione. Narcissa may be of some help, if you're nice to her."

Hermione was speechless for a moment, but finally managed to say "Yes, master," before rising and pulling the boys into a group hug. When she stepped away, Neville followed, and they apparated out of the room together.

"Alright..." Rodolphus said, grabbing Harry by the arm and hauling him up out of his seat. "I hope you've enjoyed getting out of the house for a while. Don't expect it to happen again soon."

"On the contrary, Rodolphus..." Voldemort said, "I think Harry will be seeing me again very soon."

"You said I'd be able to leave," Harry said, glaring at Voldemort.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "Did I? I don't believe I did."

"In the vow—"

"Ah, yes. I did prepare for that eventuality, but you needed permission. You do not, at the moment, have permission."

Harry tugged out of Rodolphus' grip and turned to face the man. "May I—"

"Rodolphus does not have permission to give you permission, Harry," Voldemort said.

Rodolphus showed Harry his palms, but he was smirking. Rabastan, Bellatrix, and Macnair were all laughing behind Harry. Harry glared from Rodolophus to Voldemort without acknowledging the others.

"Good night!" Voldemort said.

"Good night!" Rodolphus and Rabastan said. Rodolphus grabbed Harry's shoulder and pulled him close, readying him for side-apparation.

Bellatrix dropped to her knees on the floor, took Voldemort's hand in hers, and kissed it. "Good night, my lord..." she said softly, smiling up at him.

Harry was genuinely afraid that Rodolphus' grip was going to break his shoulder. The crack as he apparated away seemed to be one of the loudest and most angry that Harry had ever heard.

The instant they were back in the Lestrange's drawing room, the elf appeared and bowed deeply. Harry had wanted a chance to talk with Twoey for some time, but he was apparently under quite strict orders not to speak to Harry or even to be alone in a room with Harry. Though Harry did not pretend to be an expert on house-elf aging, he was fairly certain that Twoey was much too young to have been the Lestrange's elf before they went to Azkaban, and Harry was keenly interested to know what his history was and how he really felt about his current masters. Though the Lestranges were not what Harry would have called kind to the elf, they were considerably less brutal than Harry had expected. If Bellatrix shared her sister's belief in making elves punish themselves, Twoey was either a very obedient elf or limited his punishments to areas that were covered by the old towels with holes cut in the middle and sewn sides that made up his wardrobe.

Twoey was the first elf that Harry had ever noticed changing his outfit. It had come as quite a surprise to Harry when, on his forth or so day with the Lestranges, he realized that the towel the elf was wearing had changed colors. He'd made the mistake of voicing this realization, and been met with a mixture of blank and judgmental stares from the Lestranges. He'd assumed from that that elves usually changed what they were wearing once every few days, but Twoey was the first elf Harry had met who actually owned different colors of things to wear. Twoey, for his part, had looked rather horrified that Harry had noticed and had immediately offered to change back into the dirty towel.

"Twoey has been keeping dinner warm for his family!" Twoey said. His large olive-colored eyes settled on Harry for a moment, and he added, "...and his family's guest!"

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow and the elf flinched. He had just come dangerously close to speaking directly to Harry. Still, it was ambiguous enough that Rodolphus let it go. As Rabastan and Bellatrix apparated into the room, Harry tried to meet Twoey's eyes, but the elf was having none of it.

"Excellent," Rodolphus said, walking toward the dinning room. Bellatrix and Rodolphus began to follow him. It wasn't unusual for Twoey to keep dinner warm for 'his family' in Harry's experience, and Bellatrix and Rabastan, at least, seemed to expect it. "What is it?"

"Duck, master."

"Good..." He stopped suddenly. Rabastan and Bellatrix stopped as well and shared a confused look. Rodolphus eyed Harry darkly. "Are you coming?"

Harry sighed. "Actually, I was hoping to just go up to my room. I'm not very hungry." He really wasn't. Between Neville being a Death Eater and overhearing far more of the Death Eater meeting than he'd ever have liked to before he thought to turn on the facet to drown out the voices, Harry's stomach was in knots.

Rodolphus raised an eyebrow. "You're not very hungry, but you are hungry. Come to dinner."

Harry rolled his yes. "I'd really prefer not to." He turned and headed toward the staircase.

"Harry," Rodolphus said, "I am not asking."

Harry raised his own eyebrow. "Who are you? My mother? I'm not eating." Harry began to climb the stairs without looking back at the Lestranges.

Twoey's quiet, vaguely distressed whimper was Harry's only warning, but it was enough. Harry darted up the staircase two at a time, hearing Rodolphus' boots thud behind him. Not a second after he got into his bedroom and slammed the door, there was a crash as Rodolphus ran into it behind him.

Harry collapsed onto his bed, listening to Rodolphus' swears and feeling confident for a brief moment that he'd won this round.

Then his door opened.

"You didn't really think I'd let you lock yourself away from me, did you?" Rodolphus asked with a chuckle.

Harry sat up straight and gripped the headboard with his right hand.

"You are not allowed to miss meals, Harry. You have three seconds to stand up before I drag you down to the table and force the duck down your throat."

Harry looked Rodolphus over carefully. He was quite recovered form his stay in Azkaban and rather muscular. Harry was nowhere near recovered from a year in the woods. Rodolphus could follow through with his threat, if Harry pushed him.

Harry swallowed hard. "Fuck you. I'm allowed to miss whatever I want."

Rodolphus shrugged and calmly approached Harry with a blank face. Harry's grip tightened. He realized how very poor both of his handholds were just as Rodolphus grabbed his right bicep, and made a quick decision to try something else. He rotated as much as he could and kicked Rodolphus in the stomach. It couldn't actually have been very painful, mostly because Harry wasn'tnearly as strong as Rodolphus, but it knocked Rodolphus off him, at least.

"You fucking bitch!" Rodolphus swung his wand in a quick slashing motion and a deep cut appeared from just below Harry's left ear to his collarbone.

Harry doubled over on the bed, clutching at the cut swearing. When he heard his door slam, he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to open it for quite some time. Harry searched his memory for healing charms but, whether it was because the stinging was preventing him from focusing or simply because he didn't know any, he wasn't able to remember any. Harry sighed and walked into the bathroom attached to his bedroom. He searched for something to clean and bandage the cut with, but was hardly surprised when he didn't find anything. The Lestranges, no doubt, did know how to do these things with magic. Harry settled for wetting a washcloth. At first he tried to actually clean the cut with a bit of soap, but he quickly resigned himself to the fact that the blood was flowing too steadily for him to do so right then and collapsed on his bed again, now with the damp washcloth over the cut. He lied there in boredom for a long minute until his hand wandered to his prick, as it was want to do whenever Harry found himself lying in bed with nothing to do and no intention of sleeping. When Harry had first started going though puberty, he'd made good use of his aunt and uncle's determination to ignore him at all costs.

Since Harry had arrived at the Lestranges with no clothes but those on his back, and those had vanished the first time Harry took them off, never to be seen again, Harry was wearing hand-me-downs from Rabastan that had probably been stylish in the 70s. In any case, they seem to have been practically designed to provide easy access to the prick. When even your clothing is begging you to wank, it's hard to say no.

Besides, seeing Neville reminded Harry of Dean and Seamus, and the time he'd walked in on them, and that alone was enough to get Harry to harden slightly. He felt someone guilty about it, since he'd promised the pair a million times that the incident didn't have to be weird, and this was definitely making it weird, but Harry often pictured his old dorm mates when he wanked and the memory of Ginny's naked body or Cho's bare chest (he could certainly imagine the rest) just wasn't doing it for him.

Harry's prick was out of his pants before he really noticed what he was doing, and he began to tease himself a bit, closing his eyes and trying to put himself back in the moment. Seamus' longish curls and sweaty limbs, Deans slender body and deep moans... soon enough Harry's prick was slick enough with precum for him to him to set a good pace wanking himself... Seamus' cock buried in Dean's arse, Dean's hands in Seamus' hair as he pulled him into a deep kiss... Seamus' hands around Dean's cock...

It occurred to Harry suddenly that his hands were moving, quite literally, automatically. He stopped his wanking immediately, and suddenly his hand, and indeed his entire body, felt rather unstable, as though it was receiving signals from two different brains. Harry did not tell his hand to begin wanking him again, but he experimentally relaxed his muscles and relinquished control over it. It dropped to the bed and remained there for a moment, then of its own free will moved back over to Harry's prick and began wanking him, at first very slowly and experimentally.

A feeling that Harry knew wasn't quite his own told him that it would stop if he said he wanted it to or if he just stopped it.

Harry realized what was happening. He realized that he should stop it, immediately.

He realized he didn't want to. He moaned and shook his head slightly.

The hand began to wank Harry considerably faster than Harry generally wanked himself. Harry's left hand, also quite out of Harry's control, slipped under Harry's shirt and began to tease Harry's nipple. Harry's body squirmed and bucked as his hands teased him, but Harry himself intentionally remained out of control of his actions. A twisted fantasy he didn't realize he'd had was playing out, and Harry just laid back and allowed himself to be pleasured. When he finally shot his load all over his hand, his pants, his robes, and even his blankets, his fingers stilled for a moment on his nipple, then scratched quite brutally. Harry yelped, but he was scarcely through with the yelp when he found himself, and yet not himself, chuckling. His cum-covered hand rose to his mouth and Harry didn't stop himself from licking his own fluid off his hands. The bitter liquid stayed in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed.

"Hm..." Harry heard himself say. His left hand slipped out from under his shirt, lifted the bloody rag off of his neck, and held it above his head for a moment. Harry felt his own eyebrows raise, but no sound broke from his lips.

Harry's hand dropped the rag, and Harry sat up, suddenly the sole person in control of his body. Harry glanced around the room nervously, but he knew that if that little... thing... was over, it was over. He was alone now, with his suddenly very mixed feelings. He'd just... It had practically been... Yet he could have stopped it.

He pulled off his soiled clothes, making a mental note to apologize to Twoey for them if and when he got the chance, and then he tossed the bloody rag onto them, glad to see he wasn't bleeding anymore, and settled into a fitful sleep on the first clean part of the bed he found.
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Last Chance