Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 1-Assertion
- 2-Attack
- 3-Breakdown
- 4-Encounter
- 5-Punishment
- 6-Contact
- 7-Bitten
- 8-Scars
- 9-Play
- 10-Invitation
- 11-Abduction
- 12-Obedience
- 13-Tease
- 14-Learning
- 15-Venture
- 16-Protecting
- 17-Mistakes
- 18-Visit
- 19-Impromptu
- 20-Trigger
- 21-Healing
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Wow, 8 reviews already! I hadn't planned to put out this second chapter yet, but seeing how well it was received, I decided to go ahead. All updates won't be nearly as quick, so please don't expect them to be since this is special. We'll get to the update soon, but first, reviews!

YaoiGrl: Thank you so much, I'm glad you're enjoying it (: Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

imsandi: Thank you very much! Please enjoy the next chapter (;

moodysavage: Wow, thank you so much for that compliment! I'm glad you like it. Also, thanks for the suggestion (: Maybe I'll see about making a bit of a prequel, huh? Hmm ... I'll have to think on it. Please enjoy the next chapter!

Tinkerbabe7: Yeah, I didn't think it'd be realistic for him to just give in to the thought of being a sub, so that's what it turned into. I'm glad you liked it. Hope you continue to enjoy my story (:

djaddict: Bwahahaha!! YES! Someone finally realized I am an evil author! Lol, kidding. Thanks, glad you liked it and I hope you also enjoy this chapter.

sarah999: Is this update soon enough?? Lol, thanks so much, I'm so happy you love it, love it, love it! Hope you love this chapter, too (;

PandaGaara: Lol, thanks! It's great that you're enjoying it. No Severus interaction yet, but that'll be coming up soon, I promise (: In the meantime, I hope chapter two is satisfactory.

draechaeli: Thanks, I'll do my best (:

Now, just a quick note before we get onto the chapter. This chapter contains character death. Sorry I didn't put it in the original warnings, I forgot it was there until I reread this chapter, lol. Silly me. Other warnings include profanity, lots of angst, a little Harry/Ginny interaction, some male x male interaction in a dream, masochism and ... I think that's it. Enjoy!

Chapter Two

Harry apparated into his room at Grimmauld place and collapsed onto his bed with an undignified huff. It had been nearly two weeks since his conversation with Draco, and things had not improved. He had tried, really tried to eat and bathe and dress and, all in all, take care of himself, but after a few days of the same routine over and over he just couldn’t see the point of continuing to do so when no one noticed it, or him, at all. He knew his friends weren’t purposefully keeping him at a distance, but with Hermione pregnant and hormone-driven and Ron working as an Auror for the Ministry, they just didn’t have time for him anymore. The one who had noticed his efforts, Kreacher, was continuously reminding him that he ‘needed’ to go see Snape—no doubt put up to it by Malfoy, the arrogant arse.

Why did everyone seem to think he needed to go see that greasy dungeon git? First Hermione, then Draco, now Kreacher! It was ridiculous. He didn’t need Snape’s help, nor did he want it. He had enough of a debt toward the man without asking more from him.

Yet, somewhere inside him, he wondered how his old Potions professor was faring. Was he well? Had the bites from Nagini healed as he hoped? Was he still working at Hogwarts? If not, what was he doing for a living? Many times over the years the thought had crossed his mind that maybe, just maybe, he should go see how the man was doing, but every single time he managed to talk himself out of it. After everything that had happened, after everything Snape had given up for the sake of his archenemy’s, James’, son, there was very little chance he would want to see Harry at all. And, he acknowledged, at least to himself, he was afraid of that. He didn’t know if he could withstand being rejected by a man he had come to admire so greatly.

“Master Harry Potter?” Kreacher called, sensing the wizard’s distress. “Would Master Potter like something to drink?”

Harry raised his arm to shoo the creature away, but thought better of it. “Thank you, but no. I think … I’m just going to go to sleep.”

“Master … Kreacher did not wish to bother Master Potter, but … Miss Weasley has come to see Master Potter. Does Master want Kreacher to ask her to come back another time?”

Ginny? How long had it been since she last visited? A few weeks? A month? Two months? He wasn’t entirely certain. He knew he was being terrible about their relationship. He also knew she had started seeing Dean Thomas again, but he couldn’t blame her for it. It was his fault their relationship was falling apart in the first place, what relationship was still there, anyway.

“Master Potter?”

“Tell Ginny I’ll be down in a minute.”

Kreacher bowed and disapparated.

Harry looked around his messy room for something suitable to wear. He had spent nearly all night and part of that morning wandering muggle London, and he was sure Ginny wouldn’t want to see him when he smelled of refuse, dog feces, and car exhaust. With that in mind, he selected a semi-clean and nearly wrinkle-free shirt and a pair of muggle jeans that only had a small stain on the left thigh. Performing a quick refreshing charm on the outfit, he then slipped them on, and ran his fingers through his untamable mop of hair. It had grown again, he noted a little unhappily. Maybe he should think about cutting it soon. He glanced at himself in the mirror, grimacing at the gaunt man staring back at him from haunted green eyes. Then again, maybe not. The shoulder-length locks hid at least a little of the thinness of his face. In any case, he doubted she’d notice how much weight he’d lost.

With a resigned sigh, he descended the stairs to the first floor where Ginny was waiting. She smiled, the expression as bright as ever. “Harry,” she exclaimed, coming forward to peck him on the cheek. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you, too, Gin,” Harry responded with a return smile that, if not sincere, was still mostly natural.

She sniffed at the air when she drew back. “What have you been doing, Harry? You smell a little … ripe.”

He frowned at the term, but before he could say anything, she waved it away.

“Oh, never mind. I actually came to talk to you about something, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.” He gestured toward the door to the sitting room. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, thank you. It will only take a moment.”

Harry shrugged. “Okay. What is it?” He had a good idea what she might have come to talk to him about and, surprisingly, it didn’t bother him as much as he thought it should.

“Harry, you know I love you, right?”

“Yeah …”

She sighed as if that took a huge weight off her shoulders. “Good. Good. Um … I just had to tell you … I’m seeing Dean again. Dean Thomas?”

Harry nodded. “I know who you mean.”

“Well … that’s good, I guess. You’re … okay with that?”

“Ginny,” Harry said as gently as he could manage when all he felt was indifference toward this girl he had thought he was in love with. “You and I both know this isn’t working. It’s not your fault,” he quickly assured her when tears welled in her eyes. “Really. It’s not.”

“I know,” she sobbed, walking over to wrap her arms around him. “I know, Harry. You’re not the same man I fell in love with. I … realize that. You’re not here … like you used to be. I just … don’t know how to fix this anymore, or even if it can be fixed. We … We can try again … i-if you want to …” She took his face between her hands and leaned up, pressing her lips to his.

Harry accepted the kiss in good grace, but didn’t participate. It felt … odd. Wrong, almost. Her lips were soft, but cold. He didn’t like cold. It reminded him of those times living under the stairs when the winter nights would drop below freezing and all he had was a ratty, old blanket that, by the time he was eight, didn’t even cover him all the way. There was no pleasure in it, not even the fluttering of butterflies in his stomach. It didn’t excite him at all. He wanted something hotter, rougher, harder, someone who would take control.

When she finally withdrew, she gave him a small, tremulous smile. “But you don’t want to, do you? Try again, I mean?”

“Sorry, Gin. I’m … not really sure what’s going on with me, or what I want.” He ran his hand back through his hair with an apologetic look. “I’ve changed.”

She touched his cheek tenderly. “I know. I wish—” She smiled at him again, shaking her head. “Doesn’t matter. The war changed you, Harry Potter. You’re not … in control anymore, you don’t take the initiative—I mean, we’ve barely seen each other over the past few months and you never contact me anymore—and I really … well, I really don’t’ think you want to be in control anymore. Control isn’t something I can give you, either, so … I’m going to be with Dean. I have to be with him now.” She nodded a few times, her lower lip trembling. “He can give me what I want.”

“It’s okay, Ginny,” he said to stop her rambling as well as the guilt that seemed to be crushing his chest. Why couldn’t he give her what she wanted? He did love her, damn it! He did. Just not anymore. Why couldn’t he do anything right? He could see how much she cared about him, how much she loved him, why couldn’t he return her feelings? “I get it. I have … issues to work through.”

She shook her head at him with a tight-lipped smile. “Is there … anything you need? You look so thin. Should I get Mum to—”

“No,” Harry said quickly. “No, I’m just fine. Just haven’t been sleeping well, that’s all.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Thanks, though.”

“Then … I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah … see you around,” Harry replied, though he wasn’t sure she would. At the moment, and for many days after he was sure, he wasn’t going to feel much like going out. That had been the case for the past few months. He only left the house when Ron or Hermione called him out. Or rather, forced him out, in the case of Hermione. She just wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“You should get some sleep. The bags under your eyes are starting to look like a permanent fixture,” Ginny said as she casually strode to the door. “You know, Snape’s been making a pretty big name for himself. Maybe you should see him.”

Harry froze—Snape again!—but managed to force a chuckle out of his unwilling mouth. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll do that.” Not.

She nodded and then gave him a little wave. “Bye.”

“Bye.”

The door closed with a snap. Harry felt his hands shaking, a frustrated scream clawing its way up his throat and out of his mouth. Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?

“Master Potter?” Kreacher called, peeking around the corner down the hall as if afraid of Harry’s reaction to him. “Is Master Potter okay?”

Breathing heavily, Harry waved the house elf into the hall. “Fine, Kreacher. Just fine. Bring me one of the dreamless sleep potions, would you?”

“But they don’t work anymore, Master Harry Potter said so.”

“Yes, I did, but I need one. Please, Kreacher.”

With an expression of horror, the house elf bowed. “Kreacher is sorry. Master Harry Potter shouldn’t need to ask like that. But …”

“But?”

“Master already used the last. Should Kreacher go out and buy more?”

With a sigh, Harry headed for the stairs. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get some later when I go out. Right now I just need to sleep.”

“Does Master wish Kreacher to call if someone comes?”

“Only if it’s Hermione,” Harry replied, wearily trekking upstairs to the second landing.

In his room, he stripped off his shirt and pants, pulled on some comfortable sweats, and fell into bed. Within moments, he was asleep.

It was the usual slew of dreams. Facing Professor Quirrel and trying to find the Sorceror’s Stone. Fighting the basilisk with nothing but a flimsy Sorting Hat that kept singing “I’m nothing but a hat, nothing but a hat, nothing but a hat, so you’re gonna lose, gonna lose, gonna lose” over and over again along with Fawkes the phoenix who was trilling out show toon melodies he had heard on the tellie whenever Aunt Petunia didn’t shoo him out of the sitting room. Running from Professor Lupin when he became a werewolf and being caught—which then woke him in a cold sweat and took almost an hour to get back to sleep—and reliving the scene in the graveyard with Cedric, being unable to save him yet again. Dumbledore dying for him. Sirius dying for him. Fred, Professor Lupin and his wife, Tonks, and Colin dying for him. And Snape, too. Snape dying for him. Truly dying for him. Nightmare after nightmare.

Suddenly, he was running. From what, he wasn’t quite sure. This wasn’t like the other dreams. There was nothing definite. Not the land around him, not the sky above, and not whatever or whoever was pursuing him.

He shouted in pure terror when something leapt on him from behind. As had become habit during the war, his hand immediately went to his pocket where he normally kept his wand. To his horror, it wasn’t there. Somehow, he knew he had dropped it while he was running. Something sharp tore into his back and he screamed. He struggled to turn over, but once he did, he wished he hadn’t. An indefinable face stared back at him, eyes black holes, mouth a gaping maw lined with razor sharp fangs. He screamed again, and tried to push the creature off him as it tore at his torso and legs, its jaws snapping together inches from his face, its putrid breath hitting his face in wave after wave of noxious gas.

“M—” he tried to call out for help, but a clawed hand slashed across his face, leaving three distinct gashes on his cheek. What he was trying to yell became clear a moment later when he took in a lungful of air and shrieked for all he was worth. “MASTER!!! MASTER, SAVE ME!!”

Somewhere outside of his dream he wondered just who this ‘Master’ was. Though he didn’t know, the title felt comforting and familiar. As if he had called out to the man a thousand times before and he felt certain, even though he knew this was only a dream, he would call out to that man a thousand times after, and the man, his Master, would answer without fail every single time.

A brilliant light drew his inner self back into the nightmare. “Levicorpus,” a new voice hissed out of the darkness, lifting the creature by its leg to dangle helplessly in the air above Harry. Then, almost right on top of the first spell, the caster hissed again. “Confringo.”

The masculine voice was low and calm and immediately swamped Harry in warmth and a feeling of safety. He didn’t even question the fact that it was male. He hadn’t often explored his sexuality, only going as far as kissing and heavy petting with Ginny and Draco, but he knew he preferred men to women, and the term ‘Master’ and the subsequent feeling of security only served to confirm that fact.

He felt more than saw the creature above him blasted away by his Master’s spell. Then, eyes blinded by the light produced from the man’s spell blast, Harry again felt more than saw it as his Master came and knelt by his side.

“Harry,” the voice said, full of concern. “Are you all right?”

A hot palm cupped his cheek, and Harry, dangerous though the situation had been, reacted. “Master,” he murmured, rubbing his face into that beloved hand as the blood rushed from his head to his groin in a swift, nauseating wave. “Master, you came for me. You saved me.”

The man chuckled, the sound rich and deep—the sound of home. “Of course I did. Or do you wish I hadn’t?” He shushed Harry’s protest to the question with a single finger against his lips. “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, my adorable little sub, but you’re not escaping me that easily.”

Keeping his eyes shut—for reasons unknown to the Harry outside the dream—he turned his face into the man’s hand, kissing his palm softly. He parted his lips in what felt like a familiar action and teasingly pressed his tongue against the man’s skin, hearing a sharp intake of breath in return. When he withdrew, he opened his eyes, but could see nothing of the man’s face as it was covered in the concealing cowl of a dark cloak. The smirking mouth looked familiar, though, with one side of the upper lip drawn up in an—almost—leer. “I don’t want to escape from you, Master,” Harry fervently replied.

“You do not wish to escape even though I hurt you?” the hissing voice taunted.

Harry rose to the challenge, nipping reproachfully at the man’s pale wrist. “I like it when you hurt me.”

A bold hand reached down between his legs, squeezing cruelly. Harry gasped and arched into the punishing touch. “Are you certain it isn’t simply the pain you like?” the man inquired slyly. “You’re awfully hard down here.”

“C-Cause … you’re the one touching me, Ma-Master,” he gasped out as the grip on his hard cock became bruising. “You make … nngh … everything better.”

“Everything?”

Harry nodded frantically. “Yes! Everything.” His breathing hitched when his Master leaned closer, the man’s hot breath hitting the shell of his ear, a promise of things to come.

“Tell me what you want, Harry.”

A ripple of desire spiraled through Harry’s body at the demanding tone. His cock throbbed within the man’s imprisoning hand. “I hurt, Master,” he groaned, feeling every individual cut in his body, feeling his blood seeping out of his wounds to anoint the ground in crimson life. “I want you to make it better. Hurt me better. Love me hard. Turn the pain into your pleasure.”

“Hmm,” his Master hummed, a sound that sent shivers all across Harry’s neck and down his spine. A wicked tongue delved into his ear, heightening his desire further when blunt teeth scraped across his earlobe. “Your answer is pleasing to me. Very pleasing. But …”

“But?” Harry repeated, brow furrowed in pain and concentration.

“… you do not know who I am, nor what you truly desire.”

“But I do know!” Harry protested, anxious for the release his Master’s hand promised.

“What is it you desire, pet?”

“You! Please, I want you!”

The man shook his head, withdrawing the hands that healed as they hurt as he backed away. “You do not know me.”

“I do!”

“Then tell me. Who am I?”

“You’re …”

“Who am I?”

“You’re …”

“Who am I, Harry?”

“You’re M—”

“WHO AM I??”

Harry woke, inhaling sharply as he shot upright in bed. The name. The name of the man was on the tip of his tongue. Yet, now that he was awake, it slipped away like a wisp of smoke.

“Master Potter!” Kreacher exclaimed, pulling back after just having woken him.

With shaking hands, Harry discreetly removed his hands from his aching crotch and wiped the sweat from his face. “Kreacher, my glasses … please. I … I need my glasses.”

“Kreacher has them, Master.” With a nervous bow, the house elf placed the spectacles in Harry’s outstretched palm. “Master Potter was having nightmares again?”

Unfolding his glasses, Harry put them on and glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. Half past three. He had only been asleep for a couple hours. “Kreacher, didn’t I say I didn’t want to be disturbed?” Harry muttered, tone almost accusing.

“Master Potter did say so, yes, Master Potter did. Except if Master Potter’s muggle-born friend called.”

“Hermione called?”

The house elf bobbed his head in earnest. “Yes, Master Potter. She is downstairs waiting for you. I told her I would wake you. Should Kreacher ask her to leave?”

“What does she want? Did she tell you?”

Kreacher bobbed his head again. “The mudblood did tell Kreacher she needed to speak with you. An emergency, she says. Though what kind the witch would not say.”

The mention of 'an emergency' sent a cold feeling into the pit of his stomach, immediately dousing the arousal leftover from his dream. “Stop calling her by those names, Kreacher. Her name is Hermione Granger-Weasley. She’s my friend.”

“Yes, yes,” the house elf replied distractedly. “Master’s witch friend. Does Master Potter wish Kreacher to tell her to leave?”

Harry sighed, knowing it would do no good to argue with the old house elf about the proper use of his friends’ names. Though he seemed to like Harry well enough, he still had issues with Harry’s friends. “No. If it’s an emergency, I need to go down and see her.”

“Master?”

“What, Kreacher?”

“Was Master Potter having nightmares again? Kreacher is … concerned for Master’s wellbeing.”

“I’m fine, Kreacher. Dreams never killed anyone. Go get Hermione something hot to drink, would you?”

The house elf made another little bow and turned to leave the room, muttering to himself on the way out, “Dreams never kill, so Master says, but there is always a first. Always a first.” Then, with a pop, he disapparated.

Harry quickly slipped on the shirt he had worn earlier and then sprinted from the room and down the stairs, taking them three at a time. “Hermione,” he called as he skidded to a stop a few steps away from her. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”

She turned teary eyes on him. “Ginny was attacked.”

“Ginny?” he repeated dumbly, his insides freezing up with shock and the ever-present guilt.

A sob tore from Hermione’s throat as she walked over to clasp his hands in hers. “She’s dead.”

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A/N: All righty, there's the next chapter. Oh, by the way, Ginny's death is not just to get her out of the way, it is significant. Hope everyone enjoyed the chapter!!
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Punish Me