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Breaking Forwards	By : lastcrazyhorn Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > General Views: 13749 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Not mine. J.K. Rowling's fandom. She's makes money off these stories and I do not. Nor will I ever. Harry Potter is all hers. sniffles But the weird twisted shit? Muahahhaa.

Chapter List
- 19
- 20
- 21
Chapter 20 – No Matter What
When Harry got up the next morning, it felt as though someone had repeatedly cast cheering charms on him while asleep. He opened his eyes and smiled up into the darkness of his room, his heart beating fast as he realized that a new day had started. It was a new day and he was Severus's son. He felt that he'd be able to withstand anything that happened that day, just with that knowledge securely in his heart.
It was going to be a good day, regardless of anyone else's plans. He swore it to himself. He deserved it, just this once.
"Just this once," he whispered to himself bravely, trying to prep himself for facing the world outside their chambers once more.
. . .
Earlier that week . . .
"Ronnie, my youngest nephew! How good it is to see you!" Rodney strode into the Gryffindor common room and straight up to the red haired young man with a wide toothy grin displayed for all to see. The Fat Lady had always liked him, and luckily still remembered his name, even though there were quite a few more red haired Weasleys wandering around than there had been in his day.
"Uncle," Ron answered curtly, standing in deference to him.
Or possibly just discomfort, he thought lasciviously.
Aware that the entire room's attention was on them, Rodney gave the boy a short bow and then nodded towards the doorway.
"Care to show your old uncle about the school a bit there, Ron?" He asked; giving another grin that was as much for the young man before him as it was for the room around them.
"Certainly," Ron answered crisply, his posture nearly perfect as he sought to move past him without touching.
Rodney dared not do anything more than pat his nephew's shoulder as they moved through the hallway towards a particularly out of the way classroom that he knew about, but it was an entirely separate affair when that door had been shut behind them. His grin turned ugly for a moment and he felt a thrill at seeing the fifteen year-old before him shiver ever so slightly in return. He set about placing appropriate wards on the door, which in their own ways were nearly as blatant as placing a muggle "Do Not Disturb" sign on the knob.
Then he turned and opened his arms towards the boy.
It did not surprise him to see that his gesture for a hug was not reciprocated.
"Why are you here?" Ron hissed at him, pink coming up high in his cheeks for the first time since seeing each other.
"Oh dear oh dear. Little Ronnie seems to be a bit cranky. Perhaps he needs a nap?" He leered, turning swiftly to one of the older more broken down desks and transfiguring it into a posh king sized bed.
"You never visited Percy when he was at school," Ron accused, moving away from him, his wand already in his hand.
"Perhaps I did, dear Ronnie, and I just never told you about it, hm?" Rodney asked, making a show of undoing the fastenings on his robe and dropping it to the floor, leaving him in nothing but a plain white dress shirt and dark cords.
"I would have known," Ron answered, confirming a few theories for him as he did. He had long suspected of being followed more than just that once, but he had opted not to do anything about it.
"You did know. Right up until I obliviated you," he smiled even more widely as Ron's eyes widened in silent horror.
"How many times?" His nephew's voice sounded strained.
"You want me to count?" He asked; taking a few steps forwards. It wouldn't do to tell the boy that it had only been that once. It was far more exciting to torture him with the idea of it having happened multiple times.
"Tell me," Ron answered, foolishly trying to put that Gryffindor bravery to work.
"You want to know all the sordid details? Truly?" He answered, keeping his voice glacially smooth, even—perhaps even a bit hypnotic.
He was within an arm's distance of the boy.
"You want to know just how many times you screamed for me to stop?" He whispered, having stopped less than a hand's width in front of the boy's face. "You want to know how many times I fucked you until you bled? How many times you bit through your lip as you tried to contain your screams? How many times I fucked you until I could fuck no longer and had to Imperious your brother to continue on you?"
The teenager's body was trembling almost violently at the end of his tirade and Rodney looked over the boy with pride. He had done that with only his words and a few well placed lies.
He grabbed a fistful of Ron's robes and pulled him up to his own eye level.
"I don't have to tell you anything, Ronnie boy," he stated in a harsh whisper, bringing his wand up with his other hands until it was digging into one of the lad's skinny hips. "Drop your wand." A satisfying thunk was his answer.
"Hands up over your head," he instructed curtly. They went up and he tied them securely with a well placed spell. He released the hold on the front of the teen's robes and then pushed him towards the bed. A shaking, white-faced Ron followed his instructions and he soon joined him.
"You've been keeping things from me, boy," he whispered, quickly undressing his nephew. He made sure not to lose eye contact as he did so; delving into his mind with as much glee as a child tearing the wrapping paper off a gift. A moment later, his joy was doubled as his hands dove into the front of Ron's uniform trousers.
"Do you deny it?" He barked out suddenly, deriving a twisted flash of pride as the boy's body jolted.
"N-No," his nephew whispered, blue eyes becoming distant as Rodney relentlessly tore through his mental and physical treasures.
. . .
The hallway outside the decrepit classroom where Rodney and his "nephew" were currently housed was deserted, minus a very slow moving mass of dark coloured sludge. It was hidden in the shadows of the corridor, in those dark nooks and hidden tunnels that made Hogwarts so very mysterious.
Originally, the sludge had begun its existence as little more than a massive gelatinous pile of glop, no more aware of its surroundings than a pile of dead flobberworms. Roughly speaking, this state of being lasted until it first came in contact with the surface—the flesh—of its creators, the unfortunate wizarding students who had ultimately been responsible for the failure of the experiment. That was the point where it had became aware, and its awareness had grown with each flesh burning second that it had been allowed to directly touch its creators.
Afterwards, during its time in its stone prison, the sludge had learned from the magic of Hogwarts herself, becoming more conscious of itself and the "world" (Hogwarts) around it. Then at long last, some months after its inception, it had learned to move, to grow beyond its initial boundaries. In a way, it had evolved into a more or less sentient mass of mobile goo.
It was now hungry for more of those moods, more of those tantalizing feelings that it had feasted on in the beginning of its reality. It had felt the emotional anguish coming from this portion of the castle, and it had followed its senses to the corridor outside of this particular classroom.
The wards made an impression on it, but it knew that it could bypass them if it so wanted.
But it would take energy to do so, was the main thought within Its gooey mind.
Thus, It decided to wait instead. Waiting didn't bother It. It had been waiting most of its awareness.
. . .
Draco and Blaise watched Harry that week as he flitted and bounced from one class to the next, his feet rarely touching the ground in all of his happiness over being wanted. They were more than pleased to have had a hand in such a momentous event. In addition, Severus had begun teaching them how to interweave protection spells into their clothing, and for extra security, their professor had taken it upon himself to spell Harry's clothing for the maximum level of safety. In turn, they were teaching the younger and more vulnerable students within their house how to do the same thing.
Late one afternoon, Harry came across Blaise and Draco as they were arguing in the common room. As it turned out, they were discussing him.
"He's just getting settled in, Draco. He's already had a lot of change, and now you want to ask him to do this as well?" Blaise was apparently arguing on his behalf, for whatever reason.
"This is familiar though, Blaise. He needs something to help get him established here!"
"How about you just ask me and I'll tell you which one is right?" Harry interjected a bit exasperatedly.
"Hey Harry," Draco began before Blaise had a chance to open his mouth. "How would you like to play Seeker for the Slytherin Quidditch team?"
Harry opened his mouth and then shut it again. He was slowly but surely learning to curb his hotheaded Gryffindor qualities, and it seemed that this was merely another opportunity to practice.
"Let me think it over, okay Draco? I need to talk to Severus about it first," he replied softly, giving the other boy a winning smile.
"Good idea Harry," Blaise retorted, smirking evilly at the blond haired boy sitting opposite them.
It would be wonderful to be up in the air again, but he wasn't sure if the good things would outnumber the bad when it came time to go head to head with his old teammates.
. . .
"Albus? I need to speak with you if you have time," Severus said via his floo late one evening, after Harry had already gone to bed. As he had suspected, Albus hadn't even changed into his evening atrocities, those vibrantly coloured things that he swore were his pajamas.
"Certainly Severus," the old man said congenially enough, waving him through after stepping out of the way.
Checking to make sure his wards were all still secure, Severus took one last look around the room before stepping through the fireplace. He stepped out into the headmaster's office with an elegance that Harry had yet to learn.
Perhaps I can still teach him. It was a heartening thought.
"What can I do for you tonight, Severus?"
"Inform me about the adoption paperwork," Severus answered, leaning back in his chair easily and crossing his legs.
"Ultimately, his guardianship is my responsibility, my boy," Albus answered seriously, his annoying twinkle curiously absent. "The paperwork to switch him from the Dursleys to you is quite simple, and has already been filed with the Ministry. I'm merely waiting on their reply that it has been finalized."
Simple? The paperwork I had to fill out took me more than four hours to complete!
"And you are not worried about any complications arising from the Ministry's side of things?"
"Amelia Bones will not allow such a thing to occur. She had taken over the handling of his paperwork herself and assures me that the adoption will be finalized before the end of the week."
"Good," Severus answered calmly, his voice steadier than his insides.
"I am sorry that I didn't believe you earlier, my boy," Albus added softly, his eyes downcast.
"It is not me that you should be apologizing to. Harry is still under the impression that you sent him to the Dursleys year after year as some sort of bizarre training."
Well, that wasn't exactly true. Harry understands the situation better than that, but I see little reason to let him know.
"Should I talk to him, Severus? Is that what you are suggesting?" Albus glanced back up at him with a fiery look. "I would talk to him, but I doubt he would be willing to listen to me."
"Perhaps you are right, but if I may Albus? I have a suggestion that may allow a chance for trust to grow between the two of you once more."
Calculating eyes made contact with his briefly, before Severus turned his head. The man's legilimency skills were often no match for his own, but there were—and had been—exceptions to that rule.
"Explain."
"As Harry's legal guardian, I would like to level charges against Vernon Dursley. I want him arrested. I want him in Azkaban," Severus said, leaning forwards as he spoke.
"A muggle in Azkaban," Albus's voice was not questioning, but merely thoughtful.
I want him tortured the same degree, if not worse, than he tortured my Harry.
"Have you given thought to how the Daily Prophet will deal with this story?" Albus asked carefully.
"Thought? Yes I have, Albus. I have given a great deal of thought to how I will deal with them, or more importantly, how I will handle Ms. Skeeter," he sneered.
"I don't think I want to know," Albus smiled.
"Perhaps not," Severus agreed. "But we do need your involvement, your support. I can't keep control over all of the facets of this situation on my own, Albus," Severus admitted.
Well, I could, but it likely wouldn't be very pretty.
"And you think that my helping will allow Harry a chance to forgive me?" Albus sounded so damned hopeful. It nearly made him sick to listen to that coming from a man like the old man before him.
"I don't know if forgive is the correct word, Albus," Severus answered slowly, watching the headmaster carefully. "You broke his trust. Completely. And truthfully Albus, I personally do not understand how you allowed yourself to be as willfully blind as you were in this situation," he added, getting to his feet and heading towards the floo as he realized just how very late it was getting.
"I don't pretend to know everything, Severus."
"No?" He felt his lip curling in distaste at the idea.
"Some believe I do, but they are wrong," Albus sounded very disconnected, his eyes focused on something only he could see. Abruptly, he started and shook himself.
"Headmaster?" Severus asked, a bit worried now.
"It is probably nothing," Albus answered, nearly in a mutter.
"Do you need my assistance?"
"I don't believe I do, my boy. Just something I need to check on before going to bed." Albus answered, still more to himself than to Severus as he moved around the edge of his desk and headed to the door.
. . .
Rodney dressed himself carefully, his body and mind nearly full to the brim with delightful sensations and experiences that would keep him sated for the next few weeks at least. His "nephew" still lay in the transfigured bed, looking utterly debauched and barely conscious after having been simultaneously mind and body raped. He was not concerned about the boy going off and telling on him. After such an afternoon and evening as theirs, it would be a miracle if the lad could find his pants and make it back to the dormitory before sunrise.
He wasn't at the top of his game either, which is likely why he did not bother to reapply the wards as he left. That same absence of mind was probably to blame for his lack of attention to his surroundings as he stepped out in the corridor. If he had been more aware, he would have noticed the smell immediately, and he would have seen the oddly wet looking patches scattered up and down the hallway.
However, his mind only held one sensation and that was of bliss, completely and domineering bliss. It sustained him as he walked down the foul smelling hallway. It sustained him as his boots caught a bit on the ubiquitous slime, pulling a bit of it with him as he left Hogwarts and headed towards Hogsmeade. That same bit of sludge travelled with him as he apparated to his home in the countryside, and it climbed into bed with him that night as he passed out asleep.
The sludge, having evolved quite a bit from its meager beginnings in the dungeons of Hogwarts, no longer caused pain with its touch. It no longer burned and it no longer ate at the physical flesh of the body, having discovered that it preferred the silent pleasures of the mental world far more.
As Rodney Weasley slept, it pulled itself up from the floor and into his bed, gathering itself at his temple and expanding until it covered most of his crown. From there it moved into his dreams, sinking into his flesh and disappearing completely from sight.
Back at Hogwarts, the sludge still present slunk back to the cracks between the stones, hiding itself away once more as its more distant self began to feed on the horrors of the red haired man's mind.
. . .
Dumbledore could tell that something was not right long before he smelled the putrescent odor emanating from the corridor near the Gryffindor tower. He arrived too late to find traces of the sludge, but early enough that some of the offensive scent was still present.
Walking forwards carefully, he held his wand out in front of him, using all of his senses—physical and magical—to try and determine the source of the strange presence. There was an aura of darkness shading one classroom door, and he moved towards it slowly, casting a series of non-verbal protection spells as he went. He examined the doorway closely, keeping the edge of his robes and beard from touching the slowly disappearing smudges of gray.
He had never seen anything like it, but the slowly fading scent around him reminded him of death, and if nothing else, that was a good reason to be wary.
Suddenly he heard a moan from within the classroom. Startled, he looked up from his study of the leftover traces of the sludge, and peered inside. Was that a shock of bright red hair that he spied?
"Expurgo," he cast on the doorway, watching carefully as the final traces of the dark presence disappeared from sight. He waited until the area was clear before stepping through into the room itself.
His eyes went wide as he took in the horrifying sight of the youngest Weasley boy lying prone on the overly decadent bed. Breaking out of his stupor, he moved quickly to the fifth year's side and began running scans. Fawkes appeared seconds later and he redirected his familiar to the infirmary to summon Poppy.
It was only after she had arrived and they had gotten him safely back to the infirmary that Dumbledore truly allowed himself to process the sights that he had seen.
Blood on the white sheets, some patches already dark, but others still bright. Finger shaped bruises on the lad's skinny white hips, more bruising on his neck and chest; blood on his lower lip highlighted with several purpling teeth shaped marks; fingernail scratches imbedded in his chest and back, swollen with blood. It was too much to think of. He found himself falling into the chair Poppy had conveniently put out for him, his mind reeling as it continued to automatically catalogue the extent of horrors that were present on far too young flesh.
Rape, this was rape, his subconscious kept repeating over and over in his mind. This was rape like what Hermione Granger experienced, like what Colin Creevey experienced, and most importantly, like what Harry Potter experienced. All students in my school, all students in my school!
"Father . . ." a slurred voice broke through his thoughts, breaking the silence of Poppy's hurried administrations.
"Was that Mr. Weasley?" Albus looked up, shock lining his eyes and forehead.
"Father, please," Ron spoke again, shifting away from Poppy's hands ever so slightly.
"He can't possibly be speaking of—?" Albus looked at Poppy, trying to will her not to say it. This could not be happening. This simply was not happening!
"Percy, stop," Ron trailed off, slumping further down as his brief bout with semi-consciousness came to an end.
"It could just be a nightmare," Poppy said bravely, but Albus could hear the tremor in her voice.
"Run the tests," he instructed, pulling himself to his feet, eyes glinting hard in the lights of the infirmary. His children had been hurt. It had taken him some time, but he finally understood what it meant to be hurt like this.
"You don't think that Arthur could have done this, do you Albus?" Poppy's eyes were searching as she glanced at his face.
"I don't know, Poppy," he shook his head unbelievingly. The world had shifted on its axis around him and he felt as though he had been left to make sense of it all.
"Do the tests, Poppy," he said in a slightly gentler tone. "We'll make sense of this together. For now, I must go and speak with Minerva."
Poppy pinched her lips together and nodded. It was obvious that she wanted to say more on this topic, but she managed to keep it to herself.
. . .
Harry awoke the next morning with a smile on his lips. It had been that way all week. Hopefully it would last into the next, but he knew it probably wouldn't. As he stepped out into the sitting room of his guardian, it occurred to him that he had forgotten to bring up the subject of Quidditch with Severus. Upon seeing the man sitting at the table drinking a cup of tea, he took a deep steadying breath and moved across the room to take a seat next to him.
"Good morning sir—Severus, I mean," he said, smiling a bit at his mistake.
"Sir Severus?" The dark haired man next to him asked with a raised eyebrow. "I rather like the sound of that," he said, putting a hand to his heart with a dramatic sigh. "Have I just been knighted? Should I go and get my hair done?"
Harry nearly choked as he tried to keep his laughter contained. The whole conversation was so—so not Severus!
"Geez, Dad!" He managed to bite out embarrassedly around his giggles. Suddenly his brain caught up with his mouth and he froze completely still, staring at Severus with wide frightened eyes.
What did I just do?
"Oh f—hell, sir. I'm s-sorry. I didn't—!" He stammered out weakly, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He desperately found himself wishing for a time turner as Severus continued to stare calmly back at him, unspeaking.
Then, out of nowhere, he felt his guardian's warmer hands grasp his own icy cold ones, turning him into the man's chest ever so slightly. Severus's cheek on his head and an arm around his shoulders held him there, keeping his trembles at bay.
"If I am allowed to call you 'Son,' then trust me that you are most certainly allowed to call me 'Dad,'" Severus's words rumbled through him, somehow counteracting his uncontrolled trembling. Relief flowed quite suddenly through him, and he very nearly slumped forwards, colliding gently with his guardian's chest.
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