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Lost Phoenix	By : sshp4ever Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21769 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or its Characters. I make no money (unfortunately) from this.

Chapter List
- 1-Animals
- 2-Waiting
- 3-Dirty
- 4-Alone
- 5-Umbrellas
- 6-Dreaming
- 7-Retribution
- 2
- 3
- 4
Chapter Three: Dirty

            There was absolutely no way he was going to make it up the stairs, at least not standing up. Slowly lowering himself to all fours, Harry listlessly climbed what seemed to be an endless stairway. In reality it probably only had fifteen steps. Upon reaching the landing, he sagged against the wall in an attempt to catch his breath.

For the past few days any exertion had been almost impossible, but today was even worse. Harry had been having trouble breathing, each breath accompanied by an abnormal rasping vibration deep within his chest. Petunia had yelled at him while he had been preparing their lunch because of his incessant coughing. Even more tiresome were the hot and cold flashes he had been experiencing while mowing the lawn. But most irritating were the random flashes of nausea that plagued him at the most inconvenient times, like when he had been preparing the Dursley’s supper. This had made completing Vernon's ridiculous tasks nearly impossible. Despite Harry’s obviously failing health, Vernon had shown no mercy, insisting that Harry continue to work as directed. So here he was, on his last chore of the day and seconds away from collapse.

            After a few more minutes, he had finally recovered from his brutal trip up the stairs. Harry pulled himself to his feet, using the wall as support. As he slowly made his way towards his aunt and uncle’s bedroom, he could distinctly hear blood pumping through his veins. This did nothing to relieve the headache that had been building ever since that morning. Finally reaching the doorway, he entered and surveyed the disarray. Thankfully his only job was to change the sheets, but it would still be difficult to maneuver himself over and around all of their crap.

            Determined, Harry set off across the room, picking his way carefully through the scattered debris. However, when the front door slammed, Harry started in surprise, and stumbled onto the bed. Vernon was home. After righting himself, Harry hurriedly began prying up the dirty bedding, trying desperately not to think about how it had become soiled.

He tried to work quickly; usually he was able to finish before his uncle returned home. On days when this was possible, Harry would be safe in the back garden by the time an irritated and confrontational Vernon stormed into the residence. Today he had not been so lucky, and tried to make up for the time lost on the stairs by rushing through his final task. He quickly discovered this tactic to be flawed, since any hurried movement quickly fatigued him. Extending his arms and bracing himself on the bare mattress, Harry attempted to quickly catch his breath.

The fates were not on Harry’s side, however. At the exact moment Harry was recovering, Vernon charged into the room. The suddenness of the intrusion caused Harry to once again jerk in alarm. Unfortunately, the hasty movements made it seem as if Harry was guiltily removing himself from a relaxed position. Even more disastrous than the unexpected appearance of Uncle Vernon was the expression the man was wearing. His face was contorted into a repulsed sneer of rage.

Immediately Harry knew that he was in trouble. Vernon was going to kill him. Not only had Harry been “a no good, lazy runt,” but he had been caught leaning on his relative’s bed, no doubt “contaminating” it with his “filth.” Resigned to what he knew would transpire, Harry straightened up and stared right back at his uncle. And, as expected, it took only a few seconds for Vernon to find the appropriate, wrathful words.

“BOY, WHAT’S THE MEANING OF THIS! WE LET YOU IN OUR HOME, AND WHAT DO YOU DO? NOTHING!” Vernon thundered, enraged. “You’re such a lazy little freak, can’t even do a few chores before you take a nap. You’re good for nothing, just like your whore of a mother. All you do is laze about, and on my bed no less!”

Harry just stood there with a blank expression. Vernon probably thought he was just a bit dim, but in reality he was trying desperately not to panic. The beating Harry knew was imminent was guaranteed to leave him severely injured. It wasn’t as if his uncle would take him to the hospital for his injuries. As his breath began to hitch and a high pitched whine emanated from his chest, Harry tried not to imagine how pissed off Vernon would be if he was unable to move and therefore incapable of completing his chores.

“BOY! Boy? Are you listening to me?” Vernon barked. His face had been red when he had entered the room, but now it was a dull shade of purple. Suddenly Harry’s space was being invaded. Uncle Vernon had crossed the messy room in a surprisingly short time for a man of such substantial size. Once he had reached Harry, he grabbed him by the back of the neck. At least this time Harry could breathe, but it was still terribly uncomfortable. Yanking Harry around to face him, Vernon hissed, “You ungrateful little waste, I am going to kill you!”

Harry didn’t doubt him, as he was dragged back into the hall and into the smallest bedroom that used to be his refuge. His uncle was muttering all the while about how much Harry would “regret ever being born.” When Vernon shoved him down onto his old mattress, he didn’t even bother trying to catch himself, and simply let his head smack the old mattress carelessly. From his face down position on the bed, Harry could only hear his uncle’s movements behind him, but was too resigned to the beating he knew was coming to care. In some ways this was better than the previous occasions, Harry reasoned, seeing as how he was on a—comparatively—comfy bed. At least it would be impossible for him to get a concussion this time.

Unexpectedly, Harry felt his ankle being grabbed and yanked in the direction of a bed post. Even if he had been so inclined, Harry would have been incapable of resisting. Usually, as long as he cooperated and accepted whatever Vernon wanted to dish out, everything was over sooner. After both his feet had been secured, Vernon yanked Harry’s hands above his head, first binding them together and finally to one of the rungs on the headboard. Now this is new, Harry thought. Vernon had never tried to tie him up before, no matter what the punishment, whether it be punching, kicking, beating, or burning.

He could now hear Vernon removing his belt. But instead of hitting him, Vernon simply laid it down on the bed beside Harry, and began yanking at Harry’s grimy oversized jeans. They had previously been Dudley’s and easily slipped off his hips and down to his calves. Finally Vernon could strike him across his bare thighs, arse, and lower back.

The first stoke landed on the sensitive skin between thigh and buttocks, causing Harry to jerk and tears to well up. Blow two, three, and four hit him right above the knees procuring a quivering motion out of his legs. Harry lost count after several more that stung his back. Closing his eyes, Harry attempted to send himself into a meditative state, just focusing on the impact of each individual hit. He’d found a while ago that he could always come out of punishments much less damaged if he could control himself.

Yet it still didn’t take Harry long to begin crying; thankfully they were hushed tears. However, Uncle Vernon didn’t seem to appreciate his silence. “Scream, boy, or I’ll make you,” huffed his uncle. And Vernon did a commendable job of trying, but Harry bit the inside of his cheeks when he ran out of lip, in the effort not to make a sound.

Nevertheless, Harry did eventually begin to bleed, which seemed to appease his uncle, since he stopped thrashing his nephew. He was almost relieved before he froze as a chilling sound reached him. It was worse than Voldemort’s cackle, Malfoy’s jeering, and Snape’s belittling. It was the rhythmic chink of a zipper being pulled down.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Flashback…

            It was New Year’s Eve back in fourth year. Fred and George had managed to smuggle in several cases of Fire Whiskey and had felt generous enough in their holiday spirit to share it with their youngest brother and his friends. Harry, being under an enormous amount of stress because of the Triwizard Tournament, participated in Gryffindor’s merriment. After drinking for hours with Ron, Neville, Seamus, and Dean in the common room, the five of them had tripped and stumbled up to the boy’s dormitory with their last bottle of booze, all the while under the scornful watch of Hermione.

Wanting to make this last bottle count, Ron had proposed a game of Wizard’s “Have You Ever,” a game Harry had realized was quite literally magical. By adding a certain spell that insured the uninhibited truth to the spirits, Ron had announced that no matter the query, they would be magically compelled to drink accordingly. Once everyone had agreed to the terms, including Neville, the game began.

It had all started out innocently enough. Neville had begun by saying, “Have you ever cheated on an assignment?” which was of course followed by all five of them drinking. But as they had become more intoxicated the questions had become lewder.

The first had come from Dean, “Have you ever had a hand job from Lavender Brown?” which was promptly followed by only Dean swallowing his shot of Whiskey, while sniggering amusedly at all their envious faces. Ron had quickly followed him up with, “Have you ever had sex with any of the girls at Hogwarts?” which both he and Dean drank too. The rest had watched rather jealously while both Ron and Dean had mercilessly made fun of them and recounted all of their experiences in minute detail.

Neville, who they all knew was bisexual, had come back with, “Have you ever had sex with a guy?” meaning that he got to drink. Surprisingly, however, Seamus had also been forced to drink his shot, despite him obvious resisting.

            Dean stared surprised at his best friend, “Mate, I didn’t know you were bent!” he exclaimed, a bit too loudly because of his drunkenness. This really was a surprising development, since Seamus was quite out spoken when it came to whether or not he liked someone. And he had always said he’d liked girls.

            “Yeah, Seamus, who was it?” Ron asked. The unfairness of the question would only occur to them in the morning, when they remembered the compulsion spell Ron had placed upon the alcohol. But Ron couldn’t be blamed for his forgetfulness or curiosity. None of them could. They were all wasted.

Seamus, who had already been red, was turning blue from lack of air. He had clamped his jaw shut in an attempt not to have to speak. If he had been sober, he might have thought to run out of the room, or even breathe through his nose. As it was, the need for air eventually forced him to open his mouth. Through the gasps for air the other four clearly heard him say, “My father.”

The complete and utter silence that had followed had been horrible. The revelation immediately subdued the group. Unfortunately for Seamus, their soberness didn’t mean there wouldn’t be questions. Harry had been the one to ask, “When? Before you came to Hogwarts?”

Seamus just nodded, looking down and refusing to make eye contact with any of them. He had gone from sprawled out over some pillows to knees tucked under his chin and his arms wrapped around himself. Not a single one of his freckles could be seen.

“Seamus, mate?” Dean said scooting closer and wrapping an arm around his friend, “How old were you? What happened?”

There was a short pause where Seamus seemed to be attempting to fight the magic again and failed. And so he was forced to begin.

“I was eight years old. It was right after me’ dad found out me’ mum was a witch. He wasn’t too thrilled about that, but you guys already knew that. Um... he… my f-father… dammit! I-it happened the night he left. Actually I think me’ mum thought he had already gone but I guess he had just went to the pub and then decided to come back one more time. I wish he hadn’t. But, um, he came into me’ room that night, and me’ mum had already gone to bed, so she couldn’t have heard. Me’ mum snores like a train, see. And um, anyway me’ dad was drunk, completely out of it, e’ was. He kept telling me I was a freak and a whore just like me’ mum and this was the only way to make it better. He was pulling down me’ shorts and I thought he was gonna give me a beatin’… but after he got me’ pants off he started takin’ off his own. I didn’t know what was going on. Me’ parents hadn’t told me about sex ‘cause I was still so young, ya know, and I hadn’t gotten me’ hands on any of those girlie magazines yet.”

Seamus paused, steeling himself for what they all knew was coming next. “Me’ dad had a tiny cock,” he said, trying to make light of it all and failing, “but to an eight year old, I don’t think it mattered much. It still hurt like a bitch. I thought me’ body was going to split in two. I was crying and me’ dad was getting angrier ’cause I was making too much noise. So he pushed me’ face down into the sheets to muffle me’ howling. It went on a long time and by the end there was blood and cum all over me and the sheets. After he was done, me’ dad didn’t stick around too long. He took the sheets and told me to take a bath. I think he didn’t want me’ mum to know. And she still doesn’t either.”

By this point Seamus was crying and leaning heavily into Dean’s side. The rest of them were dazed by this disturbing news. Harry was trying to reason out why they hadn’t suspected it before. But Seamus was the loudest and cheeriest of the lot of them, and Harry couldn’t understand how he could be so positive after something so obviously horrific had happened to him.

“I’m not bent though. I didn’t want him to do that. It wasn’t me’ fault I didn’t know any better.” Seamus was looking pleadingly at Dean, as if he thought the other boy was about to push him away. “You believe me don’t ya?”

Turning his distressed friend to face him, their faces a bit closer than normal because of the drunkenness, Dean reassured him forcefully, “Gay or straight, you’re still my best mate. Besides, I don’t think you had much of a choice anyway, what with you just being a little kid then, right?”

Looking a little more hopeful, Seamus allowed Dean to help him into bed. After a few moments of muddled silence, the rest of them somberly prepared for sleep. Harry in particular was pensive. He had realized that this must have been the very first time Seamus had ever talked about his last encounter with his father. The Dursleys were cruel, but he didn’t even think they would do something so distressing to him. Those had been Harry’s last thoughts before he had drifted off to sleep.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

This was why Harry was so confused. The Dursleys, or more specifically his uncle, weren’t supposed to be capable of this. Harry had decided that over a year ago, but here were the facts, proving him wrong. Suddenly, Harry wasn’t feeling so complacent about his penance. No one deserved to have this done to them! Feeling a rush of terror-fueled adrenaline Harry started to thrash about, straining all his muscles to escape the snare he had allowed himself to be trapped in.

Vernon was completely silent, but Harry could sense him when he got onto the bed. Increasing his struggling, Harry began to hyperventilate. This is not happening, it’s NOT! were Harry’s only thoughts. But when he felt his uncle’s hand on his bare hip, Harry stopped breathing, going rigid and tensing his butt for all he was worth.

It occurred to him then that this was most likely happening because he had refused to make any noise of distress during the beating. He decided immediately that giving up his dignity would be worth the embarrassment. So Harry began to whimper. But instead of stopping victoriously, Vernon just moved farther onto the bed, until Harry could tell his uncle was kneeling between his legs. Before Harry could do anything to counter this progression, Vernon leaned a forward a bit. This action alerted Harry to an alarming fact that, had Harry not already been petrified, would have rendered him motionless. His uncle was hard, very hard. In addition to that from what Harry could tell his uncle wasn’t small, but of an average length and width.

Losing all rational thought and control, Harry began to struggle haphazardly. He even increased the level of his whimpering to full-blown sniveling, although he didn’t know when he had started to cry again.

The next thing Harry knew, Vernon's hands were spreading his arse cheeks apart. Finally Harry had had enough. This WASN’T going to happen to him, even if he had to beg.

“Uncle Vernon, please stop. Please don’t!” Harry managed to squeak out between his sobs, unaware that his distress had escalated to such heights. But all this earned him was a maniacal chuckle from Vernon.

Then the foreign and incredibly frightening feeling of a large blunt cock head prodding around his entrance caused Harry to once again freeze. His breath left him again as he tensed for the inevitable breach.

But when it finally did come, it was so much worse than Harry had imagined, causing him to give a panicked shriek, his hands grappling for purchase on the pillows. Really all Vernon had done was nudge just the tip of his erect penis into Harry’s tiny hole, but there was such an intense burning that Harry thought he might actually die if his uncle continued.

His entire body gave a jolt and he could feel his anus spasm around the foreign intrusion. Harry couldn’t understand, through the haze of pain, how such a large thing could even begin to fit within such a minuscule orifice. The shuddering, he assumed, was his body’s attempt to accustom itself with the invasion. However, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted his body to get used to this outlandish torture. He wanted the disturbance gone, and the memories deleted.

Harry was about to resume his pleading, but Vernon had swiftly leaned over him, clapping a hand over Harry’s mouth and hissing. “One more noise, boy, and I will make this a hundred times worse.” Although Harry couldn’t imagine anything worse than what had already ensued, he nodded fervently to avoid any more unwanted agony.

But it did get worse, so much worse. At that moment Vernon plunged in all the way to the hilt. If his uncle’s hand hadn’t already been over his lips, a gut wrenching scream of anguish would have undoubtedly exploded from the young wizard. As it was, he couldn’t help the shuddering spasms that shook his entire frame and the immediate blubbering that overtook him. Tears and snot were swiftly dripping down his face, causing Vernon to remove his hand. Harry could vaguely hear himself weeping, but the ringing in his ears disoriented him, making everything vague and hazy. Everything but the pain in his arse.

It really did feel like being torn in two. But what the Irishmen had forgotten to mention was the inconceivable burning sensation and the uncontrollable urge to vomit. Which he did, right onto the pillow. He was being stretched more than his body was most likely meant to yield. The blood from where the skin of his hole had been torn by the sudden intrusion was running down his legs.

And then Vernon began to move. It was unbroken, indescribable pain. Most unfathomable was the relentless burn. The open wounds from the beating were being rubbed raw, and every time Vernon's balls slapped Harry’s buttocks, he thought he could feel the man’s cock all the way in the back of his throat. Every time Vernon pulled out and slammed back in Harry’s face was dragged through his own vomit, which had spread all across the top half of the bed.

By this time, his weeping had progressed to muffled wailing. Harry couldn’t help the escaping noise but tried his best to stifle it by pressing his face into the fouled coverlet.

“…no no no no no no no no…” was Harry’s desperate mantra. It wasn’t clear to him if he was saying no to Vernon or just in denial of the situation itself. Between each irregular breath Harry threw out his whispered objection. For the eternity that it took his uncle to get off, Harry chanted. Even once Vernon finally had sprayed his cum into Harry and pulled out, he continued to intone his barely audible “no no no.”

And once Vernon had redone his trousers and released Harry’s hands and feet, the continued rejections remained, unceasing. After Vernon had left the room and Harry had curled into the smallest shape possible, hugging his knees to his chest and staring blankly at the wall, the no’s continued to stream past his lips. Harry’s mind was oddly blank. He wasn’t contemplating how he’d just lost his virginity to his uncle or how, for the first time in weeks, he was laying on an actual bed. And he definitely wasn’t thinking about how he would have to clean up the entire mess, including himself, within a few hours.

No, Harry Potter’s mind was completely blank, except his refusal to accept reality. But really, who could blame him.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Two hours later, there was a knock on the door of the smallest bedroom in Number Four Privet Drive. It was Petunia Dursley. She wanted to make sure her nephew took a shower before he went to bed, so as not to sully the sheets with “his kind’s” filth. And Harry, who had only recently come out of his stupor, had no objection to this. He knew he was dirty.
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Lost Phoenix