Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Plan B	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 10288 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters and universe belong to JK Rowling. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Chapter 5
It had taken three days before Harry had been capable of moving without pain. The first day had been spent mostly lying on his bed, crying silently at odd moments and thinking of curses for everyone in power. During that first day he had spoken to Kreacher whilst listening to the Ministry people moving in below them. With so many Ministry folk around, Harry had felt nervous. Not just about protecting his identity, but in case one of them was light-fingered and stole what little ready money he had. So, he had carefully warded the cupboard containing his Polyjuice potion and added to the protections he had set up around his top floor flat. Still, he had been worried that one of the workers could break in.
“Here, look after this,” Harry had said, handing a pouch to the elf. The velvet bag was on a longish length of braided silk so could be worn around the neck. The bag itself gave metallic and glass clunks as it moved.
“Kreacher,” the wizard's voice was serious, “this is some of my money, and some Polyjuice potion vials. I want you to look after them at all times. Keep them on you and never ever let on that you have this, and never ever hand this bag or any of its contents to anyone except me.” He took a breath. “Only hand it over to me if you are very sure, really very sure, that it is me. You can ask me any questions you like, ones only I'd know the answer to, check my wands, whatever. But only give the money or potions to me, okay?”
The elf had nodded, ears wobbling vigorously. “Yes, master.” For a moment it looked as though Kreacher wanted to say more, but he didn't. Instead he had looked intently at Harry and placed the cord over his head.
***
The day after, Harry had had a visit from an official. Luckily he had been upstairs and so had had time to take Polyjuice potion before heading down to his work space.
“Mr Dursley?” It was a woman facing him. She had expressive brown eyes and a friendly face. Quite what she was doing as part of the Ministry, Harry had no idea.
“I work in the contracts department of the Ministry of Magic and I have yours here.” She held up a thick wodge of parchment.
“Contract?”
“Yes.” Sounding vaguely exasperated, she went on, “Did no-one tell you that if your health check came back clear someone would go through the details of beginning your role?”
Mouth sour, Harry had answered shortly, “No.”
Her own mouth tight, the witch shook her head before beginning to explain a lot of things to the younger man.
“So,” he asked an inordinate amount of time later (he'd offered to make two rounds of hot drinks just to give himself a bit of alone time to slug down some more potion), “as this month has already started, does the Ministry reduce the fifty galleon fee?” He was sure he already knew the answer.
The witch looked a little embarrassed. “No,”
“Of course not.”
“And you will need to purchase Valetudo as well before you begin work. Also,” she went on as though he hadn't grumbled, “you need to be aware that if there are insufficient funds in your vault to pay that fee or any other Ministry expenses, a fine of one hundred galleons is applied per failed transaction.”
Harry had been annoyed about the situation for so long now that he was no longer able to lose his temper. Instead his irritation continued to bubble and roil below the surface. He'd almost given up on the idea of fighting. How could abuses of this kind be beaten?
“Now here is where you state when you will begin working.” She had pointed to a blank line.
“Hang on,” Harry had said, “what's with all the signs already being up if I haven't started working yet?”
When he had come down to greet her, he had been surprised to see posters up in the shared foyer, and on the door leading to his downstairs room. On opening the door, he had seen a wooden board, rather like a pub's one, hanging outside the entrance door. It had had two broomsticks on it, and a range of other pictures. But as he had been letting the newcomer in, he hadn't had time to fully examine the images.
“Those are already in place so that as soon as you do start, they will become visible to potential clients. For now, only you and someone like me – here to see you on official business – can see them.”
Thinking angry thoughts, Harry nodded. He wondered how long it would take to set up a vault at Gringotts. He was determined that it would have enough money in it so that he never got stung by the Ministry's fees.
After only a few moment's thought Harry had filled in his 'start date' and signed the contract using his false name. As he had done so, he thought he had caught a look of pity in the witch's face, but it was gone by the time she added her details to the document. Waving her wand created a duplicate which she tucked into her bag. The original she handed to Harry, along with the Ministry form that would enable him to open a vault. He could, of course, go to Gringott's and see if his Muggle paperwork would do the trick, but having the official documentation would make life easier. For once, bureaucracy had helped.
The woman had stood, shaken his hand, shaken her head, then left. Alone, the man stood in the shared atrium and stared blankly at the signs. His stomach churned a little at the thought of really, truly spreading his legs for money. But even he (or, more accurately, Kreacher) couldn't make four knuts last all month.
At least he had a little time before he began whoring.
As the month had already started (he had signed the contract on Friday July 3^rd) and as Harry had no intention of giving those bastards any extra money, he had decided to start on August first. It also meant he had one last birthday as himself.
It was too late to go to the bank today, so he made it his Saturday morning task. But before he went, he settled on his bed and carefully counted out three hundred galleons, leaving himself two hundred plus a few sickles and knuts. Three hundred was more than enough to cover him for a few months, he thought, and he was wary of putting all his money into the vault. After having lost access to the Potter fortune, he was leery of keeping all his assets in one place, which was part of the reason why he had given Kreacher a pouch too.
***
“Mr Dursley, do follow me.” The goblin led Harry through a maze of passages before opening one door labelled 'New vaults'. Once inside, the wizard sat down when indicated and tried to relax. If he had a vault, maybe, just maybe, he would start to feel more like himself again. He hated that he seemed to have given up, but it was all too much for him. Perhaps, when he had a little time to reflect (without worrying about decorating or being discovered), his natural fight would come back and he'd think of a solution that didn't involve sex with strangers. Until then, he would do what had to be done.
Brought back to the present by the goblin's annoyed cough, he realised that the creature must have been speaking to him. He apologised and the request was repeated.
Drawing out the document he had received the previous day, Harry handed over the parchment detailing that the Ministry had verified his identity (ha!) and would only countenance him having a 'cash-in-hand' vault. Reading that had surprised him. He'd always thought that the bank ran totally separately from the Ministry, but clearly there were closer ties there than he had ever realised.
Black eyes scanned the document quickly. The goblin – Harry thought he had introduced himself as 'Furnook' – looked up, those dark eyes intense.
“Mr Dursley, we can certainly set up a 'cash-in-hand- vault, but I must make you aware of the special terms attached to this kind of vault.”
Sighing, Harry settled back and prepared to find out just how he was going to be screwed now.
“The Ministry dislikes not being able to trace where money has come from. It finds it … irksome to have businesses that operate on a cash basis. To discourage such things, a higher tax rate is applied to a cash-in-hand vault. The standard tax rate is 12%, in your case it is 20%. The reasoning is that the Ministry is concerned that your income might not come in very steadily, or for very long, and so they want the tax to cover any benefits you might later claim.”
What benefits? Harry thought sourly, They don't give a stuff about looking after anyone but themselves.
“Secondly, as you have no regular income, Gringotts is unwilling to extend the usual credit facilities. In most cases, should a sudden expense arise, we will negotiate with the vault owner to discuss securities. However, in your case, there will be no securities, so that if you are in debt with us, we have no alternative but to charge an overdraft fee. Currently, this stands at one sickle each day no money is put into the vault. Should funds go in, but the account remain in debit, we reduce the daily charge to 15 knuts. It is important that you know that if the total of fees reaches twenty galleons, your account will be stopped, the vault closed, and we will begin asset recovery.” The goblin looked grim, “In most cases, there are no assets and the debtor has to choose between Azkaban and working off the debt for us.”
Harry just shrugged. Of course there were more problems to be overcome. Luckily, for him, they could be ignored. He, unless something went horribly wrong, would never end up owing anyone money. He wondered about other sex workers though. They might start out with a three hundred galleon fine (one for the Ministry's fee, one for the 500 galleon charge made for checking their security arrangements, and one for how ever many bottles of Valetudo they had purchased); unless they were very fortunate with their rent and with how popular they were, they would probably never ever really be free of the Ministry's fines.

July 31^st was a Friday. Harry woke up, cock hard, and said quietly to himself, “Happy birthday. Enjoy your last day of freedom.” His mouth twisted into a bitter smile as he stretched, dressed and shuffled across the hallway to the small kitchenette Kreacher had set up when they had moved here.
“Master Harry,” the elf said, placing a plate piled with food in front of the wizard, “Many happy returns, Master.” Awkwardly, the elf dropped a small, slightly grubby looking parcel down next to the plate.
“Kreacher? Did you get me a present?” Harry sounded genuinely shocked. “You didn't have to do that!”
Flustered, the elf bowed and scurried off, apparently to fetch a cup of tea, but clearly to avoid the embarrassment of watching his master open the gift.
A smile of amusement touching his lips, Harry had shovelled a mouthful of egg in and then unwrapped the small box. Inside was a small toy in the shape of an owl. It had clearly been made from scraps of material and had been stitched by hand. Eyes filling with tears, Harry had stared down at the small figure and felt again the loss of Hedwig. Clearing his throat, he called, “Kreacher? Come here, please.”
Hesitantly, the elf approached. It twisted its long fingers around in its nervousness.
“Kreacher, this is lovely,” Harry said, meaning every word. “I can't thank you enough for such a meaningful gift.” He paused, feeling something else was needed, “And I especially like how well you stitched on the feathers. He almost looks like he could fly, doesn't he?”
Brightening up a little, Kreacher nodded, huge ears flapping, and moved about the kitchen, a smile on his wrinkled face.
With breakfast over, Harry was wondering if he could just go back to bed and have a wank when an owl tapped on the glass. Startled he looked up and opened the window. It flew in and deposited an envelope before flying off again.
Fear gripped Harry when he saw the words on the paper: Mr H Potter, wherever he may be.
Who had found him? And why?!
Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he turned the envelope over, slid it open and pulled out the card inside. It was incongruously bright. Far too cheerful given the dark disaster that was Harry's life. He opened it and a piece of paper fluttered out. The words on the paper made very little sense to him:
To be exchanged at any Gringotts branch or mini-branch.
He turned his attention to the card. Dear Harry, it read, Happy birthday! I don't know where you are, or how you are getting by, but I hope you are well. I wondered if you had decided to give Muggle life a try, but thought that maybe you'd have asked me to speak to my parents and offer you somewhere to live. Maybe you've found some way on your own, but if you are still in the magical world, and the owl finds you, I hope you won't be offended by the gift I have enclosed.
I know your vault has been denied you, and I think it's disgusting that you've lost everything just because you're gay. So, the voucher I've included allows you to draw out the equivalent of ten galleons. If you're in the Muggle world, then you can convert it to pounds (or whatever currency you wish) by accessing a Gringotts mini-branch. I would like to think you are still in our world, but if you are, you must be suffering dreadfully.
It took quite a lot of convincing and cajoling to get the goblins to accept what I wanted, and if the money isn't claimed within twelve months it will be returned to me. I hope you accept it, dear Harry, as I would like to know you are safe and well.
Anyway, happy birthday!
I love you,
Hermione.
Tears slid down Harry's cheeks. He still had one friend. Even now, even after everything, Hermione was still looking out for him. She had even somehow arranged for him to have access to a monetary gift. Ten galleons! That was, he did some quick calculating in his head, about £50 if he was remembering right. That was a very generous gift and typical of Hermione's forethought and care for her friends.
He longed for an owl to send back to her to thank her for her unending thoughtfulness.

It wasn't until later that he realised that Ron hadn't sent him a card, nor Mrs Weasley. That hurt.
***
“Well, well, well,” Ministry worker David Needle said as he came into work on August first. Usually nobody worked at the building over the weekend, but he had a tonne of paperwork to catch up on, and his mother-in-law was staying with them, so it seemed like a good time to work some (well-paid) overtime. It wasn't the overtime that had him licking his lips though, it was the signs that were clearly displayed outside the building and in the atrium on the ground floor.
He was going to enjoy himself come lunch time.

Harry sat on a bed in the ground floor flat and chewed his lower lip. He had tidied up the room, made more of an effort to make the bed seem sturdy, and was now sitting in t-shirt and soft black linen trousers, heart pounding, wondering if anyone would pay to have him.
His ass felt slightly squidgy as he had had to spend time stretching and lubricating himself before he had come out into this room that was now his 'office'.
And there he had sat for nearly four hours.
Finally a client had appeared. He had been almost relieved by then and had invited the customer in, his true identity hidden behind a double dose of Polyjuice potion. Of course, the relief had not lasted long, not when he had suddenly realised what it was he was about to do. And with a total stranger. His heart pounding in his chest, his breath coming in frequent gasps, he had stared at the man opposite him and tried to fight down the panic.
“So, a new whore. What a delight!” the man had spoken musingly, before breaking out into a smile. “And I get to break you in.” He looked at Harry, who was still dressed, and whose fingers were clenched tightly in his top. “First you need to get naked, then get on your hands and knees.”
Swallowing past the dry lump in his throat, Harry nodded. Fingers shaking, he tugged off the t-shirt, but he stalled at the idea of removing his trousers. If he did that, it would make this real. He would really be a whore. Could he do it? Surely there was some way out. There had to be. He had to have missed something.
“Get a move on!” his client snapped.
Anger sparked in Harry's mind. He had been put in an impossible position by the Ministry. They'd denied him his sexuality, his needs, and were probably even now re-writing history to get rid of him. Well, he'd show them. One day, one glorious day, he would go back to the Ministry, head held high, hand in hand with the man he wanted and he'd tell them all where to get off. He'd be able to do what he -
“For fuck's sake! I'm not paying you to stand there and gaze blankly into the distance. Get on your hands and knees!”
Harry pulled his trousers down, fire still burning within him. He got into position on the bed and spread his thighs. The Ministry wanted him gone? Well, tough. He'd become a whore but one day he'd tell them what they'd done to the man who had saved them from the Dark Lord. Maybe then they'd realise what a fuck up they'd made!
He gasped as a cock was shoved into his ass. It hurt. He hadn't had sex in such a long time that even with preparation it hurt.
Behind him, the official was groaning with pleasure. His fingers were tight about the whore's hips as he pounded the tight channel.
The anger that had driven Harry sputtered out, fucked out of him by the reality of what his life now was.
Harry rocked back and forth, moved by the sheer force of the thrusts into his aching body, and let silent tears drip down his cheeks.
---
Really sorry about the delay. This chapter was added quite late, and the damned sex scene refused to be written. As an apology, chapter six has also been posted!
Thunderbird - I am a Snarry shipper, so yes, I guess it was inevitable that regular readers would know where this is going! No, Neville will not be returning. Sadly.
LadyRaven - of course there was more assholery in the previous chapter (and this one). And yes, a lot of people need to end up dead if Harry is going to have justice!
As for All That You Leave Behind. You may have to wait for QoA to finish it, as Angst told me she's currently without a computer, and writing is tricky on a phone! But Angst said that the review was really sweet. (Queens agreed, she just normally lets Angst do most of the talking).
Book_addict_89 - we're shortly going to run out of names to call the MoM, as they do continue to be c**ts, w*nkers, b*stards, assh*les, sh*ts, etc etc! Rescue is a long way off.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Plan B