|By : Massanie|
Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes
Views: 75995 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 29
|Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me and I'm not making any money with this story|
CHAPTER 7: The First Attempt
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Harry stormed through the corridors of Lanai Manor with anger spurred steps, throwing furious and at the same time apprehensive glances back to the light-filled door that led to the garden he had just left.
He was livid. How dare they? How dare they even think for a moment that he would let them cage him? Who did they think they were, setting rules just like that and thinking he would obey them like a good little first year Hufflepuff?
'Or a good little submissive mate…' supplied a part of his mind that Harry really didn't care to listen to right now.
But nonetheless the thought made him nervous as he acutely felt his wand's absence in his hand - or his pocket for that matter. There were two crazed, armed Slytherins intending to mate with him in the garden he had just left and he had no means to really fight them off. Oh, he knew a little bit wandless magic but he still felt depleted where his magic was concerned and they would still be advantageous to him. Only willing his bloody wings away earlier had left him tired!
Merlin, how he wished he could just rip them off and be done with the whole matter! But he doubted that would accomplish anything but make him bleed to death, with his luck.
No, he was completely and utterly at the mercy of Draco bloody Malfoy and that skunk Blaise Zabini (who, after his pretentious performance a few minutes ago was definitely on his hit list), which just strengthened his resolve: he needed to get out of this manor and away from them before they decided to … to what exactly?
Harry couldn't finish the thought, and that made him pause in his steps and frown for a moment. He really didn't know their intentions. He hadn't even stayed long enough to listen to what they wanted from him, what they wanted to do with him, the only thing Harry remembered was that Zabini had said something about not forcing him… more along the lines of teaching and protecting him.
He bit his lips as his mind played over his short conversation with the two Slytherins. They had flirted with him openly, which had been quite a new experience for Harry and left him feeling uncomfortable around them and yet it had also raised a nervous flutter in his stomach at the same time that was not all that bad, though very much humiliating. But still they hadn't touched him inappropriately in any way and although especially Draco had made the one or the other biting remark, they had been generally suave.
Absentmindedly Harry's fingers ghosted over the artfully painted wall - a mixture of different warm shades of terracotta, oranges and gold that had been applied with a palette knife to form an intriguing play of colours - while thinking over his possible lines of action.
Should he go back, maybe, and demand that they explain themselves? In a way they had been forthcoming and helpful during the last 24 hours. But Harry could neither forget nor ignore the way Zabini had tried to lord his bloody rules over him and the way Malfoy had smirked at him, confident of his victory over the Boy-Who-Lived at last… they had probably only pretended to be nice. Even if they had been honest: the two Slytherins had still kidnapped him and refused to bring him back home when he wished to. No, Harry definitely didn't want to go back to them after all of that.
As he stood there, his intense green gaze glided over an open door to his left, just in passing, and if not for the flickering light of an open fire catching his attention, he would not have looked twice.
Unconsciously he made a step towards the door, intrigued. This was an Italian summer: hot and dry; and that meant that this fire was not lit for the purpose of warming.
Harry looked around cautiously, ensuring that he was still unwatched and alone. Of course it was always difficult to notice a House Elf who didn't want to be noticed, but unless Zabini had told them to watch him, Harry thought that they would be too polite not to announce themselves. After all Zabini had ordered them to treat him like an honoured guest, like a Zabini. And the Slytherin had dismissed his servants immediately, so Harry was relatively sure he would have heard it if his 'host' had given such orders.
No one was there…
His heart beating madly in his chest, Harry snuck towards the light, careful to not make a sound as he glimpsed into the room.
It was a study, as large and as elegant as the rest of the manor, with a high ceiling and wide windows, the walls covered with extensive bookshelves. In the centre there stood a large L-shaped desk made of a dark, rich wood with a slightly red hue and adorned with paler inlays and silver ornaments. A black, imposing office chair was behind it, providing such a huge contrast to the set of light chairs in its front that any guest seated there would have to feel disadvantaged to the study's owner.
It didn't interest Harry, not really, though he generally disliked such power plays. His eyes only hushed over the luxurious furnishings and rested for a moment on the burning fire place that seemed to be magically partitioned off from the rest of the room as it was not radiating any warmth.
Then his gaze settled on the wide, curved windows behind the desk on the opposite side of the room, flooding it with golden sunlight. They overlooked the garden he had just left and as the room itself was parterre, it was unfortunately at the same level with the terrace where Zabini, Malfoy and he had just partaken of their noon meal - or not quite, seeing as Harry had left before really eating much; a shame, that. The fruits had been delicious and he was still hungry…
Harry shook off that thought and ducked down to hide himself. It would not do to be seen in this study next to a fireplace that was obviously connected to Italy's Floo Network but nonetheless the Gryffindor took the chance to reassure himself that his captors had not followed him. This was his one chance to flee, he wouldn't let his escape be thwarted just because of rashness…
His heart leaped victoriously as he spotted them a moment later: there at the small tessellation table, right as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, as if they had not just officially made their former classmate into their captive, sat Malfoy and Zabini, lounging in their respective chairs like big cats so graceful it made Harry envious for but a second.
They had not followed him then; obviously they didn't take his threats seriously. Well, Harry huffed, he'd teach them!
It galled him how they could appear so easy in their mind about all of this, more than he cared to admit at the moment, and he balled his fists, watching and fuming as Malfoy's pale form shifted forward on his chair until he sat on the very edge.
He really should be going, Harry thought idly, he should go on with his plan and search the floo powder that must be somewhere close and flee. But he hesitated for a moment, curiosity getting the better of him - though curiosity about what, Harry really couldn't tell; maybe it was just some kind of sick fascination.
Regardless of the reason, his attention was caught by the hungry look on Malfoy's face as he stared at Zabini, who had his back turned to Harry. It was the same fierce and yet lewd look that had been directed at him not so long ago, Harry remembered, worrying his lower lip at the queasy feeling in his stomach.
It was odd, really, that those two Slytherins of all people had been the ones to look at him as if he was beautiful and desirable. Harry had never really been the target of someone's desire, he wasn't handsome, not like Cedric had been, not like Zabini and Malfoy were.
Ginny loved him and he loved her back, cared for her more than for anyone else except Hermione and Ron, but there was not much passion between them, he thought - not that he found anything to be amiss with his and Ginny's relationship; he assured himself a moment later, it was just that seeing the two predators in front of him made him realise that this was something he'd never have with her. But that was okay.
And still he kept on watching, caught now, unable to move his gaze away.
Harry didn't notice how his breath quickened as he watched the blonde take a small sip from that golden, wonderful liquid before leaning towards his lover languidly, beckoning him closer. Long, elegant fingers wound around Zabini's neck, the darker skin a beautiful contrast to the paleness of Malfoy's hand, and he was all fluid movements, all liquid grace, and Harry had to envy that, too. With a sudden jerk, the blond tilted his lover's head backwards and to the side and now Harry could see their mouths battling against each other, smudged with golden liquid. One drop ran down Blaise's - no, Zabini's jaw, strong and squared and Harry gulped and held his breath, cursing that damned accurate sight that made him notice the small tremors of Zabini's back and arms and the way his lips opened to release a silent moan that Harry could not hear through the closed windows, made him see Malfoy's half-lidded eyes as he swooped down, his tongue flicking out to catch the evasive drop. His mouth fastened on his lover's skin, nipping, biting, licking, sucking, teasing and Harry wondered for the split of a second what it would feel like… drowning in the passion of another and surrendering to it…
Before he knew it, a small whimper escaped his lips, startling him almost as bad as the first chirp he had emitted after regaining his sense of hearing. He jumped up, horrified at how his pants seemed to have tightened. That was so not going to happen! Harry wouldn't allow it, not with someone who had proven he couldn't be trusted; No, Harry needed to get away, he had to, and fast! Before he did something really stupid.
Frantically Harry looked around, his eyes rushing over the smooth surface of the chimney piece. Yes! There stood a small, silver box with rich ornaments right on top of it, so prominently that one couldn't miss it. Quickly he stepped towards it and with no thought to curses or traps that might be ingrained in the tin, he grabbed it, opened the delicate deadlock and flicked the lid open.
A wave of relief flooded Harry as he saw the glittery, silver powder and not missing a beat he took a handful and threw it into the red-hot embers. Instinctively he averted his face as the fire blazed up and turned to emerald green flames.
"Now where to?" Harry murmured urgently. He knew that the Floo Network didn't permit travels between different countries so he couldn't name an English address but on the other hand he knew not a single address in Italy. Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped into the flames.
'Somewhere' would have to do then. From his first floo experience Harry knew that he would end up at an address that sounded similarly at least. Merlin, he hoped there would be someone able and willing to help him…
As he turned towards the room again so he wouldn't fall backwards out of the chimney at his travel destination, he almost stumbled, his heart missing a beat. Outside on the terrace Malfoy and Zabini had just stood and stared at him, their expressions screaming 'don't you dare!' at him more clearly than the words would ever have been able to.
But then Harry smirked almost gleefully. They were too late.
And he could almost convince himself that his voice shook with relief as he started to murmur the word that would get him away to "some…"
Harry had no time to be surprised before the red light hit him and his vision went black as he crumbled into the harmless emerald flames.
Draco shook his head as he watched the Gryffindor storm away from their noon table. Really: a Gryffindor who fled from a confrontation. This was definitely one for the books!
"Great…" Blaise murmured behind him and Draco turned just as his fiancé sat down again with a self-mocking smile. "He didn't handle that quite as well as I had hoped he would."
Draco sighed, walking back to his own chair and pulled it a little bit closer to Blaise's as he sat down himself. "Maybe because we didn't handle that quite as well as I hoped we would. But really, I didn't expect him to make the connection so early or so easily for that matter."
Blaise looked up sharply. Yes, that mistake had been Draco's.
But sooner or later Harry would have found out anyway and really, Blaise didn't understand why Potter had made such a fuss about it. Hadn't he told him that they didn't intend to force him to mate? Hadn't Potter understood that he wouldn't be safe on his own? That he would need adult Vykélari to teach him, protect him, even hide him?
Granted, he and Draco didn't really know that much about submissives aside from the fact that they were very powerful and very desired. It had never been an issue after all as they had never expected to actually meet one… Still, even they had read about the high fatality rate of submissives and that was certainly not due to natural deaths.
And Draco still owed the brat a life debt. One that had been acknowledged and accepted which meant that the debt would only be settled if Potter said it was.
Had Draco not acknowledged the life debt, his magic would have compelled him to repay it in some way or another until it was satisfied and often such things happened in the most unfortunate situations; therefore purebloods had made a tradition of acknowledging debts of many kinds and have them accepted by their benefactors. It created a kind of bond between the wizards, fed and ruled by their magic until such a time as the acceptor declared the debt settled. It calmed the debtor's magic so that both parties had more control of the situation.
It was frowned upon not to acknowledge a debt just as much as it was frowned upon not to accept it. But only purebloods still honoured that tradition; a mudblood or a half-blood would not be expected to acknowledge a life-debt even though purebloods did in the reverse cases, in the rare situations that they owed someone who was not from their circles.
Idly Blaise wondered if Potter knew that he could ask for literally everything short of taking a life - Draco's or someone else's. Probably not, or he would have used the debt to make them get him a portkey back to Britain.
Well, he was certainly not going to tell him, it was not his fault that the Gryffindor had not bothered to read up on traditions that concerned him.
Where had he left off? Ah, yes. Potter's incredible luck with blind guesses. "It really wasn't your fault, Draco. This was something he had to learn eventually. Personally I think that it was the combination of flirting and the news that he is a submissive while we are both dominant Vykélari that freaked him out."
Draco chuckled lowly. "Ah yes, I know: pulling out his chair for him. Really Blaise?"
"And leading him to the table like a fragile gentlewoman was any less conspicuous?" Blaise retorted, his lips curled into a gently mocking smile; but his eyes were gleaming.
Draco's probably did, too, but he hid his amusement by lowering his gaze. "All but telling him to accompany us with nothing but some light silken pyjama trousers…" he murmured, his voice soft as silk.
"Leering at him as if you wanted to devour him whole… did you want to?" Blaise cocked his head as he asked the question, wondering if his fiancé would be honest or if he would try to evade, make excuses. For some moment of silence it seemed that he would.
"He is powerful." Draco said at last, cocking his head at his fiancé with fallacious calmness. No one could deny that; even now Potter's magic started to recover and he couldn't wait until it would dance around the oblivious Gryffindor and play tricks on a spectator's eyes.
He couldn't help it: power was attractive. Draco knew Blaise understood that.
Nonetheless he couldn't help it either to feel as if he was reaching for some forbidden fruit.
"Yes, that he is." Blaise agreed. "And handsome. But is that enough to court the trouble he will undoubtedly present us with?"
"Are we doing that?"
"It sure as hell looked like it." Blaise smiled lazily, his black eyes assessing the platinum blond.
Draco smiled back, enjoying himself in that weird way. "I think it looked more like a game."
It hadn't been, both of them knew that. Their desire towards the black-haired, green-feathered young Vykélari had been honest, but that didn't mean that they had to act on it. They were not mindless, instinct-blinded fools after all and they wouldn't allow their inheritance to rule them.
Teasing the innocent little thing had been enjoyable, though, and definitely something that Draco could become accustomed to. Potter's reactions were simply delicious.
"He is a Gryffindor, he probably won't be able to tell the difference." Blaise said in a matter-of-fact tone. "And as he is a powerful wizard it might be dangerous to lead him on. We should decide, Dragon: either we humour our parents and try to seduce him into mating with us, or we stay away from him for good, allow him to leave, maybe subtly get him to use the life-debt to 'escape' us… no strings would stay between us and him…"
That would probably be more than easy: they could simply get a House-Elf to tell Potter about it and have it play the teary-eyed, self-destructive family-traitor… Potter would believe he had won and call in the life debt to get home. After all, the Gryffindor had experience with house elves that acted against their masters.
Of course, their parents would be furious if they didn't claim the submissive for themselves and really, it somewhat went against everything a Slytherin believed in to let such a chance at power and influence go by. If they didn't claim Potter and the enhancement in prestige, influence and power that he would bring, someone else would. Another pureblood family that might even rise above the Malfoys and Zabinis in consequence.
But they would be happy. Blaise knew he and Draco worked well together, they loved each other and they were very much alike. It was enough, wasn't it? Even though their rare disagreements could become rather violent sometimes - not in a physical way - and even though sex between them was more a satisfying battle than lovemaking. A very satisfying battle, though.
During Blaise's musings, Draco seemed to have reached a decision of his own. One that contented him very much from the look of it.
"Whatever we decide" he almost purred "I want to kiss him at least once when his magic is in full bloom."
"You want to kiss him." Blaise deadpanned and cocked an eyebrow at the unusual bluntness of his fiancé. Really, he didn't know if he should be offended, jealous or amused. Something of everything, he guessed. Damn it, it wasn't as if he himself didn't want to taste Potter's lips, the touch of his magic…
A lazy grin broke out on Draco's face and he licked his lips, his eyes burning as he stared at his fiancé, his lover. "Do you want to know why?" he murmured huskily as he leaned forward.
Blaise chuckled lowly and stretched his shoulders. He could almost feel his own wings press against the skin of his back, wanting to show themselves, show off the blazing tones of bronze, copper and gold to seduce the being in front of him. But Draco wouldn't like that. As a dominant his instincts would tell him that the other male was challenging him and though Draco would know at heart that that wasn't true, the mood would be destroyed beyond reclaim.
It had already happened more than once; both ways.
So they always kept a tight rein on their instincts and Blaise was left with arching his shoulder blades instead of letting his wings erupt from his back.
Well, better that then giving up the minx in front of him.
"By all means:" Blaise said with a smirk and an elaborate hand gesture that could mean anything or nothing at all "show me if you can!"
Draco accepted the challenge immediately with another lewd smirk. Languidly his right hand reached out to get a hold of his glass with the Hesperides' Nectar and without taking his lust filled eyes off his lover, he guided the cold, golden liquid to his lips and took a small sip.
Blaise bit his lips and hummed appreciatively as he saw that the platinum blonde was not about to swallow, they had played such games before, but never with that special treat.
From half-lidded eyes he watched as Draco beckoned him forwards and he obliged just as his lover leaned towards him, too.
Draco kissed him, pressed his lips against his and his long fingers - he had the hands of an artist, Blaise always thought - twined around the back of his head, ran through his thick, black hair, stroking, massaging. He moaned at the feeling and opened his mouth to receive the golden liquid that Draco poured into his mouth, pressed.
The heady, exotic taste exploded on his tongue, the prickling of the magic that had sustained the tree from which the ripe fruits had been taken rushing through him, and the liquid was as thick as mango juice, as persistent and as velvety in its texture. Draco's tongue followed immediately, mapping the line of his teeth, delving deeper, dancing against his own, with his own. One of them moaned, Blaise couldn't be sure who, but it didn't matter anyway. And still those lithe fingers stroked over his neck, up and down, alternating between feathery softness and insistent pressure.
The feeling was so much more dizzying due to the magic swirling through the Nectar, its presence not diminishing even after Blaise had swallowed. Draco's taste was there, too, somewhere, inextricably entwined with the golden juice. He moaned into the kiss and brought his own hands up to cup his lover's cheek and pull him closer as pleasure pooled in his groin and his trousers tightened.
A drop ran down his chin towards the line of his jaw and Draco was there, his tongue following the precious liquid. And then he was sucking at his skin, maybe hunting for that rich taste that must have mixed with the one of his own skin. Teeth grazed him, bit him, followed by soothing licks, sucking lips…
Blaise groaned as he buried his hands in the blond silky hair, still marvelling at the sensations of pleasure mixing with magic. His eyes fluttered close. By Morgaine, he would have to buy more of that stuff…
And he wished that Draco was closer and he was about to pull the other from his chair and into his lap when suddenly Draco stiffened and moved away.
When Blaise opened his eyes inquiringly and a little bit annoyed, Draco was already standing, his lips swollen, his eyes blazing and burning with bafflement and anger as he stared at some point behind the darker Italian.
Blaise turned around and his eyes were immediately drawn to the quick and sudden movement in his study that was easily visible from their position in the garden: a flash of ultraviolet and of shimmering green feathers. Potter.
He rushed to his feet while next to him Draco stepped forward unconsciously. "Don't you dare!" he hissed, uncaring that the Gryffindor wouldn't be able to hear him. It was obvious what Potter was up to, the way he was searching the area around the chimney. The floo connected chimney.
And damn it, the room was warded against apparition … except for the house elves.
"Alfar!" Blaise shouted and immediately there was a loud crack and a comparatively tall elf stood before him, bowing so low his chubby nose touched the stones of the patio. His ears quivered at the furious tone in his master's voice.
Blaise didn't care nor pay attention to it. He pointed towards the wide windows of his study where Potter was just opening his box with floo powder. "Stop Potter!" He ordered, his voice like steel, hard and cold.
The elf - Alfar - looked up for a moment, his eyes twinkling with the prospect of serving his master; but neither Blaise nor Draco noticed it for at that very moment emerald green light flared in the room. Potter had thrown the floo powder into the fire…
Draco strode forward as if he would shatter the windows and storm the fifty metres towards Potter within the three seconds it would take the Gryffindor to vanish. Blaise followed closely.
They didn't notice the loud crack behind them as Alfar vanished, because Potter stepped into the flames that were now licking harmlessly at his legs and the man turned, his eyes widening as he saw them.
He recovered quickly though and then a smirk played around his lips in the fallacious knowledge that he was already safe. And then his lips were moving and Draco could have sworn that his heart missed a beat and Blaise all but ran forward.
A flash of red light lit the spacious study, hitting the black haired man in the chest and Potter started to crumble to the ground. Within a moment though, he was levitated away from the chimney and the magical fire that had almost allowed him to flee.
CHAPTER END NOTES:
I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I at least enjoyed writing it…
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