“Up! Get up! Now!”
Harry Potter groaned, rolling over in his bed. He hadn’t missed his aunt’s loud and unpleasant wake up calls while he was at Hogwarts. He hadn’t missed anything about his aunt, or his uncle and cousin and 4 Privet Drive, while he was at Hogwarts, but at half past six on a Monday morning he particularly loathed his aunt’s wake up calls.
He sat up abruptly when his door opened though. His aunt never came in his room (or cupboard, where he’d slept until last summer) so the fact that she was now was cause for concern. Concern that only grew when he saw the clothes over her arm. Clothes that she set on his bed. Clothes that could never have possibly belonged to Dudley because they were about the right size for Harry.
“You’re going to start earning your keep.”
Harry frowned. He earned his keep. Wasn’t that why he spent most of his time at the Dursleys cleaning their house, cooking for them, gardening their front and back yard, and generally being the slave they seemed to think he was only good for? He certainly never earned his keep wearing a decent pair of a jeans and a white button up shirt.
“Vernon has got you a part-time summer job at Grunnings. You’ll go, you won’t complain, you’ll do what you’re told, and anything you earn will pay for your residence here. Now get dressed and get down to breakfast and don’t make a mess of your clothes,” she snapped before turning and stalking out the room, leaving Harry to stare after her in bewilderment.
His uncle was taking him to work? Harry was fairly sure that no one at Grunnings, a drill company, even knew he existed. Vernon did hate Harry, after all, so he wouldn’t go around telling everyone all about his nephew, let alone actually bring him along.
Maybe it was compulsory, he wondered as he got up and headed for the bathroom to wash up before he dressed. Maybe in order to get a promotion or raise, Vernon had to introduce the next generation to the business world or something like that. But why not take Dudley? Of course, Dudley was allergic to any kind of work and perhaps Vernon hated Harry less than he desired to actually make his fat lump of a son do something he didn’t want to. Maybe Vernon was just smart enough to realise that trying to take Dudley into a workplace would be a complete disaster and he decided that taking Harry would be—just ever so slightly—better.
Whatever the reason, Harry did quite like his new clothes. He didn’t think they were new new, probably just bought from a charity shop, but they’re still a world better than the over-sized rags he normally got. They actually fit him and if not for the nerves he had about what the day had in store for him, he might have felt cheerful going downstairs to breakfast.
“Comb your hair!”
Harry ignored this greeting comment from his uncle. He could spend the rest of his life combing his hair and it would never sit flat or be tidy, so there was really no point. He slid onto a chair, snagged a few slices of toast and began buttering them. He didn’t ask his uncle about what was going to happen; he rather hoped that if he stayed quiet for long enough and didn’t know anything then Vernon might forget him when he left, and Harry could spend the day hiding in his bedroom and plotting how to get his school trunk from the cupboard under the stairs, where it had been locked the moment he came back from Hogwarts two days ago.
He wasn’t that lucky. He ate, got told to wait while Vernon finished his own breakfast, collected his briefcase and kissed Petunia goodbye, then got rudely told to follow Vernon to the car. Despite being only the two of them, he still had to sit in the back and he felt stupidly bitter about it. He was almost twelve years old and less than a month ago he faced the darkest wizard in Britain, almost died, and saved the Philosopher’s Stone—he was mature enough to sit in the front seat of a car.
The trip was done in silence. Harry debated asking his uncle to turn the radio on, but he wasn’t about to risk bringing the man’s wrath on him and Vernon would probably refuse to just to spite him anyway. The silence made him uncomfortable though. The entire trip made him uncomfortable and the closer they got to the town the more he wished it was all over already.
When his uncle eventually pulled in at a hotel, Harry’s stomach was in knots. He leant forwards when Vernon got out of the car and scrambled to obey when the man barked at him to follow, confusion mingling with his nerves.
“What are we doing here? I thought—”
Harry shut his mouth. He followed his uncle to the hotel’s front desk, watched in silence as Vernon talked to the receptionist about a reservation, and tried to ignore the coil of sick anxiety as they headed for the lifts. He tried to ask again why they were there, but Vernon silenced him once more and didn’t speak until they reached the Becker Suite. Harry had never been in a hotel suite before and couldn’t help looking around with wide-eyed appreciation of the lavish room even as Vernon grabbed him by the collar and shook him roughly to get his attention.
“You’re going to stay here all day, boy,” he ordered. “I’ll pick you up after work and in the meantime you’ll do whatever he tells you to.”
“Never you mind who. Just do as he says or you’ll never go back to that freak school of yours, do you understand?”
Harry nodded. The idea of not going back to Hogwarts made him feel sicker than he already was.
“Good. Don’t leave this room.”
And with that, he left.
* * *
The room really was very nice, Harry thought. The bed was huge and even comfier than the four posters in the Gryffindor dorm at Hogwarts, a chaise lounge sat before the windows with a table off to one side, and the bathroom had a bathtub big enough to comfortably hold two people. There was a food trolley waiting to one side with various foods and drinks, including sandwiches, cake, fruit, a pale-gold coloured alcoholic drink, water, and soup.
He was stood in front of the windows when the door opened. He turned, tensing in anticipation, and watched as an impeccably dressed man with slick black hair entered the room. He had a haughty expression that reminded Harry instantly of his rival Draco Malfoy and was accompanied by a second man whose entire posture screamed bodyguard. The bodyguard stopped just inside the room, but the slick haired man approached Harry, who fidgeted and watched him nervously. He said nothing as the man came up to him, took his chin in hand and tilted his head back. For a long moment he just inspected Harry’s face then he let go and stepped back, running his gaze over Harry’s body.
“Turn around,” he ordered. “Slowly.”
Baffled but remembering his uncle’s words, Harry did so. The man hummed with satisfaction and when Harry was facing him again he looked over at the bodyguard and nodded, and the bodyguard left.
The man moved over to the lounge and dropped onto it, removing his leather gloves with precision only to toss them carelessly towards the table. They fell short and landed on the floor and the man made a small noise of irritation but made no move to pick them up. He took off his shoes then turned on the sofa, lifting his legs and stretching them out along the couch, his gaze eventually falling back on Harry. He smiled. It was surprisingly warm and despite the peculiar situation, some of the tension in Harry eased.
“I’m Eric,” he introduced in a smooth voice. “You’re Harry, correct? Come here, please.”
He hesitated, but his uncle’s threat rang in his ears and he slunk over to stand before the man. Eric grabbed his wrist and tugged him close enough that he could lift a hand and stroke Harry’s face with his index and middle finger, making him shiver.
“You’re a very beautiful boy, Harry. Has anyone ever told you that?”
Now more uncomfortable than ever, Harry shook his head, though he wasn’t entirely sure why being told he was beautiful made him uncomfortable.
“Then you can’t have met very many nice people.”
Harry shrugged. He met nice people at Hogwarts, but no one who complimented him like that.
“Sit down, Harry.”
He glanced at Eric’s legs then towards the chairs at the table, but before he could move to them, Eric grabbed his wrist.
“On my lap,” he clarified.
Harry had never sat on anyone’s lap in his life—although he supposed his parents may have held him in their laps when he was a baby, but that didn’t count because he couldn’t remember—and although as a child he often envied seeing Dudley held on Petunia’s lap and hugged, he was too old for anything like that now. Even if he wasn’t, he didn’t feel comfortable sitting on this stranger’s lap. But Eric watched him, waiting, and Harry couldn’t risk not going back to Hogwarts just because he was uncomfortable.
“There,” Eric said when Harry was seated. “That’s alright, isn’t it?”
Harry gave a half shrug.
“Are you uncomfortable? Here, let me...”
He shifted, hands grabbing Harry and moving him about until Eric sat almost upright with Harry between his legs, back to Eric’s chest.
“Is that better?”
Not really. More comfortable physically, yes, but Harry was definitely not happy about their position. He was particularly not happy about the hands that were pressed against his thighs and he squirmed.
“You can call me Eric, Harry.”
Harry didn’t. “What are you doing? Why are you here? What do you want me for?”
“For now I just want you to sit still and let me touch you.”
“Yes,” Eric said, but didn’t elaborate. His hands were rubbing Harry’s thighs now and his cheek was pressed to Harry’s hair, breath coming warm over Harry’s face.
Hogwarts, Harry thought firmly. Just think about Hogwarts. I’m doing this for Hogwarts.
So he sat still and said nothing as the man’s hands moved over him, rubbing at his thighs, coming up to his shoulders, down his arms and lifting them out of the way to move around his waist. His breath hitched when a hand brushed over his crotch, but he kept silent. It was probably just an accident. It didn’t mean anything.
He did speak when Eric started to unbutton his shirt though.
“W-what are you doing?”
“Shh. Just relax, Harry, there’s a good boy.”
He tried to, but he couldn’t help trembling slightly as the shirt was pulled away. Goosebumps sprung up on his arms as Eric resumed his exploratory touching, letting out a small, pleased noise when his fingers brushed over Harry’s skin. When his hands started to undo Harry’s jeans, however, he grabbed them.
“Harry,” Eric said disapprovingly. “Stop that.”
“You can’t touch me there.”
“Touch you where?”
Harry flushed and didn’t answer. Eric shifted his hand to palm Harry’s crotch, unheeded by the hand around his wrist.
“You mean here?”
“Yes! Stop that!”
He tried to squirm away but Eric wrapped one arm around his waist, holding him in place. “Why not, Harry?”
“Because! Let me go!”
“Your uncle told me you were a good, well-behaved boy. It seems he lied.”
Harry went abruptly still. “I’ll be good,” he promised in a mutter. Eric hummed appreciatively and continued to undo Harry’s jeans.
“Adults touch each other here all the time, Harry,” he said as he tugged at the clothing. Harry reluctantly lifted his butt up enough that they could slide down. “They just tell little children not to because they’re too small. But you’re not a little boy anymore, are you?”
Harry wanted to say yes. Everyone from Hermione to Professor McGonagall to Madam Pomfrey said he was small, but his pride got in the way of agreeing. He was, after all, nearly twelve, and nearly twelve years olds weren’t little kids. They were practically teenagers and teenagers were just a step away from adults.
“No,” he agreed a little reluctantly.
“So it’s okay. It feels good too,” Eric promised. One hand was stroking Harry’s thigh again, fingers brushing along the inside, while his other was pressed flat to Harry’s stomach. “That’s why adults do it all the time.”
It did feel kind of nice when Eric started touching him through his underwear. It still felt kind of uncomfortable and wrong, but he made himself remember Hogwarts and tried to focus on the pleasant sensations, which became easier when Eric slipped a hand into his underwear and he was embarrassed to hear a moan come from his mouth as flesh met flesh. Eric chuckled.
“See,” he whispered, “that feels good.”
Really good. He was barely aware of pressing himself against the man, eyes drifting shut, gasping and moaning as the hand stroked and tugged and squeezed until pleasure like Harry’d never felt before exploded through him and he came. Embarrassment quickly spread through him then, especially when Eric pulled out his hand and lifted it to his mouth, licking at the white stuff coating his fingers.
“Now it’s my turn.”
Harry twisted, looking around at him with red cheeks and wide eyes. “W-what?”
Eric gave him a stern look. “It’s only fair, Harry. It’s what any good boy would do.”
“B-but I... I don’t know how,” he tried. Maybe it was only fair for him to touch Eric like Eric touched him, but he didn’t really want to. Despite what Eric said, Harry was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to be doing this. Even though it felt good, it still seemed wrong somehow.
But Eric smiled softly. “Don’t worry. I’ll give you lots of practice. Unless you don’t want to go back to Hogwarts.”
Harry’s face went white. “You know about Hogwarts?” he asked in a whisper, suddenly horrified with the idea that people at Hogwarts knew about what was happening. How could he ever live through classes—through Potions, especially!—if the teachers knew about this?
“I know if you don’t be a good boy for me then all it will take is a word to your uncle to make sure that you don’t return to you peculiarly named school in September.”
“No! No, please, I’ll—” He swallowed thickly. “I’ll touch you.”
Eric smiled and kissed his temple. “Good boy.”
* * *
Hogwarts, Harry thought desperately later that afternoon, lying face down on the massive comfortable bed. I’m doing this for Hogwarts. I have to do it for Hogwarts.
But it was becoming increasingly harder to think about Hogwarts when Eric’s lube-slicked fingers were curling inside of his arse, stretching and filling him, hurting him but occasionally hitting something inside of Harry that sent inexplicable feelings of pleasure through him and made him moan out loud against his will. He kept his face pressed to the duvet, but his hips kept jerking uncontrollably whenever Eric hit that spot and the friction of the duvet against his cock felt good and even though part of him wanted it to stop, part of him really didn’t.
To his embarrassment, he moaned unhappily when Eric took his fingers out. Eric chuckled and kissed the small of his back. “Patience, Harry.”
Harry just pressed his face further into the covers, ashamed, and listened to Eric move, feeling the bed shifting.
“This might hurt some now,” Eric warned. “But you’ll get used to it.”
Harry nodded, but when something a lot bigger and thicker than a couple of fingers slid into his arse he couldn’t help crying out. Eric’s soothing murmurs and promises that it’d get better didn’t mean much when he felt like he was being impaled.
“No, stop!” he cried. “Stop, I don’t like it! It hurts!”
“Shh, it’ll be alright, Harry. Just relax, there’s a good boy.”
“No, no, please stop, please. I don’t like it, I want to stop.”
Eric growled then and bent over him, chest to Harry’s back, mouth coming to Harry’s ear while a hand snaked around his waist, holding Harry against him as the man’s hips drew back and slammed forward again, sending pain spearing through Harry.
“Stop crying,” the man ordered. “Just relax and let me do it and it’ll stop hurting. You’re the one making things difficult.”
Harry sobbed, but tried to relax and go limp, letting the man manoeuvre him. It didn’t really stop hurting, but Eric found that spot in him again and pleasure burst through with the pain, the confusing mix filling Harry and only made worse when Eric reached down and began fondling him. Harry came first, crying out with mingled pain and elation as Eric slammed into him and jerked his cock, coaxing the orgasm from him. His arse clenched around Eric and he heard the man moan deeply, the noise rumbling all through his chest and reverberating through Harry’s back, then he slammed into him one last time before his own cock pulsed within Harry.
When he pulled out, Harry lay sniffling, hurt and embarrassed by his body’s treachery. He shuddered when Eric trailed his hand over Harry’s backside and up his spine before grabbing his shoulder and rolling him over.
“Don’t fight me next time and it won’t hurt so much.”
Harry whimpered at the idea of a next time, but Eric just kissed his check and temple then climbed off the bed and disappeared through to the bathroom.
* * *
By the time Vernon came to pick Harry up, Eric had left and Harry was washed up and reclothed. The ride to Privet Drive was as silent as that morning and seemed twice as long to Harry, who had no objection to sitting in the back of the car now—he merely objected to sitting entirely, the pressure on his arse exasperating the lingering pain of what Eric did. He couldn’t get out of the car quick enough when they finally arrived, but his uncle grabbed him before he could enter the house, bending down to hiss at him, “Not a word to your aunt. Don’t think I won’t burn everything you brought back from that freak school if you say anything.”
Harry just nodded. He would rather face Lord Voldemort all over again before he told anyone about what happened that day.