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Under the Influence

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Chapter 1 – Prophecy

Harry ran, feet pounding hard on the tiles of the Ministry floor. Her Breath came in rasps and her wand was flung out before her, slashing at the air violently, as she scrabbled to match Bellatrix’s pace. The bitch was tearing down the atrium cackling, singing in hysterical glee, twisting now and again to see Harry’s own mad expression. She ran hard feeling the glass ball in her pocket bounce up and down with her strides. That was what Sirius had died for, what they were so desperate to get. She stopped running, pulling it out of her pocket and held it aloft. Bellatrix turned again to see her frozen with the ball, mad glee in her eyes changing rapidly into a mix of fear and anger. She skidded to a halt, wheeling round to face her wand pointed directly at Harry’s heart.

‘Acc—‘

‘STUPIFY’, Harry’s red light struck the wall at the other end of the atrium, behind where Bellatrix had been standing moments before. She fumbled to her feet but froze as Harry raised the sphere over her head again.

‘I’ll smash it into a thousand pieces and then he’ll never get it! Now throw your wand in front of you like a good little death eater. Slowly,’ Harry kept her wand pointed at Bellatrix’s face, advancing slowly. Bellatrix glared at her, eyes unfocused, before smiling the widest grin and dropping her wand to the floor.

‘Accio,’ the ball flew out of Harry’s hand. Turning slowly, Harry was greeted by the red malevolent eyes that had plagued her throughout her young life. Harry felt cold in the pit of her stomach; she raised her wand to Voldemort, curses ready on her lips. Bellatrix seized the opportunity, lunging for her wand with one hand and pulling Harry down with the other. The older woman’s fingers tangled themselves in Harry’s messy hair, pulling her face back to meet Voldemort’s politely amused expression. Bellatrix’s wand was pointed under her chin and Harry felt the other woman’s rancid breath tickle her face as she was heaved back her feet.
‘Do your worst! What’s your weapon going to do? Will it kill me? So what? I’ll be dead and I won’t have to see your ugly face ever again, so come on use it!’Tears stung Harry’s cheeks and her mind jumped back to the image of Sirius falling. Voldemort turned the orb over in his hands, smiling as a mother would to a child that had mispronounced a word.

‘They say knowledge is power Harry. This orb is just that. Did you never wonder why I, the most powerful wizard of my time, would bother coming after an infant? Never wonder why it was you specifically I came for? If I had wanted your family destroyed I could have sent death eaters,’ He held the globe up to the light, watching the mist inside swirl, forming figures that Harry couldn’t make out clearly. ‘Would you like to know Harry? Would you like to know why?’

She gulped, palms sweaty, her wand still firmly held in her grip. She could hex him, maybe it would surprise Bellatrix enough to give Harry the advantage, but Voldemort’s words had taken hold. Voldemort pointed his wand at the orb, muttering a spell Harry couldn’t hear. The effect was instant, the mist inside the ball poured out the top, forming a life sized and terrible incarnation of Professor Trelawney. Her mouth opened and she began to speak in the same harsh voice she has
used in Harry’s third year after his exam.

‘the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the dark lord will mark her as his equal, but she will have power the Dark Lord knows not...should she bear the heir of slytherin before her eighteenth year all will be lost...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies...’ Trelawney’s face crumpled as the mist was sucked back into the ball and the silence that followed was the most deafening of Harry’s life. Voldemort stared from the ball to Harry and Bellatrix’s hand tore the hair from her scalp as her fist flexed in anger.

The silence was broken with a crack as Dumbledore apparated directly between the three of them. Voldemort slashed his wand through the air and Dumbledore responded, red and green light flying all over the majestic hall.

‘You’re too late Dumbledore. I already have what I need! Bellatrix take the girl,’ but Harry had already sprung into action elbowing Bellatrix in the stomach and ripping herself from her grasp, wand pulled round in front to protect herself.

‘Am I really Tom? If I am correct the prophecy calls for Harry to bear the heir of slytherin. I see none here.’ Voldemort circled Dumbledore and let out a snarl.

‘We both know I am the last decedent of that line.’

‘While your soul is, I must protest that your body is not. If Harry’s account of what happened in the graveyard is correct, you carry in you the body, blood and bone of Peter Pettigrew, Harry and your father Tom. Not your mother, and therefore, you see, I think you shall be unsuccessful in your endeavor as your body is not of slytherin decent and so neither would any child borne of that union,’ Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled and Harry slowly backed towards him, her wand still pointed at Bellatrix.

‘That can be remedied, I know magic you could never dream of you old fool and I won’t be brought down by love,’ Voldemort spat slashing his wand and sending a hail of knives towards Dumbledore. With a flick the knives had dissolved into a watery spray soaking Dumbledore’s robes.

‘Get her!’ Voldemort’s high cold voice screamed. Bellatrix ran toward her and headfirst into a ministry worker that had just apparated into the middle of the floor. The man gaped as Bellatrix flung him to the side, only to meet with another as the entire ministry workforce began to appear in the room. Seeing the surprised and gormless faces Voldemort apparated to her side, picked her up by the scruff of the neck and was gone.
Voices surrounded Harry on all sides.

‘He’s back,’

‘Dumbledore was right,’

‘He’s back!’

...

Harry fell back onto her bed, located in the small upstairs bedroom of Privet Drive. Her summer had, so far, been a dismal affair. Now that she knew about the prophecy she wasn’t sure what was worse, Voldemort trying to kill her or trying to rape her. Both, she concluded, were incredibly undesirable. Her nights were no longer filled with corridors and the department of mysteries. They were filled with the smiling expression of Sirius Black as he fell through the veil and was gone. But at least she knew that those dreams, however awful, were her own.

She was so tiered, avoiding sleep to avoid replaying it over and over, avoiding people so she didn't have to explain her sullenness to anyone, avoiding Ron’s letters of apology, after he suggested they sterilize her and avoiding Hermione’s encouraging ones.

She rolled over trying to make herself uncomfortable as possible to stave off the sleep her body desperately needed.

...

She was in a dark room; the walls were so high the light from the candles did not reach the ceiling. But Harry felt calm. In fact she felt good, her limbs felt heavy but tingly and the tingling feeling was travelling from her fingers through her body into the pit of her stomach. She let the feeling wash over her closing her eyes and letting her hands run over her skin, which, she was surprised to find, was bare. But then why should it be surprising, she wondered, when she was alone and safe in this nice warm room. It looked rather like the room of requirement and Harry imagined a bed coming into existence before her. Opening her eyes there was now a large, new bed in the center of the room, covered with pillows and soft looking sheets.

She languidly moved towards the four-poster, letting her knees drop onto it before she arched over the sheets. Everything felt so good on her skin and the tingling sensation was increasing. She writhed on the bed pulling the sheets about her body. Nothing mattered in this space except the pleasant sensations she felt. The lights dimmed until it was completely dark and the only thing that existed for Harry was the feel of the bed and the unfocused feelings of pleasure running through her.

A hand came out of the darkness and Harry felt fear for the briefest of seconds before she relaxed. This was a friendly hand; it guided hers over the swell of his chest, down her stomach to her clenched thighs. The hand manipulated hers so that she was running her fingers over her clit. It was steady in its pace, pushing and pulling her arm. Harry felt her stomach clench as she became aware that the hand must have a master. A master who was watching, watching her touch herself. But then this was a friendly master the voice in her head reasoned, she was safe and it would please this master to see her do this. The hand let go of hers but she did not stop, all the tingling now focused in her mound, her hand was becoming shaky and her breath came in pants. The idea of this master gaze made her want to touch herself more.

In the back of her mind she vaguely wondered why she was referring to this apparition as ‘master’ rather than person or thing but this thought was snuffed out as two foreign fingers entered her. They massaged her walls, stretching her unused pussy, angling down and then up again in a rhythmic display of control.
Harry felt the nerves in her begin to swell, her stomach and thighs clenched and her back arched. She was cuming round those fingers that, despite her pussy’s efforts to constrict and contain, continued to stretch and fuck her. Gravity pulled her spent body back to the bed and Harry lay panting. She did not know when she had closed her eyes but when she opened them the darkness of the room was so complete it hardly mattered.

Harry tried to focus, it seemed important and she tried to adjust her eyes to the darkness to find this master, no this man that had made himself so at home in her body. The fingers of the hand slipped out of her leaving her no connection the phantom that had brought her body to its peak. Harry felt the room go colder as two red eyes opened and glowed at her from the bottom of the bed. She opened her mouth to scream.
...

Two weeks had passed since she had written to Dumbledore about her dream. She hadn’t included exactly what happened but she made it clear that Voldemort was once again trying to manipulate her mind. Two weeks of silence and now this. This small crumpled piece of paper with the words - We will resume your occlumacy training in my office, 8 pm, first Tuesday back. Professor Snape. Not even a note from Dumbledore to explain, just the sad little note, delivered by one of the schools more haggard looking owls.
Harry buried her head in her hands; next year was going to be hellish.
...
The train to Hogwarts was jam packed as usual, Harry had been hoping to use the confusion to pull Hermione and Ron away from everyone and have a private word about the dreams, which had increased over the month in variety and explicitness. The dark figure had all but taken her and Harry’s body had begun to react whenever she thought about those red eyes. She knew it was Voldemort’s doing, that he was manipulating her dreams but she just couldn’t control it. Whenever her logical brain tried to tell her something was wrong, a soft purring voice interrupted, telling her how safe she felt and good she was.
Her letters to Ron and Hermione had left out the gory details but had hinted at the personal nature of the problem. Unfortunately she was now stuck above Malfoy’s head in the luggage rack, breathing shallow, stunted breaths. He had been hinting for the last hour about his new found place in Voldemort’s circle as his fellow slytherin’s looked on, impressed. Harry was sure he had taken the mark but why was Draco being so coy about the subject in front of his housemates. Harry understood the need for discretion elsewhere but she had thought he might let his guard slip and say something incriminating here. Something that Ron and Hermione would have to acknowledge.

The train shuddered to a halt and the train car emptied, apart from Malfoy who bent down to tie his shoe. Harry kept still, her heart beating frantically waiting for him to leave.

‘Stupify,’ she was falling her body stuck in a crouch, legs pulled up to her chest, skirt around her midriff, pants on display for Malfoy’s sneering face.
‘Well Potter who knew the girl who lived had such skimpy tastes in underwear. And here I thought you would be wearing moldering hand me downs to match the rest of your attire,’ Harry glared at him as best she could with her facial muscles immobilized.

‘Understand this Potter,’ Malfoy said, kneeling down so that his face was inches from hers. ‘You heard nothing here that will help you, and you have no power. He is going to kill you and I’ll be there when he does,’ He gripped her face and spat onto her. His eyes flashed with the power her helplessness brought him and he smushed the gob of spit over her face and into her soft black hair. Standing up to leave he turned for one last look at the vulnerable girl. His hatred for her exploded out of him and he brought his foot down on her face, smiling at the resonating crack.

‘That was for my Father,’ he watched the blood and tears flow from her eyes, memorizing the image and the feeling of control before he threw the cloak over her and left.

...

Harry glumly made her way to the dungeon on Tuesday night. All the Malfoy incident had earned her was the vast disapproval of Hermione and a new song from the slytherin’ about her underwear. Malfoy had taken great pains to describe every aspect of them and it had taken all of her self control not to hex the numerous boys that seemed to find it appropriate to cat call and wolf whistle at her.

The nastiest part had been Snape’s amused smirk and indulgent smile at the boys who heckled her. He knew the sexual nature of the threat she was facing and yet he did nothing to curtail the abuse coming at her from his house. It was made a hundred times worse by the fact that Harry knew he would be seeing everything tonight. He would be specifically targeting her dreams that Voldemort had been manipulating. He would see her naked, he would see her vulnerable and he would see her arc and cum for the murderer of her parents.

She slowly moved forward, praying that he had forgotten, or been killed in a random hippogriff attack that afternoon. Knocking on the door there was silence and Harry held her breath, sweat running down the back of her neck.

‘Enter,’ Snapes voice was deep and Harry felt the hair on her arms rise in foreboding. This was going to be a rough night.