InsaneJournal

Dirty

A chill October wind gusts down Knockturn Alley, whipping the cloak up around my ankles. I curse under my breath and pull it back down – it wouldn’t do to be spotted. Even in this haven for the dark and the strange, a disembodied pair of feet making their way over the rubbish-strewn cobblestones would raise eyebrows…and unwelcome questions about their owner’s purpose here.

I open the door of the inn, climb the decrepit old stairs to the usual room. A thin sliver of light shines from within, illuminating the dusty landing. I push open the door, pull off the invisibility cloak.

Harry sits on the bed, facing away from me, fuming.

“You’re late.”

I frown. “I told you I would be. Father’s Dragon Pox is getting worse; I had to stop at St. Mungo’s…”

He stands and walks over to me, fingers the placket of my bespoke shirt.

“Your father can rot in hell,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my neck. He bites my earlobe, eliciting a gasp as he slowly unbuttons my shirt. I smooth my hands over his arms, his chest.

He pulls away suddenly. “Where’s my cloak?”

 I nod in its direction; his mouth twists with displeasure as he reaches down to pick it up.

“You dropped it on this filthy floor? This cloak is worth three of you.”

“Not to me, it’s not. I hate wearing that damned thing.”

“Well,” he replies, tossing the cloak over the arm of a threadbare chair, “of the two of us…” he pushes my shirt off my shoulders, very deliberately letting it drop on the same filthy floor, “you’re one who’s the former Death Eater.” He raises my left arm to his lips, kissing the faded Dark Mark. “Which means you’re the one who can’t be seen in these parts without getting hauled in for questioning.”

In one swift movement, he steps behind me, twisting my arm painfully behind my back. “Aurors, on the other hand,” he mutters against the nape of my neck, “have every reason to be in Knockturn Alley – looking for the likes of you.”

My breath comes faster. “And what would an Auror such as yourself do with the likes of me?”

I feel his lips curl into a smile against my skin; he pushes me forward until my knees hit the mattress, then pushes me face down on the bed. I groan into the dirty sheets, feel the heat of my arousal snaking from my groin up my spine. I toe off my shoes, unfasten my belt with difficulty; Harry reaches beneath me, undoes my zip, and pulls off my trousers. My socks and pants come last, and then I’m stark bollocks naked, face down on that filthy bed, while Harry stands over me, still fully dressed. I don’t need to see his face to know that he’s smirking.

“Chains, this time, or ropes?”

“Not the chains again,” I plead, remembering how they’d rubbed my skin raw. I’m not sure the alternative will be less painful, though.

Harry snorts derisively; he fumbles in his satchel, and then he’s yanking my wrists behind me, binding them tightly – by hand, not by magic – the better to feel me twisting and writhing beneath him. My ankles are next, and then I’m kneeling on that disgusting mattress, my dick hard as fuck, already leaking onto the sheets. I hear him rustling in my clothes, and then, out of the corner of my eye, I see him hold up my wand.

“Engorgio,” he mutters, pointing his own wand at it; I watch it swell to twice its normal size, and I shudder – Christ, he’s going to whip me with my own wand. How apropos.

I hear my wand whizzing through the air a split second before it connects with my arse; I yelp in pain.

“Tell me you deserve this,” he demands softly.

“I deserve it,” I whimper. I feel the sting of another lash.

“Tell me you’re a filthy Slytherin coward.”

“I am.” Tears spring to my eyes as he brings my wand down on my arse again, and again. “I’m a coward…”

“Tell me you want my cock up your arse. Tell me you can’t wait any longer.”

“Please,” I beg him. My balls are aching; my cock throbs. “I need you…I need you now…”

My wand clatters to the floor; he curses under his breath, fumbling with his zip. I hear the squelch of the gel as he squeezes it from the tube, feel the cold wetness against my opening; and then he’s pressing into me, thick and blunt and relentless…

“Fuck,” I gasp. “Harry…”

And then I’m lost in the pain and the pleasure, the grunting and gasping and moaning, his hands on my hips, hauling me back onto his cock over and over, and I don’t ever want it to end…want to stay here in this godforsaken place, with him fucking me on this disgusting mattress forever. He reaches between us, unties the knots; I feel the ropes fall away, and he curls over my back, his lips on the nape of my neck, his arms around me, his cock inside me, stretching me, hurting me, making me whole again…

His hand closes on my cock, and in three strokes I’m coming, hard, ropes of white hitting the grayish, stained sheets; he thrusts into me a few more times, then stills, groaning loudly into my neck. We stay like that for a long moment, shaking, breathing hard, and then he slips out of me, rolls onto his back. I collapse next to him on the mattress.

He fumbles in his satchel, pulls out a packet of cigarettes; he lights one for me, then for him. We lay there, smoking in silence, staring up at the crumbling ceiling.

“I hate coming here,” he mutters quietly.

I take a long drag on my fag. “We haven’t any choice. It’s the only place no one will find us.”

“We wouldn’t have to hide if you’d kept up your end of the bargain.” His voice quivers slightly.

I sit up on the bed, turn away from him. “It’s Scorpius,” I murmur. “He’s at a difficult age.”

“And my three aren’t?” He shoots back, quiet rage dripping from each word.

I stand slowly, pick up my trousers. “I have to leave. Astoria will be worried…”

“I got the papers today,” he interrupts. “It’s over.” He pauses. “My marriage. Not that it matters.”

I freeze; my brow furrows. If circumstances were different, congratulations might be in order – but I can’t think what to say. The sound of him zipping his trousers and gathering his things fills the heavy silence.

He walks around the bed; I can barely bring myself to look at him.   I raise a hand to his face, caress his cheek, trying to convey with my touch everything I can’t let myself say out loud.

“I just need a little more time. A few weeks, a few months, maybe…”

“You’ve been saying that for years.” His green eyes fill with hurt. He curls a hand around the back of my neck, places a feather-soft kiss on my lips.

“Filthy Slytherin coward,” he whispers, and then he’s gone, the sound of his footsteps on the creaking old stairs fading into the distance.

I sigh heavily, finish dressing, and pick up the invisibility cloak, fingering the silky fabric before I put it on. I gather my things, take one last look around, then head out the door, down the stairs, toward home, toward my wife and son, toward the lie I can’t – or won’t – stop living.

And I wonder if I’ll ever feel clean again.