Payment Rendered for hollywoodlawn
Title: Payment Rendered
Author: silenceberry
Recipient: hollywoodlawn
Pairing(s): Harry/Pansy
Word Count: 2,034
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, violence, BDSM, crude language, sex scenes, mentally unstable character, character death (but not Pansy or Harry) and bloodplay (but not too graphic)
Summary: Harry became mentally unstable after the death of his friends, now it's time for someone to pay.
Author's Notes: I want to say a big thanks to my beta for helping me out at the last minute and to the prompter: I hope that I got the prompt right. Also thank you, Mods, for this wonderful fest.
Harry Potter hated the fucking tart, walking around merrily as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ‘Look at her’, he thought; she looked as if she owned the fucking place. Maybe she thought she did. He watched Pansy Parkinson in Malfoy’s arm, as they stopped in front of some windows in Diagon Alley and she pointed things out and then looked up at him, probably cooing.
Harry hated every single one of them. Because of them, he had lost everything. He especially hated Parkinson, the girl who always made fun of Hermione for everything. It was her fault that Ron, Hermione and Ginny were dead. The whore had to pay, he thought as he watched from the shadows; he followed them as they kept on walking. He balled his hand into a fist; it was that or throwing himself at her and strangling her with his bare hands. With a final glare, Harry left the shadows and walked into the crowded street.
After Voldemort’s defeat, people would congratulate him for his courage, but after a rather nasty hex he threw at a wizard, the people finally got the hint and began just walking around him. They began treating him like they had treated Mad-Eye Moody and, like Moody, he didn’t give a flying fuck. They were a bunch of hypocrites.
Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron, and Tom only nodded at him, when before he would have practically tripped over his own feet to provide everything he could for Harry; Harry nodded back and exited the establishment towards Muggle London.
Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and placed his jacket in the hamper. He looked around. It was still as ugly and dreary as it used to be when Sirius lived there. The walls were bare and covered by stains, dirt and spiders webs, but he was used to it, so he ignored everything.
Harry walked into the living room, with its settees that were old and some of them even overturned and others simply broken; the wall was the same: old, bare, and the wallpaper was falling off and the curtains were so moth-eaten they seemed as if they could fall off at the slightest touch.
Harry moved into the kitchen and let the door swing behind him as he walked up to the stove and put the kettle on. While the water boiled he took out a mug that had a chip in the handle, and put the tea bag inside with two teaspoons of sugar. When the kettle screeched in warning, he poured the water and took a tentative sip.
That was when Harry started to think about what he could do about Parkinson. The more he thought, the more appealing seemed the plan he was forming in his mind. Harry abandoned the cup on the countertop, and moved upstairs. He picked up a stack of pieces of usable parchment, a quill and an inkbottle from his room and returned to the kitchen.
He dropped the stationary on the table and with a swipe of his hand he threw plates, cups, tumblers and other utensils onto the floor.
They had been left on the table since the last dinner that had taken place before the war. The food on the plates was rotten and smelled foul and, as they smashed into the floor, the contents fell out making a worse mess of the floor and making the room smell ten times worse.
But Harry couldn’t see any of this and he didn’t smell anything, as he was so busy unrolling the parchments and holding the corners with anything he could get his hands on.
Once the parchment was ready, he straightened up the inkbottle he had dropped with the rest of the stuff, and looked around for the quill that was lying next to a broken cup. He started to write his plan out. As the hours passed he made plan after plan. He left the rolled up parchments on the table and walked up to the upper floor and, as he climbed the stairs, he turned on the torches on the walls with a flick of his wand.
Harry smiled; what a perfect room Sirius’s was. And what better way to receive Miss Parkinson than letting her stay in the master suite of the Manor? Yes, it would be simply perfect. With a smirk, he went around gathering the stuff he would need.
```````````````````````````````
Harry was in the shadows again, looking at Malfoy and Parkinson; he was waiting for her to leave Malfoy’s side and then he’d make his move. He had followed them all day, but he knew he would only need a moment, and when she got distracted, he’d make his move. He waited and waited patiently.
“Draky-poo, be a dear and go buy me an ice cream. I’ll wait here for you.”
Huff. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
It was his chance; he crawled behind her while she waited by a shady corner and, with a hand clamped over her mouth, he pulled her back into the alley while she struggled in his arms. Finally, he Apparated out of there.
``````````````````````````````````
Harry was thankful that it was dark when they arrived; he had to Apparate to too many places until he arrived back to his house, just to cover up his tracks. Even if he was the Boy-Who-Lived, there were people who thought he had lost his mind and was becoming another Dark Lord. As if.
Shrugging that thought out of his head, Harry dragged Pansy, still unconscious, into his house. He had had to hit her when he Apparated for the third time as she had woken up and fought him back, giving him a gash on his head. He had stricken her head on a rock to make her stop. He would have carried her, but the bint was heavier than she looked.
Harry dragged her up the stairs, bumping half her body on the steps. He could have used magic, but magic was too simple for her; he wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. He dropped her near the wall and he took out his wand to levitate her up; with another swish of his wand, he tied her to the manacles on the wall.
Before waking her up, he checked to see if he had everything ready. Then, he walked up to Pansy and slapped her face. She startled awake and opened her eyes; Harry smiled and, eyes wide with shock, she pulled back as much as she could.
“Hello, Miss. Parkinson. It was nice of you to join me today.”
Pansy pulled her restraints and, looking up, she noticed she was naked.“Let me go, Potter!”
“Pansy, Pansy,” he tutted, “you know I cannot do that.” Harry picked up the whip and unfurled it, giving it a few experimental lashes. “Whom I am going to play with then?” He pulled the whip back and let it fall forward, hitting her across her stomach and making her scream.
After twenty slashes, blood dripping off her wounds, he stopped and walked around to inspect his handiwork.
Satisfied, he nodded and picked up his knife; he brought it to her face with a pleased smirk.
Pansy was scared now. She had never seen Potter out of control, not even when he had been constantly fighting against the Dark Lord. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. When the whip hit her body, she couldn’t help the scream that was ripped out of her; when the lashes finally stopped, she looked down and almost vomited . . . her beautiful body was hideously marred . . . she started crying.
“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!”
“Shhh, princess; don’t cry. No one can hear you.” Harry took out his handkerchief to clean up her tears. “I will make it all better. You’ll see.”
“Let me go, please, let me go,” she sobbed, “I didn’t do anything.” She pulled at the chains, which rattled sickly.
“Now, you know that is not true. You hurt my friends and, because of you, they went bye-bye.” Harry put the knife next to her face and watched as the edge of the blade made a cut in her skin.
Pansy tried to move her face away as much as she could, but it was useless and another scream passed her lips as the knife was embedded in her face. Pansy slumped against the wall, held by the chains, which were the only things that were holding her by then, her body racked by sobs.
Harry took his wand out and moved her to the bed, where he tied her up. He moved forward and took one leg first, but when she tried to kick him he backhanded her again and again until he finally regained control of himself, but she was already out. With a annoyed huff, Harry took her leg again and tied it against the other side of the bed and then did the same with the other one.
He left her there while he went and took a shower, and when he came back she was still out. Harry Conjured a wet towel to clean her face and stomach, then Vanished it.
Harry took her face and looked at her. “We don’t want to be dirty now, do we?”
“No, Mr. Potter, we don’t want to.” He mimicked and laughed.
He started to disrobe and dropped the clothes on the floor before crawling into the bed and kissing her body. He took a plump breast into his mouth and bit it hard, making Pansy wake up at the pain.
Harry looked into her eyes. “Now, be a dear and keep quiet, or I will have to punish you.”
He picked up a wooden stick that he had left on the nightstand. “Are you a virgin, my dear girl?”
Body shaking with sobs, Pansy only nodded and watched as a manic glint entered Potter’s eyes, and the next moment the stick was rammed inside of her and she screamed until her voice was hoarse. Her hands and feet got bloody as she tried to pull at them, desperate to get away.
Harry moved near her ear and bit it before whispering gently, “No, you’re not.” Laughing, he took out the stick out and threw it away and, without caring for her welfare, he took his cock into his hand and pushed until he was inside her. He pulled out and pushed in and, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he emptied himself into her.
Afterwards, Harry got up, picked up his wand and cleaned himself, leaving Pansy trembling and crying on the bed. He started changing and when he was ready he walked up to Pansy and squeezed her face until she opened her mouth; then, he emptied a potion into her, pushing her face aside with revulsion as she was finished.
“Don’t worry; I am not going to kill you yet.” He threw the empty bottle over his shoulder and it smashed against the hard wooden floor. “That is so you don’t get pregnant. You are not pure and clean enough to have my kids.”
Harry grabbed her by her hair, pulled her up to his face and gritted out, “You killed the only person who was. You killed Ginny, you despicable bitch,” he said as he slammed his fist into her pig-looking face. He looked down at Pansy and with a final inspection of his clothes he Apparated out of there.
````````````````````````
He appeared just outside the Burrow and knocked.
The door opened and Molly was standing in the doorway. “Harry, it’s good to hear from you after all this time. Come on in.”
Once inside he was pulled into a hug. “I miss you, Harry. I was surprised when you Floo'd us. How are you, pet?”
“I am doing much better now.” He smiled tenderly at her.
“Is that Harry we hear?” Smiling, Harry turned and greeted George and Fred, “Hello George, Fred.”
It was good to be home.
Author: silenceberry
Recipient: hollywoodlawn
Pairing(s): Harry/Pansy
Word Count: 2,034
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, violence, BDSM, crude language, sex scenes, mentally unstable character, character death (but not Pansy or Harry) and bloodplay (but not too graphic)
Summary: Harry became mentally unstable after the death of his friends, now it's time for someone to pay.
Author's Notes: I want to say a big thanks to my beta for helping me out at the last minute and to the prompter: I hope that I got the prompt right. Also thank you, Mods, for this wonderful fest.
Harry Potter hated the fucking tart, walking around merrily as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. ‘Look at her’, he thought; she looked as if she owned the fucking place. Maybe she thought she did. He watched Pansy Parkinson in Malfoy’s arm, as they stopped in front of some windows in Diagon Alley and she pointed things out and then looked up at him, probably cooing.
Harry hated every single one of them. Because of them, he had lost everything. He especially hated Parkinson, the girl who always made fun of Hermione for everything. It was her fault that Ron, Hermione and Ginny were dead. The whore had to pay, he thought as he watched from the shadows; he followed them as they kept on walking. He balled his hand into a fist; it was that or throwing himself at her and strangling her with his bare hands. With a final glare, Harry left the shadows and walked into the crowded street.
After Voldemort’s defeat, people would congratulate him for his courage, but after a rather nasty hex he threw at a wizard, the people finally got the hint and began just walking around him. They began treating him like they had treated Mad-Eye Moody and, like Moody, he didn’t give a flying fuck. They were a bunch of hypocrites.
Harry walked into the Leaky Cauldron, and Tom only nodded at him, when before he would have practically tripped over his own feet to provide everything he could for Harry; Harry nodded back and exited the establishment towards Muggle London.
Harry returned to Grimmauld Place and placed his jacket in the hamper. He looked around. It was still as ugly and dreary as it used to be when Sirius lived there. The walls were bare and covered by stains, dirt and spiders webs, but he was used to it, so he ignored everything.
Harry walked into the living room, with its settees that were old and some of them even overturned and others simply broken; the wall was the same: old, bare, and the wallpaper was falling off and the curtains were so moth-eaten they seemed as if they could fall off at the slightest touch.
Harry moved into the kitchen and let the door swing behind him as he walked up to the stove and put the kettle on. While the water boiled he took out a mug that had a chip in the handle, and put the tea bag inside with two teaspoons of sugar. When the kettle screeched in warning, he poured the water and took a tentative sip.
That was when Harry started to think about what he could do about Parkinson. The more he thought, the more appealing seemed the plan he was forming in his mind. Harry abandoned the cup on the countertop, and moved upstairs. He picked up a stack of pieces of usable parchment, a quill and an inkbottle from his room and returned to the kitchen.
He dropped the stationary on the table and with a swipe of his hand he threw plates, cups, tumblers and other utensils onto the floor.
They had been left on the table since the last dinner that had taken place before the war. The food on the plates was rotten and smelled foul and, as they smashed into the floor, the contents fell out making a worse mess of the floor and making the room smell ten times worse.
But Harry couldn’t see any of this and he didn’t smell anything, as he was so busy unrolling the parchments and holding the corners with anything he could get his hands on.
Once the parchment was ready, he straightened up the inkbottle he had dropped with the rest of the stuff, and looked around for the quill that was lying next to a broken cup. He started to write his plan out. As the hours passed he made plan after plan. He left the rolled up parchments on the table and walked up to the upper floor and, as he climbed the stairs, he turned on the torches on the walls with a flick of his wand.
Harry smiled; what a perfect room Sirius’s was. And what better way to receive Miss Parkinson than letting her stay in the master suite of the Manor? Yes, it would be simply perfect. With a smirk, he went around gathering the stuff he would need.
```````````````````````````````
Harry was in the shadows again, looking at Malfoy and Parkinson; he was waiting for her to leave Malfoy’s side and then he’d make his move. He had followed them all day, but he knew he would only need a moment, and when she got distracted, he’d make his move. He waited and waited patiently.
“Draky-poo, be a dear and go buy me an ice cream. I’ll wait here for you.”
Huff. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”
It was his chance; he crawled behind her while she waited by a shady corner and, with a hand clamped over her mouth, he pulled her back into the alley while she struggled in his arms. Finally, he Apparated out of there.
``````````````````````````````````
Harry was thankful that it was dark when they arrived; he had to Apparate to too many places until he arrived back to his house, just to cover up his tracks. Even if he was the Boy-Who-Lived, there were people who thought he had lost his mind and was becoming another Dark Lord. As if.
Shrugging that thought out of his head, Harry dragged Pansy, still unconscious, into his house. He had had to hit her when he Apparated for the third time as she had woken up and fought him back, giving him a gash on his head. He had stricken her head on a rock to make her stop. He would have carried her, but the bint was heavier than she looked.
Harry dragged her up the stairs, bumping half her body on the steps. He could have used magic, but magic was too simple for her; he wanted to hurt her as much as she hurt Hermione, Ron, and Ginny. He dropped her near the wall and he took out his wand to levitate her up; with another swish of his wand, he tied her to the manacles on the wall.
Before waking her up, he checked to see if he had everything ready. Then, he walked up to Pansy and slapped her face. She startled awake and opened her eyes; Harry smiled and, eyes wide with shock, she pulled back as much as she could.
“Hello, Miss. Parkinson. It was nice of you to join me today.”
Pansy pulled her restraints and, looking up, she noticed she was naked.“Let me go, Potter!”
“Pansy, Pansy,” he tutted, “you know I cannot do that.” Harry picked up the whip and unfurled it, giving it a few experimental lashes. “Whom I am going to play with then?” He pulled the whip back and let it fall forward, hitting her across her stomach and making her scream.
After twenty slashes, blood dripping off her wounds, he stopped and walked around to inspect his handiwork.
Satisfied, he nodded and picked up his knife; he brought it to her face with a pleased smirk.
Pansy was scared now. She had never seen Potter out of control, not even when he had been constantly fighting against the Dark Lord. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. When the whip hit her body, she couldn’t help the scream that was ripped out of her; when the lashes finally stopped, she looked down and almost vomited . . . her beautiful body was hideously marred . . . she started crying.
“HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! PLEASE!”
“Shhh, princess; don’t cry. No one can hear you.” Harry took out his handkerchief to clean up her tears. “I will make it all better. You’ll see.”
“Let me go, please, let me go,” she sobbed, “I didn’t do anything.” She pulled at the chains, which rattled sickly.
“Now, you know that is not true. You hurt my friends and, because of you, they went bye-bye.” Harry put the knife next to her face and watched as the edge of the blade made a cut in her skin.
Pansy tried to move her face away as much as she could, but it was useless and another scream passed her lips as the knife was embedded in her face. Pansy slumped against the wall, held by the chains, which were the only things that were holding her by then, her body racked by sobs.
Harry took his wand out and moved her to the bed, where he tied her up. He moved forward and took one leg first, but when she tried to kick him he backhanded her again and again until he finally regained control of himself, but she was already out. With a annoyed huff, Harry took her leg again and tied it against the other side of the bed and then did the same with the other one.
He left her there while he went and took a shower, and when he came back she was still out. Harry Conjured a wet towel to clean her face and stomach, then Vanished it.
Harry took her face and looked at her. “We don’t want to be dirty now, do we?”
“No, Mr. Potter, we don’t want to.” He mimicked and laughed.
He started to disrobe and dropped the clothes on the floor before crawling into the bed and kissing her body. He took a plump breast into his mouth and bit it hard, making Pansy wake up at the pain.
Harry looked into her eyes. “Now, be a dear and keep quiet, or I will have to punish you.”
He picked up a wooden stick that he had left on the nightstand. “Are you a virgin, my dear girl?”
Body shaking with sobs, Pansy only nodded and watched as a manic glint entered Potter’s eyes, and the next moment the stick was rammed inside of her and she screamed until her voice was hoarse. Her hands and feet got bloody as she tried to pull at them, desperate to get away.
Harry moved near her ear and bit it before whispering gently, “No, you’re not.” Laughing, he took out the stick out and threw it away and, without caring for her welfare, he took his cock into his hand and pushed until he was inside her. He pulled out and pushed in and, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he emptied himself into her.
Afterwards, Harry got up, picked up his wand and cleaned himself, leaving Pansy trembling and crying on the bed. He started changing and when he was ready he walked up to Pansy and squeezed her face until she opened her mouth; then, he emptied a potion into her, pushing her face aside with revulsion as she was finished.
“Don’t worry; I am not going to kill you yet.” He threw the empty bottle over his shoulder and it smashed against the hard wooden floor. “That is so you don’t get pregnant. You are not pure and clean enough to have my kids.”
Harry grabbed her by her hair, pulled her up to his face and gritted out, “You killed the only person who was. You killed Ginny, you despicable bitch,” he said as he slammed his fist into her pig-looking face. He looked down at Pansy and with a final inspection of his clothes he Apparated out of there.
````````````````````````
He appeared just outside the Burrow and knocked.
The door opened and Molly was standing in the doorway. “Harry, it’s good to hear from you after all this time. Come on in.”
Once inside he was pulled into a hug. “I miss you, Harry. I was surprised when you Floo'd us. How are you, pet?”
“I am doing much better now.” He smiled tenderly at her.
“Is that Harry we hear?” Smiling, Harry turned and greeted George and Fred, “Hello George, Fred.”
It was good to be home.