Fic: 'If Wishes Were Broomsticks' HP/SM, HP/ASP NC17
Title - If Wishes Were Broomsticks
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - potion_lady
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~670
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Al, Harry/Scorpius
Warnings - Explicit Slash Sex, Non-Con, Incest, Dark!Fic, Dark!Harry. First!Person
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - There's this saying Dad used to tell me. If wishes were broomsticks, then Wizards would fly. There's a moral there, but with Dad I can never tell what the moral is.
Author's Notes - Written for prompt #6 I Wish of my mission_insane Genre Table - Angst
For fbowden ♥
There's this saying Dad used to tell me. If wishes were broomsticks, then Wizards would fly. There's a moral there, but with Dad I can never tell what the moral is.
I think it's about not wishing for things you can't have.
But I wish for this to be over.
He finds me in the hallway, and I don't stand a chance. I'd been trying to get back to the common room without crossing his path, but I forgot that he has the Marauders' Map, that he'll always be one step ahead of me.
"Dad, please…"
His hand cracks down across my face, and in the buzzing haze of the blow I'm vulnerable, and he attacks. Merlin knows whose classroom we're in, but I don't think he'd stop even if Professor McGonagall was mid-way through a First Year lesson.
The buttons and clasps on my robes stand no chance against his frenzied hands, and soon my clothes are in tatters on the floor. He throws me roughly over a desk, knocking the wind from me and bruising my ribcage, but he doesn't care and I know that fighting will only make this worse. He doesn’t like me to start fighting until he's buried in me and it's a natural response, something I can't control.
He's riled up tonight, and two spit-slick fingers thrust into my arse, making me cry out as he twists them callously. It's nothing, nowhere near enough, and I can’t stop my eyes welling with tears when he pulls his fingers free. In a second he replaces them with his cock in my arse, pushing into me and ignoring the cry of pain, ignoring my whimpers and the way my whole body clenches down, tries to force him back out. He's unrelenting, and starts fucking me immediately, giving me no time to recover or adjust.
I'm vaguely aware that he's speaking, so I tune in to the grunted words.
"Such a filthy little boy… want me so badly… see the way you look at me… dirty whore…"
Absently, in a detached way as though this isn't really happening, I wonder what has happened to rile him up tonight. Whatever it was, it must have been bad, because he's coming already, painting my battered and torn walls with his come, and digging his fingernails into my hips hard enough to break the skin.
"Tell anyone, Al, and I'll make you pay," he hisses as he pulls out of me, and I nod weakly.
It's a long time after he's gone that I find the strength to stand up, and I catch sight of myself in the glass door of a cabinet. Albus' green eyes flecked with my grey, Albus' messy black hair highlighted with platinum blond. No wonder he's always so fast with me; the retransformation to myself would ruin his fantasy.
I watch myself until it becomes too painful, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed and double over as I gain back the few inches that I have on Al.
I wish that I didn't have to do this. Wish I could have the man I crave without having to be a substitute for the desires he won't dare cross with his own son. For the thousandth time, I wonder what my ancestors would say to me, for doing the Malfoy name such a disservice. I wonder about refusing to take the potion every night, refusing to walk the dungeons every evening on the off chance he wants to attack and fuck his son. I wonder about luring Al into the dungeons, giving Harry his fantasy without a potion, and showing the world what their Saviour really is.
But I won't, because it would destroy him, and I'm too lost in this now to cut my losses.
I'll just have to keep wishing that he'll start to love me for me, and that the sight of blonde hair won't make him recoil, that he won't sneer out my surname.
I have to keep wishing, because otherwise what else have I got?
Author - softly_sweetly
Beta - potion_lady
Rating - NC17
Word Count - ~670
Characters/Pairings - Harry/Al, Harry/Scorpius
Warnings - Explicit Slash Sex, Non-Con, Incest, Dark!Fic, Dark!Harry. First!Person
Disclaimer - I own nothing but the plot lines. I make no money from this, and mean no offence by any scene depicted within this story. All characters depicted in sexual situations herein are above the age of consent.
Summary - There's this saying Dad used to tell me. If wishes were broomsticks, then Wizards would fly. There's a moral there, but with Dad I can never tell what the moral is.
Author's Notes - Written for prompt #6 I Wish of my mission_insane Genre Table - Angst
For fbowden ♥
There's this saying Dad used to tell me. If wishes were broomsticks, then Wizards would fly. There's a moral there, but with Dad I can never tell what the moral is.
I think it's about not wishing for things you can't have.
But I wish for this to be over.
He finds me in the hallway, and I don't stand a chance. I'd been trying to get back to the common room without crossing his path, but I forgot that he has the Marauders' Map, that he'll always be one step ahead of me.
"Dad, please…"
His hand cracks down across my face, and in the buzzing haze of the blow I'm vulnerable, and he attacks. Merlin knows whose classroom we're in, but I don't think he'd stop even if Professor McGonagall was mid-way through a First Year lesson.
The buttons and clasps on my robes stand no chance against his frenzied hands, and soon my clothes are in tatters on the floor. He throws me roughly over a desk, knocking the wind from me and bruising my ribcage, but he doesn't care and I know that fighting will only make this worse. He doesn’t like me to start fighting until he's buried in me and it's a natural response, something I can't control.
He's riled up tonight, and two spit-slick fingers thrust into my arse, making me cry out as he twists them callously. It's nothing, nowhere near enough, and I can’t stop my eyes welling with tears when he pulls his fingers free. In a second he replaces them with his cock in my arse, pushing into me and ignoring the cry of pain, ignoring my whimpers and the way my whole body clenches down, tries to force him back out. He's unrelenting, and starts fucking me immediately, giving me no time to recover or adjust.
I'm vaguely aware that he's speaking, so I tune in to the grunted words.
"Such a filthy little boy… want me so badly… see the way you look at me… dirty whore…"
Absently, in a detached way as though this isn't really happening, I wonder what has happened to rile him up tonight. Whatever it was, it must have been bad, because he's coming already, painting my battered and torn walls with his come, and digging his fingernails into my hips hard enough to break the skin.
"Tell anyone, Al, and I'll make you pay," he hisses as he pulls out of me, and I nod weakly.
It's a long time after he's gone that I find the strength to stand up, and I catch sight of myself in the glass door of a cabinet. Albus' green eyes flecked with my grey, Albus' messy black hair highlighted with platinum blond. No wonder he's always so fast with me; the retransformation to myself would ruin his fantasy.
I watch myself until it becomes too painful, and I have to squeeze my eyes closed and double over as I gain back the few inches that I have on Al.
I wish that I didn't have to do this. Wish I could have the man I crave without having to be a substitute for the desires he won't dare cross with his own son. For the thousandth time, I wonder what my ancestors would say to me, for doing the Malfoy name such a disservice. I wonder about refusing to take the potion every night, refusing to walk the dungeons every evening on the off chance he wants to attack and fuck his son. I wonder about luring Al into the dungeons, giving Harry his fantasy without a potion, and showing the world what their Saviour really is.
But I won't, because it would destroy him, and I'm too lost in this now to cut my losses.
I'll just have to keep wishing that he'll start to love me for me, and that the sight of blonde hair won't make him recoil, that he won't sneer out my surname.
I have to keep wishing, because otherwise what else have I got?