The Dark Prince - Chapter 24 (A Harry Potter Fanfic) (Patreon)

Chapter 24

The question sat in his skull like a splinter under the nail.

Harry walked the corridors after the west lawn with the same measured stride he always used, long dark hair still tied at the nape, scar quiet again, coat still carrying the cold of the morning. Students parted. Girls stared. None of it reached him. Liam's voice kept looping instead, quiet and careful and worse for it.

But Harry, if that's true... why don't you remember me? We're only four years apart.

Five years old. That was the story he had carried since the manor. Five years of the Potters. Hits. Fear. The dark safer than the house. Then Pettigrew. Then Father. Everything after that had been training and purpose and the clean lines of power. He had never examined the arithmetic. Four years. Liam would have been a year old when Harry left. A toddler when the story said the abuse ended. A presence. A sound. A face. Something.

There was nothing.

Harry reached the Slytherin wing without remembering the stairs. He dismissed the password, crossed the common room without looking at the fire or the students who went quiet when he passed, and shut himself into his rooms. The door wards flared. He did not sit. He stood in the middle of the floor with the lake light thin through the window and let the question turn itself over.

Father had given him the story. Father did not make mistakes about the past that shaped his heir. Father's version was the version. The Potters had been the first lesson in what ordinary people did with power when they thought no one was watching. That lesson had held for years. It had explained the scar, the hunger for control, the refusal to be soft. It had been solid.

Liam's face on the path had not been solid. It had been the same green eyes, younger, still learning how to carry them, and the question had landed with the weight of something that did not fit the architecture.

Harry's hands were steady. The rest of him was not. Something under the ribs had gone tight and cold and refused to loosen. He tried the old exercises - breath counted, magic folded inward, attention narrowed to the next necessary action - and the exercises slid off. The memory of the house refused to sharpen into rooms and voices and a smaller body that should have been there. There was only the story and the hole where the brother should have lived inside it.

He stayed in the rooms through the first bells. Through the second. The cold under his ribs spread. It was not the scar. It was not Father reaching. It was the simple, stupid arithmetic of years and the absence of a face he should have known.

Draco arrived without knocking. The wards let him. He took one look at Harry standing in the middle of the floor and shut the door harder than necessary.

"You're not at lunch. You're not at anything. The corridor is already inventing reasons. What happened on the lawn."

Harry did not turn. "He asked why I don't remember him."

Draco was quiet for a breath. "And you answered."

"I gave him the truth as I have it."

"And now you're doing this." Draco stepped closer. Grey eyes sharp, voice low. "Whatever this is. You look like someone put a crack in the floor and you can't decide whether to step over it or fall through. Talk to me."

"There is nothing to talk about."

"There is. You're spiralling. I can see it. So can anyone who has watched you for more than a week. Sit down. Or pace. Or break something that isn't useful. Do not stand there like the walls are the only thing still holding shape."

Harry turned then. The green eyes were flat. "Get out."

Draco held the look for three full seconds. Then he nodded once, sharp, and left. The door closed. The wards resealed. The cold under Harry's ribs did not ease.

Ginny came next. Red hair still damp from whatever she had been doing, bruise on her throat faded to a yellow-green shadow that the high collar of her jumper almost hid. She did not ask permission. She crossed to him, put both hands on his chest, and looked up.

"Draco said you're not right. Talk to me. Or don't talk. Just let me stay."

Harry's hands stayed at his sides. "Leave."

"No."

"Ginny."

The name came quiet. She flinched as if he had raised it. Her fingers curled against the front of his shirt. For a moment the old obedience warred with whatever she had decided loyalty looked like today. Then she stepped back, eyes bright and furious and hurt in equal measure, and left without another word.

Hermione lasted longer. She came with a book she did not open and the careful set of shoulders that meant her ribs were still reminding her of the daywalker. She stood in the doorway until he looked at her.

"You're allowed to be wrong about something," she said. "Or confused. Or angry that the story doesn't add up the way you were told. You don't have to do the quiet collapsing alone."

Harry's mouth moved. It was not a smile. "You think this is collapsing."

"I think you're somewhere I can't reach and it's frightening you more than you'll admit. Let me in. Or Ginny. Or Draco. Someone."

"There is nothing to reach."

She stayed another minute. The silence stretched until it became an answer. She set the book on the table by the door and left. The door closed. The rooms were empty again.

Harry stood in the centre of them until the light through the window shifted from thin grey to the thicker grey of late afternoon. The arithmetic would not leave. Four years. A year-old brother. A toddler. A presence. Nothing. Either the story was incomplete or the memory had been taken or Father had given him the shape of a past that served the future he wanted. All three options sat in the same cold place under his ribs and refused to resolve.

He needed noise that was not thought. He needed something that answered when he put his hands on it. He needed the clean lines of control that did not care about years or brothers or the gaps in a story.

The door opened again without the wards announcing anyone he had authorised.

Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stepped through as if the rooms had been waiting for them.

They had dressed for the occasion. Lavender's blonde hair was down in careful waves that had taken time. Her blouse was open one button past regulation, the soft swell of her breasts pushed up by whatever she was wearing underneath. Skirt short enough that the tops of her thighs showed when she moved. Parvati's dark hair was braided over one shoulder, the end of the braid brushing the curve of a breast that the fitted jumper did nothing to hide. Her mouth was already curved in the small, certain smile of a girl who had decided the outcome before she walked through the door.

They looked at him - alone, still in the coat from the morning, scar uncovered, green eyes too flat - and the certainty in both faces sharpened.

"We heard you were in a mood," Lavender said. Her voice was light, almost cheerful. "The whole corridor's talking about how the Slytherin king looked like someone kicked the floor out from under him. We thought we'd come see if we could put it back."

Parvati's dark eyes moved over him with frank appraisal. "You're allowed to need something that isn't strategy or family or whatever's eating you. We're good at the other things. Better than the favourites, if you want the truth. They get precious about it. We don't."

Harry looked at them.

Two girls who had spent years turning attention into currency. Confident. Practised. Certain they were walking into a room that contained a man who could be handled if the handling was bold enough. The cold under his ribs did not warm. Something else moved instead - older, sharper, the part of him that had learned in the manor that the cleanest answer to a fracture was to take hold of whatever was in reach and use it until the fracture stopped mattering.

"Close the door," he said.

Lavender's smile widened. She shut it. The wards recognised the order and sealed. Parvati's braid shifted as she stepped further in, already reaching for the hem of her jumper as if the decision had been mutual.

"We've talked about this," Lavender said. "What we'd do if we ever got you alone without the redhead and the bushy-haired one hovering. We're not shy. We're not going to pretend we don't know what we're doing. You look like you need to stop thinking. Let us make you stop."

Harry's hands came out of his pockets. He did not raise his voice. He did not need to.

"On your knees."

The confidence in both faces stuttered for half a second. Then Lavender laughed, short and delighted, as if he had confirmed a private theory, and sank down. Parvati followed, slower, the braid swinging. They looked up at him from the rug with the same bright, greedy attention they had brought through the door.

Harry unbuttoned the coat and let it fall. The shirt underneath followed. He opened his trousers without ceremony. The heavy length of him sprang free - thirteen inches, thick, already hardening under their stares. The broad head was flushed. A bead of precum gathered at the slit.

Lavender's breath left her in a soft, appreciative sound. "Merlin. They weren't exaggerating."

"They never do," Parvati murmured. Her tongue touched her lower lip. "Come here. Let us - "

Harry stepped in, fisted blonde hair, and pushed the head of his cock against Lavender's mouth.

"Open."

She opened. He did not give her time to perform. He pushed in - slow enough that she felt every inch of the stretch, deep enough that her eyes watered on the third and her throat closed on the fourth. Saliva spilled immediately. It ran down her chin in thick strings and dripped onto the tops of her breasts. Harry held her there, the outline of him visible under the thin skin of her throat, and looked down into her watering eyes.

"You thought you were going to run this," he said. Quiet. Almost conversational. "You thought a mood and an empty room meant you got to decide the pace. You were wrong."

He pulled back. A shining thread still connected her swollen mouth to him. He turned and pushed into Parvati the same way. She gagged harder than Lavender. Tears sprang at the corners of her dark eyes. The braid swung as she tried to adjust and found there was nothing to adjust to. He held her until her throat fluttered around him, then pulled free and painted both of their lips with the mess of them.

"Hands behind your backs. You use your mouths. Nothing else until I say."

They linked their hands. The confidence had not left their faces yet - it had only changed shape into something hotter and more focused. Lavender leaned in first, tongue flat, licking a broad stripe up the underside of him before taking the head again. Parvati turned her attention to his balls, mouth open, sucking one carefully while her tongue worked. They traded without being told. The wet sounds filled the room. Spit ran. Their knees pressed into the rug. Every time one of them tried to set a rhythm he liked he corrected it with a hand in hair or a quiet word.

"Deeper."

"Look at me when you choke."

"Slower. I didn't tell you to rush."

Lavender's eyes were glassy. Parvati's braid had come half undone. Neither of them reached for their own bodies. Neither of them complained. The certainty that they were the ones providing the service still sat in the way they moved - practised, eager, still half-convinced that the performance would eventually earn them the version of the afternoon they had walked in expecting.

Harry fucked their faces in turns until both mouths were swollen and shining and the front of both blouses were dark with spit. He did not come. He pulled free, stepped back, and looked down at them.

"Strip. Everything. Then get on the bed. Lavender on her back. Parvati over her. Mouths on each other. You don't stop until I say."

They stripped with the same practised efficiency. Lavender's body was soft and full - heavy breasts with pale pink nipples already tight, the curve of her stomach, the neat strip of blonde hair above a cunt that was already glistening. Parvati was darker, firmer in the waist, breasts high and full, the black thatch between her legs already wet enough that it showed when she moved. They arranged themselves on the bed without further instruction. Lavender spread. Parvati settled over her on hands and knees, ass up, mouth already lowering between blonde thighs. The first lick drew a sound out of Lavender that was half surprise and half relief.

Harry stepped in behind Parvati. He ran two fingers through the soaked folds between her legs, felt how ready she was, and pushed into her with one long thrust that forced a cry out of her into Lavender's cunt.

"Fuck - too big - "

"You can take it." He bottomed out. Hips flush to the fine curve of her ass. One hand splayed at the small of her back. "Keep your mouth on her. If you stop licking, I stop moving."

He fucked her in deep, heavy strokes that rocked her forward into Lavender with every thrust. Parvati's braid came fully undone. Her breasts hung and swayed. Every time she tried to lift her mouth to breathe he put a hand between her shoulder blades and put her back down. Lavender's hands found dark hair and pulled. The wet sounds of mouth on cunt mixed with the wetter sounds of Harry driving into Parvati without mercy.

Lavender came first - back arching, a sharp cry, thighs clamping around Parvati's head. Harry fucked Parvati through it, through the way her cunt clamped down around him, through the second gush that ran down her own thighs onto Lavender's stomach. He pulled out, turned Parvati onto her back beside Lavender, folded one of her legs, and drove back in facing her. He took her mouth the way he had taken it on the rug and swallowed the sounds she made when he bottomed out again.

Lavender rolled onto her side and reached between her own legs.

Harry turned his head without slowing. "Did I tell you to touch yourself."

Her fingers froze. "No."

"Then wait. Watch her take it."

He fucked Parvati until the girl who had walked in with a certain smile was only shaking and wet under him, breasts bouncing, mouth open on broken sounds that were no longer performing. He rubbed her clit in tight circles. She came with a raw cry, squirting around his cock. He dragged it out until she was sobbing, hands fisted in the covers.

"Please - I can't - "

"You can." Three more strokes that proved it. Then he pulled out. "Lavender. Hands and knees. Face at the edge."

She put herself where he pointed - ass up, the fat curve of her presented. Harry entered her in one thrust that punched the air out of her lungs.

"Fuck - Harry - splitting me - "

He spanked her.

The first crack of his palm echoed off the stone. The print came up red at once. Lavender cried out and pushed back onto him anyway. He spanked her again. The rhythm of his hand and the rhythm of his hips found each other. Clear fluid ran down the insides of her thighs.

"Count."

"Four - ah - five - six - " Her voice broke on seven when he changed the angle. A hand in her hair pulled her head up so she had to say eight and nine at the wall.

Parvati had gotten onto her elbows beside them. Harry glanced at her without slowing.

"Same position when I finish marking her. You wanted to be the ones who could handle me. Handle matching."

He gave Lavender thirteen. The last slap landed as she came - a full-body lock, a gush that hit his thighs and the covers, a sound that was his name and a sob. He fucked her through it until only his hands were holding her hips where he wanted them.

Then he pulled out and said, "Parvati. Same count."

She got there on shaking legs. Harry took her from behind and spanked the swell of her ass with the same unhurried cruelty. She counted. Precise at first. Ruined by six. Dripping onto the sheets by ten. At thirteen she came so hard her knees slid apart and he had to catch her around the waist to keep her on him.

He still did not come.

He pulled out and stood them both on the rug by the hair. They went to their knees because that was where their bodies had learned to go in the last hour. Faces a mess of tears and spit. Breasts wet. Asses red. Cunts swollen and leaking.

Harry stroked himself once, looking down.

"Open. Tongues out. Look at me."

They opened.

He came with a low sound. Thick ropes painted Lavender's mouth first, then Parvati's, then the bridge of Lavender's nose, Parvati's cheek, the tops of both pairs of breasts. There was so much of it that it ran - chins, nipples, the hollow of Parvati's throat, the valley between Lavender's tits.

"Kiss."

They kissed. Wet and filthy, mouths sliding through what he had put on them, tongues sharing the heat of it. Cum smeared between them. It shone on their cheeks when they broke for air and went back in. He watched until the kiss turned from obedience into something they were doing because they could not stop, then put a hand in each girl's hair and pulled them back to his cock - still heavy, still half-hard - and let them lick him clean together.

Lavender pulled off first, lips swollen, eyes dazed and triumphant in the way of a girl who thought the hard part was over.

"There," she said, voice wrecked. "That's what you needed. We can - "

Harry's hand tightened in her hair.

"You thought that was the end of it."

The triumph in her face flickered. Parvati's dark eyes widened a fraction.

Harry's mouth curved. It did not reach his eyes.

"I'm just getting started."

He put them back on the bed.

He took Lavender first this time - missionary, her legs folded back until her knees nearly touched her shoulders, the red handprints on her ass flexing every time he drove in to the root. The stretch was brutal. She was already swollen from the first round, cunt puffy and slick and still trying to close around the thickness of him. He fucked her in long, punishing strokes that forced the air out of her lungs on every thrust. Her heavy breasts bounced hard. Her mouth stayed open on broken sounds that no longer tried to be pretty.

"You walked in here thinking you were the ones who knew how this went," he said, voice even, hips never slowing. "School whores with a reputation and a plan. Look at you now."

Lavender's eyes were glassy. Tears had cut clean tracks through the mess on her cheeks. "Harry - please - too much - "

"You can take more." He shifted the angle, grinding against her clit on the downstroke. She came with a sharp, startled cry, cunt clamping down, clear fluid spraying around his cock and soaking the sheets under her arse. He fucked her through it without pause, through the overstimulation, through the way her hands pushed weakly at his chest and then clutched at his shoulders instead. A second, smaller peak ripped through her almost immediately. She sobbed. He kept going until the sobs turned into helpless, continuous sound and her thighs shook uncontrollably against his sides.

He pulled out before he came. The thick length of him was shiny with her, veins standing out, the head flushed dark. Parvati had been watching with her fingers still locked behind her back, dark eyes wide, lips parted, the certainty she had carried through the door nowhere on her face.

"Your turn," Harry said. "On your back. Legs open. Wider."

Parvati obeyed. He hooked her knees over his elbows and drove in to the hilt in one thrust. The sound she made was raw. He set a pace that had nothing of mercy in it - deep, heavy, relentless. Every stroke punched a wet sound out of her. Her high breasts jolted. The undone braid lay across the pillow like a dark rope. He watched her face the entire time, the way the practised confidence cracked further with every thrust, the way her mouth formed words that never quite became language.

"You thought you were freaky," he said. "You thought the two of you could walk in here and handle the Slytherin king because you'd sucked enough cocks in broom cupboards to know the game. This is not a broom cupboard. You do not set the rules. You take what I give you until I decide you are finished."

Parvati came hard, back arching, a gush of clear fluid soaking his stomach and the sheets. He did not stop. He rubbed tight circles over her clit with his thumb while he continued to fuck her, dragging a second orgasm out of her before the first had fully finished. She cried out, voice cracking. Tears stood in her dark eyes. When he finally pulled out she lay limp, thighs open, cunt visibly pulsing, a thick line of her own wetness running down toward the bed.

Harry stood, stroked himself once, and looked at both of them.

"On your knees. Side by side. Mouths open."

They scrambled. Knees on the ruined sheets. Faces up. He fed his cock into Lavender's mouth first and fucked her throat with short, controlled thrusts until she was gagging and drooling freely. Then he switched to Parvati and did the same. Back and forth. Using them. Taking the last of the performance out of their mouths until both girls were simply open and wet and taking it. When he came the second time it was with a low groan, thick ropes spilling across both tongues, both chins, both sets of breasts. He held their heads in place and made them share it, tongues out, eyes on him.

He gave them almost no recovery.

"Lavender. All fours again. Face down. Arse up."

She got into position on shaking arms. He entered her from behind in one thrust and immediately set a hard, driving rhythm that made the bedframe knock against the wall. One hand stayed in her blonde hair, holding her head down. The other spanked the already-red cheek of her arse in time with his hips. She came again quickly, helplessly, body locking, a fresh gush running down her thighs. He kept fucking her through it, through the oversensitive clench, through the broken pleas that she couldn't take any more.

"You can. You will."

When her arms finally gave out he pulled out, flipped her onto her back, and pushed back in without letting her close her legs. He fucked her missionary until she came a fourth time, quiet and wrecked, eyes unfocused. Only then did he switch to Parvati.

He put Parvati on her side, one leg hooked high over his arm, and took her in deep, grinding strokes that forced every inch into her. Lavender's job was to keep her mouth on Parvati's clit while he fucked her. Every time Lavender's attention drifted he corrected it with a quiet command. Parvati came twice more under the combined assault, the second time so hard she tried to twist away and he simply held her in place and finished the orgasm for her.

He still had not finished for the third time.

He pulled both of them back to their knees by the hair. Their faces were ruined - tear tracks, spit, cum from earlier, mascara that had not survived. Breasts shiny and marked. Cunts swollen, puffy, continuously leaking. The confidence was gone. What remained was dazed, aching obedience and the bright, broken attention of girls who had been taken apart past the point where they still believed they were participating by choice.

Harry stroked himself slowly in front of their faces.

"Open. Tongues out. You do not swallow until I say."

He fucked their mouths one last time, shallow and controlled, painting both tongues, both lips, both chins. When he came the third time it was heavy and prolonged, thick pulses that filled their mouths and overflowed. He held their heads together and made them share it, tongues sliding through the mess, until he was satisfied.

Only then did he step back.

They stayed on their knees, panting, staring up at him. Lavender's blonde hair was a tangled wreck. Parvati's dark hair clung to her wet cheeks and throat. Neither of them looked like the girls who had walked through the door certain they could conquer the Slytherin king. They looked used. Thoroughly. Completely.

Harry's breathing was steady. The cold under his ribs had gone quiet. The arithmetic of years and brothers and missing memories still existed somewhere behind his eyes, but it no longer had its claws in the same place. Control had answered the fracture the only way it knew how.

He looked down at them one last time - the swollen mouths, the marked skin, the way they still held their positions because he had not told them they could move.

"I needed that," he said. "Now I need to find my father."