The Dark Prince - Chapter 26 (A Harry Potter Fanfiction) (Patreon)

DISCLAIMER
All characters depicted in this story are 18 years of age or older. This is explicit adult erotic fiction.

Chapter 26
What He Will Not Ask

The hall smelled of damp stone and green fire. Harry stood where the pull had left him, boots planted, long dark hair still settling against his shoulders. The silver scar on his forehead had cooled to a quiet burn. Voldemort faced him from three paces away, red eyes steady, wand already lowered.

"You will recite what they managed to say," Voldemort said. His voice stayed soft. "You will separate their words from the ones you added while you listened. Then I will tell you which of those words you are permitted to keep."

Harry's mouth curved the way it did when a Death Eater offered an excuse. He did not kneel. The hall had taught him that some questions were answered standing.

"They said crib," he answered. "They said Pettigrew. They said the five years are not theirs. They did not finish."

Voldemort's head tilted a fraction. The bond in the scar pressed, searching. Harry let the surface of his mind open the way he had been taught: loyalty, the weight of the dampeners he no longer wore, the shape of the courtyard and the lawn and Liam's gold-green light. Beneath that surface he closed every door that held the gap. The nights he remembered. The voices. The decision to run. The cold knot that had lived under his ribs long before any manor. Occlumency settled over those rooms like a second skin. The search touched the closed doors and found only stone.

"Unfinished is safer than theirs," Voldemort said. "Unfinished belongs to me."

Harry inclined his head once. "Yes, Father."

The red eyes held him. "Why did you not come home when the wards first thinned. I felt you stand in the snow. I felt the choice."

"I was not finished," Harry said. The words left him level. "They had taken the disc and the bracelet. They called it trust. I wanted to see what that trust bought them before I walked out of it."

"And what did the Potters tell you that required a night in their rooms."

Harry met the red gaze. He did not look away. He did not let his breath change. "Nothing that matters."

The pressure in the scar sharpened for a heartbeat. Harry held the closed doors. He let Voldemort feel the cold of the courtyard and the shape of Liam's question and the simple fact that James and Lily had started a sentence they never finished. He did not let him feel the rest. The search withdrew. Something like satisfaction moved across the lipless mouth.

"Good," Voldemort said. "Loyalty is measured by what you keep when the asking is easy."

He turned his head toward the side corridor. "Bella."

Bellatrix stepped out of the shadow of the pillar. Her curls were loose. Her robes hung open at the throat. The wild light in her eyes sharpened the moment they found Harry. She crossed the stone on bare feet and dropped to one knee without being told. The open front of her robes showed the heavy swell of her breasts and the soft, fleshy curve of her hips.

"My Lord," she said. "My Prince."

"Show him he is home," Voldemort said. He did not raise his voice. "I will watch the first minute. Then I will leave the rest to him."

Bellatrix rose. She walked the last distance and stopped close enough that Harry could smell the old blood and the newer heat on her skin. Her hand lifted, then stopped short of his chest. She waited. The thick, rounded weight of her ass shifted under the robes when she moved.

Harry looked at her. The cold under his ribs did not shift. He reached out, caught the front of her robes, and pulled. The fabric tore at one shoulder. Bellatrix's breath left her in a sharp sound. She stepped into him without hesitation.

"My Prince," she breathed. "I have been empty since the castle. Use me until I cannot stand."

Harry's hand fisted in her hair. He walked her backward until her shoulders met the nearest pillar. The green torchlight painted her collarbones. He freed his cock with one hand. It hung heavy and already thickening, the broad head flushed. Bellatrix's eyes locked on it. Her tongue touched her lower lip.

"Open."

She opened. Harry pushed in. The stretch forced her jaw wide. Saliva spilled at once, running down her chin and onto the torn edge of her robes. He held her there, the outline of the head visible under the skin of her throat, and looked past her to the place where Voldemort still stood. The red eyes watched for three slow breaths. Then the Dark Lord turned and left the hall. His robes whispered against the stone until the sound faded.

Harry pulled free. A thick string of spit still connected Bellatrix's mouth to the head of his cock. He turned her, shoved her robes higher, and drove two fingers into her. She was already wet. The walls of her cunt clenched hard around his knuckles. His free hand gripped the soft, fleshy swell of her ass and squeezed, the heavy flesh yielding under his palm.

"You came to the castle for me," he said against her ear. "You cut the ward. You put your hand on my arm. Did you think I would thank you for the walk home."

Bellatrix pushed back onto his fingers. "I thought you would fuck me until I forgot the walk, my Prince. Please. I have been aching since the moment I saw you standing in their rooms."

Harry added a third finger. He curled them and worked the spot that made her knees shake. Bellatrix's mouth opened on a broken sound. Clear fluid ran down his wrist. He pulled his hand free, lined the broad head up, and pushed in with one long thrust that forced a raw cry out of her. The thick, rounded ass pressed back against him as he sank deep.

"Too big," she gasped. "Fuck, my Prince, you are splitting me open."

"You can take it." He bottomed out. Hips flush to the fleshy curve of her ass. One hand stayed in her hair. The other cracked across the soft side of her ass hard enough to leave a print that sank into the heavy flesh. "You always do."

He fucked her against the pillar in deep, heavy strokes. The wet slap of skin filled the hall. Her ass jiggled with every thrust, the soft weight of it bouncing against his hips. Bellatrix's hands scrabbled at the stone. Her cunt clenched and fluttered around the thick length of him. She came the first time within minutes, body locking, a high broken sound tearing from her throat. Fluid gushed around his cock and ran down her thighs. Harry did not slow. He angled his hips so the ridge dragged over the swollen spot inside her on every stroke and kept going.

"Say whose cunt this is."

"Yours," Bellatrix sobbed. "Only yours, my Prince. Please keep using it. Please do not stop."

He gave her the second orgasm with two fingers on her clit and a sharp crack of his palm against the fleshy ass. She squirted hard enough to soak the stone at her feet. Her legs trembled. Harry pulled out, spun her, and lifted her clean off the ground. Her back hit the pillar again. Her legs locked around his waist. He drove back in to the hilt. The new angle let the head of his cock press deep. The soft weight of her ass filled his hands as he held her. Bellatrix's head fell back. Her eyes were glassy. She came a third time with a raw scream, walls pulsing, another gush soaking them both.

Harry fucked her through it until the pulses turned weak and continuous. Her voice cracked on his title. Her hands clutched at his shoulders and then went slack. He felt the moment her body stopped answering. The cunt around him fluttered once more and went soft. He buried himself deep and came with a low groan, thick pulses of cum flooding her, so much that it overflowed around his cock and ran down the backs of her thighs in heavy white rivulets. Bellatrix's head lolled. Her eyes rolled back. She passed out mid-thrust, limp in his arms, still impaled, his cum leaking steadily from her stuffed cunt.

Harry held her there for three more strokes, then pulled free. A thick stream of her wetness and his cum followed, dripping onto the stone. He lowered her carefully until her feet touched the floor. She sagged. He kept one arm under her ribs and drew his wand with the other.

"Enervate."

The red light hit her chest. Bellatrix jerked. Her eyes snapped open, wild and unfocused, then found his face. A broken, delighted sound left her. Her legs still shook too hard to hold her. Cum continued to leak down her inner thighs. Harry kept the arm around her until she managed to stand on her own.

"My Prince," she whispered. Her voice was wrecked. "You put me under. I felt you still inside me when the dark took me. I have never come that hard. Please. Again. I can take more."

Harry tucked himself away. His cock was still half-hard, still heavy, the ache in his balls eased but not gone. He looked at her, at the tear tracks and the spit and the red handprints sunk into the soft flesh of her ass, and felt the same cold distance he had carried out of the Potters' rooms.

"Go clean yourself," he said. "Father will want a report that you are still breathing."

Bellatrix pressed a shaking kiss to the inside of his wrist. She left the hall on unsteady legs, robes still open, cunt leaking his cum down her thighs in thick white trails. Harry stayed where he was. The green fire crackled. The scar stayed quiet.

A door opened at the far end of the hall. Narcissa Malfoy stepped through first. Her blonde hair was pinned in a neat coil. Her robes were black and cut to show the pale line of her throat. The fabric clung to the full, fleshy curve of her hips and the heavy swell of her ass. Behind her came a taller woman with dark hair worn long and loose, skin the color of warm bronze, the sharp, elegant features that marked Blaise Zabini's mother. Her robes did nothing to hide the thick, rounded weight of her ass or the soft give of her thighs. Both of them stopped when they saw Harry. Narcissa's blue eyes moved over him and lingered on the open front of his shirt and the still-hard outline against his trousers. The Zabini woman watched with the calm assessment of someone who had buried more than one husband and expected to survive this as well.

"My Prince," Narcissa said. Her voice stayed even. "My Lord sent us. He said you were not finished."

Harry looked at them both. The cold under his ribs had not moved. He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and let it fall. Then he opened his trousers. His cock sprang free, thick and flushed, veins standing out along the shaft, the head already leaking. Both women went still. Narcissa's breath caught. The Zabini woman's mouth parted.

"On your knees," Harry said. "Narcissa first. You will show her how it is done."

Narcissa crossed the stone and sank down without hesitation. She wrapped both hands around the base. Her fingers did not meet. She leaned in and dragged her tongue along the underside, slow and deliberate, then took the head into her mouth. Harry fisted the neat coil of her hair and pushed deeper. Her throat bulged. Saliva spilled. She worked him with practiced, hungry sounds, blue eyes locked on his face. The full curve of her ass pressed against the backs of her heels as she knelt.

"Deeper," he said. "You do not set the pace."

Narcissa obeyed. She took him until her nose pressed against the base and her throat fluttered around the thick intrusion. Tears stood in her eyes. She did not pull back until he allowed it. When he drew free, a thick string connected her swollen lips to the head of his cock. He turned to the Zabini woman.

"Your turn. Mouth only. Hands behind your back."

She dropped to her knees beside Narcissa. Her dark hair fell forward. The thick, fleshy weight of her ass settled against her heels. Harry fed his cock into her mouth and fucked her face in short, controlled thrusts until saliva ran down her chin and onto the tops of her breasts. She gagged once, hard, then settled into the rhythm he gave her. Narcissa watched, one hand already between her own thighs, fingers working through the wetness that had soaked her robes.

Harry pulled free of the Zabini woman's mouth and hauled Narcissa up by the hair. He spun her, bent her over the low stone bench, and shoved her robes up. She wore nothing beneath. The pale, fleshy swell of her ass rose high, soft and heavy, the cheeks parting as he lined up and drove in to the hilt in one thrust. Narcissa cried out, the stretch forcing her open. Her hands scrabbled for the edge of the bench. The soft flesh of her ass jiggled when his hips met it.

"Fuck, my Prince, too thick. Please. I can take it. Please keep going."

Harry fucked her in deep, heavy strokes. The wet slap echoed. He gripped the fleshy cheeks and spread them, watching the way her cunt stretched around the thick shaft. He reached under her and rubbed tight circles over her clit. Narcissa came with a sharp, broken sound, walls clamping, clear fluid spraying around his cock and soaking the bench. He did not stop. He spanked the pale curve of her ass once, hard, the print sinking into the soft flesh, and kept pounding through the aftershocks until she was shaking and babbling his title. The heavy ass bounced and rippled with every thrust.

He pulled out, turned her onto her back on the bench, and hooked her legs over his arms. He drove back in, the new angle letting him sink deeper. Narcissa's blue eyes were glassy. She came again, quieter this time, a full-body lock that left her limp and panting. Harry fucked her through it until her hands pushed weakly at his chest and then fell away. He buried himself deep and came with a low groan, thick pulses of cum flooding her, overflowing immediately and running down the crack of her ass onto the bench in heavy white streams. Her head lolled. Her cunt fluttered once more around him and went soft. She passed out with him still buried to the root, his cum leaking steadily from her stuffed hole.

Harry pulled free. A thick line of her wetness and his cum followed. He looked at the Zabini woman, still on her knees, dark eyes wide, thighs pressed together, the thick curve of her ass visible beneath the hem of her robes.

"Stand. Face the wall. Hands flat."

She obeyed. Harry stepped in behind her, shoved her robes up, and pushed in. She was wet enough that the broad head sank deep with only a sharp intake of breath. The thick, fleshy ass pressed back against him, soft and heavy, jiggling when his hips met it. He set a hard, driving rhythm that rocked her forward against the stone. One hand stayed in her dark hair. The other cracked across the swell of her ass in time with his hips, the soft flesh yielding and reddening under his palm. She counted under her breath when he told her to. The numbers broke by the sixth stroke. She came with a raw cry, squirting down her own thighs and onto his. Harry fucked her through it, through the second peak that hit before the first had finished, through the way her arms shook and her voice cracked on pleas that were not commands. The heavy cheeks of her ass bounced with every deep thrust.

"Please, my Prince. I cannot. I need. Please keep using me."

He pulled out, turned her, and lifted her the way he had lifted Bellatrix. Her back hit the wall. Her legs wrapped his waist. The soft weight of her ass filled his hands as he held her. He drove in and fucked her until her eyes rolled and her body went slack in his arms. He buried himself deep and came again, thick pulses flooding her, so much that it overflowed and ran down the backs of her thighs in white rivulets. She passed out with a soft, broken sound, cunt still clenching weakly around the thick length of him, his cum leaking from her. Harry held her until the pulses stopped, then lowered her carefully to the stone. She slid down the wall and stayed there, legs open, leaking his cum onto the floor, unconscious.

Harry stood between them. Narcissa still lay on the bench, robes wrecked, cunt puffy and dripping thick white cum. The Zabini woman breathed slow and even on the floor, the fleshy curve of her ass marked red, cum running down her inner thighs. His cock was still half-hard, the ache eased, the cold under his ribs unchanged. He tucked himself away with steady hands. The scar stayed quiet. Father had tested the surface and found it solid. The closed doors beneath it had not moved.

He walked out of the hall without looking back. The corridor that led to his rooms was empty. Green torchlight flickered along the walls. Harry pushed open the door to his chambers, sealed it behind him, and stood in the center of the room with his hands empty. The east-wing fire had already been lit. The black silk hangings moved once in the draft from the window.

He could not ask his father. The moment the question left his mouth, Voldemort would act. The closed doors would open under the red gaze, or they would not, and either way the gap would be filled by someone who benefited from the filling. Harry touched the silver scar once. The bond answered with distant, possessive heat. He let it sit and then closed it again.

Pettigrew was the only other person who had been in the cottage that night. Pettigrew had carried him out. Pettigrew knew whether the five years had been real or built. Harry crossed to the tall window that looked over the dark forest. The glass was cold under his palm. Somewhere in the world a coward still breathed who had watched a crib go empty and then walked into a hall with a baby in his arms.

Harry's mouth curved. The expression did not reach his eyes. He would find Wormtail. He would ask the question his father must not hear. And he would keep the answer behind the same closed doors that had held tonight.

The fire popped. Outside, the wind moved through the trees. Harry stood at the window until the green light on the glass faded to the deeper dark of the forest, and he did not move.