Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ Possess me ❯ Chapter two ( Chapter 2 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Ciiah-chan 
Harry sees erotic images against his will... How long can he take it?
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 10.04.2007 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.2K | Visits: 1.4K | Status: Work In Progress
Harry sees erotic images against his will... How long can he take it?
Non Anime: Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Yaoi | Uploaded On: 10.04.2007 | Pages: 3 | Words: 4.2K | Visits: 1.4K | Status: Work In Progress
I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters.
I do own the plot of this fic and any character that may become involved that is not in the original books written by J.K. Rowling.
Warnings; Yaoi, Dark Harry, random evilness. I tend to make the characters slightly ooc sometimes.
Here's chapter two.
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He hadn't been able to sleep for days. The cause of this insomnia wes the damn images. Disturbing images involving a certain Dark Lord, and they kept popping into his mind whenever he tried to get some kind of rest! It was annoying to say the least. Harry was starting to fall asleep during classes and even Quidditch training!
If Harry had to be completely honest with himself, it wasn't the images themselves that irked him. The images were actually quite enjoyable... in a twisted, kinda sick way!
The thing that bothered him about them was the fact that they just popped up. Harry couldn't control it at all. They came into his mind whenever they felt like it, it seemed. It could happen when he was talking to Ron or Hermione, taking a shower, or trying to pay attention to Snape's lessons that just seemed to bore him more and more.
He had no control what so ever, almost as if...
Harry played with the dark thought against his own will. He loathed himself for not being able to stop thinking about it, and he loathed himself even more for actually feeling excited about the crazy thought!
Because what if... what if it was Voldemort who was somehow sending him these images, these fantasies? Harry bit his lip in a sickening enjoyment as small sparks of pleasure slowly crawled up his spine. He felt just as tainted as ever, being marked on the forehead by the Dark Lord, but this was the first time in his life that he felt like he actually wanted, almost yearned, to be more than just 'marked'. He wanted to be more than that.
...Hot limbs grinding furiously against each other, wet skin sliding easily against wet skin. Darkness surrounding them... Moaning, panting... Desperate cries for more!...
NO!
Harry gripped his hair in frustration as another perverted, still oh-so pleasurable image came to his mind, entrancing him for two seconds before he snapped back to reality and blushed heavily.
The images were always short and he had difficulty remembering them afterwards; something that both annoyed him and brought him relief. But his body would always tremble a little afterwards and he could feel small, barely noticeable signs of arousal pump through his veins. He refused to believe it though, and kept fighting the images as hard as he could. But it was getting tiresome to try and keep something like that out of his mind, since he didn't even know when they were to show up. And on top of that, even if he did know when they were going to show up, he had no idea how to keep them away.
Harry sighed and entered the large library, enjoying the rare loneliness and almost cheering with joy as he realized that Hermione wasn't there for once. She would without a doubt have seen that there was something wrong with him and immediately tried to make it all right. Hermione was acting more and more like a mother with each passing day. Harry was quickly becoming sick and tired of it. He didn't need a mother. He had survived all his life without a mother. He certainly didn't need a fifteen year-old wannabe-mama to 'take care' of him.
Harry sighed again, this time with guilt. He felt horrible for thinking such harsh thoughts about Hermione, who after all only wanted what was best for him. The only problem was that she thought that she knew what was best for Harry. Not Harry himself. That was the part that annoyed him.
And Ron was... Ron. He probably hadn’t the slightest idea that something had happened to Harry, more than the fact that Harry couldn't sleep. And the redhead would, in spite of Hermione, just smile a goofy smile, patting Harry's shoulder and giving the good old, "Don't worry, mate."
Harry snorted and picked a book from one of the old shelves. Even Ron bored him these days. He frowned. Maybe he was just being spoiled? Humans are not supposed to have 'fun' all the time, so why did Harry seem to think that it was his friends' fault that he felt unhappy? Did he really think that he stood above everyone else, that he was supposed to have fun twenty four-seven, except for when he was fighting Voldemort?
In some ways, he did deserve to 'have fun'. He had already saved the wizard world several times, risking his own life and going through hell more than once, not to mention spending ten awful years with the despicable muggle family, the Dursley's. Harry mentally sneered at the mere thought of his fat uncle Vernon, with his disgusting mustache, his even fatter cousin Dudley who always seemed to reek of sweat, and his skinny aunt Petunia, who somehow managed to look like a crazy ostrich when she was peeking at her neighbors. Yes... they disgusted him.
Harry started to read the book, and realized what he had picked. He hadn't really paid much attention to what he chose to read, he just wanted peace and quiet. But as Harry saw the book in his hands, he couldn't help but to give a small, barely noticeable smirk.
'Vampires, demons and other creatures of the dark.'
No doubt it was used in the lessons of Defense Against Dark Arts, but it still caused a wicked leer to spread over Harry's features before he could stop himself. When he realized he was smiling, and that a strange feeling of wanting to know more about the book's contents was lurking in his chest, he firmly shut the book and put it on the table. He stared at it with an expression resembling fear across his face. Why did the darkness seem to entrance him, to fascinate him? Harry realized that that's what it was; fascination. In a very wrong way!
Not in an I-want-to-know-how-to-defeat-the-darkness-way, but more in an I-want-to-learn-this-stuff-way.
Harry buried his face in his hands as he put his elbows on the table. He groaned, waited for a few seconds then peeked at the book through his fingers. The book smirked at him, daring him to read it. It was a thick book. Probably used by seventh year students.
Harry sighed in defeat and quickly convinced himself that it was solemnly because he wanted to become an auror, and re-opened the book. He immediately started to read with some kind of hunger for something that he had missed his entire life, but someone had kept it away from him. The pictures were moving, sending shudders down Harry's spine as he met a dark-haired vampire's deep gaze. The vampire had a pale, yet handsome face. Small shadows decorated the undersides of those eyes, and a cold, calm smirk adorned his lips, giving the immortal man a grim look. Black strands were hanging down from his tied hair in an almost elegant way. Harry swallowed and licked his lips. The picture entranced him. In his eyes, the vampire was... beautiful.
Harry sent a quick look to the small text beneath the picture and let out a small gasp of surprise.
Vlad Nathanius Dragulia, son of the feared Vlad Dragulia who is also known as Dracula. 1738 - ?
Harry's heart was beating hard in his chest as he stared at the words. Excitement, mixed with disgust, and shock stirred within the black-haired boy. The son of Dracula? Dracula had a son? And what did "1738 - ?" mean? Maybe... maybe the vampire was still alive out there! Harry felt a sudden urge to laugh with pure joy, but he suddenly realized with a pang of shock what he was doing.
He was enjoying the thought of something as evil as the son of Dracula being alive. He enjoyed the thought.
Harry swallowed, forcing his nauseous feeling down his throat and shut the book with a loud 'thump'. He pushed the book away and rose from his chair, then he exited the library as soon as he could, his heart still hammering in his chest from fear, shock, and a pleasurable feeling of excitement. Harry stopped in front of a window and stared at his dim reflection. He looked just like he always did; black hair, covering most of his head, green, intense eyes and pale skin. Although his eyes seemed a little bit darker than usual. Must be the lack of light.
"Harry!"
Harry flinched and quickly forced a stiff smile onto his lips at the sound of Hermione echoing through the corridor. The brown-haired girl rushed towards him with an excited look on her face. As she reached Harry who had merely waited for her, not meeting her, the look quickly turned into a frown.
"Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" She exclaimed and shook her head while panting for air. Harry sighed and waited for his friend to catch her breath. She soon did and started to smile. "Harry, you'll never believe what I just heard!"
‘Hm? Acting like a normal teenage girl, now are we, Hermione? How interesting...’ Harry silently mocked his friend and smiled, urging the girl to keep talking. Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him towards her so that she could whisper in his ear.
"Cho Chang likes you!"
Wow... what an anti-climax, Harry pondered and frowned. Cho Chang? The girl he... liked? She had been the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, who was now dead. Cho Chang was indeed a very pretty girl. Her Asian features, mixed with a typical Irish accent made the girl seem extremely cute. During Harry's fourth year, her smiles had made a few butterflies fly around in his stomach, because a girl like Cho wasn't a common sight, and she used to give him small glances, even though she was Cedric's girlfriend. Yes... Harry liked Cho, but not nearly as much as he should to make her his girlfriend. That sort of relationship required trust, something that was at least resembling love, and lust.
Harry didn't trust Cho. She had been flirting with Harry even though she was Cedric's girlfriend! How could Harry be sure that she wouldn't flirt with someone else if they got together? Cho was always hanging with those silly, giggling girls from Ravenclaw, probably gossiping and whispering about things they shouldn’t. No, Harry didn't trust Cho at all.
Love? Harry snorted. He didn't believe in Love at first sight. Love was something that was developed from something else; hatred, liking, friendship. It took time, and Harry barely knew Cho at all. He didn't love her, he barely even liked her as a friend. She was probably a very nice girl, but Harry didn't know her.
Lust, pure attraction. Cho was very pretty. Not too thin, not too chubby. A perfectly shaped womanly body, with soft curves and gently shaped breasts, but... lust? No.
Harry hated, absolutely hated to admit it, but he had started to doubt his own sexuality. He had started to look at the other students in another way. He had stared at the girls, almost desperately, to see if he could feel some kind of attraction at the sight of them, but it never occurred. He had even tried with Hermione, but the thought somewhat disgusted him, so he stopped.
Then he had started to send the males discrete looks, just to see if maybe he preferred men, no matter how disturbing the thought was. Harry knew that if he was indeed gay, there was nothing he could do about it, and he would just end up hurting himself by denying it. With a slight blush he had glanced at the attractive Dean Thomas, the oh-so perfect Cedric Diggory, and even Draco Malfoy, who was undeniably handsome, despite his cruel manners. Harry couldn't really feel any difference from what he had felt as he looked at the girls. But... deep inside he knew. He had enjoyed watching the boys more.
And even though the thought of perhaps being a homosexual both disgusted him and excited him, he still felt no real attraction towards any of the boys. Harry remembered with a shudder the images that popped into his mind now and then. The feeling he got whenever those images showed up. Was that real attraction?
Harry quickly dismissed the thought as ridiculous, and refused to ponder over it any more. Would Harry Potter, ‘the boy who lived’, be attracted to Voldemort? Ha! How laughable.
"Is that so?" Harry said, obviously not looking as happy about it as Hermione would have thought. She gave him a stern look.
"Harry, is something the matter?"
Harry mentally sighed. Here we go again.
Hermione was in her mother-mood again, and now she wouldn't give it up until Harry confessed that something was wrong, and then she wouldn't stop asking him about it until he told her exactly what was wrong and what she might do to help. Not that anything Harry said would make a difference; Hermione seemed to think that everything could be solved by Dumbledore. As if every problem Harry had was like a really bad headache, and Dumbledore was the aspirin.
Harry could feel his chest tighten with anger at the mere thought of his headmaster. Dumbledore hadn't given him so much as a look since the day that Dumbledore came to help him at the Ministry. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, Harry would've been expelled. Although Harry was grateful, his thankfulness was shadowed by heavy feelings of anger, that were fighting all the harder to get out. One time, Harry had even wanted to hurt Dumbledore, to hit him, curse the old man and his silly name, and spit on him. Such feelings were still lingering in his chest, but Harry refused to acknowledge them.
"No, I'm fine," Harry said, adding a slight smile. "I'm just a bit tired. Listen, Hermione, you're a girl, right?"
Hermione frowned.
"Oh, so you've noticed?" She said sarcastically.
Harry smiled and patted her shoulder.
"Look, since you're girl and everyone knows that you're one of my best friends, could you spread a little rumor for me?"
Hermione stared at Harry.
"What? What are you talking about?"
Harry sighed and leaned his back on the wall.
"Could you make sure that Cho finds out that I'm not interested? Do it in a gentle way though, but make sure she knows."
"But Harry, don't you like her?"
Harry was becoming frustrated. If Harry asked Hermione to make Cho understand that he didn't like her, why did Hermione still seem to believe that he held some kind of emotion towards the Ravenclaw girl? He turned his face away and stared out the window, his gaze falling on some of the trees on the school yard. They were slowly turning yellow and orange.
"No. I don't," he said quietly. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.
"Harry, don't try and fool me. I know you. I know that you like her." She sounded ridiculously serious, as if she thought that Harry was depressed and gave up on the love of his life. Harry sighed with anger.
"No, Hermione, I don't. You hear me? I don't like Cho Chang any more."
Hermione tsk-ed and gazed at Harry with a look that somewhat disgusted Harry. She looked as if she thought that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Oh yes, Hermione knew everything that went on inside Harry's head, and Harry himself wasn't quite smart enough to deal with it himself. That's what the brown-haired girl was thinking.
"Yes you do-"
"No, I don't!" He sneered and shrugged her hand off of his shoulder, where it left a stinging sensation, as if her mere presence annoyed him. Hermione looked hurt, and almost frightened. Harry couldn't care less. Why did Hermione always have to believe that she knew what was best for him? True, she was older than him, but that didn't mean that she had the right to decide what he was thinking and feeling. That was solemnly Harry's job. He glared at his best friend.
"I. Don't. Like. Cho. Chang."
He walked past Hermione, making sure to brush harshly against her shoulder as he walked, he took two steps and-
... Gentle, yet harsh hands massaging him, making him gasp and thrash his head in desperation for release. Groans and almost pathetic whimpers escaped his mouth as the hands bring him all the closer to completion. A hot hand caressing his lower back, making him shudder and thrust his hips, urging the hand to touch him more... "More, more!"
Harry gasped as he was finally thrown back into reality. His face was sweaty and flustered and his body was shivering with anticipation. Harry stared at his feet as he remembered the image with disgusted longing. The image had been long. Longer than any other image that Harry had seen so far, and it had been so real. Harry could remember every movement, every slip of that hand around his member, pumping him all the closer to-
"Harry?"
Harry gasped and spun around, facing Hermione, who still looked a bit hurt, but also worried.
"Are you alright, you look as if you're about to faint."
Harry swallowed hard and averted his gaze. The blood rushed in his vein, and his body got hotter with each passing second.
"I-I'm fine. I think I'll go to bed now."
Hermione cast a glance at her watch.
"But it's only seven!"
Harry started to walk, trying his very best to ignore the small tingles of insane pleasure that spread over his skin as the image played in his mind over and over again. He gave a small wave.
"I haven't slept in days, Hermione. I'm really tired."
Hermione didn't answer, and Harry supposed she believed him. No doubt Ron had told her about his difficulties with sleeping lately, and if Harry felt tired that was just to be expected. Although, he didn't feel tired.
Fatigue wasn't the real reason he wanted to be alone. Harry rushed to the Gryffindor tower, gasped the password to the fat lady and ran into the common room. A few students were there, giving him odd looks as he rushed past them without saying hello. He sighed with relief as he found the dorm empty of people and remembered that Ron had said something about helping Neville with some kind of experiment tonight.
Harry threw himself onto his bed, pulled the curtains, yelled a locking spell and a silencing charm, and with growl of arousal he unbuttoned his pants and shoved his hand inside.
"Oh god!" Harry gasped, curled his fist and gave his quivering member a hard stroke. Harry moaned and kneeled on the bed, spreading his thighs wider. He managed to take his shirt off with one hand and enjoyed the sensation of cool air against hot skin. His head was humming with insane pleasure as his hand started to stroke faster. He took his glasses off and threw them onto the mattress, then he brought one hand to his chest and pinched his nipple. Imagining it was... someone else touching him.
"What did I tell you boy?" A hoarse voice chuckled inside Harry's head and the boy gasped with shock. His hand froze, still gripping his dripping penis firmly. He stared at the red curtain that surrounded his bed. No one was around. Harry breathed heavily and swallowed. His skin prickled.
"Who are you?" He asked shakily, trying to hide the obvious arousal in his husky voice, even though he knew it was futile. The person who spoke to him knew exactly what he was doing. Probably even what he was thinking. The voice chuckled again, making Harry shudder with frightened pleasure. His hand slowly started to move again, without Harry's permission.
"You know who I am, boy."
Harry shut his eyes and lowered his head. He knew who it was. He had known all along, but still he didn't want to believe it! With a sudden gasp of pleasure he allowed new waves of arousal to rush through his body and he finally gave up. It was useless. He couldn't stop himself. Even though he would try to deny the thought, the dark was indeed beautiful.
"A-are you watching this?" Harry asked and suppressed a shudder as his thumb grazed over the slit. The voice only gave a small chuckle.
Harry couldn't help but to smirk. The person was watching. Harry took an even firmer grip on his member and started to pump it furiously, not caring to stifle his lustful moans as they spilled over his lips.
The knowledge that someone was watching him... someone dark... someone that certainly wasn't supposed to make Harry feel like that... it aroused Harry more than he would ever admit! The person who was watching him touch himself was presumably the person who had sent him the erotic images. Harry was quite certain that someone sent them to him. They weren't Harry's own imagination. Someone gave them to him, and he accepted them.
Pre-cum started to dribble over Harry's hand as he gave a growl of wanting. His hand on his member wasn't quite enough. He wanted more. He wanted to feel the person's hands on his body as he climaxed, and Harry would scream the person's name over and over again. Harry let images slip into his mind, red eyes... strong hands...
With a gasp, Harry let himself go and watched with dazed fascination as a thick rope of cum spurted from his penis. He twitched and jerked as the orgasm shook his body, making Harry's eyes almost roll into the back of his head from the pleasure of it all. His hand kept on pumping, milking himself to the last drop.
When it was finally over, Harry fell back on his bed, panting and gasping for air. Sparks of sexual pleasure lingered in his nerves, making Harry want more of that insanely good feeling, but he was too tired. His eyes started to slip closed.
"Don't fight the urges, Harry... You see those images because you want to. Deep inside you know you want to. You know, Harry, that we belong."
Harry stared up into the roof, heavily panting, and listened to the words. They belonged? He had heard those words before... in that dream. Harry didn't want them to be true, but no matter how much he didn't want them to be true, he had a feeling they might be any way. The thought clenched his heart, made him feel cold, and he shuddered.
He glanced towards his groin and did a cleaning spell to get rid of the sticky mess and undressed completely before allowing himself to fall into a semi-sleep. Smiling sadly as he finally admitted to himself that... he enjoyed it. He let his hand graze his chest before he finally fell asleep.
In the darkness, red eyes gleamed as they gazed at the sweaty boy, falling asleep in his bed. They watched with intensity, almost passion, as the boy closed his tired eyes. The man smirked.
"You'll see Harry. Soon. You'll see."
tbc.
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End of chapter two. D'you like it? Please review and tell me.
Next chapter; Harry starts to realize that he's not as 'good' as they all want to believe. And maybe he doesn't even want to be. The feeling of becoming darker with each passing day is starting to set in, and Harry enjoys it more than he likes to admit. His friends are starting to realize that something's changed. And so is a certain Severus Snape.
I do own the plot of this fic and any character that may become involved that is not in the original books written by J.K. Rowling.
Warnings; Yaoi, Dark Harry, random evilness. I tend to make the characters slightly ooc sometimes.
Here's chapter two.
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He hadn't been able to sleep for days. The cause of this insomnia wes the damn images. Disturbing images involving a certain Dark Lord, and they kept popping into his mind whenever he tried to get some kind of rest! It was annoying to say the least. Harry was starting to fall asleep during classes and even Quidditch training!
If Harry had to be completely honest with himself, it wasn't the images themselves that irked him. The images were actually quite enjoyable... in a twisted, kinda sick way!
The thing that bothered him about them was the fact that they just popped up. Harry couldn't control it at all. They came into his mind whenever they felt like it, it seemed. It could happen when he was talking to Ron or Hermione, taking a shower, or trying to pay attention to Snape's lessons that just seemed to bore him more and more.
He had no control what so ever, almost as if...
Harry played with the dark thought against his own will. He loathed himself for not being able to stop thinking about it, and he loathed himself even more for actually feeling excited about the crazy thought!
Because what if... what if it was Voldemort who was somehow sending him these images, these fantasies? Harry bit his lip in a sickening enjoyment as small sparks of pleasure slowly crawled up his spine. He felt just as tainted as ever, being marked on the forehead by the Dark Lord, but this was the first time in his life that he felt like he actually wanted, almost yearned, to be more than just 'marked'. He wanted to be more than that.
...Hot limbs grinding furiously against each other, wet skin sliding easily against wet skin. Darkness surrounding them... Moaning, panting... Desperate cries for more!...
NO!
Harry gripped his hair in frustration as another perverted, still oh-so pleasurable image came to his mind, entrancing him for two seconds before he snapped back to reality and blushed heavily.
The images were always short and he had difficulty remembering them afterwards; something that both annoyed him and brought him relief. But his body would always tremble a little afterwards and he could feel small, barely noticeable signs of arousal pump through his veins. He refused to believe it though, and kept fighting the images as hard as he could. But it was getting tiresome to try and keep something like that out of his mind, since he didn't even know when they were to show up. And on top of that, even if he did know when they were going to show up, he had no idea how to keep them away.
Harry sighed and entered the large library, enjoying the rare loneliness and almost cheering with joy as he realized that Hermione wasn't there for once. She would without a doubt have seen that there was something wrong with him and immediately tried to make it all right. Hermione was acting more and more like a mother with each passing day. Harry was quickly becoming sick and tired of it. He didn't need a mother. He had survived all his life without a mother. He certainly didn't need a fifteen year-old wannabe-mama to 'take care' of him.
Harry sighed again, this time with guilt. He felt horrible for thinking such harsh thoughts about Hermione, who after all only wanted what was best for him. The only problem was that she thought that she knew what was best for Harry. Not Harry himself. That was the part that annoyed him.
And Ron was... Ron. He probably hadn’t the slightest idea that something had happened to Harry, more than the fact that Harry couldn't sleep. And the redhead would, in spite of Hermione, just smile a goofy smile, patting Harry's shoulder and giving the good old, "Don't worry, mate."
Harry snorted and picked a book from one of the old shelves. Even Ron bored him these days. He frowned. Maybe he was just being spoiled? Humans are not supposed to have 'fun' all the time, so why did Harry seem to think that it was his friends' fault that he felt unhappy? Did he really think that he stood above everyone else, that he was supposed to have fun twenty four-seven, except for when he was fighting Voldemort?
In some ways, he did deserve to 'have fun'. He had already saved the wizard world several times, risking his own life and going through hell more than once, not to mention spending ten awful years with the despicable muggle family, the Dursley's. Harry mentally sneered at the mere thought of his fat uncle Vernon, with his disgusting mustache, his even fatter cousin Dudley who always seemed to reek of sweat, and his skinny aunt Petunia, who somehow managed to look like a crazy ostrich when she was peeking at her neighbors. Yes... they disgusted him.
Harry started to read the book, and realized what he had picked. He hadn't really paid much attention to what he chose to read, he just wanted peace and quiet. But as Harry saw the book in his hands, he couldn't help but to give a small, barely noticeable smirk.
'Vampires, demons and other creatures of the dark.'
No doubt it was used in the lessons of Defense Against Dark Arts, but it still caused a wicked leer to spread over Harry's features before he could stop himself. When he realized he was smiling, and that a strange feeling of wanting to know more about the book's contents was lurking in his chest, he firmly shut the book and put it on the table. He stared at it with an expression resembling fear across his face. Why did the darkness seem to entrance him, to fascinate him? Harry realized that that's what it was; fascination. In a very wrong way!
Not in an I-want-to-know-how-to-defeat-the-darkness-way, but more in an I-want-to-learn-this-stuff-way.
Harry buried his face in his hands as he put his elbows on the table. He groaned, waited for a few seconds then peeked at the book through his fingers. The book smirked at him, daring him to read it. It was a thick book. Probably used by seventh year students.
Harry sighed in defeat and quickly convinced himself that it was solemnly because he wanted to become an auror, and re-opened the book. He immediately started to read with some kind of hunger for something that he had missed his entire life, but someone had kept it away from him. The pictures were moving, sending shudders down Harry's spine as he met a dark-haired vampire's deep gaze. The vampire had a pale, yet handsome face. Small shadows decorated the undersides of those eyes, and a cold, calm smirk adorned his lips, giving the immortal man a grim look. Black strands were hanging down from his tied hair in an almost elegant way. Harry swallowed and licked his lips. The picture entranced him. In his eyes, the vampire was... beautiful.
Harry sent a quick look to the small text beneath the picture and let out a small gasp of surprise.
Vlad Nathanius Dragulia, son of the feared Vlad Dragulia who is also known as Dracula. 1738 - ?
Harry's heart was beating hard in his chest as he stared at the words. Excitement, mixed with disgust, and shock stirred within the black-haired boy. The son of Dracula? Dracula had a son? And what did "1738 - ?" mean? Maybe... maybe the vampire was still alive out there! Harry felt a sudden urge to laugh with pure joy, but he suddenly realized with a pang of shock what he was doing.
He was enjoying the thought of something as evil as the son of Dracula being alive. He enjoyed the thought.
Harry swallowed, forcing his nauseous feeling down his throat and shut the book with a loud 'thump'. He pushed the book away and rose from his chair, then he exited the library as soon as he could, his heart still hammering in his chest from fear, shock, and a pleasurable feeling of excitement. Harry stopped in front of a window and stared at his dim reflection. He looked just like he always did; black hair, covering most of his head, green, intense eyes and pale skin. Although his eyes seemed a little bit darker than usual. Must be the lack of light.
"Harry!"
Harry flinched and quickly forced a stiff smile onto his lips at the sound of Hermione echoing through the corridor. The brown-haired girl rushed towards him with an excited look on her face. As she reached Harry who had merely waited for her, not meeting her, the look quickly turned into a frown.
"Where have you been? I've been looking all over for you!" She exclaimed and shook her head while panting for air. Harry sighed and waited for his friend to catch her breath. She soon did and started to smile. "Harry, you'll never believe what I just heard!"
‘Hm? Acting like a normal teenage girl, now are we, Hermione? How interesting...’ Harry silently mocked his friend and smiled, urging the girl to keep talking. Hermione grabbed his arm and yanked him towards her so that she could whisper in his ear.
"Cho Chang likes you!"
Wow... what an anti-climax, Harry pondered and frowned. Cho Chang? The girl he... liked? She had been the girlfriend of Cedric Diggory, who was now dead. Cho Chang was indeed a very pretty girl. Her Asian features, mixed with a typical Irish accent made the girl seem extremely cute. During Harry's fourth year, her smiles had made a few butterflies fly around in his stomach, because a girl like Cho wasn't a common sight, and she used to give him small glances, even though she was Cedric's girlfriend. Yes... Harry liked Cho, but not nearly as much as he should to make her his girlfriend. That sort of relationship required trust, something that was at least resembling love, and lust.
Harry didn't trust Cho. She had been flirting with Harry even though she was Cedric's girlfriend! How could Harry be sure that she wouldn't flirt with someone else if they got together? Cho was always hanging with those silly, giggling girls from Ravenclaw, probably gossiping and whispering about things they shouldn’t. No, Harry didn't trust Cho at all.
Love? Harry snorted. He didn't believe in Love at first sight. Love was something that was developed from something else; hatred, liking, friendship. It took time, and Harry barely knew Cho at all. He didn't love her, he barely even liked her as a friend. She was probably a very nice girl, but Harry didn't know her.
Lust, pure attraction. Cho was very pretty. Not too thin, not too chubby. A perfectly shaped womanly body, with soft curves and gently shaped breasts, but... lust? No.
Harry hated, absolutely hated to admit it, but he had started to doubt his own sexuality. He had started to look at the other students in another way. He had stared at the girls, almost desperately, to see if he could feel some kind of attraction at the sight of them, but it never occurred. He had even tried with Hermione, but the thought somewhat disgusted him, so he stopped.
Then he had started to send the males discrete looks, just to see if maybe he preferred men, no matter how disturbing the thought was. Harry knew that if he was indeed gay, there was nothing he could do about it, and he would just end up hurting himself by denying it. With a slight blush he had glanced at the attractive Dean Thomas, the oh-so perfect Cedric Diggory, and even Draco Malfoy, who was undeniably handsome, despite his cruel manners. Harry couldn't really feel any difference from what he had felt as he looked at the girls. But... deep inside he knew. He had enjoyed watching the boys more.
And even though the thought of perhaps being a homosexual both disgusted him and excited him, he still felt no real attraction towards any of the boys. Harry remembered with a shudder the images that popped into his mind now and then. The feeling he got whenever those images showed up. Was that real attraction?
Harry quickly dismissed the thought as ridiculous, and refused to ponder over it any more. Would Harry Potter, ‘the boy who lived’, be attracted to Voldemort? Ha! How laughable.
"Is that so?" Harry said, obviously not looking as happy about it as Hermione would have thought. She gave him a stern look.
"Harry, is something the matter?"
Harry mentally sighed. Here we go again.
Hermione was in her mother-mood again, and now she wouldn't give it up until Harry confessed that something was wrong, and then she wouldn't stop asking him about it until he told her exactly what was wrong and what she might do to help. Not that anything Harry said would make a difference; Hermione seemed to think that everything could be solved by Dumbledore. As if every problem Harry had was like a really bad headache, and Dumbledore was the aspirin.
Harry could feel his chest tighten with anger at the mere thought of his headmaster. Dumbledore hadn't given him so much as a look since the day that Dumbledore came to help him at the Ministry. If it hadn't been for Dumbledore, Harry would've been expelled. Although Harry was grateful, his thankfulness was shadowed by heavy feelings of anger, that were fighting all the harder to get out. One time, Harry had even wanted to hurt Dumbledore, to hit him, curse the old man and his silly name, and spit on him. Such feelings were still lingering in his chest, but Harry refused to acknowledge them.
"No, I'm fine," Harry said, adding a slight smile. "I'm just a bit tired. Listen, Hermione, you're a girl, right?"
Hermione frowned.
"Oh, so you've noticed?" She said sarcastically.
Harry smiled and patted her shoulder.
"Look, since you're girl and everyone knows that you're one of my best friends, could you spread a little rumor for me?"
Hermione stared at Harry.
"What? What are you talking about?"
Harry sighed and leaned his back on the wall.
"Could you make sure that Cho finds out that I'm not interested? Do it in a gentle way though, but make sure she knows."
"But Harry, don't you like her?"
Harry was becoming frustrated. If Harry asked Hermione to make Cho understand that he didn't like her, why did Hermione still seem to believe that he held some kind of emotion towards the Ravenclaw girl? He turned his face away and stared out the window, his gaze falling on some of the trees on the school yard. They were slowly turning yellow and orange.
"No. I don't," he said quietly. Hermione put her hand on his shoulder.
"Harry, don't try and fool me. I know you. I know that you like her." She sounded ridiculously serious, as if she thought that Harry was depressed and gave up on the love of his life. Harry sighed with anger.
"No, Hermione, I don't. You hear me? I don't like Cho Chang any more."
Hermione tsk-ed and gazed at Harry with a look that somewhat disgusted Harry. She looked as if she thought that she knew exactly what he was thinking. Oh yes, Hermione knew everything that went on inside Harry's head, and Harry himself wasn't quite smart enough to deal with it himself. That's what the brown-haired girl was thinking.
"Yes you do-"
"No, I don't!" He sneered and shrugged her hand off of his shoulder, where it left a stinging sensation, as if her mere presence annoyed him. Hermione looked hurt, and almost frightened. Harry couldn't care less. Why did Hermione always have to believe that she knew what was best for him? True, she was older than him, but that didn't mean that she had the right to decide what he was thinking and feeling. That was solemnly Harry's job. He glared at his best friend.
"I. Don't. Like. Cho. Chang."
He walked past Hermione, making sure to brush harshly against her shoulder as he walked, he took two steps and-
... Gentle, yet harsh hands massaging him, making him gasp and thrash his head in desperation for release. Groans and almost pathetic whimpers escaped his mouth as the hands bring him all the closer to completion. A hot hand caressing his lower back, making him shudder and thrust his hips, urging the hand to touch him more... "More, more!"
Harry gasped as he was finally thrown back into reality. His face was sweaty and flustered and his body was shivering with anticipation. Harry stared at his feet as he remembered the image with disgusted longing. The image had been long. Longer than any other image that Harry had seen so far, and it had been so real. Harry could remember every movement, every slip of that hand around his member, pumping him all the closer to-
"Harry?"
Harry gasped and spun around, facing Hermione, who still looked a bit hurt, but also worried.
"Are you alright, you look as if you're about to faint."
Harry swallowed hard and averted his gaze. The blood rushed in his vein, and his body got hotter with each passing second.
"I-I'm fine. I think I'll go to bed now."
Hermione cast a glance at her watch.
"But it's only seven!"
Harry started to walk, trying his very best to ignore the small tingles of insane pleasure that spread over his skin as the image played in his mind over and over again. He gave a small wave.
"I haven't slept in days, Hermione. I'm really tired."
Hermione didn't answer, and Harry supposed she believed him. No doubt Ron had told her about his difficulties with sleeping lately, and if Harry felt tired that was just to be expected. Although, he didn't feel tired.
Fatigue wasn't the real reason he wanted to be alone. Harry rushed to the Gryffindor tower, gasped the password to the fat lady and ran into the common room. A few students were there, giving him odd looks as he rushed past them without saying hello. He sighed with relief as he found the dorm empty of people and remembered that Ron had said something about helping Neville with some kind of experiment tonight.
Harry threw himself onto his bed, pulled the curtains, yelled a locking spell and a silencing charm, and with growl of arousal he unbuttoned his pants and shoved his hand inside.
"Oh god!" Harry gasped, curled his fist and gave his quivering member a hard stroke. Harry moaned and kneeled on the bed, spreading his thighs wider. He managed to take his shirt off with one hand and enjoyed the sensation of cool air against hot skin. His head was humming with insane pleasure as his hand started to stroke faster. He took his glasses off and threw them onto the mattress, then he brought one hand to his chest and pinched his nipple. Imagining it was... someone else touching him.
"What did I tell you boy?" A hoarse voice chuckled inside Harry's head and the boy gasped with shock. His hand froze, still gripping his dripping penis firmly. He stared at the red curtain that surrounded his bed. No one was around. Harry breathed heavily and swallowed. His skin prickled.
"Who are you?" He asked shakily, trying to hide the obvious arousal in his husky voice, even though he knew it was futile. The person who spoke to him knew exactly what he was doing. Probably even what he was thinking. The voice chuckled again, making Harry shudder with frightened pleasure. His hand slowly started to move again, without Harry's permission.
"You know who I am, boy."
Harry shut his eyes and lowered his head. He knew who it was. He had known all along, but still he didn't want to believe it! With a sudden gasp of pleasure he allowed new waves of arousal to rush through his body and he finally gave up. It was useless. He couldn't stop himself. Even though he would try to deny the thought, the dark was indeed beautiful.
"A-are you watching this?" Harry asked and suppressed a shudder as his thumb grazed over the slit. The voice only gave a small chuckle.
Harry couldn't help but to smirk. The person was watching. Harry took an even firmer grip on his member and started to pump it furiously, not caring to stifle his lustful moans as they spilled over his lips.
The knowledge that someone was watching him... someone dark... someone that certainly wasn't supposed to make Harry feel like that... it aroused Harry more than he would ever admit! The person who was watching him touch himself was presumably the person who had sent him the erotic images. Harry was quite certain that someone sent them to him. They weren't Harry's own imagination. Someone gave them to him, and he accepted them.
Pre-cum started to dribble over Harry's hand as he gave a growl of wanting. His hand on his member wasn't quite enough. He wanted more. He wanted to feel the person's hands on his body as he climaxed, and Harry would scream the person's name over and over again. Harry let images slip into his mind, red eyes... strong hands...
With a gasp, Harry let himself go and watched with dazed fascination as a thick rope of cum spurted from his penis. He twitched and jerked as the orgasm shook his body, making Harry's eyes almost roll into the back of his head from the pleasure of it all. His hand kept on pumping, milking himself to the last drop.
When it was finally over, Harry fell back on his bed, panting and gasping for air. Sparks of sexual pleasure lingered in his nerves, making Harry want more of that insanely good feeling, but he was too tired. His eyes started to slip closed.
"Don't fight the urges, Harry... You see those images because you want to. Deep inside you know you want to. You know, Harry, that we belong."
Harry stared up into the roof, heavily panting, and listened to the words. They belonged? He had heard those words before... in that dream. Harry didn't want them to be true, but no matter how much he didn't want them to be true, he had a feeling they might be any way. The thought clenched his heart, made him feel cold, and he shuddered.
He glanced towards his groin and did a cleaning spell to get rid of the sticky mess and undressed completely before allowing himself to fall into a semi-sleep. Smiling sadly as he finally admitted to himself that... he enjoyed it. He let his hand graze his chest before he finally fell asleep.
In the darkness, red eyes gleamed as they gazed at the sweaty boy, falling asleep in his bed. They watched with intensity, almost passion, as the boy closed his tired eyes. The man smirked.
"You'll see Harry. Soon. You'll see."
tbc.
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End of chapter two. D'you like it? Please review and tell me.
Next chapter; Harry starts to realize that he's not as 'good' as they all want to believe. And maybe he doesn't even want to be. The feeling of becoming darker with each passing day is starting to set in, and Harry enjoys it more than he likes to admit. His friends are starting to realize that something's changed. And so is a certain Severus Snape.