For those new to ARC/Reviewing, let me give you a few simple guidelines because, hey, we all have different opinions on what shit means.

Star System
5 stars=Loved it!
4 stars=Liked it!
3 stars=Meh, it was alright.
2 stars=I didn't like most of it but a few things kept me reading.
1 star=Hated it.

*Be honest. Legit, if I've fucked up and you hate my book, I need to know so I can improve as a writer.

*You are not required to write a long ass review. Just do what makes you comfortable .

*Amazon will not allow reviews in exchange for free books anymore. They will allow free books to be given and a reader to voluntarily choose to review--In case you guys didn't realize, you are not obligated to do anything. I know it and that's why I'm so appreciative that you're here to begin with. It's important you know it too. If you're having trouble with the right wording for this statement, I pulled this off a website which should be acceptable.
"I received a free copy of this book and voluntarily chose to review it."

*I'm pretty focused on Amazon at the moment because of visibility, but if you're all hooked up with Goodreads or Smashwords, by all means. Oh, if you're in another country and reviewing, you can either review on the US site or the one you're connected to--I'm not a 100% sure how it works. I'm sure it'll be good, whatever you do. <3 I'm going to do a series of links at the bottom and it's up to you where you actually want to post the review.

Thank you!

~Sadie Sins

ARC Downloads



Aunt Jenny didn’t linger long and as Teddy watched her, he knew she was trying to leave before Granny Emma could change her mind. He thought briefly that he might miss living with his aunt, but the feeling faded quickly.

Aunt Jenny had three older sons and they had teased him mercilessly during the time he lived with them. They had taken great pleasure in how people would mistake Teddy for a young girl with his thick black curls, wide blue eyes, and full red mouth, his short stature and thin body doing nothing to dispute the image. The three went out of their way to torment him about it. They had even gone so far as to force him into a dress they found in the trash, hiding his own meager clothes away so that had to wear if for over a week. Although he didn’t know how life with Granny Emma would be, he promised he would work hard so he never had to go back to such cruelty if he could help it.

He was cleaning out the room Granny Emma had given him to sleep in when the woman called him from downstairs. His room was one of the upstairs bedrooms overrode with piles of clothes and old dusty knickknacks and memories that he knew would take at least another day to sort before he could call it a proper bedroom. But the bed was big and the mattress barely sagged, and he had a big window that looked out into the backyard and the gardens below. Most important, he didn’t have to share it with anyone.

Grinning, he placed his new picture of the blond boy he had grabbed from the study onto his new dresser. Granny Emma wouldn't be able to make it up the stairs to see what he had done. He wanted a friend—a proper one—and Teddy was certain this boy would be it.

He hurried down the stairs to greet the old woman, quickly steadying and carrying the thick magazine Granny Emma had been trying to carry with her cane in hand.

“Your aunt mentioned that you haven’t been to the dentist yet. I made an appointment with Dr. Wilson for you at two, so get washed up. I left you some clean clothes.”

Teddy did as he was told, running to the washroom to see what kind of clothes he would get to call his own. He was relieved to see they were summer clothes; his own oversized jeans cut short and sweater with the arms cut off were so hot in the warm weather. The new clothes also looked like they would fit. He had been hoping for underwear, but Granny Emma mustn’t have had any left over. He quickly disrobed and grabbed a washcloth and bar of soap, the old pipes clanging as he turned the water on and filled the sink.

Not having bathed in a while and covered with dust from his recent work cleaning upstairs, he took special care in removing the dirt and grime from his body. He shivered as the rough cloth ran across his skin, his stomach clenching and thighs tensing from the sensation, the cool water causing the pink buds on his chest to harden involuntarily. He shivered again, trying to press them down how they belonged.

He hated how sensitive they were, one of the things that Aunt Jenny’s sons had teased him about when they all laid down to sleep in the small, hot bedroom the boys' shared. He had tried to keep them normal but anything and everything seemed to set them off from the brushing of fabric to the painful twists the brothers had ritually inflicted on his nubs.

Deciding it was a lost cause for the moment, he floated the washcloth in the sink and ran it across the bar of soap, tiny bubbles foaming and popping in his ears as he started to clean the backs of his legs and thighs. The cloth caught between his legs and he made a soft whine, his skin far too sensitive for the rough material and harsh soap. He rarely washed for this reason but he suffered through, not wanting to give Granny Emma a reason to be upset with him. He found his delicate nether regions ached from the simple contact but he dutifully washed as best he could, knowing from other caretakers that being clean ‘down there’ was most important of all.

He took a moment to dry, refusing to let another towel touch him so soon, and tried to calm his strained breathing. Washing had gotten worse, although Teddy didn’t know what the cause could be except maybe it had to do with the way his sack plumped and rod twitched and grew as badly timed as his nipples had always been. The other boys always talked so crudely of their own bodies, Teddy had tried to block it all out. He was so much smaller and hairless compared to them and a constant joke to their stronger, masculine forms.

Recently the eldest brother, Fred, had taken to rubbing against Teddy while they all slept on the saggy mattress, grinding his hard length between his slender thighs while Teddy had pretended to sleep. Fred had twisted his nipples painfully each time to make sure he was awake, make sure he couldn't ignore him while the older boy grunted in his ear and moved against him. It had made Teddy dizzy, his own dick stiffening even though Fred had laughed in his ear whenever he noticed and called him a girl for it.

A glance at the clock on the wall got Teddy moving again and he carefully patted dry any remaining wet spots before picking up his new shorts. They had been worn by someone but the fraying on the bottom from being sat in over an amount of time was far better than holes and stains and weird smells that a lot of his old clothing had gathered before finding a home with him. He stepped into them, the material catching on his damp thighs. They were tight but he managed to get the fly zipped around his flat hips.

Made for a younger boy, they barely covered the tops of his thighs and if he had been self-conscious, he would have looked back to find that they rode up high in the back, revealing the beginning flush of his smooth ass bare from underwear. He found the blue shirt better fitting, just a simple t-shirt that fell right at the waist of his new shorts. Unless he was walking and then it rode a little higher, cooling his stomach.

He put his old but lightly worn sneakers back on, his only possession from Aunt Jenny worth keeping in his mind. Halfway out the bathroom door, he had to tug the thin shorts in place, finding them riding up and clinging uncomfortably to his crotch and deep into his crack the moment he started walking. They only continued to ride up as he stepped into the hall in search of Granny Emma and Teddy resigned himself to the annoying sensation, hoping he wouldn’t chafe by the time the day was through.

Granny Emma was waiting for him with a slip of paper. “This is the address for the dentist and directions on how to get there. It’s not a far walk, but too much for me to do and I can’t drive well with my vision the way it is. Don’t dawdle; Dr. Wilson is a busy man.”

Teddy shuffled his feet, trepidation growing in his stomach as he remembered what the brothers had told him when they had all gone to the dentist without him. “Granny, a dentist is someone who pulls out teeth, right? I think I’d rather keep my teeth if that’s all right with you.”

“Nonsense, boy,” Granny Emma snorted, slowly turning towards the living room. “Two o’clock. And don’t you be giving Dr. Wilson any guff. I’ll be right next to the phone just in case he calls,” she warned sternly. “Hurry along now.”

CHAPTER NINE: The Visiting Cousin

Mason Pennyworth was thirty-eight, six feet tall, and not a particularly strong man. His dark hair was immaculate, cut short and kept tight to his head, not a hair out of place. His eyes, sharp and grey, had a haze to them that spoke of an abuse of elixirs that were used to enhance magical abilities. Mason was not a very strong magic user, but he was an amazing potion brewer, and he was always happy to visit his favorite teacher at the castle and thank him for the man's help in that department.

Seeing as it was a Hogsmeade weekend, there weren't many students there to notice when Mason came visiting, nor was Professor Snape, the Potions Master out for the day. Mason was not deterred, duffel bag in hand as he wandered through the castle halls, checking his small mirror. He had a very nifty trick for finding his cousin when the boy went into hiding in his large manor, and even in the castle it wasn't difficult to find the unsuspecting Neville, the boy fresh from a late breakfast, face downcast to be left behind when all his classmates had been allowed to go out and adventure.

Mouth splitting into a wicked grin when he caught sight of his beautiful cousin, Mason renewed his grip on his bag. He'd be sure to make sure Neville had other things to think about that day.


Neville had wanted to talk to Blaise, hoping to find a way to just, well, communicate that he wasn't as unreceptive as the boy might think. Except, he was also a total mess about a lot of things, especially things he liked, and Neville was starting to suspect he might actually really like Blaise Zabini. A lot. Like, maybe almost as much as he liked Harry. And really, it had been hard enough talking to Harry, and he probably wouldn't have done that if not for the fact that Harry had smelled like absolute sex, and his coyote had gone crazy and just fucked the boy senseless.

Neville was afraid he might actually be the type to be crazy, not just go crazy, and he didn't know how to talk to someone like Blaise and not have that be a problem. Cus, when you liked someone, that was kind of important, right? Like, you couldn't just, you know, be with someone. Zabini would figure it out pretty damn quick that there was something wrong with him—Probably had already, and then that would ruin things really fast.

God, why couldn't he just stop thinking about it? Why couldn't he just stop caring that the boy always looked angrily at him, but not in a bully way but in a love-scorned way? He was pretty sure that was what had happened, the more Neville thought about it. He didn't know why Zabini might like him, but he had at one point and Neville had done something very wrong—of what he wasn't certain—and now the boy was just upset.

He hated this. All these feelings. Feeling was so damn difficulty, so aching and annoying and agitating. God, why did he have to feel? It was like pins and needles but in his heart, making him antsy and crazy. It was the only reason Neville was still even thinking of trying to talk to Zabini. Because he couldn't handle the feeling, and if he talked to the Slytherin, maybe the feeling would finally fucking stop. He needed it to stop.

“Hey, snookums.”

Neville's step faltered, his heart slamming in his chest like a brick. He'd been walking down the Slytherin corridors straight from breakfast, hoping he might catch sight of Zabini before the boy went off to Hogsmeade. The voice behind him was not Blaise's, wasn't anyone that belonged there. “M-Mason?” Neville whispered, not turning, his eyes squeezed shut as he stood stock still in the hallway.

“Pretty baby. Look at you, so silly in these clothes. And your hair...” A large hand grabbed Neville ash-blond locks, pulling painfully tight as the man stepped up beside him. “Who cut your hair, ickle Nevvy? You look like some ugly boy.”

Neville's shoulders slumped, something innate inside of him going limp and lax in the painful hold. His cousin pulled his hair harder until he was on tiptoes, the man's low voice pitched in a sickening sing-song tone, as if Neville were some retarded pet that needed to be talked to slowly and sweetly.

“Did you forget, Nevvy? Did you forget it was time to take you medicine?” Mason asked, wrenching the boy's hair until Neville finally responded, the blond whimpering in pain. “I made the potion especially for you. Made it pink, even added sugar just the way you like it. Pretty girls like you like sweet things, right, baby Nevvy?”

“Go away,” Neville gasped out, finding his voice and breath at the same time, his chest heaving in fast, frantic beats. “Please, go away.”

Chuckling, Mason kept his grip on Neville's hair, leaning down until his lips were pressed to the boy's ear. “I think you missed me. Every good girl misses her boyfriend, and you, pretty baby, are a very good girl. It's visiting day, Nevvy. We have the whole day to play together.”

“N-No,” Neville whispered, ice already creeping in to his veins, his body tingling numbly in anticipation.

“No? Oh, you know what that means, snookums.” Mason stepped away, pulling Neville by his hair down the corridor, the small boy gasping as he forced his legs to keep up in the painful hold. “You know what 'no' means, Nevvy.”

Neville grabbed onto the doorframe, not even feeling it, his fingers numb as he scrabbled uselessly to keep from being pushed into the room Mason had open. Clucking, the man used the heel of his palm to smack the boy on the back, Neville stumbling forward and falling to the ground as the door slammed behind him.

Stepping over to a desk, Mason unzipped his bag, unpacking vials of potions one at a time, humming to himself as he arranged them. Neville stayed on the floor, eyes unseeing as he felt the numbness begin to settle heavier in his body. He called it, praying for the cottony feeling, the one that let him forget, let him not feel. Feeling... It had never done anything for him. Never.

A large hand grabbed his chin, a vial of sickly sweet potion pushed against his lips. “Drink, little baby. So you stay sweet and pretty. You want to be pretty, right Nevvy? All girls want to be pretty.”

Neville did not want to be pretty. He let his head be tilted back, drinking down the potion because if he didn't Mason would make sure it hurt more than it was going to already. He could feel the familiar effects, the room spinning soon after, his eyesight growing dim around the edges. Oh, he might black out this time...

It was better when he blacked out.


“Pink is such a good color on you,” Mason murmured, rubbing his face against Neville's while the boy sobbed quietly. “Makes you look so pretty...” He ran the tool over the boy's pale skin again, drawing another pained hiss and streak of tears from the gasping boy. “You look so pretty with all my marks on you.”

“H-Hurts... hurts so much...” Neville whined, trying to jerk away from each touch of the magical instrument that left lines and blotches of red flesh behind. The wig Mason had made him wear was itchy, the long strawberry colored locks of luscious curls agony as they brushed over his wounded skin.

“I know, baby. It's supposed to hurt.” With his other hand the man pinched the nipple clamp already too tight on the boy's left bud, Neville choking as he sobbed in pain. “That's it... Scream for me, Nevvy. Good girls scream. They scream really loud for it to stop, then they spread their legs nice and wide.”

“No,” Neville hissed out, his body shaking in sweat and pain as another long line of red blossomed on his torso from the tool in Mason's hand. “I'm not... a girl—Fuck!” He howled, the tip digging into his flesh, his skin singeing as Mason pressed deep in retaliation.

“Baby, don't make me angry.” He pulled the boy tighter into his lap, Neville's legs looking longer and more slender under the ruffles of the pink and white dress he was half in. “We're playing so nice. Don't make me have to punish you for being bad.”

Neville shook his head frantically, gasping around tears. “I didn't... didn't mean it...”

Mason ignored him, forcing Neville's skirt up higher, hand reaching between the boy's legs and wrapping painfully tight around his balls. “Good girls don't talk back... And they sure don't need this, do they, baby?” He squeezed tighter, Neville whimpering loudly. “Don't remind me just how easy it would be to make sure you're really a good girl. I know someone that could cut it off and put a nice hole there.” He smirked, kissing the boy's cheek. “Just think, Nevvy. One more hole could let you fit one more big dick inside. We could even get the scissors now, just to see.”

“Please... I don't...” Neville gasped, another line of pain slashing across the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. Mason was already tearing at his trousers, the zipper loud in the air as the man shifted beneath him. Neville was almost relieved to feel the man's hard dick pressing against his bare ass, knowing Mason would never risk hurting himself, all instruments and blades set aside whenever his cousin was actually fucking him. It didn't do anything for the painful clamps attached to his body and too tight rope wrapped around his dick, but when the man finally pushed into him, unstretched and unlubed because good girls didn't need any of that, things always got blessfully dark and Neville didn't have to wonder if he'd wake up missing body parts.

“Fuck, baby... Fuck, you sweet, pretty baby... Cry louder... That's it...”

Gasping, tears streaming, Neville gladly embraced the darkness when it came, giving in to the void.


“I'm telling you, I fucking saw it firsthand. Malfoy kissed Potter. On the mouth. Fucking tongue and everything.”

“Bullshit. You are so full of shit, jackass.”

“I'm serious! And Potter was totally into it. Didn't slug the git or anything.”

“They were joking—There's no way Potter is a poof. He might be a dark wizard, but not a poof.”

“What, but you totally believe Malfoy could be?”

“Pshh, yeah. The kid totally takes it up the ass. Have you seen how he dresses? His fucking hair?”

Blaise raised an eyebrow as a group of fifth years went sailing by, snickers raising up, cheeks flushed red from their long walk in the cold. He took another drag of his cigarette, wondering why the fuck Malfoy would have ever outed himself with Potter when his parents were known Death Eaters. He must have some fucking death wish.

It was just starting to get dark, the sun turning the sky a deep red around him. He had stayed behind, not really interested in going out and fucking around the town. He had secretly hoped to run into Neville, the Gryffindor banned for the weekend when Snape once again became the victim of the small blond's bumblingness. He had checked out a few spots he'd seen Neville hang around, even going so far as to try the library, but the boy hadn't been there. Annoying as fuck, seeing as Blaise never had a chance to be alone with the boy as it was, Potter always around the fucking corner and Neville quick to drool over him. Whatever. Fuck his life for even thinking of it.

He was halfway to another brooding mood that was about to spiral into a drink session in the dungeons when Blaise caught a familiar scent. He looked up, eyes narrowing into the wind, cigarette hanging limply between his limps. It smelled like the bunny, but it wasn't, just some teacher out for a stroll. Huffing, Blaise threw what was left of his smoke on the ground, crushing it beneath his heel while staring moodily at the ground. Fuck, he was being an idiot. Neville was completely caught up in Potter and he really needed to get the fuck over it already.

“Zabini, right? Shit, you people grow huge.”

Blaise stilled at the unfamiliar voice, Neville's scent again trickling on the air. Sex... It was Neville's sex scent. “You people?” He repeated slowly, eyes caught on pale fingers as the man pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and lit it with a lighter. A lighter because the wizard couldn't handle a fucking fire spell.

“What, is that not the politically correct turn of phrase these days? Fucking kids—They have you going to school with mudbloods and I'm the asshole for pointing out the fact that the one black kid in the entire castle is a fucking mountain?” Mason shrugged unconcernedly, his eyes flat as Blaise gave a low growl. “Violent too, so I hear. Better watch yourself, kid. I doubt Dumbledore will put up with a savage even if he does love his disgusting mudbloods.”

Blaise was on Mason before either of them fully realized it, the man's head cracking hard against the side of the stone wall as he was slammed back. Crushing his windpipe one handed, Blaise snarled inches from the brunette's face, his rage only growing the more he smelled Neville on the twisted man's flesh and clothes.

Fingers scrabbled uselessly at his hand, Blaise blinking in confusion as he found the man before him turning purple. What would Dumbledore do to him if he killed Mason Pennyworth? What would Azkaban do to him? Exhaling loudly, Blaise dropped the man, Mason falling to the ground in a heap while grasping at his throat for breath. On the wall was a stain of blood, black in the growing dusk.

Fuck... Fuck. Blaise turned back, his anger still boiling, body tight with rage. He pulled the man up by his shoulder, holding him upright while Mason struggled to stand. He might have a concussion. Blaise stared into the man's dazed eyes, trying to figure out if he had just broken the fucker. It didn't matter. None of it fucking mattered.

“Pennyworth, if you ever come back to this castle again, I'm going to fucking kill you,” Blaise snarled, snapping his fingers to make sure the man was paying attention. Mason gave a pained groaned, eyes still unfocused. Fuck.

There was no way the man had the power to apparate. Blaise tore at Mason's coat, searching his pockets until finding the odd item out that had to be a portkey. The other items, soaked in Neville's fear and sex scent, made Blaise's stomach turn. Growling, he threw the man to the ground, handing him the rusted tin of catfood. “Get the fuck out of here, Pennyworth. Don't ever fucking come back.”

Something must have gotten through, pained expression and all, because after a moment of gasping, inarticulate words, Mason twisted out of existence, swept away by the portkey.

Fuck. Blaise stared at where the man had been, blood pooling on the ground beneath him. Head wounds bled a lot; it didn't necessarily mean shit. And fuck, you couldn't pull a fucking memory off a corpse, so if Mason did end up dead, it would be really fucking hard to link it to him.


He spelled the blood clean, pocketing his wand after. Fingers trembling, Blaise lit up another cigarette, his mind strangely blank.

What the fuck was Mason Pennyworth doing at Hogwarts? Besides being a racist bigot. Besides reeking of Neville. Sex... He smelled like Neville's sex.

Where the fuck was Neville?

A growl rumbling through him, Blaise threw his half finished cigarette on the ground, slamming into the castle, his nostrils flaring for traces of Mason's trail. The deeper he went into the dungeons, the more his stomach twisted in anxiety. There were so many rooms down there, so many fucked up rooms that most proper people didn't know about but held so much dark shit. The bunny didn't belong down there, not in the cold, not in the dark.

Blaise stopped short, Mason's scent ending at a door, Neville's scent present on the doorframe. He tried the handle but it wouldn't open. It was one of Snape's doors, the man having warded certain rooms to keep students out at all costs. How Mason had gotten in was beyond him.

Pressing his ear up to the door, he listened, his wolf senses growing to adapt. Scent was flooding in from beneath the door, strong and definitely Neville's. He could hear breathing faintly, a wheeze that set his teeth on edge. “Longbottom?” He called, slamming his fist against the door loudly, then pressing his ear to listen. Nothing. No change, no reaction.

The boy was in there. Possibly hurt. Possibly just looking to be alone. Stepping foot to foot in indecision, Blaise eventually slammed on the door again. “Longbottom, just tell me if you're alright. I'll fuck off if you want, just fucking let me know you're not... fuck... Just say something, bunny.”

Still there was no answer, Blaise holding his breath as he listened. Fuck. God fucking damn it. There was only one man that could open the fucking door and Neville would never ever fucking talk to him again if he got him.

Whirling, growl rumbling unrestrained through the air, Blaise sought out his head of house.


Blaise had been very vague as to why he was certain there was someone trapped in one of Snape's rooms when talking to the Potions Master. The dark eyed man had seemed far more interested in the fact that it was very likely Neville Longbottom, the man's scowl seemingly ingrained on his face as he pushed himself from his quiet meal alone in his room to follow Blaise.

“Is there a particular reason you are hovering, Mr. Zabini?” Snape drawled as he pulled out his wand and began to spell the door open.

Blaise kept his mouth shut, only to find Snape had stopped, his head of house turning fully from the door to stare at him. “He's hurt,” Blaise finally grunted out. “Please, Sir, just get him out of there.”

“I should be asking who hurt him and sending you off to the Headmaster,” Snape grumbled, turning back and opening the door with a flourish. “As it is, I'll be asking Mr. Longbottom just how he got into this room in...” he trailed off, eyes widening as he caught sight of Neville on the floor.

Gaze following, Blaise surged through the door, unable to stop from growling as he took in Neville's form. He was laid out like some life-sized doll, hands folded beneath the side of his face in a mockery of sleep. Dressed in a ruffled pink dress and wig of curls, the slender boy's bruised face was dusted with makeup.

Snape shut the door firmly behind him, stepping into the room, his eyes skimming over Neville, then moving to a desk where three vials lay empty. He crossed the space, eying each glass container in turn before cautiously sniffing one.

“Mr. Zabini, I want a name, and I want it now,” he demanded, holding the vial up.

Glancing towards the man and his piercing black stare, Blaise didn't answer.

“He has been drugged. If the potions are what I think they are, it's been going on for a while,” Snape continued, his glower growing. “I need to know if I'm to help him.”

“Can you... Does he need help?” Blaise asked, his gaze straying down. Neville looked so peaceful, face smooth of any pain or fear even though the room was full of both scents. Eyes moving, Blaise stooped, pulling the wig from the boy's head, hissing as purple and red welts were revealed beneath the long locks. “Fuck, Neville, what the fuck did he do to you?”

“The name, Mr. Zabini.” Snape crouched down beside him, long fingers turning Neville's face to reveal a large bruise on the hidden side. “I'll need to get Pomfrey. As it is, there is little to be done to reverse the potions, only treat the symptoms after—and that's only if the potions were made correctly. I must know who did this.” He forced Blaise to meet his eye. “Mr. Longbottom is facing permanent brain damage, stunted growth, possibly episodic violent mood swings and blackouts. These are serious charges and I need the name of the culprit.”

His heart racing at the list of symptoms, Blaise couldn't help but think of the Pennyworth brothers. Had Mason done that to them? Had the man broken his own siblings, and then done the same to Neville? Why? Neville... Neville had never done a bad thing to anyone. The little bunny was the damn sweetest boy Blaise had ever known, and that was while being tortured by some sick fuck.

“Pennyworth,” Blaise finally said, raising his head. “Mason Pennyworth, his cousin.” He'd probably hate him for telling. Neville would probably hate him forever for telling his secret and to Snape of all people. But he had to. If it helped the boy, Blaise would do just about anything, no matter how much it was bound to hurt.

Nodding at the name, Snape stood, spelling up a stretcher. “Believe it or not, that might actually be good news. He was a star pupil. Troubled, but skilled. If his potion work is still at that level, Longbottom's chances are much higher. I'll have Dumbledore send someone out to check the grounds. The authorities may have to be called in.”

Blaise bit his lip, not saying a word. Mason was gone, wounded, possibly beyond repair. “Sir... Can we change him first? Please. He... He wouldn't want to be seen like this.”

He almost thought Snape might refuse, knowing how much the man clashed with Longbottom in the classroom. But Snape just bowed his head, pulling the black robe off his back and covering the boy with it carefully on the floating stretcher. “Off with you, Zabini. I don't want any rumors about this. These sorts of—”

“I'm going with,” Blaise said stubbornly, meeting his head of house's piercing gaze again. “I'm not leaving him alone like this, so don't bother asking.” He stepped ahead, getting the door before Snape could refuse. He wasn't going to leave Neville. He was going to find out everything that had happened to the boy and make sure it never happened again.


Neville wasn't really sure why he was in the hospital wing. He did know it meant Madame Pomfrey would be fussing over him for a bit, and seeing as he had very few people he let mother him, he didn't mind that so much.

He wrinkled his nose, a familiar chalky scent tickling at his nostrils. He swiped at his face, groaning when he found a streak of flesh colored powder and pink lipstick on his hand. “Crap,” he mumbled, hissing as he scrubbed at his bruised flesh in the hopes of removing the makeup before anyone saw. Only to yelp, his hand pulled away abruptly, violet jewel eyes glaring down at him. “Z-Zabini?”

“I got you a wet cloth. Pomfrey says any kind of spell can mess up your recovery,” Blaise said abruptly, handing the confused boy a facecloth. He continued to hover over Neville's hospital bed, staring down at the boy intently.

Lashes downcast, Neville carefully washed his face while trying to remember what had happened and why Blaise would be there. He had wanted to see Zabini, had wanted to apologize for being, well, weird and have the boy not be so angry. Even now Blaise seemed very angry at him. But Neville was washing makeup off his face and there was only ever one reason for that.

Neville peeked around the room, sitting up slowly, his body aching slightly, everything feeling kind of dizzy. He forced himself to sit up, needing to make sure Mason wasn't there, wasn't talking to Pomfrey or a teacher and saying how Neville should come live with him. His cousins visits were bad enough—Living with the man would be monstrous.

He couldn't see past Blaise, the muscular boy far from transparent as Neville swayed and tried to look around him. He was feeling really dizzy, the room spinning and Neville falling sideways and nearly falling back to the bed. “Oh...”

“Stop wiggling, bunny. You're going to hurt yourself,” Blaise insisted, steadying the boy by his shoulder. His hand was very hot on Neville's skin, the thin hospital robes doing very little to cover him.

“Zabini, I just... I need to make sure he's not here,” Neville whispered, his voice sounding strangely hoarse in his ears.

“No one's here,” Blaise assured him, moving aside so Neville could see the room clearly. “And if that fucker ever comes back here, I'm going to make sure he bleeds out. I swear. I'll fucking kill him.”

Neville blinked, focusing on the boy for the first time. Not only did Blaise look murderous, but there was something almost sad in his eyes. “What... What are you doing here?” Neville finally asked, feeling uncomfortable the longer Blaise stared at him.

Pursing his lips, Blaise took a step back, shrugging awkwardly as he looked around the room. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I found you in that room and I—”

Neville winced, covering his eyes with his hand. “Please tell me no one else saw.” Mason used to take pictures, which was so bad already. But if his classmates had seen him like that—in that stupid dress and horrible wig—god, he should just jump off the astronomy tower and get it over with.

“No one else,” Blaise said quickly, ducking his head. “No other kids, anyways. And no one is going to tell.”

Neville nodded dumbly, licking his dry lips. Was he supposed to say something to Zabini? Like, explain or some shit? He really didn't want to do that. He really didn't even want to fucking think about it, nevermind talk about it.

“Listen, uh, Longbottom... If you, um, want some sort of help...”

Neville wondered if pulling the blankets over his head would be in poor taste. He did it anyways, Blaise trailing off with a cough.

“I meant around school. With the jerks that pick on you,” Blaise added quietly, leaning down over the Neville shaped tent. “I guess what I'm saying is, whether you really want me to or not, I'm going to kick the crap out of anyone that bothers you... So, you should probably know that.”

It was very hot under the blankets, Neville's breath heating up the small space quickly. He cautiously lifted the edge, his hair all static as he peeked out at Blaise. “What do you want, Zabini?”

“Nothing,” Blaise said gruffly, his gaze intent on Neville's flushed face. “I'm just tired of seeing people beat on you. You don't have to do anything, okay? I mean, if you want to like, I dunno, talk to me once in a while... Shit, whatever. You don't have to do anything.” Why did Neville have to look so ridiculously adorable, his hair sticking up and cheeks red? It was very hard for Blaise to be as aloof as he had planned when the boy just kept being so cute.

“Did you want to... um... be my friend?” Neville asked, his voice a mix of hope and wariness as he pulled the blanket down to his shoulders.

Blaise had very little interest in being Neville's friend without the word 'boy' firmly planted in front of it. But it was definitely a start in the right direction and he wasn't about to let the opportunity slip. “Yeah,” he finally said, realizing he was standing there not talking again. “Okay.”

“Oh.” biting his lower lip, Neville gave a distracted nod while pushing his bangs back over his forehead. “Okay.” Neville really didn't have any friends, and he wasn’t really sure what it meant to be friends with someone, a Slytherin at that. “Um, you know I'm like, a total klutz, right? And I can't do shit for magic, and, well, yeah, I get my ass kicked like every day... You really probably don't want someone like me for a friend...” He trailed off, Blaise's sudden growl making him uncomfortable. “Or maybe you do?”

“I want to be your friend, bunny. For real,” Blaise said, leaning over the bed and looking earnest, if not extremely intense. “See, I have this bad habit of hitting people when I get angry, and I'm really, well, mean at times and everyone is scared of me. But I bet if I had a friend like you, people would see that I wasn't such a bad guy, right?”

Blinking, Neville nodded slowly. “I guess. I... I don't think you're very mean, Zabini. You're, well, really strong, but I don't think I've ever seen you do anything really bad.”

Blaise shrugged, not willing to speak a list of all the ways he was a total asshole at times. He wanted Neville to like him, not run for the hills. And he knew when it came to the bunny, he would never, ever be anything but as nice as possible. “So it's settled, then? Friends?”

Neville gave another nod, smiling haphazardly.

Blaise was wondering if he could possibly convince Neville into thinking it was totally okay for friends to kiss when Snape suddenly walked into the room, something frothing blue smoke in his hand. Neville immediately blanched, reaching for his blanket as if he was going to hide underneath it again. Blaise grabbed the edge, giving the boy an encouraging smile that he had a feeling must have been too scary looking. Still, Neville remained in view even as he stared warily at the approaching professor.

“Mr. Longbottom, I need you to drink this,” Snape said sharply, holding the bubbling vial out.

Staring at the blue potion that smelled rather awful, Neville let his gaze rise to Snape's. “What is it?” Mason might have been able to force him to drink a million terrible potions but as long as Professor Snape worked for Dumbledore, Neville was pretty sure the man couldn't hurt him in the same way.

“It is a treatment to help counteract what you were dosed with earlier today,” Snape said flatly, his eyes glancing over to where Blaise was standing. “It is imperative that you take it as soon as possible.”

“What... what did he, uh...?” Neville couldn't quite get the words out, feeling very small all of a sudden. He tried not to think about Mason, tried not to wonder just what all those potions were doing to him. They made him numb, well, one of them did. The other ones he didn't know what they did, just that Mason made him drink them, and got angry if he tried to spit it out.

“Mr. Longbottom, you have been subjected to a form of the 'eternal youth' potion.” Snape pushed the vial into Neville's hand, the blond automatically grasping it. “It is not a potion well known, the side effects deemed not worth the risk of the small gains. Someone has been working very hard to keep you young, and given the time in your development, it could have permanent mental and physical consequences. This potion is to help with that, but I'm afraid there is little to be done for the ones you have consumed in the past. Do you remember when you were first given the potion?”

Neville was having a really hard time following what Professor Snape was saying. “Are you... Am I not going to grow any more?”

By Snape's expression, the man didn't know. “It's a rare potion, Mr. Longbottom, and I have never heard of it being used in such a way. All we can do is try and counteract what we can and possibly see if other measures must be taken in the future. Drink the potion... Please.”

It was the please that did it, Neville so shocked to hear such a word come out of his professor's mouth he had to wonder if he was dreaming. He drank the potions down, shuddering in disgust from the flavor. It was almost a relief—Potions weren't supposed to taste good. They were dangerous and sometimes deadly and they should never taste like candy.

“How do you feel?” Blaise asked, watching Neville's face closely as Snape took the empty vial back. Neville looked kind of sick, his face paling, eyes squeezed shut tight.

“Oh no...” Neville whimpered, pretty sure he was going to throw up. He fought the feeling as long as he could, waves of heat and cold moving through him in sickening lurches. “Crap, crap, I think...”

Neville didn't throw up. Instead he started to shrink, his body folding in on itself until he was a huddled mound under the blankets.

Hissing in surprise, Snape reached across the bed, pulling the blankets away with a snap to reveal a dusty colored coyote. “Animagus! The boy is a damn animagus and I just—Blast! I need Pomfrey, now.”

Blaise grabbed his professor's arm, his eyes wide. “Sir, you can't tell. He'll get in trouble.”

“Mr. Zabini, I may have just poisoned him! Get your priorities...” They both winced, turning when Neville's coyote form began hacking up the blue potion all over the bedding. Snape's expression growing more dour by the moment as his very well-made remedy was regurgitated, he eventually gave a great sigh. “Is there a particular reason you are not surprised to see Mr. Longbottom turn into a coyote?” He asked his student pointedly.

“I may have known,” Blaise muttered.

“Is this how you also happened to know he was in a sealed room?” The man pressed when Blaise refused to meet his eye.


“For the love of—You know how serious an offense this is, Mr. Zabini. You have a sordid family history of shape-shifters going wrong because of taking shortcuts.”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “My father taught me. My parents know, and that's all that matters.”

“And Mr. Longbottom's? Did you lead him down such a rocky road as well when—”

“I have nothing to do with Longbottom. Didn't even know he was one too until a little while ago.” That Neville didn't turn into a bunny was still a shock to Blaise as it was. “Please, Sir. He has enough problems as it is. Could you just, like, pretend you didn't see any of this?”

Stilling, his long fingers tapping on his leg, Snape gave the two boys a calculating look. “We will speak of this when he is well.”

Blaise scowled, knowing what that meant. He wasn't sure what the hell Snape would want, but the man did not keep secrets or do much of anything, for that matter, for free. “Fine,” he grunted out.

If it kept Neville from getting into anymore trouble or having to deal with the humiliation of the entire world knowing what Mason had done to the boy, Blaise would do it. Hopefully the slender blond would be grateful for it... Once he stopped throwing up.

CHAPTER FIVE: A Long Agonizing Night

Remus barely noticed the scurrying of the many students evacuating the halls around him, his complete focus on his nose and the trickle of Harry's wanting scent. The trail had started around the Great Hall, only to go lower, down into the dungeons. Remus had no idea what his pup would be doing in the bowels of the castle, especially with Malfoy currently in the shack. It made him angry to wonder, especially when the little slut had refused to answer his calls. Harry knew better—If he wasn't answering, likely he couldn't. It was an alarming thought, especially with Voldemort seeking the boy out.

Remus slammed through a dividing door into the Slytherin hallways, snarling at a sallow-faced portrait that was gaping at him. More scurrying, like little rats. Remus hated rats, ever since Peter. The scent was stronger here—Much stronger. Remus breathed deep, lust suddenly adding to his already roaring veins. Harry was close.

The door was locked and warded silent, Harry's heady musk slipping through the gap near the floor. At least Remus knew why the boy hadn't answered his calls now. Growling, he slammed his palms into the wood, the door splintering beneath each forceful blow. It only took two more hits and the latch gave way, Remus tearing the door off the hinges and tossing it aside. Harry was lying sideways on a desk, naked, hard, and moaning.

Remus took a quick assessment of the room, his growl returning as he picked up the distinct scent of human, wolf, coyote, and cum below the overwhelming perfume of Harry's sex. No one was there now, no trace of the culprits except the locked door of a connecting classroom dripping in fear sweat. No sign of Voldemort, no tang of blood.

“Are you alright, pup?” Remus asked brusquely, Harry's answer the defining factor for what Remus was going to do next.

Harry groaned, leg kicking into the desk he was on fitfully. “Need it, Remi... fucking need it so bad...”

Grumbling, Remus turned back to the door he had destroyed, snapping out his wand and repairing it back into place. He stepped towards Harry, looking for signs of bruises or worse. For the most part the boy seemed fine, just the corners of his mouth raw where undoubtedly the cloth necklace around his throat had previously gagged him. Harry's scent was filling the room, so strong it was almost a tangible curtain of desperate, red hot need. The poor pup was in agony.

Remus bent one of Harry's knees up, spreading it to the side to give him easy access to the boy's puckered entrance. He pushed two fingers in, absolutely confounded to find Harry dry and not full to the brim with wolf, coyote, or anyone's cum, for that matter. What kind of useless bitches had captured his pup, only to not fuck him senseless? Were they castrated, ball-less, domestic whelps that didn't know their ass ends from their cocks?

“Oh god, Remi... yeah... Fucking do me... Do me hard...” Harry begged, his head slamming down on the desk, hips pushing forward to ride the fingers stretching him. “Need it so bad... so fucking horny... You fuck so good...”

“Don't worry, Harry. I'm going to take good care of you,” Remus assured him, leaning down over the boy and licking his flushed face. There was the slightest tang of cum right around Harry's lips that Remus was quick to lick away. He kept licking, covering Harry with his scent and saliva, stealing the smell away of the other bodies that had touched his pup. While he marked Harry, he continued to pump his fingers roughly, the boy whining and gasping with every thrust.

“Who was it?” Remus asked, his eyes burning anger as he licked down Harry's stomach, nose brushing against the boy's hard length and nuzzling.

“Idiots,” Harry panted out, head thrown back. “Fucking packless, kid idiots that don't know shit... I just couldn't... fuck... I was just so hard, Remi. The ache is so bad... and nothing is working...”

“I know... I should have looked for you sooner,” Remus muttered, grumbling when he realized an unfamiliar scent was all over Harry's perfectly flushed cock. He quickly covered the hard organ with his saliva, Harry moaning and squirming, the boy's hands tangling in Remus's shaggy locks.

“Don't tease,” Harry pleaded, locking a leg over the man's wide shoulder. “Just put it in me already.”

Remus growled, fighting with the very strong desire to cover Harry with his scent, and the stronger desire to fuck the boy senseless. He compromised, shoving a third finger deep inside Harry's clenching hole, while laving the base of the boy's cock and washing over his balls with long swipes. Harry gave a strangled cry, his only warning before suddenly jerking and spurting cum all over his stomach, just missing Remus's cheek. Remus ran his hand over the slick mess, wiping it over Harry's flesh, painting the moaning boy's taut torso with the creamy fluid.

Remus was under no illusion that Harry was done. Unless fucked for hours on end, Harry was rarely satisfied. One of the reasons Remus had willingly yielded to Draco Malfoy joining his small pack. Harry needed cock, a lot, and Remus and Sirius just weren't enough. The white wolf had the time and endurance. And now, apparently, Harry had caught the attention of another young wolf and a coyote roaming around the castle. Assuredly a problem Remus would have to deal with personally. Preferably when he wasn't so achingly hard from his new packmate joining.

Harry groaned when Remus pulled his fingers free from his hole, then growled in frustration when the man starting eating him out. “Fucking—Do me!”

Nothing was going the way Harry had fucking hoped. No mating with Draco, some bitch coyote tearing his shoulder so bad it had taken all the damn enjoyment out of an otherwise good fuck, and then Zabini—that fucking huge dicked, strong bodied, cock tease—had wasted so much time trying to get in Neville's hole he had completely failed to give Harry a proper fuck. And now Remus was going to lick him. Like a fucking tongue was going to be enough when he was so—

“Damn it! Remi you will make me raw right fucking now, or, or... I don't know what I'll fucking do. But you'll be fucking sorry!” Harry whined angrily, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

Remus lapped up Harry's balls and already renewing cock, the need in his bitch's voice too great to ignore. He froze once catching sight of Harry's face, the boy looking so anguished, so despairing, Remus had to fight with the perverse desire to keep him like that. Harry in need was always a juicy sight. Harry with tears in his eyes because he just couldn't get it thick enough and deep enough... Remus growled, pulling the boy down the desk so that he could see his expression better.

“I'm going to fuck you, pup, I promise,” Remus said lowly, fingers tugging at the cloth around Harry's neck. It reminded him of a very naughty collar Sirius had once made for Harry. Remus pulled the cloth up over Harry's chin, the boy rolling his eyes in exasperation even as he opened his mouth to let Remus gag him. Remus tightened the knot, making sure it wouldn't move no matter how much Harry sobbed.

“How many prissy little bitches see you every day, and manage not to fuck you?” Remus asked, lapping Harry's nipple and tugging at the bud with his teeth. Harry groaned, every needy noise now muffled. “I bet you could strip your pants off and spread your legs in the middle of class, and no one would have the balls, or the cock, to put it in you. You poor, slutty little pack bitch. What a terribly boring place to live.”

Harry had to agree, especially when Remus seemed more interested in tormenting than filling. Shit, what a fucking terrible day. He should have run off into the Forbidden Forest. Something would have fucked him out there. Probably would have been less vicious than the coyote too—Fucking Neville. Harry gave his best, pleading puppy dog look, adding a whimper for good measure. But his sadistic ass of an alpha only smirked at him, his thick fingers returning to push into Harry's hole with only slightly satisfying thrusts.

“What if I dragged you out into the hall, mutt? Naked, dripping with your own cum, already stretched. Do you think your little bitch friends would help you? Think they even have the dicks for it?” Remus pressed his mouth to Harry's cheek, tongue flicking out and trailing wet. “I think I want to see that. I think I want to see you on your hands and knees, begging those little dickless, weak children to fuck you all better.”

Harry whimpered, head falling back on the desk. He honestly didn't know if Remus would do that to him. The man had his weird moods and darker appetites. He almost didn't care at this point, just as long as someone fucked him already.

“Too bad you're being hunted, pup,” Remus said tightly, regret deep in his voice. “Too fucking bad that deranged fuck wants to kill my sweet, slutty little pup. We could have so much fun.” He pushed his fingers deep into Harry's clenching tightness, the boy moaning, slender legs flexing, and knees raising on the desk as he pushed his hips down. “That's it, bitch... ride it... Let me see how bad you want it and maybe, just maybe, I'll give it to you.

Harry had a feeling he had been gagged not to stop him from talking, but to keep him from biting. He was very close to biting Remus, so fucking desperate to be fucked. Instead he grabbed his gorgeous alpha by the back of his head, twisted as best he could, and slammed the man down.

Remus caught himself last second, nose just brushing against the desk. “Bad, Harry... Very, fucking, bad.” Growling low and long, he pulled away from his frustrated pup, eyes raking over the panting boy. “I'm going to forgive you, because I know you're suffering. I know, because I'm making sure, you slutty thing. Now get on your fucking knees like a well behaved bitch. And believe me, pup, if you are not well behaved, you will not be filled.”

Harry did not trust the look in Remus's eye. He had not choice though. Either Remus fucked him or Harry stayed horny. Hell, even if Remus did fuck him, Harry would still probably be horny. Groaning, Harry wriggled on the desk, his body so hot it didn't want to move properly. He managed to turn, his knees sore against the hard wood.

“Down. Head on the desk,” Remus ordered, hand brushing over Harry's spine as the boy did as he was told. “Now spread... wider... Wider, Harry...” he repeated, when the boy resisted. Finally Harry complied, his thighs shaking from the exertion of being spread so wide. His muscles would start to ache soon, and then burn. Maybe then it would be enough to fill the little brat.

Remus settled behind Harry's spread cheeks, tongue pushing forward to taste the boy's pink hole. Remus was not used to Harry being so clean, dry and free of cum. He didn't like it much, no extra prize to drink down. But the boy smelled delicious, his musk strong, precum once again dripping from Harry's sweet cock. And he was tight—Harry was always tight, no matter how many times he was fucked. And he was begging so prettily around his gag.

Remus groaned, feeling Harry's thighs begin to quake as he pushed on the boy's back. “Get tired, pup... Get weak and complacent...” He lapped between Harry's cheeks, thrusting his tongue deep, tasting the clenching pucker with each slow movement. Harry began to gasp, muffled, aching cries, his legs slipping further apart from all the sweat on the boy's flesh. Remus pulled back to watch him struggle, the brunette trying to pull his cramped legs back into position without bringing them so close that Remus would make him start all over.

Grinning, Remus placed his hands on the inside of Harry's knees, keeping him from getting his legs any higher. Harry gave a pained groan, arms moving on the desk as if he were going to push himself forward just to take his weight off of his legs. Remus waited, but Harry eventually gained control of himself, whimpering as he returned his head to the desk.

“Good, pup. Much better.” Remus snagged both of the boy's knees, pulling them back and over the desk, gently lowering Harry down until he was lying flush on the tabletop. Harry panted, flexing his feet and trying to get his legs to stop cramping. Not willing to wait, Remus tore his fly down and shoved into the boy's tight hole with a fluid, rough push. Harry howled, clutching the desk, fingers turning white while Remus fucked him relentlessly.

Harry loved Remus's cock. Even though it was too big and was always, always too rough. He fucking loved how wide it filled him, how deep it reached, and just how damn well Remus used it. Never hesitating, never shy or self conscious—Always remembering to stretch and lube him. Remus took what he wanted and always gave so much, and Harry never had to fear the powerful man would hurt him.

“You poor, poor little bitch,” Remus growled, tongue running over Harry's cheek, teeth nipping at the strip of fabric gagging him. “How long have you gone without cock, pup? Did you even get any last night? Watching your little prissy wolf getting fucked, and never getting any for yourself... Oh, Harry, you missed so much today...”

Harry whined, trying to push up onto his arms for leverage. Remus held him down, keeping him pinned flat on the desk, the wood creaking with each forceful thrust.

“You were right, pup. Your boyfriend likes to ride. Siri and I had him spreading for hours. Your noble, pretty wolf begs for cock. Loudly. And you missed it.” Remus chuckled darkly, slamming into Harry again.

Harry groaned, chin thumping on the desk. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated Neville Longbottom and his fucking coyote in that moment. Toes seeking purchase on the floor beneath him, Harry braced his legs, pushing back into each perfectly aimed thrust. Remus held his hips steady, slowing his rhythm so that when he sank in, Harry could clench, and caress, and hold his thick length like the boy loved. Each following thrust involved pulling from Harry's grasping, greedy hold, only to slam in again, giving the boy more to pull in and tighten around.

“Fuck, pup... Fuck you get so tight... So perfectly tight and hot inside... I'm going to dirty you so bad... Walking around school horny and clean—Fucking disgraceful. My filthy pup needs to be kept nasty... dripping in seed... Fuck, that's it... So tight...”

Harry moaned, his breath bouncing back at him from the gag. Remus was pushing in so hard, the man about to burst inside him. Harry ground down, clenching as hard as he could around the massive cock spreading his flesh so wide. God, he needed the wet. Fucking needed it...

Harry came with a muffled cry, channel clenching so tight that Remus snarled in his ear. While Harry's cum streamed over the desk, Remus continued to hold himself deep in the boy's tight hole, teeth grit, breath exploding in short, maddened puffs.

Harry tore the gag from his mouth then reached his hands behind him, trembling fingers over Remus's strong hips. “Fuck me, Remi... God, fill me... Need you to fill me, please... Fucking do anything... anything, just fill me with your nasty cum...” He squeezed in rhythmic burst, hoping to break the man from his malicious self control enough to take him. “Fuck Remi... Claim me... stain me... So I know you're my alpha... Fucking do it...”

“I will kill—fucking kill—anyone that tries to take you away, pup,” Remus promised, growling loudly, the sound echoing off the walls. Remus pumped in slow, rough jerks, Harry gasping from the feel of it. With a final, desk screeching thrust, he slammed into Harry's aching passage, filling the boy with the much needed seed he was begging for.

Body shuddering, Harry moaned, spreading his legs wider, trying to get all of Remus's cum as deep as possible. He froze, a noise drawing his attention across the room. “R-Remi...”

“I see it...” Remus whispered, reaching for his wand while the two of them froze and stared warily as the classroom door. Remus had spelled it locked. Had warded it. But the door was creaking a long whine, swinging inwards on its hinges as it opened. Remus quickly spelled the door shut.

“Get dressed,” Remus said abruptly, pulling from Harry's ever clenching passage and tucking himself decent. He strode quickly across the room, tearing the door open and glaring down the hall. There was no one. No sound of footsteps scurrying away, no scent of flesh or emotion.

The hair was standing up on the back of Remus's neck and he knew; sight, scent, sound, or not. Someone had been there. Someone powerful enough to get through the door. Someone intelligent enough to hide their scent and mask their escape. Someone suicidal enough to watch Remus fuck one of his young, and more famous of students, while Harry had said words like 'alpha' and 'claim.'

This was not the two little bitches that hadn't followed through with Harry. This was someone else. Someone dangerous. Someone that wanted Remus to know they had been watching.

Harry crept up behind Remus, fully dressed and only a little woozy on his feet. He didn't say anything, just looked out into the hall with the man. “Do you have the map?” Remus asked, wondering if he could pinpoint who had just been there with the Marauder's Map.

“Back in my room.” By the time they got it the spy would be long gone, hidden among the throngs of students.

Remus grunted, his mind racing. “Back to your dorm, Potter. I want you separated from the pack until I figure this out.”

Harry whined low in this throat, only mildly satisfied and knowing in about ten minutes he would begging for cock all over again. He wouldn't dare argue with Remus over it, not with something as dangerous as this. He would go to his room, hide behind his bed curtains, and watch the map for suspicious people and flows of traffic. Hopefully not get the parchment too dirty from all the wanking he'd be doing at the same time.


“Y-You can put me down now,” Neville whispered. He was clinging to Blaise's wide shoulders, hoping not to tip over the tall boy's back as he confidently walked them through dark hallways and narrow passages deep in the dungeons of the castle. The black boy's skin was entrancing, and Neville was trying not to stare—It was almost chocolate milk, but just a tad dustier. The boy didn't smell dusty, more mossy and green, his strong musk very different from Harry's almost maddening scent. Neville carefully pressed his face to Blaise's long hair, sniffing discreetly. It was a good smell. Calming, like the forest.

Blaise quietly grunted, wrapping his arm tighter around Neville's warm, slender waist. He had thrown the boy over his shoulder some time ago, afraid Neville would bumble instead of escape properly. Now he was having a difficult time finding an excuse to keep holding onto the sweet gasping bunny. Lupin hadn't bothered to follow them, too busy seeing to his bitch. No one was around that they had to keep hiding from.

Huffing, Blaise stopped in the narrow, secret corridor they were in, and lifted the boy down. Neville swayed creamy and nude, clutching his ball of clothes and wand to his chest, and blushing. He glanced around Blaise's large bicep, peering into the dim lighting. “Do you think he knows it was us?”

“No idea. Sure we'll find out soon enough, though.” Blaise doubted Lupin would draw it out if he did know who had tried to have a tumble with his slut. Neville looked up when Blaise spoke, Blaise realizing just how close the other boy was, and just how little clothes Neville was wearing.

“Thanks for, um, getting us out of there,” Neville said shyly, looking very small and extra fluffy with his soft hair on end from being flipped nearly upside down.

“Yeah, well, thanks for spelling those locks up as quick as you did,” Blaise reminded. “He would have been on our ass in seconds if you hadn't.”

Neville shrugged nonchalantly, but Blaise could see the pleased smile he was hiding. He really was just an adorable, fluffy thing. Blaise began to pat Neville's hair down, relishing the squeak the boy made in reply.

Neville took a step back to keep Blaise from touching him. Biting his lip, he began to sort through his clothes, quickly handing the taller boy his shreds of shirt as he came across them. “S-Sorry I ripped it,” he mumbled, refusing to meet the boy's piercing gaze. Blaise took the shirt, fingers catching Neville's and pulling the blushing boy up against him.

“I really don't mind, bunny... Really...” He traced his fingers over Neville's face, the boy ducking his head and looking away.

“S-Stop... I don't... I just wanted your help with Harry,” Neville whispered, tugging at the hand holding his wrist in place.

Blaise frowned, sighing deeply. “You like him.”

Neville nodded, peeking up and smiling secretively. “He's great. B-Brave. Probably the most powerful student magically—Have you seen him fly? He's really amazing. I never liked Quidditch until he joined the team.”

“You know he has a boyfriend, right? He's been seeing someone starting right before winter break,” Blaise snapped, knowing he was being mean, and unable to care. Potter had fucking everything; fame, power—Hell, even a rich noble knight like Malfoy to protect the lucky prat. Why the fuck did he have to have Longbottom too?

Neville shrugged, a faint trace of anxiety crossing his doll like features before disappearing. “It won't last. Harry and I are perfect for each other. We have a connection... Ever since first year, I've known Harry was the one. You wouldn't understand...” Neville muttered, trying to duck away again, but Blaise wouldn't let him.

Blaise resisted the urge to snarl. Fucking Harry Potter. It wasn't even the boy, it was just some fucking dream of the boy Neville was chasing. Blaise still hated him. Potter didn't even know how good he had it. He didn't even look twice at Neville, except sometimes with pity.

“Bunny, did you like tonight?” Blaise asked instead, pulling the pile of clothes out of Neville's hands and dropping them to the floor. He pulled the blond close, watching as his blush grew.

“L-Let me go, Zabini,” Neville whispered, pushing his palms unsuccessfully against the boy's muscular chest.

“Just tell me you liked it.” Blaise ran his hands down Neville's narrow back, sliding to his slim waist. He moved in slow, sensual strokes. Blaise knew Neville had liked it. The boy had been so sweet, dripping sweat and gasping eagerness. If he could just show Neville that it hadn't just been because of Harry and his crazy sex scent, that Neville really liked it when Blaise touched him, maybe the boy would look at him the way he did Harry.

“I uh... I did like it,” Neville said haltingly, standing on tiptoes to keep from pressing up against Blaise. “But that was because... because Harry was there... and... and I like Harry...”

Blaise growled, wrapping Neville tight against his body and pushing him up against the wall. “Forget about Potter. That slut is getting fucked by his werewolf freak of an alpha. He probably gets fucked by a damn pack of people every day.” He licked up the boy's neck, remembering how Neville had really seemed to like that.

Gasping, Neville closed his eyes. Zabini was very strong, muscles firm as his large arms held him tight. He wasn't hurting, even though he was strong. But that wasn't reason enough to let the boy touch him. Even if he had pretty eyes and a fierce, handsome face. “Please stop.”

Blaise growled again, louder and full of frustration. He continued to nip at the boy's neck, sucking slowly, tongue lapping small swatches of wet. Neville tasted sweet and salty, his firm, creamy skin turning pink under his mouth. It was like licking salty caramel with a hint of vanilla, rich and heady, and perfectly sweet. Blaise moaned when he pulled the boy's slender thigh up, the tasty blond hard and poking into his hip. “I know you like it, bunny... You can't fake something like this.”

Neville whimpered, head falling back against the wall as he panted. So what if he was hard? It was easy to get him hard; it didn't mean he wanted it. He never should have asked a Slytherin for help. It was his own damn fault. Even if Blaise had been indifferent towards him, he was still a bully, taking whatever the hell he pleased. Just like his horrible cousin.

Neville shivered, his body going limp. Thinking of Mason made him numb, inside and out. He could barely feel Blaise's hands now, large palms sliding over his ass, slipping between his thighs, cupping his dick and balls. The sharp teeth nipping him were like faraway raindrops, dotting his skin but not fully wetting.

“Bunny...? Neville?” Blaise carefully turned the unnaturally still boy's face towards him. Neville's beautiful blue eyes were empty and far away. “Shit.” He pulled away with a snarl, hating himself even more when Neville just stood there, not blinking, just leaning on the wall waiting for whatever was going to come next.

“Get dressed, Longbottom. Get dressed and get the fuck out of here.” He pulled Neville's shirt off the ground and pushed it in the boy's grasp, the blond blinking and then startling, as if he hadn't even been aware he was still there. Blaise growled, turning his back and stalking down the corridor to where it stopped suddenly in darkness. He grabbed the bottle of vodka he had left stashed there, taking a swig and trying to ignore the sounds of Neville putting his clothes on.

“How do I... Where are we?” Neville asked quietly, eyes cautiously tracing over Blaise's back. The boy was stiff, puffed up and full of anger. Neville wasn't sure what he had done wrong, but he didn't want to stick around with an angry Zabini in a small narrow corridor he had never been in before.

Blaise turned sharply, slamming his hand down on a brick jutting out of the wall. A seamless door swung outward, opening up into one of the main Slytherin corridors. “Take two lefts, and then the third right,” Blaise snapped, pointing down the hall. “The moving staircase is just at the end of the sloping corridor after that.”

Neville nodded, meeting Blaise's heated glare. “You're... you're angry at me.”

Blaise scowled, taking another long gulp of his drink. “Fuck off. Go run to Potter or something.”

Biting at his sleeve, Neville nodded, feet edging slowly towards the exit. That only seemed to piss Blaise off more, and the tall boy stepped back with another loud growl, leaning against the back of the corridor and giving Neville plenty of space to leave. Neville gave the angry boy a final, long side glance, watching as Zabini nearly drained the bottle of vodka in his tight grasp. He escaped out into the hall, the door sealing up behind him when Zabini crushed the same brick again.

Neville stared at the space for a quiet moment, the door completely invisible. He could smell it though, Blaise's earthy scent and the caustic tang of alcohol. The boy had been furious. Neville bit harder on his sleeve, tripping slowly out of the dungeons.

Was Zabini going to bully him now, like he did the other kids that pissed him off? Neville had only seen Zabini hurt boys nearly the same size as him, usually much older, and just as strong and mean. Part of it had seemed to be that those boys thought the Slytherin was an easy target, having started school later than the rest of them, and stuck with kids a year younger in all his classes. Zabini was still younger than most of the upperclassmen assholes, but was totally stronger too. He had definitely proved it, even though the bullies kept looking to fight him.

Neville had messed up somewhere. He wasn't sure how though. Zabini could have done whatever he wanted with him. That's how Mason did it. His cousin didn't even wait for him to go numb, just spelled him that way. Why hadn't Zabini fucked him...? Was there something wrong with him? Neville sighed, shaking his head in annoyance. He didn't understand sex. He knew that much. And he really didn't understand people.

He wanted to see Harry. Maybe by the time he got back, Harry would be in the common room. If he came back at all that night. Harry spent a lot of nights out, likely with his stupid boyfriend. Neville didn't know who Harry was dating, it being some big secret. Ron had told Seamus that he had thought it was a Ravenclaw girl—Neville had laughed quietly at that. Sometimes Ron was really oblivious.

Maybe Harry would even talk to Neville. They could talk about animagus forms and what it's like to be a dog. Maybe even about sex. Harry could probably explain all these confusing things he kept messing up. Maybe even about how to get Zabini to not be so angry at him. Neville didn't want the Slytherin angry at him. Not just because getting beat up by Blaise Zabini would probably be the most painful thing ever. Neville had endured a lot of pain and would continue to.

He just didn't want Blaise angry at him.


Drunk, brooding, and very frustrated, Blaise spent most of his evening in the small hidden corridor still full of Neville's sweet scent.

He should have stayed for the angry werewolf. Dealing with Lupin would have been much better than whatever fucked up nightmare of a shell Longbottom had become. Like some puppet... Like the boy had done it before, almost fallen asleep while someone pawed at him. But Blaise had been doing the pawing.

Blaise had been bad to the little bunny, and he was very fucking angry about it.

He needed to fix it somehow. Just... he didn't know how. Neville was so quiet, always jumping and squeaking. Who the fuck even knew what the boy liked? Besides Potter. Blaise scowled. Fucking Potter. He was glad he hadn't fucked the damn bitch. Potter would have liked it, and he didn't want to do anything the goddamn lucky-ass Gryffindor liked.

Sitting in the corridor, knees bent, bare back leaning against the cool wall, Blaise ran his palm over the bulge in his pants, remembering Neville in the classroom. The bunny had been very sweet, all blushes and gasps. A strange mix of naïve and confident. He had sunk against Blaise, let him hold him while Potter had sucked the boy off. For some reason, Blaise was certain Neville had never been sucked off before... Even thought someone was fucking him...

Blaise unzipped, groaning softly as he wrapped his fingers around his hard dick. He should have just fucked Potter and been done with it. In the hallway by the Great Hall. Let the school see what a big slut the bitch was. Let the stupid bunny see just how terrible Blaise was, so he'd never have to worry about impressing the sweet boy. He was such an idiot.

Blaise had gotten to see Neville suck cock, and that had been fucking fine. Potter had clearly been experienced, but Neville... The bunny had been damn delicious. Chasing around Potter's dick as if afraid to touch it with anything but his mouth. Sucking on him so guilelessly, like Neville didn't even know how fucking hot he looked doing it.

Blaise groaned, hand moving faster over his cock. He was trying to hold back and build slow, but remembering Neville on his knees, face sweating and mouth so wide and full of cock, was undoing him. Then Potter had come all over the boy, dripping hot seed on his beautiful face. Blaise wanted to do that to Neville. He wanted to fuck his pretty rosebud lips and cover the boy with his cum. Blaise was much bigger than Potter. Neville wouldn't even be able to swallow him all.

Eyes closing, Blaise pushed his hips up, trying to imagine Neville's lips wrapped around his big cock. The boy would lick him, small, hesitant touches. He'd be shy. His eyes would be wide like when he had first seen Blaise's dick, touching ever so lightly. God, the little bunny had touched him. No, Blaise was not regretting his night, even if it had not turned ideal.

Blaise looked down at his length, the darker flushed tip disappearing and reappearing between his fingers with each long stroke. He spread a bead of milky precum over his strained head with his thumb, trying to guess how far he would fit in Neville's sweet mouth. He should have found out first hand. The fluffy bunny wouldn't have fought him...

Blaise huffed, remembering how Neville had been, eyes so empty, body limp. His erection immediately flagged, and he pushed the thought away. It was not arousing, Neville like some drugged, half dead zombie instead of wide eyed, blushing and shyly smiling up at him. Blaise closed his eyes again, watching Neville try to take him into his tight, hot mouth, tongue contouring to his thick flesh and rubbing. Gasping... The boy would gasp... would choke slightly, so eager to pull him in, wanting to show just how good a job he could do...

Blaise came silently, hips jerking, cum streaming up his tense stomach in hot spurts. He relaxed back against he wall, fingers trailing through the slick white mess on his cocoa flesh. Would Neville swallow? Did he even know how...?

Fuck... fuck, he wanted that fluffy bunny. How the fuck could he fix this?

Blaise cleaned himself off with a quick spell, frowning from the brisk sensation. Neville wanted Harry. But Harry wasn't fucking Neville. No... someone else was and he was the real competition.

Tapping his fingers on his abs, Blaise let his mind drift back to the conversation he'd heard, his first day back after winter break in the second floor bathroom. It had been five particularly idiotic upperclassmen and Crabbe, snickering in a corner, washing up after beating the shit out of some first year Hufflepuffs. Longbottom would suck cock if you made him. His boyfriend liked to watch and fuck the boy while he did. One of them had found out first hand Christmas eve, having been over at... Where was it...?

Blaise growled, sitting up as the name finally surfaced. The Pennyworth estate.

There were three Pennyworth brothers, parents long dead from the war. They varied greatly in age, the eldest nearly forty, while the other two were in there early twenties now. The youngest, Chad, was retarded. He hadn't always been that way, something happening to give him brain damage before fifteen. He was institutionalized, likely better for it given the other two brothers.

Theodore was some twisted shit, having never grown over five feet, and known for blackouts where he would beat the life out of small animals and cry about it after. Blaise had heard the guy cross-dressed, not necessarily by choice. Because Mason, the eldest, was fucked in the head. He had tried to sign up as a Death Eater, but the Dark Lord wouldn't have him because the pathetic brute was almost a squib. It was said Mason took it out on his younger brothers, practicing magic on them to prove he had it in him. Rumor had it Mason had lost his shit one night and had nearly killed Chad, the boy never the same again.

The entire family was a disgrace, not talked about in proper society. Which only made it more pathetic that Longbottom's Gran would send the kid over there for the holidays. They were cousins, and the old blue-hair probably thought she was doing them all a favor, getting Neville out of the stuffy manor and letting the Pennyworths have some human interaction. Blaise wasn't so sure the brother's should be around humans. Chad was the only decent one, and he was drooling away in the same facility as Neville's parents, the group of them visiting together, if Blaise remembered correctly.

One of them was fucking the bunny, and Blaise had a disgusting suspicion it was Mason. He'd have to ask around to make sure... Discreetly. No one wanted to be connected with the Pennyworths. Too much crazy and not enough power. A waste of a perfectly good pureblood name.

It had been Tunsley... Tunsley had been fucked enough to actually admit to being at the Pennyworths' Christmas Eve...

Blaise would not let the seventh year boy go unpunished for it.

Robyn: Forced To Be Their Sister A MMMM Incest Dubcon Erotica

Rob has had enough of his older brothers teasing him. Just because his mother insisted he was her honorary girl when she was done raising sons didn’t mean he was an actual girl! He’s sick of being treated like a chick and he’s looking for vengeance.

Rob’s three older brother’s are sick of their little brother acting like an angry, spoiled brat. When Rob crosses the lines with another one of his childish pranks, they decide it’s time to teach their little sister a lesson in being a girl the only way three muscular, controlling guys know how.

This story is 17,000+ words long. It contains graphic language, sexually explicit content between brothers, a great corset and leather boots, spanking, and mild humiliation mixed with some tears. 18+ Only

17,000+ wrds, Published June 11, 2016.