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Giftficlet the First: Spider Dreams [Harry/Bellatrix, NC-17]
Merry Christmas, melusinahp!



With much love and thanks for your absolute awesomeness over the last year! Omg, I wrote het. Worse even, het smut :).

Title: Spider Dreams
Pairing: Harry/Bellatrix
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: noncon


Harry woke with hair in his mouth and spread over his face like the web of an industrious spider. He saw the world veiled in black when he opened his eyes and tried to brush it away. Found that he couldn't and a thin line of pain bloomed around his wrists when he tried harder. He shook his head, feeling hairs catch on his eye-lashes before sliding off. Stared up into dark, sultry eyes, a mouth that had the full, dark, unglossy look that came from cosmetic charms rather than lipstick, and a smirk a lot sharper than the cords cutting into his wrists.

"Poor little baby Potter," a hated voice singsonged. "Poor little fly, all tangled up in the web of the bad spider."

Panic started to bubble inside Harry. How had he ended up here? The last time he'd seen that face, it had been flushed with glee, threatening to torture Hermione, then Ron, until Harry broke. And then, the cell had been ringing with Hermione's screams.

He started up. "Hermione... what-?"

A slap cut open his lip against his teeth. "Don't worry about the Mudblood, Harry – worry about yourself."

Tasting blood, Harry fell silent, then yelped aloud when her hand wrapped around his penis. It was only then that he realised he was naked. His heartbeat jumped, and fire started to burn in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the slap.

"Not so little any more," Bellatrix cackled and squeezed Harry in her palm. "Not quite big either, though, poor baby..."

Harry tried not to gag and furiously wriggled his knees to push her away, only to still, heart thumping, when her grip tightened. It was one thing to show defiance when held at wandpoint – quite another thing entirely to have the most vulnerable part of his body at the mercy of a madwoman.

"Better, Potter. You want to please Bella, don't you?"

There were appropriate responses to that, but this wasn't the moment.

Bellatrix loosened her death grip on his cock and curved it up, stroking her thumb nail provocatively over the head. Harry's face flushed a darker scarlet than Gryffindor Quidditch robes.

"Weren't you supposed to contact Vol- the Dark Lord rather than playing perverted bedroom games?" Harry croaked. Anything to make her take her hands off him!

"Aw," Bellatrix drawled, her face settling into the smirk of a satisfied cat. "Is the poor baby so scared of Bella that he wants to hide behind the Dark Lord?"

She bent over Harry, straddling his thighs and leaned forward until her lips almost touched Harry's. Her robes, black and thin, pulled tight over her breasts. They were heavy in comparison with her thin body, and sagged a little. "I'll make sure he knows and have my fun with you, boy!"

"With a 'halfblood'?"

Bellatrix tapped against Harry's temple with her fingernail. "There's something of the Dark Lord's inside that little head of yours, isn't there, Harry? It almost makes up for your dirty blood."

The charm-red lips curled up in a mocking smile, then closed over Harry's mouth. He gagged again, trying to turn away, but she grabbed his head with both hands, nails digging sharply into the sides of his face. Harry felt her tongue worming between his lips and bit down with vindictive satisfaction.

She trembled as she drew back, and Harry's balls shrivelled with fear. But she only grinned down at him, blood on her mouth, and rubbed his cock. "I like that you're playing along, Harry," she cooed, and despite the sick coil of fear and disgust in his stomach, Harry could feel himself harden under the incessant stimulation.

His erection flagged when she twisted around and produced her wand. Placing it at the middle of Harry's chest, she began to trail it, very slowly, down to his belly button, then further until it nudged the base of his cock, leaving shivery gooseflesh in its wake.

She snapped the wand against his stiff flesh, leaving prickly stings behind that Harry's nerves failed to translate as pain. Holding him around the base with thumb and index finger, she dug the wand tip lightly into the slit. It burned despite the drop of moisture that was collecting there.

Harry let out a shriek when she muttered a spell. A burst of magic shot through his manhandled organ. He felt himself hardening, growing until it started to turn painful, but the spell showed no regard for his discomfort. Harry whimpered, his balls aching while she squeezed the spongy red flesh of his head until more fluid leaked from the slit.

"Now you're all grown up," Bellatrix mocked, then lifted her skirts until Harry could see thighs and a belly as white as a dead fish, made to look almost watery translucent by the inky bush of hair on her mons.

Against his will, he gasped when she lowered herself onto his spell-hardened cock, then demurely arranged her skirts around her , the thin fabric trickling like water over Harry's stomach and thighs. The soft, moist sheath of her quenched the worst fire in his prick, clasping it in folds that almost felt like suckers – clinging, rubbing in a way that felt frightfully good in spite of everything. His balls throbbed, fighting to rid themselves of pressure, but the spell wouldn't allow it.

Harry's mind flashed to Ginny, to that night at the Burrow, wondered how it would have been to slide between smooth, creamy, red-tipped thighs and the hatred that welled up inside him clenched around his heart like a tight fist.

"You sick, evil bitch!" he growled, voice almost unrecognisable in his own ears.

Bellatrix shifted around him, stimulating his cock and forcing another gasp from him.

"You better keep playing, little Harry," she hissed, the tip of her wand poking sharply into Harry's Adam's apple. "I can cast the Cruciatus Curse and ride out your agony..." The wand moved, up to Harry's mouth, pushing against his lips. "I've done it before – it feels amazing. Longbottom's father could tell you – if he was still able to speak."

Harry bit his tongue. Horrible as it was to have the mad bitch force herself on him, he could not imagine courting such a fate. He felt the wand dig against the barrier of his teeth, and opened his mouth to avoid a chipped tooth – or worse. Wood slid along his tongue in a crudely suggestive taunt, and then Bellatrix rocked on top of him. Harry's hips lifted up to met her, his traitorous cock overriding all conscious thought. Bellatrix laughed, low and sultry, and rocked again.

"Legilimens!"

Harry tasted the magic on his tongue as it surged up to his mind, too distracted to lock his Occlumantic shields into place. He felt his mind soften, felt her presence clatter against his mind like sand thrown at a metal sheet. She was horribly bad at the spell, far away from actually being able to slip into his mind, and yet something inside him... weakened, slipped, and he felt a presence rise, far away, stirring at the sensations that rocked Harry's body.

"Yes!" Bellatrix hissed as if she could sense it too, riding him harder now, faster, while Voldemort's breath sped up in the distance at long-forgotten sensations. Harry tried to claw at distractions, pulling at his restraints until his wrists bled while never once failing to meet Bellatrix's thrusts as she kept impaling herself on him. She burned him, driving him to a frenzy of need while his cock, hard to bursting but kept from orgasm for her pleasure, struggled in vain against the magic restraining him.

Voldemort's mind surged inside Harry , turning around Harry's ability to spy on him, looking out of Harry's eyes at Bellatrix fucking herself on Harry's cock. Harry could feel a strange, mental caress that was Voldemort's, not directed at him but at the woman above him while he made his mind at home in Harry's body, probing the sensations that rolled over him like a snake tasting its surroundings with its tongue. Having long since given up Tom Riddle's human body and the short-lived pleasures the flesh could offer, enjoying them through Harry's body was like a treat from a half-forgotten past. Harry tried to cry out in horror at being so used, but his vocal cords would not obey him. Instead, he felt a flash of heat around his torn wrists and suddenly his arms were free again, moving. Harry ached to reach for Bellatrix's throat, but instead of twisting into claws, his fingers curved along the woman's cheek. Bella turned her face to graze the heel of his palm with her lips, then bent forward, showering Harry's face and shoulders with her hair, to reverently kiss his chest.

She squeezed around Harry in a way that drove the breath out of his lungs. He howled in despair, glad that Voldemort still held control over his vocal cords although the Dark Lord could hear his cry, of course. Harry's cock ached as if Bellatrix had hammered a nail through it; he pounded upwards into her slick cunt like a desperate animal rutting against time. Bellatrix's face moved up from his chest, then she whispered, "Finite!" against the corner of his mouth.

Harry felt his balls contract in a split-second, aching surge; his body went rigid in a twisted coil of need, and he spilled himself inside Bellatrix with such force that his vision whited out. Through the shocks that racked him, he heard her hoarse cry, felt Voldemort in his mind, stroking and prodding Harry's orgasm as if filtered through to him. Bellatrix moved on his softening erection a while longer, milking it for everything he had to give, then she stiffened, whipping long hair over Harry's face and chest like an animated flogger.

Her forehead came to rest on his chest, a warm, tickling presence, and her breath was wet against his sweaty skin. He lifted his hands, burying them in the soft, musty-smelling hair, and raised her face to his.

"Malfoy Manor, my dear?" His voice came out in a hoarse, sibilant hiss.

"Yes, Master."

Radiating satisfaction, Voldemort retreated, a slithering sensation as if a part of Harry himself had suddenly poured out of him, leaving him wrung out and spent, his hands full of dark hair and his mind filled with the echo of his nemesis's stolen pleasure.

His hands balled to fists around long strands, eyes snapping open and a sob tearing from his throat.

A pale freckled face bent over him with a faint, pained grimace, and then small hands clasped his own, loosening his grip on her hair. Harry's mouth went dry.

"Ginny! Did I-"

Ginny shook her head. "Nightmare?"

Harry nodded wordlessly, aware of the sticky mess in his pyjama bottoms. He cocked his head, ears pricking for a sound from the cot by the window, but it seemed as if James, usually the most fussy and restless of babies, had managed to sleep through the most recent installment of his father's nightmare. If having sexually charged dreams about one's worst enemies qualified as nightmares.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, suffering Ginny's sleepy kiss on his forehead before she settled herself back under the duvet, curling in a warm weight against his side.

He couldn't have said what precisely he was apologising for: hurting her, robbing her of some all too rare, precious hours of rest - or betraying her, in his dreams, with a monster.