WARNING: This story is for mature audiences only. It contains representations of sexual acts and situations.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etc., etc.
Harry's mind went blank. The most important secret he possessed was now in the hands of a witch who could do whatever she wanted with it. He could only stare at Phaedra's smug face in stunned silence.
Neither had moved since the revelation of the prophecy. His sole comfort was that the wand pressed into his neck wasn't searing him like it had before.
Finally she broke the silence. "What an interesting development," she said softly, though her smile terrified him. "You are a simply fascinating creature, Harry Potter."
"What are you going to do?" he asked, barely able to breathe.
She tilted her head curiously at him. "What do you think I should do?"
"You should let me go."
She laughed, as if it were the most charming thing she had ever heard. "Oh, dear boy, you are adorable."
Harry's instincts were screaming at him to act, but the wand at his neck served as an excellent deterrent. Even if he overcame her, there was her bodyguard to consider. He was well and truly fucked, and he didn't know what to do.
Mere moments ago he had been ravished by this beautiful woman; she had even treated him with tenderness afterwards. Now they were back to predator and prey.
"Please," he whispered. "You don't understand what this means."
"Oh, I think I do. I have information that is simply to die for. Some might call it priceless. What ever shall I do with it?"
"Did you see the whole thing?"
She sniffed, as if he had just insulted her. "What is the power the Dark Lord knows not?" she asked, her eyes suddenly boring into his.
He didn't bother to look away, not with a wand at his neck and no idea what the answer was anyway. "I have no idea. Dumbledore doesn't know either."
"Hmmm…" she mused, watching him closely. "You are a powerful young man, Harry, but not at all the sort of wizard who could defeat the Dark Lord in a duel."
"I've defeated him several times already," he said, a little composure returning. He was going to need all his wits about him to escape this situation, and convincing her that he was a threat to Voldemort seemed like an excellent start.
Harry grimaced, knowing exactly what she wanted. He could only hope that revealing the entire truth of his adventures would preserve his life, or perhaps convince her that she shouldn't reveal the prophecy to anyone.
She leaned forward, her wand pressing deeper into his neck. Her eyes narrowed and he could feel the power of her gaze boring deeply into his mind. He pushed his various encounters with Voldemort forward. Flashes of memories passed before his mind's eye—images of trolls, burning Professors, dead basilisks, graveyard duels, prophecy spheres, lost godfathers, and, finally, the Dark Lord's failed attempt to possess him. It was a disorienting experience, and left him with an instant headache.
She blinked rapidly, trying to assimilate the massive amount of information he had presented to her. She took a deep breath and stared at the wall for almost a minute, contemplating what she had seen.
Finally she looked down at him. "Dumbledore has been quite busy keeping a lid on your adventures at Hogwarts, hasn't he?"
Harry just glared at her, the pain behind his eyes starting to recede.
"You have an absolutely extraordinary amount of luck. It's astonishing, in fact."
"I'm not feeling so lucky at the moment."
She smiled almost happily at him. "No, you are in quite the dilemma this time, aren't you, Harry Potter?"
A moment later he twitched and fell unconscious, not even realizing she had cast a spell at him.
He gasped as he awoke. He looked around wildly, memories rushing back to him, and was relieved to find himself still in the hotel room. Except he was now bound tightly to a chair. His hands were tied behind his back; his legs were bound to the chair legs with restraints that felt like iron. Even his chest was secured against the back of the chair.
He looked up to see Phaedra sitting comfortably in a chair across from him, fully clothed, with her legs crossed daintily and an ebony wand dangling from her hand.
"Why am I constantly waking up bound to things?" he said resentfully.
She smirked. "What a silly question."
"What are you going to do with me?"
"That is a better question. It is an odd feeling having the fate of the world in one's hands. I quite like it."
He took a deep breath. "What do you want?"
She smiled. "What do you have to offer me? I imagine the Dark Lord would reward me handsomely if I told him not only the prophecy but where to find you. I even know your daily routine, Harry."
He stared at her intently, fighting back his panic and trying to determine her intentions. She enjoyed toying with him so much that it was impossible to tell when she was serious. He had been moderately confident in his safety before she discovered the prophecy. But now…
"You already said he has nothing you want, and you don't need more money."
"There is no such thing as too much money. It's foolish to turn down a lucrative reward that requires no effort on my part, don't you think?"
He winced and tried to think through the situation. What did he have to offer her? He wracked his brain, thinking over their entire afternoon, trying to find something that might appeal to her twisted sensibilities. There was nothing.
"People will die," he said finally. "Lots of people. Innocent people. I might be the only person who can stop him."
Phaedra raised an eyebrow, telling him she was not impressed at his attempt to sway her. He cursed internally.
"I'm going to win," he said with conviction that surprised even himself. "You've seen me fight him. You know I have a power he doesn't. Why would you help the losing side?"
"What confidence," she said, apparently more pleased with this answer. "What makes you so certain you'll win?"
"Because I always win," he said fiercely. "And I won't rest until he rots."
She tilted her head, amused at his fiery words, and glanced at his scar. "A child of destiny. I admit that I did not expect that when we met. Of course, not all destinies are happy ones."
His anger at her amusement was becoming an almost physical thing. The chair holding him rattled, but the restraints didn't move.
"Now, none of that, Harry Potter," she said warningly. "I know what you are capable of now. I could have killed you already, remember."
He took a deep breath and willed himself to calm down. The chair stopped rattling. "This is not a game anymore, Phaedra."
"Of course it is. Everything is a game. This is just a different kind of game, with higher stakes."
She stood and approached him, then bent down to caress his cheek. Her face leaned in close to his, and he resisted the urge to pull away from her. "This is the best kind of game," she whispered. "The key to winning such games is to make the rules yourself. And I'm very good at winning."
Harry could barely control his temper. "This game is life or death, Phaedra, not gobstones."
She ran a hand through his hair almost affectionately, then returned to her seat. "I'm quite aware of that, Harry," she said with a mocking smile. "But I'm not certain you are."
"What does that mean?"
"This game is war. You are perhaps the most important player in the game. You can't win a war with…jelly-legs jinxes," she said, her lip curling in a way that reminded him of Snape.
He stared at her in confusion. Jelly-legs jinxes?
"You showed me you and your friends 'fighting a battle' at the Ministry," she continued. "It was preposterous."
"We held off a dozen Death Eaters until help arrived," Harry retorted, feeling the need to defend himself. "I'd call that a victory." Except for Sirius, he thought despondently.
She sneered, and it was the first time he had seen an ugly expression on her face. "You are only alive because they were afraid of damaging that precious sphere. It was a comedy of errors."
He didn't answer her charge. He couldn't deny that he had felt incompetent during the battle. Not to mention that it was mostly his fault they were there.
She examined him critically. "Are you prepared to kill people, Harry? To torture them for information and then execute them? There is only one certainty in this game: if you don't kill your enemy, they will kill you and everyone you hold dear. But you should know that already, given your…recent loss."
His chair rattled at the dismissive reference to Sirius. He longed to shout at her, but it would serve no purpose. It would only make things worse. He settled for glaring at her hatefully.
"I am only speaking the truth, whether you want to acknowledge it or not. How can you win the game when you're not even willing to play it?"
He clenched his jaw, trying to smother his fury. He had no idea how to respond to her.
Phaedra sighed and stood. She picked up her chair and moved it closer to him. Then she sat down and faced him with her chin in her hand, an oddly contemplative look on her face. He returned her gaze warily.
Before the silence could grow too uncomfortable, she smiled. It was almost warm. "I wasn't lying when I said you were endearing, you know."
His anger was slowly replaced by confusion. She was looking at him almost maternally.
"So brave, and yet so naïve. So incorruptible, and yet so helpless."
"I'm not helpless."
She raised a skeptical eyebrow, reminding him of his current situation. She leaned forward in her chair and pinned him with her gaze. "Bellatrix wasn't lying, Harry Potter. You have to mean it. Do you mean it?"
He swallowed thickly. He knew she was questioning his ability to fight a war. Was this a test he needed to pass? She had pivoted between teasing him, threatening him, deliberately provoking his rage, and was now giving him a serious lecture on warfare. His mind reeled, trying to make sense of it.
She sat back and watched him as he absorbed her words.
"I mean it," he said finally, uncertain whether he was trying to convince her or himself.
"We shall see, won't we?"
Silence dragged out as they watched each other. She stared at him thoughtfully, wearing no mask that he could detect. It almost gave him hope. Harry thought her face was even more beautiful when it was relaxed. Despite the situation, he felt an irrational need to seek her approval, to prove that he was worthy of the role he had been assigned in this game. Was she waiting on him to convince her?
"What is it you want, Phaedra?" he asked, as candidly and politely as he could.
She smiled, her amusement returning. "Oh, are we negotiating now, Mr. Potter?"
He blew out an annoyed breath. "I don't know, because I don't know what you want. More money? More pleasure?"
"I've already experienced a great deal of pleasure with you this afternoon. What other kinds of pleasure could you offer me?"
He had to stomp down the urge to swear at her beautiful, smirking face. "If you tell me what you bloody want in exchange for silence, maybe I can get it!"
The air rang with the volume of his words for a moment.
She sighed and looked at him almost sadly. "Oh, Harry."
Something in her tone terrified him, far more than when she had actually threatened him. "What?" he asked, his throat tightening.
She rose from her seat. He blinked and tried not to panic as she moved behind him. He flinched when she ran a hand gently through his hair. A moment later he felt her hands on his shoulders. She kneaded the tense muscles there, leaving him more confused than ever. It was unnerving not being able to see her. Her hair brushed his face and he could feel her leaning toward him.
"What makes you think you're even going to remember this afternoon?" she whispered in his ear.
His blood turned to ice at her words. "What?"
"Your mind is an open book, dear boy. Anyone could see our afternoon together. Anyone could see that I know the prophecy. You could simply tell someone what happened here. I am rather keen to avoid Dumbledore's attention."
"I…I wouldn't," he said, panicking. He struggled to turn and look at her, but she continued gently massaging her thumbs into him, as if they were intimate lovers comforting each other.
"I'm afraid that's irrelevant," she said softly. "I would be an absolute fool to let you leave this room with your memories. I am no fool."
He searched desperately for the words that would change her mind. There were none. All at once he realized he had been doomed from the start. "You were always going to obliviate me, weren't you? No matter what happened."
Phaedra stopped massaging him and walked back to her chair, letting the question linger. She seated herself and considered him for a long moment. "It was always likely. But I like to keep my options open. If things had gone differently, I might have let you keep your memories. We all like to savor the enjoyable ones, don't we?"
His mind whirled at the inescapable trap she had laid for him.
Slowly she smiled, her green eyes boring into his. "Tell me the truth, Harry. Let's pretend the prophecy doesn't exist. Let's pretend you have no enemies. If you could keep your memory of this afternoon, would you?"
Harry felt sick. She was teasing him with something he couldn't have. He looked into her eyes and tried to focus on the question, hoping he could find some way to change her mind, but despairing all the same.
"I would," he answered honestly. "I would want to remember this. I do want to remember this. Please, Phaedra."
"And why do you want to remember?"
He huffed, his outrage returning. "Because I just lost my virginity, for one thing. Isn't that an occasion to remember?"
She chuckled softly. "And did you enjoy the experience, setting aside your present circumstances?"
"You already know, don't you? You were in my bloody mind the whole time."
"Yes, but I want to hear you say the words."
Harry nearly growled at her. Her narcissism knew no bounds. "Yes, I enjoyed it. You know how fucking gorgeous you are. I can't say I loved every second of it, because half the time I was terrified. If you set aside your bloody wand in my neck—it's something I want to remember."
She nodded slowly. "It has been an enjoyable afternoon for me too, Harry, if that means anything to you. But I'm afraid our time together has come to an end."
Her wand slipped into her hand.
Panic rose in his chest again. "You don't have to do this, Phaedra. I wouldn't betray you."
"I don't leave people in a position to betray me."
"I need my memories of this afternoon," he said, pleading. "You…you warned me about Hermione. I need to remember that. You gave me advice I need to remember. You…" he thought desperately, trying to find something that would convince her. "You want me to remember, don't you? To remember that it was you who…seduced me? Isn't it more satisfying for you if we both remember?"
Her sadistic smile returned. "So you do have some insight. But I want to continue living far more than I want satisfaction."
He struggled against his bonds, but they seemed to grow tighter around him. "What are you going to do?"
"The simplest thing would be to turn you over to the Dark Lord immediately. That would remove many an inconvenience for me, wouldn't it?"
He stared her down. "But you don't want to do that. Not really."
"Oh?" she said, amused. "You have become an expert on me in our brief time together?"
"You don't want to get involved," he said firmly. "You just like toying with me. Don't lie. You never intended to turn me over to Voldemort."
She smirked. "Go on."
He licked his lips, hoping his mind would supply the proper words. It dawned on him that he was now in the absurd position of having to seduce her. "All your little threats…they were a game. You were playing with me, because it amused you and because…because I was terrified of you."
"You think me a witch who makes idle threats?"
He winced. "No. I mean—not when you had your wand at my neck, but before that…you were doing what you needed to do to seduce me. You didn't plan to hurt me."
"And how is this relevant to your current predicament?" she urged.
"Nothing has changed," he said desperately. "Except that you got what you wanted, and…and you enjoyed it. You just said you did. You could just…leave me alone. You could watch the game play out. Or you could help me. Wouldn't that be a different kind of pleasure?"
She snorted, and it turned into full-blown laughter. "You are suggesting that I help you defeat the Dark Lord?"
"What's stopping you?" he insisted. "Wouldn't it make the game more, er, sporting? Don't pretend you couldn't do it in secret and cover your tracks."
She stared at him in seeming admiration. "Such a Gryffindor. Do I strike you as a charitable witch, Harry?"
"No. But you are the kind of witch who makes deals. Favors for favors, you said."
"What sorts of favors?" she asked coyly, mocking his own words from the limousine.
"Merlin, Phaedra," he said, at his wit's end. "You decide. I don't know what you want. I would be in your debt afterwards. You would enjoy that immensely, wouldn't you?"
She grinned at him, her eyes twinkling, and it slowly became a bright smile, the most beautiful and terrifying he had yet seen. "Absolutely adorable," she cooed.
Harry huffed indignantly, and couldn't contain a little blush.
She leaned forward and caressed his cheek with her hand. "I am not a kind person. Do you truly want to be under my thumb?"
"No, but I don't want to die before I even get a chance to fight," he said mulishly. "You may be a bitch, but you're honorable. Sort of."
She laughed, then leaned back and looked him over from head to toe. He thought she had a streak of voyeurism that almost matched her narcissism. "You are full of surprises, Harry."
"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment."
She crossed her arms, tapping her wand lightly with one finger. "Do you know what the most delicious aspect of this situation is?"
"I could promise you the world right now. I could promise to help you, in exchange for future favors. But if I changed my mind…you would never know. One day soon you could find yourself kneeling before the Dark Lord, and you would never know that it was I who put you there. But I would know. Isn't that lovely?"
His gut tightened. "You're not going to do that."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"Because you would want me to know it was you. If I never learned how I was captured, you wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing my pain."
She didn't respond to his words, just watched him with pursed lips that might have meant amusement or disapproval or something else entirely.
Finally she stood. Harry watched with trepidation as she walked to a bureau on the other side of the room, returning with something in her hands.
"What are you doing?"
"Our time is short," she replied. "I am going to obliviate you soon. That is simply not negotiable. Whatever else lies in your future, I promised to pay you for our afternoon together, and I shall."
Harry blinked at the non-sequitur. He had completely forgotten about her proposition in the chaos that followed. "Pay me?"
She levitated a nearby end table and placed it right next to him. On it she placed parchment, a quill, and a small key.
"As I said, Harry, I return the favors that are granted me. You'll soon discover yourself to be significantly wealthier." She held up the small key, and he realized it was from Gringotts. "There will be 100,000 galleons in this vault within the hour, and this is the only key."
He gaped at her. "A…a hundred thousand galleons?"
She stroked her finger under his chin, as if he were a favored pet. "That is more than I intended to gift you, but you did provide me with quite a lot of entertainment. Far more than I was expecting. You didn't even ask me how much I was offering for your time. Quite disappointing, really. You're lucky that I'm so generous."
Harry swallowed, still stunned by the amount. A hundred thousand galleons. Five hundred thousand pounds. That amount of money could buy a nice house…or help wage a war.
"Perhaps I'll place a book on occlumency in the vault too," she continued, amused at his stunned expression. "You certainly need it."
He looked at her sharply. "Wait—you're going to help me?"
"A book is no great favor. Consider it a tip. I'd also suggest you write out a will at first opportunity. We don't want all that money going to the goblins, do we?"
She slowly raised her wand until she was pointing it at him. He froze in the chair. "No! Please…"
A moment later the bonds holding his arms were released. The ones on his legs and chest remained. He almost collapsed in relief.
She chuckled softly and nodded toward the parchment and quill. "It's time to write yourself a little note, Harry. Make it brief. We are pressed for time."
"What kind of note?" he asked weakly, his heart racing.
Phaedra smiled deviously.
The next five minutes were dizzying for Harry. He wrote a quick note to himself on her orders; then she bound his arms again and tied a blindfold around his eyes. While he was swathed in darkness and panicking, she whispered seductively into his ear. He squirmed in the chair, her words almost bringing him to arousal again.
When she was finally finished, she removed the blindfold and placed it in her robes. "I think you'll enjoy that in the future," she said with a pleased smile.
"You'll mean I'll torture myself over it," he said resentfully.
She stared at him for a long moment, and he stared back. It seemed there was nothing left to say.
"For what it's worth, Harry, I'm sorry to take this from you. I quite enjoyed our afternoon together. I will consider your offer, and should you prove victorious…perhaps you will get your memory back. Or perhaps you will die never knowing of our afternoon together."
She slowly raised her wand and pointed it at his head. He stared at it, knowing it was futile to beg. Still his instincts screamed at him to do something, to say something.
"Phaedra…people will die if you betray me," he said quickly, trying to coax even the tiniest amount of empathy from her.
She smirked at him. "Betrayal would require me to have been on your side."
She laughed at the look of anguish that crossed his face.
"Fare thee well, Harry Potter. Perhaps we shall meet again," she said, her green eyes nearly glowing. "But I wouldn't count on it."
Harry sat up groggily and looked around. He was on a bench in the park not far from his home. He couldn't quite remember arriving there. He looked around warily, taking in the empty surroundings and the slowly setting sun. It had been midday the last he remembered. What had happened? Had he fallen asleep?
He felt for his wand, and was relieved to find it strapped to his arm. He shook his head, trying to get his bearings. His head felt fuzzy.
He stood slowly and noticed that his body ached in several places. He frowned and looked himself over. His clothes were slightly askew and one of his pockets seemed full. He didn't remember bringing anything with him to the park.
Cautiously, he reached inside his jeans and pulled out a folded parchment.
When he opened it, a bright golden key fell to the ground. He stared at it in confusion. It was clearly a Gringotts key. He picked it up and examined it. It was engraved with a number he didn't recognize.
He looked down at the parchment with a sense of foreboding. There was a note on it, and it appeared to be written in his own hand. It read:
I solemnly swear that this is not a prank, and that you enjoyed yourself this afternoon, even if you don't remember it. The money and whatever else you may find in the Gringotts vault is yours. Tell no one, and spend it wisely. After you read this, speak the word 'fodio' out loud. Don't worry. It's not a portkey.
PS – Ask for an emergency portkey from Dumbledore, and stay closer to home.
PPS – Make sure Hermione gets wards on her house.
PPPS – Make a will. Soon.
"What the fuck?" Harry said aloud.
He read the note three times, trying to make sense of it. It appeared to have been written by him. Had it been written by his future self? Was there a time turner in that vault? Or had he been obliviated? It would explain why he couldn't remember the afternoon.
What the hell had happened to him?
He drew his wand and looked around suspiciously. There was nothing out of place in the park. There weren't even any muggles around. The only sound was the wind rustling through the trees.
He cleared his throat nervously, deciding he needed answers. He would have to trust the note. He set it carefully aside, in case it proved to be a portkey after all.
"Fodio," he whispered.
Instantly, he was assaulted by darkness. He could see nothing. But he heard a voice, and it echoed in his mind. The voice was female, and he didn't recognize it. It purred at him in the most seductive tones he had ever heard.
"Remember my voice, Harry. When you're alone in bed tonight, and every other night, remember the curve of my breasts and the way they filled your hands. Remember the silk of my thighs and the way they gripped you so tightly. Remember—when you're in a broom closet and snogging some silly little girl—that her lips could never taste as sweet as mine. Imagine what we did together. Imagine the ecstasy I gave you. If you're very lucky, perhaps someday you'll feel it again."
The words stopped, and he could suddenly see again. "What the hell?!" he gasped in complete shock.
What in Merlin's name had happened to him this afternoon?
A/N: Hope you enjoyed it. I like the note of uncertainty it ends on, and I'll probably leave it there. I've got an idea for a brief epilogue, but right now I'm leaning heavily against posting it.
I wrote this as an exercise, mostly to see if I could pull off a story where the sexual experience was both erotic and terrifying. I don't consider this to be a true dom/sub situation. The original plan was to write a Harry/Bellatrix story, as I think you can see from some of Phaedra's behavior. I read a lot of Harry/Bellatrix in preparation, and those that weren't terrible (or flat-out rape) always did the same thing: alter one or both of them to the point of unrecognizability. I concluded Harry/Bellatrix couldn't be done right without going massively AU. (If you've found one that gets it right, please let me know).
I tried to capture the 'atmosphere' I wanted with Phaedra Zabini. I've got mixed feelings about the result, but I like her character and I think it mostly worked. I'd love to hear what you think.
More stories are on the way soon, including a Harry/Pansy smutty comedy. Thanks for reading.