TBGCTBGC
He Defines Me
Chapter Eighteen
Harry’s POV: Six-Years-Old
Master said I had hit a growth spurt. It must have been a very small one, I always imagined that a growth spurt would entail more than a few inches. I thought I would be as tall as Master, or at least nearly. Instead, I was barely taller than his waist. If I stood really straight my forehead reached his belly button, and if I stood on tip toes, I could lick his stomach. He hated when I did that, but that was why I did it, to get his attention when he was talking to Mister Malfoy and ignoring me.
I wasn’t a very good pet, not most of the time, and most especially not when Mister Malfoy was around because he was always around and he and Master were always talking and leaving me alone. I suppose I was a little jealous when I think back to it. Mister Malfoy and Master were talking about important things that I didn’t understand, places I didn’t know. Usually I could sit still for the first few minutes, but then I’d get jittery, I’d start swinging my legs and humming and doing anything annoying that I could think of without actually interrupting. If they ignored that I’d eventually crawl over the Master’s feet, or sit in his lap, sulking, while they talked.
Not that I was that way about everyone. When Mister Pettigrew came over I liked to sit at Masters feet and stick my tongue out at the little man when I didn’t think anyone was looking. One time Mister Malfoy caught me. He told me it wasn’t polite, and most definitly not becoming of Master’s pet. It probably wasn’t, but Mister Pettigrew looked so funny. He kept shooting glances between me and Master as though he were afraid he was seeing things.
If Lady Narcissa came by I just hid behind the bed until she left. Master knew I didn’t like her, and he often said I should give her a chance, especially since she had done such a nice job cutting my hair. My hair was actually the most recent grievance I was attributing to her. It had nearly grown to my shoulders in some places and I was very pleased with the progress, however, Master said it was getting tangled in the back of the collar when I slept and it had to be shorter. Chin length was as far as it got before it simply stopped getting shorter.
I still didn’t like Mister Lestrange, but I suppose I was on my best behavior when he was around. I sat on the bed, cross legged, staring at the wall on the other side of the room until he left. I never said anything, I never moved. If I moved, he looked at me.
There had been so many visitors that night. Mister Malfoy and Mister Lestrange had come for two hours. Two hours of sitting on the bed saying nothing, doing nothing. Afterward, Mister Malfoy said he’d never seen so well behaved and had fulled my hair despite protest. Master scowled at me for the dirty look I gave his loyal follower, but he wasn’t mad, not really. Annoyed, not mad.
Master left with Mister Malfoy, but only for a while. When he came back he had Mister Pettigrew take me into the bathroom and watch over me while he talked to some people I didn’t know. It wasn’t often I saw more than one person in a day, and it had been quite a while since Mister Pettigrew had been by.
It was late at night now, heavy curtains had been pulled over the window in the bathroom leaving only candle light to illuminate the room. In what had become our nightly ritual over the last year and a half I was lying on my stomach on the bed, my legs spread wide enough to allow Master access, and he sat next to me, one hand on the small of my back, the other deftly moving two fingers inside of me.
Master had told me that some day this would allow me to give him pleasure, that we would play. I wondered what he meant by that, but he told me nothing other than I was too young yet to understand. That was probably the most frustrating response I ever got out of him. ‘You’re too young.’ I was six years old, when would I be old enough?
Looking back from the parchment I was drawing on, I watched the intent look on his face as he set about his task. He seemed to be concentrating awfully hard. I was fairly sure we’d been at it for some time by now, my picture of the dragon was nearly finished. It wasn’t very good, but then it was hard to draw between instructions to relax or tense, or flex certain muscles.
Sighing heavily, I laid my head down on my arms and saw him smile out of the corner of me eye, "Are you that disinterested?" I shrugged and he chuckled, pulling his fingers out, "My poor pet, tell your Master what’s bothering you."
I sat up, and crawled into his lap, carefully looking for any signs that he was annoyed or otherwise wanting me to get off. There were none, so I settled against his knees. "I want to know what you mean by playing. When will I be old enough?"
Master sighed heavily, and put a hand on mine, drawing it from his shoulder and down his chest and into his lap. I gazed questioningly at him, and he simply pressed my fingers into his crotch where I felt something stiff and large. It didn’t occur to me to pull away; I just looked down and sat back slightly. Pressing my palm over the hardness, I heard Master gasp, and looked up at his suddenly very controlled and yet anxious face, "Is something wrong?"
He shook his head, "No, pet, nothing’s wrong. That is why I stretch you. When you are old enough, I will put that inside of you, but I have no desire to do irreparable damage, so I am preparing you."
I wrapped my fingers around it and looked back down, marveling at its size, "It’s like mine, only different. Is it always this big?" It seemed to me that I would have noticed something that large and hard. It couldn’t have been easy to hide.
Master groaned slightly at my subtle hand movements, "No. It’s only like that when I’ve been playing with you."
"Oh." I moved my hand over it, tightening my fingers around it, "Does it hurt?"
I think he tried to laugh, but it came out as more of a quieted moan. "Sometimes. Pet, move your hand over it, up and down."
Curiosity got the better of my, and I smiled mischievously, "Can I take it out?"
It twitched in my hand, and I tried, unsuccessfully, not to giggle as Master reached down between our bodies and unzipped his pants, pulling it out quickly before settling back on his elbows, "Take it in your hand." I did as instructed, feeling the hot flesh burning slightly in my palm. It was silky smooth, and pale, but colored oddly from the rest of his body, there was almost a purple blue tinge.
He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, "Pump it. Gently. Move with the skin, not over it. Like that."
There was a strange sense of power, but not overwhelmingly so, and after a moment I watched his face. He looked like he did when he was taking an extremely hot bath after an arduous day. I moved a little faster, and he tensed as a warm fluid poured over my hand. It was opaque and thick, running over my fingers and onto his lap.
I lifted my hand to my face and sniffed it. Master still had his eyes closed, looking far more relaxed than he had a moment ago. Very tentatively I stuck my tongue out and tasted it. It was bitter, but not bad, just different. Licking it again to get a better taste I looked up from my hand to see Master staring at me, his eye brows raised, "Do you like it?"
"What is it?"
He sighed, and pulled me onto him. My hand fell to the bed and smearing it against the comforter. "That is what happens when an adult plays. When you get older it will happen to you as well."
Laying against him, I tried to imagine what it must have felt like. It looked enjoyable. Part of me wondered what else I could do to make him feel good like that. I would have done anything, I would spread my legs and let him take me the way I knew he so desperately wanted if I thought he would enjoy it.
Maybe he wouldn’t have. I was so small as a child, it might have hurt him. Looking back on things is so strange now. It’s not a fond memory anymore, it’s making me feel dirty, and I don’t want to feel dirty. I want to remember the stars. That’s why I thought of that night.
Much later, when he was asleep, I climbed out of the bed. I didn’t do it very often, just sometimes. I was always so quite. Mister Malfoy said it was unnatural. He said his own off spring sounded like a small elephant. Of course, he then refused to tell me what an elephant was.
The curtains hardly made a rustle as I slipped through them, seating myself on the inside ledge of the window. It was never open. The stars were so bright that night, and I sat there touching the window, my hand pressed against the cool glass as if I could reach them. Impossible, but I wanted it.
Parts of me, even then, wondered what it would be like to be those other children I sometimes saw playing in the front yard. They looked so happy. But then I had to remind myself. I was happy. Why wouldn’t I be? I had no reason to want, I had Master. Master made me happy. Now that I think about it, I suppose it was strange. I suppose I shouldn’t have had to remind myself.
-tbc-