The slap to his face was harder than he'd expected. Harry had seen it coming, had known Bellatrix, of all people, would put her all into hurting him, but the searing pain in his neck and head had reverberated through his upper body in a way that he had scarcely imagined such a gesture could hurt. He had little time to recover before she was digging her nails into his scalp, forcing his head back at a sharp angle as she leaned close.

"Aw, you're not going to cry, are you?" she asked. The heat of her breath warmed his face as Bellatrix whispered. "I'm just getting started."

"What are you going to do to me?" Harry asked. His voice didn't sound like his own. It was high, raspy, a needling whine that betrayed not only his fear, but the excitement just beginning to warm the bottom of his stomach.

Bellatrix laughed. It was a chilling sound, a low rumble that poured forth from her full lips in a growl. Her sharp nails met his neck. She scratched at his throat lightly, running her fingers down the pale skin of his bare chest. "I'm going to have my way with you," she said. She stepped back. The small smile curving her lips sent gooseflesh over Harry's arms and back. Bellatrix flicked her wand. Tight ropes instantly bound him to the chair, digging into his skin just below his ribcage, over his bare thighs and around his ankles; his hands and feet were rendered immobile.

He couldn't move. Not that he had desire to. The excitement he felt was joined by another sensation as Bellatrix conjured a short whip. Another wave of her wand and her black robes disappeared. He tried to keep his eyes on the face in front of his, but found his gaze being drawn down repeatedly. He finally gave in and stared, looking his fill before a sharp pain across his chest forced his eyes up again. Bellatrix raised the whip and lashed across his chest again; his nipples drew tight and Harry squirmed in the chair.

Bellatrix smiled then; her teeth gleamed in the low light. The whip came across his stomach and then his upper thighs in quick succession; Harry's breath caught. She looked at his lap and her smile widened. Bellatrix leaned close. Her sharp nails sank into his thigh. "Like that, do you?" She sat on his lap, her legs on either side of the chair. Harry felt moisture on the top of his thighs. He groaned from the contact. Bellatrix laughed as she lowered her head to his chest. Her tongue darted out to flick one nipple. He shuddered and squirmed again, straining against his bonds.

With another one of those chilling laughs, she bit his chest, leaving the first of what would be many scars that night. She reached down between his legs, sighing as her nails scratched across his erection. She squeezed. Harry moaned, first with pleasure and then pain, watching with horrified fascination as she began to stroke him, using the whip to leave marks across his calves with her other hand.

Harry sat up from the bed, a scream dying on his lips. His sweaty hair was matted to his face and neck. It took several long moments before he realized where he was. Alone in his bed at Hogwarts. He squinted at the four lit wands being shone into his face. All but one lowered. Scrambling, he moved the sheets over the apex of his legs, crumpling the material to hide the unfortunate aftereffects of his dream.

"I'm fine," he whispered, waving his friends away. "Go back to sleep." With a grunt and a frown, Seamus turned away to do just that, followed quickly by Dean and Neville. Ron stayed behind, lowering himself to sit on Harry's bed as the other boy willed his heart to slow and the almost painful erection to recede. He watched Harry for a few moments, his lips parted as if he was on the verge of speech. "Ron, really, I'm fine," Harry assured him. "It was just another nightmare."

Ron frowned. "It wasn't just that, though." He looked around, dropping his voice until Harry could barely hear it. "Voldemort was up to something, wasn't he? What was he doing?"

Harry swallowed. In spite of his revulsion, an excited shiver went up his leg just thinking about it. He had to believe those were just Voldemort's emotions, not yelled expelled from his conscious mind. Licking his suddenly dry lips, he whispered, "You really, really don't want to know."