Author's Notes: Response to the HP_Despoiled Non-Con Challenge. Based on the event mentioned in canon in which Harry is found on the roof of the school kitchens. In canon, his headmistress merely sent a letter to the Dursleys. But I say, ‘That's too simple for me!' ...

In Session

By Queen of the Castle


A sharp rap on the headmistress's door caused Harry Potter's head to shoot up from it's previously drooped position. For the last half an hour he had been staring at the floor in an effort to avoid the eyes of his mean-spirited head of school. He'd been dragged into her office immediately after he'd been found sitting on the chimney of the school kitchens.

No one, of course, had listened to him when he'd tried to explain how he'd gotten up there. Not the teacher who had found him, not the secretary sitting at her desk outside the office, and certainly not the headmistress herself, no matter how many time he repeated his story. Not that he blamed them, for he himself was unsure how it had happened, and his version of events wasn't at all convincing.

But all Harry knew was that he'd been running away from his cousin Dursley and his brawny gang – who had, as usual, been trying to catch him and beat him up. He'd gone to jump behind the bins outside the kitchen doors, hoping that they'd be stupid enough to run right by him in his hiding spot, but it would seem that he'd jumped far too high, right onto the roof. He supposed that he must have been caught by a huge gust of wind, or something, because there just wasn't any other explanation. He would say it was something like magic, but Harry thought he was already in enough trouble with his relatives without bringing up that sort of ‘foolishness'.

Especially since the headmistress had called his Uncle Vernon up to the school.

She cleared her throat importantly and ordered the person outside the door to enter. The door swung open to reveal, as Harry had expected, a very purple-faced Vernon Dursley.

"Ah," the headmistress greeted, "Mr Dursley, I presume. Pleasure meeting you, of course, but unfortunate that it should have to be on these terms. And I'm dreadfully sorry to have had to pull you out of work for this, but we couldn't have Harry sitting in my office until after school finished, could we?"

Uncle Vernon seemed to swell up in anger as he took a seat beside Harry, across from where the headmistress sat at her desk. "What has the boy done now?" he boomed. Harry tried not to cower as his uncle's beady-eyed glare was directed at him.

"Earlier today he was found, Mr Dursley, on top of the roof of one of our school buildings. This blatant disregard for the school rules is absolutely unacceptable, as I'm sure you'll agree. And it's not his first offence, either; I'm sure you recall the occasion on November of 1988 when he turned his teacher's wig blue. If not, I can show you his file to refresh your memory."

Uncle Vernon scowled. "That won't be necessary."

"Well then, you'll understand why I've called you here today rather than sending out the customary letter of warning. I would like to discuss with you the possibility of sending the boy to a counsellor in order to unearth the cause for his disruptive behaviour. Now, I'm sure it has nothing at all to do with his home life. But there could be bullying in his past that has slipped under the school's radar; as much as we pride ourselves on being very quick to stop such matters, there are sometimes – very rarely, mind – occasions in which the bullying is too subtle for us to notice.

Looking once again down at the linoleum, Harry snorted softly. He caught the jerking of Uncle Vernon's head in his peripheral vision, but refuse to look up to acknowledge the man leering at him. Honestly, as if the kind of bullying he put up with – courtesy of Dudley and his cohorts – could be called subtle.

The headmistress continued to rave about how wonderful the school was, and Uncle Vernon responded by raving about how wonderful his family was. Harry automatically tuned out; he really didn't need to hear the ‘Harry Potter is a bad seed' speech yet again. He got that often enough when his Aunt Marge came to visit.

It seemed to take forever, but eventually the meeting drew to a close. The headmistress let them go with just one more additional, "Any more incidents and he will no longer be welcome at this school."

As they rounded the corner away from the entrance to the administration building, Harry found himself pushed forcefully into the brick wall. Harry cried out softly as the grinding of the rough brick against his back tore the threadbare material of his shirt and scratched lines across his flesh.

"What happened?" Uncle Vernon demanded, his hands remaining on Harry's shoulders to hold him in place.

"I don't know!" Harry exclaimed. "One minute I was running away from Dudley and his friends, and the next I was on the roof."

Even before the reddish-purple tinge on Uncle Vernon's face warned him, Harry knew he'd said the wrong thing.

"Are you accusing Dudley of being responsible for your acts of freakishness?" he shouted grabbing Harry by his unruly hair and slamming his head angrily into the wall behind him.

Harry shook his aching head as frantically as he could considering it was throbbing in pain and his uncle's hand still grasped his hair. "No, of course not! I only meant –"

"Right," said Uncle Vernon, ignoring him, "that's it. I won't put up with this anymore. I won't have a freak like you in my house, accusing my son of being as disruptive as you, pulling me away from work every time you need to be dealt with. It's time you learned to accept responsibility for your own actions."

Pulling Harry by his hair, Uncle Vernon forced Harry into the nearest empty building, which happened to be one of the two boy's bathrooms that were situated around the school. As they entered, Harry remarked silently that the air reeked, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to care. He shoved Harry hard away from him and Harry fell, sliding across the ground into a wall with a gasp of pain.

He thought of yelling for help as his uncle approached, but the small amount of logic Harry was able to muster in that moment told him that no one would come. Classes were still in session (Harry himself had been excused for the day), and so students and teachers alike were all currently pre-occupied. Not to mention they were all too far away to hear any cries. And Harry didn't want to give Uncle Vernon reason to make whatever beating he was ready to dish out worse without the possibility that he would be rewarded for his efforts.

"Locking you up in your cupboard obviously does nothing. You still think that you're better than everyone else, no matter how many times you're put in there. Starving you has no effect at all, either, it would seem. Even a sound beating won't have a lasting effect; you'll be sore for a while, then you'll go back to thinking that you're untouchable, because a beating isn't bad enough to really scar you.

"No, I can only think of one thing that might work on you."

And with that, Harry found himself on his hands and knees with his face shoved into one of the low-set urinals that lined the walls. The air smelled even more strongly there, and Harry nearly choked on it.

One of Uncle Vernon's hands grasped the waist of his trousers, tugging even as the other hand undid his belt. The pants came down immediately once that was loosened, for Dudley's old cast-offs were much too large to stay on him without assistance.

"There's a time and a place for this sort of thing, boy, and this certainly isn't the usual sort of discipline. But you've forced me to take matters into my own hands, now ... you can't even be punished the correct way, can you? So abnormal ..."

But Uncle Vernon's rage seemed to have overwhelmed him to the point that he was past words, for he trailed off from this degradation and simply bared his teeth angrily. He yanked Harry's trousers past the knees that held him up and tossed them out of the way. His underwear soon followed in the same manner, as Harry shivered at the sudden feeling of exposure.

"Uncle Vernon, what –" he tried, but his uncle purposely slammed his head against the white porcelain of the urinal to shut him up.

A long silence followed, interrupted only by the eventual sound of a zipper being pulled down and the rustle of clothing pooling around Uncle Vernon's feet.

"I'm going to give you what's been coming to you all these years, you insubordinate brat," Vernon growled as he kicked away his trousers and underwear in just two movements of his feet. "And then you might be more normal."

Harry didn't know what he expected to happen, but it certainly wasn't the dull stabbing of a blunt object against his naked backside. He swivelled his head just enough to catch glimpses of what was going on behind him and gasped in shock.

The pole-like object that was poking him was actually the hard length that lay between Uncle Vernon's legs. He'd never seen anything like it. His own got hard sometimes, of course, but his uncle was an adult; that thing was much bigger than it Harry thought his own would ever be. And ... what was that he was doing with it?

Uncle Vernon caught him looking back and slapped him harshly on his bottom. Harry yelped in response.

"Don't turn around!" Uncle Vernon barked, and Harry resolved not to. He didn't know what on earth his uncle was planning, but perhaps if he obeyed him he could get through it without too much of the sort of pain that was making his backside tingle unpleasantly.

Harry could see nothing but the whiteness right in front of his eyes, and hear nothing but their combined breathing and the soft scraping of Uncle Vernon's bare knees as they moved across the floor.

But he could feel, and right then what he was feeling was Uncle Vernon's hands moving to grasp his upper arms – which were already tense with the effort of holding Harry's body up – and the end of that hard length trailing across the left cheek of his bottom toward the centre, leaving a sticky trail behind it.

Harry longed to push his uncle off his and run away, for although he had only the barest ideas what might be coming, he knew well enough that it wasn't going to be a pleasant experience for him.

He longed to simply ask his uncle what he was planning, because the suspense of not knowing might be the worst of it. Maybe Vernon Dursley would, for once in his life, not be as bad as his word.

But Harry could do neither of those things without risking bringing much greater pain onto himself, so he remained still and quiet up to the point when he felt the blunt nub touch the hole in the middle of his cheeks.

"What –" he began, but ended without a wordless cry as what seemed like the whole length of his uncle's hardness pushed into that hole in one sharp thrust. His legs quaked dangerously beneath him, threatening to give out and land him on his stomach with his uncle still inside him. And it hurt terribly, and surely that wasn't meant to go up there; surely nothing was meant to go up there if this was how much it hurt. Harry wailed repeatedly, painfully, until the top of his head was bashed once more into the urinal.

"Don't you dare try to attract attention! This is what you deserve, and no one is going to save you from it! You don't deserve to be saved from it."

But try as Harry might, he couldn't confine the noises that escaped his throat to soft grunts and groans and heavy panting, not when Uncle Vernon was tearing him apart from the inside like that. He was sure he must be bleeding. In fact, he was certain he must be dying slowly from the painful onslaught of his uncle's erection stabbing inside him again and again, seemingly more painful with each thrust.

And then Uncle Vernon was making his own loud noises; he was moaning deeply as he thrust forward one last time. And then it was over, and small spurts of liquid filled Harry's hole, surely mixing with the blood that must be there. And Uncle Vernon's erection drooped, becoming as soft and flaccid as Harry's as he pulled it out of his nephew's abused hole.

Harry still did not speak for fear of his uncle's wrath, but tears were running steadily down his face and he snuffled softly, trying to reign in his sobs.

"Stop blubbering, boy," Uncle Vernon ordered as he stood up and retrieved his underwear and trousers. "You deserved worse than that. That'll teach you to go about breaking the rules and making fools of your aunt and I in front of your headmistress. You won't do it again, will you?"

"No," Harry whispered.

"What was that boy?"

"No, Uncle Vernon," Harry replied with as much force as he could gather.

"Good. Now get dressed."

Harry could barely stop himself from collapsing to the ground and lying there face-down until he passed into merciful unconsciousness. But then he imagined going through the whole thing again, and he forced himself to his feet, staggering over to the corner where his clothing had been thrown.

"Stop crying!" Uncle Vernon ordered once more, but Harry could not stop the soft sounds he was making, nor the stream of moisture running down his face. He clasped the belt shut over his trousers once he'd managed to pull them up.

"I said stop that!" Uncle Vernon, fully dressed once more, stormed over to him. "Can't do that right either, can you?"

Uncle Vernon grabbed him yet again by the hair, and this time forced his head into a washbasin. He swiftly turned on the water and Harry quickly tried to breathe in a precious huff of air, but his mouth and noise were squashed very close to the rounded porcelain and the gushing water was pushing away whatever small amount of air might have made it into the small gaps around his air openings.

Harry was unsure how long he was held there, but his lungs were burning when he was let up for air. His mouth gaped like that of a fish pulled out of the water, sucking in all the air he could get.

"Disobey me again and I won't let you up," Vernon threatened, and Harry nodded his agreement.

Thankfully, when the gasping died down it was not replaced with tears.

Then they walked out of the bathroom and then out of the school just as they were; Uncle Vernon looking just as composed as if he had remained at work after all, and had just completed an everyday business transaction, and Harry red-faced and wet, his sopping hair dripping a mixture of sweat and water all over his oversized shirt.

But his appearance didn't seem to matter to Uncle Vernon, nor to anyone else, because there was no one around to see him. Class, after all, was still in session in the small public school.


Return to Archive