Work Header

Wrong For Him

Work Text:

Disclaimer: Rowling owns it all. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Beta: Kamerreon

Warnings: Slash: male/male, adult language, sexual situations, sexual intercourse, humour, bad and decent pick-up lines, and total crack.

Wrong For Him

Harry Potter woke up one ordinary Wednesday morning and decided that he was going to lose his virginity.

A determined smile on his face Harry padded straight to the shower, ignoring his slowly waking dorm mates. As the hot water pounded down onto his skin Harry leant his head against the cool tiles and began to think his idea over.

Here he was, seventeen years old, and he had spent his entire adolescence fighting a war, of which he was the main weapon. He had no social life; not really, as he had two jealous friends who liked to monopolize his time and then ditch him to go snog in a broom closet.

Everyone else Harry knew was either a teacher, a Weasley, or hero-worshipped him. None of them were options for someone to lose his virginity to. He couldn’t very well proposition Lupin or, heaven forbid, Snape.

So Harry decided he needed to find someone he knew, not too closely, but not too distantly. He didn’t want whoever it was to be awkward after, but he also didn’t want it to be someone who would run straight to the Prophet.

Setting out to breakfast, Harry began by scanning his classmates. His gaze drifted over every house, trying to knock out the more obvious first. Of course, the first cut was all the girls.

Gryffindors? No. Just no. Not only did he know them all too well (without really knowing them at the same time) but there was one obvious stand-out point about them.

The Gryffindors were the knights of the court that was Hogwarts. They were boisterous, loud, energetic and, most importantly, they were tops. Harry had no interest in having someone’s cock shoved up his arse. He would do the shoving, thank you very much!

Harry looked over at the Ravenclaw’s next. The scholars: they were smart, brainy and… well, they were nerds. Harry feared that if he even managed to get into the throes of passion with one of them, they would want to assess everything afterwards in order to improve performance next time.

Hufflepuffs: ditzy, bouncy, and sweet. They were the ladies of the court, all a dither at the prospect that someone should request a dance with them. There was no way Harry would be able to find one who wouldn’t become attached to him afterwards. Harry wasn’t really looking for a long term commitment unless the person really connected with him. He didn’t need someone hanging off of him desperately. So Hufflepuffs were out.

And that only left the aristocrats of the court: the lords and ladies, the nobles, the Slytherins. They were graceful, elegant, would look perfect pinned beneath him as he fucked them into a mattress. But they all hated him. Not to mention that they were all so… slimy. They had none of the cunning and wile that their namesake had, and if Harry was going to fuck a Slytherin it would be a damn perfect Slytherin.

Slumping in his seat, Harry realized he had just ruled out every single possibility at Hogwarts. If he wasn’t willing to fuck any of them there was only one other option. And Harry took it.

Harry Potter left Hogwarts.

There wasn’t much they could teach him anyway, he knew all he needed to know. So he pulled what was becoming known as a ‘Weasley’. He left in his seventh year, reminiscent of the Weasley Twins’ famous exit.

Of course, they tried to stop him, but Harry was focused on his goal. He ignored everyone: Hermione, Ron, Dumbledore, even Snape. He was going to find someone to fuck!

So with this mindset, Harry Potter set out into the world.


Lord Voldemort was not happy. Not happy at all. His loyal followers had recently reported that Harry Potter had left Hogwarts, reason unknown. While this information was suspicious to the Dark Lord, he didn’t dwell too much on it.

However, soon reports began rolling in that Harry Potter was seen in many clubs, both Muggle and wizard, talking in corners with men. At first it was assumed he was gathering information on how to defeat Voldemort, but soon the real reason became apparent.

Harry Potter was trying to get laid.

Voldemort was furious. Potter was trying to get laid! Here Voldemort was, spending all his time plotting the take-over of the wizarding world, and the one who was supposed to be foiling his plans was waltzing around London trying to find someone to fuck!

Well, that was it. If Voldemort had no free time for sex, than Harry Potter shouldn’t have any either. So Voldemort set out to foil his plans. He had his Death Eaters stalk Potter, scaring off any potential lovers; he had them harass him at every turn.

And then Voldemort began to notice something. Potter never took a lover—never. At first Voldemort thought it was his meddling that made it so, until he realized that Potter rejected everyone.

So it became his new project. He wanted to find out who Potter would deem a worthy fuck.

Voldemort gathered his Death Eaters, summoning them to him with explicit instructions.

Seduce Potter.


Harry was getting very annoyed with his mission. He wasn’t going to give it up, no way in hell, but he was getting extremely annoyed.

Mainly because now, wherever he went, Death Eaters were popping up.

Now, this wouldn’t seem odd at all to Harry, as Death Eaters generally lived to kill him, but these Death Eaters were all acting extremely weird. Like they were either constipated, or they were trying to bugger him.

It all started with Bellatrix Lestrange…


“Well, little Potter.”

Harry spun away from the man he was chatting up to find himself face to face with Bellatrix Lestrange. She was smiling at him, looking up at him from under her lashes, a strange look on her face as she edged closer to Harry.

“Lestrange,” he hissed, reaching for his wand.

Her hand shot out and caught his quickly. “Ah, ah, ah,” she sung, “we’re among Muggles!”

Growling, Harry dropped his hand, but she didn’t release him. She rubbed his skin, making him shiver in disgust.

“What do you want?” he snarled. She flapped her lashes again.

“If I said you had a good body,” she purred, “would you hold it against me?”

Harry ran straight to the bathroom as bile rose in his mouth and managed to reach a toilet in time to vomit.


The second person to approach him was none other than Snape himself.

Looking extremely sour, he stomped over to where Harry was sitting, drinking his beer, and slumped into the seat across from him. Harry raised an eyebrow at him and Snape shot him a look of pure disgust as he bit out words as though they tasted foul.

“I’m like a Rubik’s cube. The more you play with me, the harder I get.”

Harry collapsed to the table, laughing hysterically at the greasy man. Snape spared him a single look of disgust before rising. “Is that a no then?” he asked. Harry didn’t respond, as he was still laughing. “Very well. And pull yourself together, Potter. You look like an idiot.”


Antonin Dolohov found Harry in a wizarding club, at the bar getting his drink refilled. He loomed over the saviour, his long, pale face glaring down at him.

“If I bit my lip would you kiss it better?”

Harry froze, staring up at the man. He was sure his face was slightly green, and the colour was echoed on the faces of those around him that had heard the advance.

Dolohov didn’t even bother waiting for a reply, he turned on his heel and left, seemingly relieved that Harry wasn’t interested.


“Can I have your picture? I want Santa to know exactly what I want for Christmas.”


“Your beauty is so distracting it caused me to walk into a wall. I’ll need your name and number for insurance purposes.”


“Excuse me; could you give me directions to your apartment?”


“If being sexy is a crime, you are guilty as charge—”



Voldemort, sick of his follower’s failures, decided that it was time to use his secret weapon. He would have rather kept this person in reserve, but it seemed he had no choice, Potter was being difficult.

So Lord Voldemort sent in Lucius Malfoy.


Harry almost choked on his beer when the elder Malfoy approached him in the dimly lit nightclub. There was no denying he looked good, but from the way he walked and the look in his eye, he was not going to bottom for anyone.

“Potter,” he purred as he leaned his hip against Harry’s table. Harry nodded to him before swallowing another gulp of beer.

“Malfoy,” he mumbled. He’d had enough of the weird shit he had put up with from the damn Death Eaters and if Malfoy said one freaky thing to him Harry was going to demand to be taken to see Voldemort danger or not.

“If I tossed this coin, what are the chances of me getting head?”

Harry slammed his bottle down onto the table before reaching up and grabbing a fistful of Malfoy’s shirt. He tugged that golden head down to his own, glaring into silver eyes. “Listen here, Malfoy,” he hissed, “unless you’re ready to spread your legs and let me fuck you, I suggest you take me to see that bastard of a snake you call master. Right now!”

Nodding carefully, Lucius extracted his shirt carefully from the tight grip before Potter crinkled it beyond repair. He jerked his head to the back door, intent on taking Potter to his master.

After all, a Malfoy Lord ‘spread their legs’ for no man.


Voldemort was quite surprised when Lucius returned with Potter. Lucius looked rather terrified for some reason, which became apparent when Voldemort set eyes on Potter.

He was gorgeous. His hair was a mess from running his hand through it, his green eyes were flashing, and his body was trembling with rage. He stalked back and forth in front of Voldemort, ranting and raving about how he had been harassed by a bunch of Death Eaters wanting to fuck him, when he would most certainly be doing the fucking, and how he was sick to death of it so he was there to stop it.

And the whole time he yelled, Voldemort was riveted.

When Potter finally blew out of steam he turned to face Voldemort, waiting for what he had to say. Voldemort calmly flicked his hand, dismissing any Death Eaters in the room, before he crossed from his chair to stand directly before the fierce youth. And then there was no stopping the words coming from his mouth.

“Well, Potter, the word of the day is ‘legs’. Let’s go back to my room and spread the word.”

Before Harry could explode, Voldemort gave him a truly devious smirk with his thin, almost non-existent lips.

“Mine, of course.”


And so that was how Harry found himself with three fingers buried up Voldemort’s arse as he prepared the Dark Lord for the fucking of a lifetime… at least, he hoped it was the fucking of a lifetime.

Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that Voldemort’s slim body was pale and attractive. He wasn’t sagging, despite his age, and had glared at Harry for even suggesting it. His thin lips were surprisingly kissable, and Harry enjoyed exploring them over and over again. His bald head was smooth to the touch, and Harry found that he liked rubbing it, even though Voldemort would point out that he was in no way a crystal ball.

And Harry loved his arse. He loved how it clamped down on his fingers, sucking them in, smothering them in tight heat, and couldn’t wait to replace them with his cock.

So he did. With Voldemort lying on his stomach, legs spread and propped up slightly, Harry pressed inside of him, swearing as his cock was swallowed up. Judging by the keening Voldemort released, he was enjoying it too.

And then Harry began to thrust. He slammed in, over and over again, immensely enjoying losing his virginity. Voldemort was hissing and writhing beneath him, muttering for more when he thought Harry couldn’t hear.

And when they finally reached completion, it was the most perfect moment of Harry’s life. His orgasm seemed to last forever, pulsating through him as he filled Voldemort’s tight arse with his seed.

Groaning, Harry collapsed beside the Dark Lord, panting heavily. Voldemort shifted his head to look at him, his eyes expressionless. Going on impulse, Harry shuffled over and snuggled into the snake-like man’s side, sighing softly when Voldemort wrapped an arm absently around him.

Harry had told himself that he wanted someone to fuck and then leave, a mutual agreement that it would be a one off, but now, snuggled into his worst enemy’s side, Harry couldn’t help but think that he wouldn’t mind another round with the man… or two… or three…

And as Harry fell into a deep sleep, Voldemort smirked. He would, of course, have to Crucio his followers that had dared to hit on his new consort, despite it being on his orders. And Harry was his consort now. He was a Lord, so it was only fitting he had one.

And deep in dreams of crimson eyes and thin lips, Harry smiled.

His mission had been successful. He had lost his virginity.

And to a damn perfect Slytherin.