At half past one in the morning, a figure apparated into Knockturn Alley and crossed the barrier into Muggle London. He paused in the archway, hidden in the shadows, and waited. A few minutes later, a Muggle couple walked past and he raised his wand.
Draco Malfoy looked down at his clothing, transfigured to match that of the Muggle male. Dark trousers, white button-down shirtsleeves, and a knotted tie around his neck. He was quick to get rid of the tie, tossing it on the dirty street, and tucked his wand up his sleeve. The top two buttons of the shirt were undone, and with a confident step, he strode into the City proper.
Three blocks north, two blocks east, and the seventeen-year-old walked passed the Muggle guard with a well-cast confundus charm. The smell of sweat and sex and alcohol assaulted Draco as he entered the club. The heavy pounding of so-called music battered his ears and vibrated his bones. He stopped inside the doorway, letting his gray eyes adjust to the blue and red light.
A mass of writhing, undulating Muggles made a disgusting display in the center of the club. Shiny, sweaty flesh desecrated with tattoos and piercings flashed through clothing that was tight, worn low, or removed completely. Bacchanalia disguised and labeled as dancing, drenched in alcohol and illicit substances.
Draco moved further into the club, finding a place near the wall with a clear view. He surveyed the crowd, searching for that night’s victim, anticipation curling in his loins. Muggle-hunting, for sport and torture, was the newest game, now that they were able to use magic outside of school. The rules were simple: choose a Muggle, torture him or her for at least an hour, and then mark a tally on a cheat-proof sheet. The one with the most marks by start of term won bragging rights. He’d fallen behind in his tally against his friends, but the summer wasn’t over with yet.
Draco measured and discarded several possibilities before his choice was made for him. He felt the brush of hands against his thighs and looked down to find a Muggle kneeling in front of him. Sleek bald head, lips stained like blood, and a lean muscled body, the Muggle gazed up at him with eyes rimmed with kohl and pupils blown wide. He was around Draco’s age, sixteen or seventeen. Slick black trousers rode low on his prominent hips and the blue light outlined the rigid bulge along the inner thigh of one leg.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Draco asked, almost inaudible beneath the music.
“If you have to ask…” The Muggle leaned forward and nuzzled Draco’s crotch.
The Muggle’s presumption upon Draco’s person made Draco want to hurt him, and that in turn titillated the blonde teen. Sex, for Draco, was always part of the game. He let his wand fall partially into his hand, unobtrusively cast an overlook spell, and relaxed back against the wall. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the Muggle’s lips, catching at the scar splitting the upper one. A tongue snaked out to lick at his thumb.
The Muggle unfastened Draco’s trousers with deft fingers and freed the hardening erection trapped beneath. Draco’s hand curved around the bald man’s head, pulling him forward with firm demand. The Muggle’s tongue snaked out again, licking at the tip of Draco’s cock before his mouth parted and he took Draco in.
Draco leaned his head against the wall, eyelids fluttering shut, as wet heat surrounded his cock. He hardened fully, the Muggle skimming the foreskin down with his lips. A thin hand wrapped around the base of his shaft and he gave over to the sensation of being blown.
Suction and friction and a rubbing tongue drew his orgasm from him by increments. He opened his eyes and peered down. The Muggle’s darkened lips stretched tight around saliva-shined flesh, cheeks hollowing with every pull. The red and blue lights created patterns on the bald scalp, shifting and swirling, as his head bobbed and he kissed his stroking fist. Draco’s pale fingers splayed across the back of the Muggle’s head, palming the knot of bone that was almost like a handhold.
He came with no noise, though a scream wouldn’t have been heard over the deafening beat. He watched the Muggle’s throat work, swallowing the ejaculate, lashes fluttering over closed eyes, sucking him dry.
The Muggle pulled off slowly and licked his lips like a cat after cream. He tilted his head, opened his eyes, and Draco was pierced by the intensity of the Muggle’s gaze. The Muggle tucked Draco away and fastened his trousers. Then, from his tight pocket, he pulled out a small vial full of white powder that seemed to glow in the lighting of the club. Draco watched as he unscrewed the cap, put it to his nose, and inhaled sharply, his eyes closing again. The Muggle dashed the back of his hand against his nostril, pinched them shut briefly, and then exhaled through his mouth.
When his eyes opened, the intense stare was gone, replaced by a drug-induced haze. Draco felt disappointed for a moment, but then the Muggle took another hit and Draco remembered that he didn’t care.
The Muggle rose and began swaying sensuously to the music. He leaned close to Draco, his breath a bittersweet mixture of semen and alcohol. “Do you know who I am?” he said, American by his accent, and sounding quite coherent for someone chemically intoxicated.
“Should I?” Draco responded, skimming his hand over the Muggle’s bare chest. The skin was pale and unmarred, a perfect canvas for painting pain.
The Muggle tilted his head, gauging Draco with a sharpness that bled through the mind-altering drugs. “It’s more fun if you report to Daddy Dearest.”
“It can be just as fun if I don’t.” Draco wanted this particular Muggle now and wouldn’t be satisfied with any other for tonight’s hunt.
The Muggle licked his lips and rolled them together. Lashes that were tinted blue from the lights swept down as he rocked his hips forward, erection bumping against Draco beneath his trousers. “All right.”
“Let’s go.” Draco led the Muggle out of the club. Two blocks west, three blocks south, and Draco escorted the Muggle through the barrier into Knockturn Alley with a firm arm around his bare waist.
Shadows with eyes lurked from alleys and doorways, as Draco guided the Muggle down the cobbled street. No lanterns lit their path and the darkened shops dissuaded scrutiny. Magic weighed heavily in the air, shrouding the secrets of Knockturn Alley.
They climbed the rickety steps to the room Draco kept above Sadé’s Emporium. The door opened to Draco’s touch and the multiple candles lit themselves as they entered. A four-poster bed took up the majority of the room. A pristine white coverlet draped over the thick mattress, brushing the hardwood floor. A desk and a wardrobe made up the remainder of the furniture, flanking the door to the toilet.
Draco locked the door behind him and the wards activated automatically. His activities would go unnoticed beyond the four walls of the room. The imbedded silencing charm would smother the screams.
The screams were the best part of the game. Draco got off on hearing Muggles in pain, especially if he'd caused it.
The Muggle looked around without wariness, rubbing his pink, sickle-sized nipples with his thumbs almost absentmindedly. In the candlelight, he appeared much sleeker than in the club. A solid layer of muscle prevented him from appearing emaciated, though Draco could count his ribs and see each bump of his spine.
“Take your shoes off,” Draco instructed. He waited until the Muggle was barefooted. “Face the bed and take hold of each post.”
This was the part when Draco learned how compliant his victim would be. Some balked, questioning his directions. Others did as told, only to give demands of their own.
The Muggle smirked, a curve of his lips that annoyed Draco immediately. Draco let his wand fall completely from his sleeve, as the Muggle sauntered over to the bed. The Muggle took another hit from the vial in his pocket, tucked it away, and then grasped one post in each hand.
Arms stretched wide, the Muggle’s bare back was exposed to Draco. Only a smattering of freckles on the shoulders marred the pale skin. The obscenely low-slung trousers exposed the upper curve and cleft of the Muggle’s ass, and clung to the taut muscles of his thighs and calves.
Standing a few steps behind the Muggle, Draco raised his wand and snapped it downward diagonally. “Flagello.”
An audible crack accompanied the spell and a welt appeared across the Muggle’s back. The Muggle gasped and rocked on his toes, his hands tightened on the posts, but he did not cry out or complain.
Draco snapped his wand again. “Flagello.” Another welt appeared, parallel to the red line across the Muggle’s back. This time, the Muggle moved with the hit, but made no sound.
Perturbed, Draco snapped his wand three times in quick succession. “Flagello, flagello, flagello.” The spell broke the skin, beads of blood rising from the lines on the Muggle’s shoulder.
The Muggle bowed his head and rocked with the spell-hits, but otherwise did not react.
“Flagello,” Draco cast harshly, irritation mounting. “Flagello, flagello.” Red welts dotted with blood raised on the curve of the Muggle’s body, beneath his ribs. “Flagello.” Another welt, ending at the base of his skull. “Flagello, flagello, flagello.” Three more welts slashing his lower back.
Still, the Muggle made no noise. He did not protest. He did not try to escape.
“Flagello, flagello, flagello.” Faster now, and angrily, Draco snapped his wand down hard. His spell caught the Muggle’s biceps, splitting them. Blood bubbled from the wounds. “Flagello, flagello.”
Draco moved closer, changing the angle of his spell-strikes. He littered the Muggle’s back and upper arms with hits, until the pale skin was a mass of reddened, crisscrossed welts. Beads of blood tracing meandering paths down the Muggle’s marked flesh.
“Flagello!” A final snap focused the spell around the Muggle’s neck, leaving behind an inflamed band encircling his throat.
Draco took a step back. “Lower your arms and turn around.”
The Muggle inhaled and exhaled slowly, and then did as instructed. Draco’s nostrils flared when he saw the hungered expression on the other’s face. The Muggle had enjoyed the whipping.
The Muggle rubbed the heel of his palm against his crotch. His arousal was prominent, more so than back at the club. He licked his lips, the lower one swollen and marred with teeth marks. The pupils of his eyes were still drug-blown wide. He glanced at the fifteen-inch wand in Draco’s hand, blinked rapidly, and rolled his shoulders. He winced and then smiled dazedly.
Draco was a sadist, and the game was no fun if the Muggle didn’t scream. His victims in the Muggle hunt had quivered and sobbed at his feet, begging for him to stop. Even those who started out enjoying the whipping had to be tied to the posts shortly after he began, and they screamed before he’d finished with them.
This Muggle, though, was more aroused by the pain than Draco. Draco wasn’t sure he liked it. He wanted to hear the screams.
“Take off your trousers and undergarments and lie on your back, crosswise on the bed with your feet on the floor,” Draco said.
The Muggle licked his lips again and viciously twisted his trapped cock before unfastening his trousers. He skimmed them down his legs, stepping free of them. He wore no undergarments. His thick penis speared from his groin, surrounded by neatly groomed ginger hair. He had no foreskin, the bulbous head of his swollen cock plum-colored and glistening at the slit.
Draco was aroused at the sight of the long shaft, in spite of it being attached to a Muggle. His buttocks clenched at the thought of that hard flesh splitting him.
The Muggle settled on the bed with a wince and a hazy smile, blood staining the white coverlet. His penis bounced slightly against his abdomen, pulsing with his heartbeat. It curved nearly to his navel. Lightly furred testicles hung between his legs, resting on the edge of the mattress. He looked at Draco under half-lidded eyes and anticipation curving his lips.
Draco stepped between the Muggle’s legs and resisted the urge to stroke the rigid penis. Instead, he gripped his wand like a quill and rested the tip against the center of the Muggle’s throat. “Infidio,” he cast, and drew the wand slowly downward.
The Muggle hissed, chest expanding and body flinching, as the tip of Draco’s wand sliced cleanly into his skin. The cut was not deep, but blood welled instantly. Draco cut a line straight down the Muggle’s torso and circled his navel.
The Muggle looked intrigued behind his residual pain. He studied the wand in Draco’s hand. “How are you doing that?”
“Magic,” Draco answered, not needing to lie. The Muggle would be obliviated before being set loose. That was one of the strictest rules of the game, to protect the players from identification, because they couldn’t afford to kill them and have bodies piling up. The pleasure of the torture and the tally marks were really the only important part of the hunt.
The Muggle looked like he wanted to ask more, but changed his mind. His head lolled on the mattress, his fingers gripping the coverlet. He did not complain as Draco cut four short, equal lines star-bursting from the circle around his navel. He didn’t flinch again after the first cut.
Draco smirked, growing pleased with the Muggle. He still wanted to hear the screams, but for now he could work without distraction. Using his wand, he continued to cut, slicing a pattern into the Muggle’s skin.
From the sides of the circle around the navel, Draco cut two matching lines out to the Muggle’s hips, down each thigh to his knee, and ended in a triangle. Two circles were cut in the joint of the hips. A curl ran around each nipple, connected by a slice straight across his torso. Runes were cut into the depression where his shoulders and collarbones met and down both thighs. Draco hefted the scrotum last and carefully cut the rune-symbol of his name on the wrinkled skin.
Draco stepped back and admired his work. The Muggle’s breathing was ragged, his lower lip caught between his teeth. The lines Draco had cut were almost invisible, the blood from the wounds staining the Muggle’s skin and the coverlet on either side of him.
Draco raised his wand. “Inuro.”
The Muggle screamed. It was a beautiful sound.
The carvings on the Muggle’s body glowed orangish-red as they burned. The Muggle held the coverlet in a white-knuckled grip. Tears seeped from behind tightly shut eyelids. He dug his heels into the floor and writhed.
Draco stroked his erection beneath his trousers. He ended the spell and smiled as the Muggle slumped on the bed. The carvings were dark brown scars, the cuts seared shut.
“Inuro,” Draco cast again, smiling excitedly at the scream. It was torture for himself, too, to hear the exquisite sound, arousing him to the point of pain, and to hold back from fucking the Muggle for as long as he could.
He ended the spell. Panting heavily, the Muggle opened his eyes. The pupils had shrunk to normal and the clear blue gaze pierced Draco in place. The Muggle spoke, a steel demand in his rasped tone. “Again.”
Startled, Draco stared at the Muggle laid out like a sacrifice on his bed. Again? The Muggle wanted to feel the torture again?
“Again,” the Muggle repeated, harsher this time.
Hesitantly, Draco raised his wand and cast the spell. “Inuro.”
The scream wasn’t as pleasing as before, as the carvings glowed hotly. Though, Draco was still turned on by the pain. He watched the Muggle arch and thrash. He noted the Muggle’s cock hadn’t gone completely limp.
Draco ended the spell. The Muggle trembled in aftershock, breathing harshly through his nose, his jaw clenched tight. The carvings had blackened along the edges.
“Again,” the Muggle grit out, staring intensely at Draco through slitted eyes.
Draco lifted his brows. “You like pain.”
A slow smile spread across the Muggle's lips and his eyes went briefly hazy. “Yes.”
“That’s not normal, you know,” Draco commented.
The haze cleared and the Muggle looked directly at him with those piercing blue eyes. “I like being able to feel.”
Draco was intrigued by the answer. “Explain.”
The Muggle studied him, weighing and measuring with his gaze. Draco found it slightly unnerving that his victim was sizing him up.
“Physical pain is real,” the Muggle said after a moment. “It is truth. It isn’t a twisted mind game you can never win.”
Draco’s fingers twitched around his wand. Pain was a game for him.
“You like causing pain for the same reason,” the Muggle said, in opposition to Draco’s thoughts. “The reaction you get from whipping someone, or cutting, or burning, is real. It’s the base truth, unfettered by social masks or lies.”
“Causing pain makes me horny,” Draco stated uncomfortably. “Nothing more.”
“Are you aroused by anything else?” The Muggle must have seen Draco’s answer in his eyes. “Pain makes you feel, just like it does to me.”
Draco shrugged elegantly, pushing aside the uneasy sensation of being accurately pegged by a Muggle. “All right, then. Inuro Draconis.” Instead of igniting the whole spell, Draco pointed his wand at a specific rune-symbol.
The orange-red glow centered on the Muggle’s scrotum. The Muggle cried out just as intensely, even with the single carving burning. He twisted and writhed, but never let go of the coverlet to grab himself.
Draco ended the spell once more. The rune-symbol for his name was charred black on the Muggle’s scrotum, branding him as Draco’s property. Draco’s erection throbbed insistently. “Inuro Draconis.”
The Muggle really enjoyed the pain. Amazing. While it made the game less fun, it was becoming very arousing for a different reason. To find a Muggle who wanted to be tortured was a new and unique, and Draco liked being the possessor of rare things.
It was titillating, watching the Muggle thrashing about under the torture. Draco watched intently, growing more excited with each flick of his wand.
Ceasing and recasting, for a short duration or long, Draco alternated between the full burning and the name-specific one.
The carving scars blackened, vivid against the pale, bloodstained skin. Draco wished he’d cut more.
Draco moaned. He pulled on his testicles to stay in control. The screams were a beautiful thing, but he had reached the end of his resistance.
“Again,” the Muggle said hoarsely. Draco replied in the negative.
“No. I am going to fuck you now. Scourgify.”
The drying blood on the Muggle’s body and on the coverlet vanished. The carvings remained. Draco stepped between the Muggle’s legs and pressed the tip of his wand into the Muggle’s anus. “Scourgify,” he cast again. “Inuro Draconis.”
He let the Muggle scream and thrash, as he undressed. Draco’s erection was rigid and throbbed, extra-sensitive to the touch. He located the vial of oil where he’d left it and rapidly slicked some onto himself. With a flick of his wand, he ended the burning spell, lifted the Muggle’s legs to his shoulders, and pressed forward.
The head of Draco’s swollen shaft popped past the first ring of muscle and he stifled a groan. He pushed steadily, breaching the internal sphincter and sliding deeper. He felt the hot, silky walls of the Muggle’s anus surround his penis. Standing beside the bed, he rested his thighs against the mattress, his pelvis flush against the Muggle’s bottom. He held the Muggle’s hip, his wand gripped in the other hand, pressed against the bed.
The first entry always required a re-gathering of self-control and Draco paused as the Muggle’s muscles contracted and relaxed around his cock. The Muggle looked starkly pretty spread out before him, the candlelight darkening the burn scars and casting shadows in the hollows of his ribs. The smooth, bare scalp was an oddity, making him seem sleek.
Draco drew back his hips and thrust forward slickly. He did it again, and again, and soon found a rhythm, the Muggle’s body caressing and squeezing his cock. The Muggle rolled his head on the mattress, eyelids fluttering shut as he fell into the pleasure of being buggered. The Muggle’s penis hardened fully, sliding wetly against his belly.
Draco hair grew damp with sweat and fell into his eyes. He lifted his wand. “Inuro Draconis.”
The Muggle screamed. It was absolutely perfect.
Draco’s cock was captured in a vice and he moaned aloud. By rocking his hips, his cock barely moved, but the Muggle did, writhing and arching and bucking against him. Draco wrapped his arms around the Muggle’s thighs and held on, as the Muggle’s pain-inflicted body fucked itself on Draco’s shaft.
It was almost too much, skirting the edges of actually hurting, and maybe Draco liked feeling pain a bit, as well. Draco ended the spell eventually, and he fucked the Muggle through the convulsing aftershocks. He came with his eyes on the blackened rune-symbol of his name branded on the Muggle’s scrotum.
Breathing heavily, Draco pulled free, stepped back, and let the Muggle’s legs fall from his shoulders. The Muggle’s feet hit the floor with loud thumps and he almost slid off the side of the bed. He didn’t, though. He cracked his eyelids, shifted on the mattress, and grasped his semi-erect penis with his left hand. Looking right at Draco, he stroked himself to hardness with a lazy twist of his wrist.
Merlin’s Beard, this Muggle was different than any other Draco had hunted. Scarily, Draco was beginning to like him, as much as one could like any toy.
Draco’s buttocks clenched, desire hitting as he continued to watch the Muggle. The Muggle was so big, bigger than anyone he’d seen in a while, and he loved getting buggered by long, thick cock. But did he really want to have a Muggle penis up his ass?
The Muggle held his lengthy cock upright, practically an invitation to sit on it, and Draco’s hormones overrode his aversion. It was his pleasure that mattered and he wanted to ride that beast, whether the Muggle got off or not. Draco retrieved the vial of oil, tossed it at the Muggle, and pressed the wand against his own anus. “Scourgify. Laxo minimus.”
Cleaned and relaxed, Draco joined the Muggle. The Muggle had shifted, lying properly on the bed. His oiled shaft shined in the candlelight.
Draco put his wand under one of the pillows, straddled the Muggle, and reached behind him. His fingers closed around the Muggle’s penis for the first time and he moaned silently at the thickness. He rubbed the tip against his anus and then slowly sat down.
He felt like he was being split in two as the Muggle’s cock slid into him. He closed his eyes. He was stretched to the point of pain, even with the relaxation spell, and the burn of his muscles adjusting licked up his spine. Once seated, ass to pelvis, he could almost taste the Muggle’s penis in his throat.
He breathed harshly through his nose as his insides rearranged. His lower back ached from the fullness. His fingers gripped his thighs, his head bowed.
The Muggle’s hands rubbed lightly up and down Draco’s arms and along the sides of his legs. Draco opened his eyes and met the hungry gaze staring back at him.
He rocked forward and back, a minute shift of his pelvis that threw him into a tailspin of pleasure. He groaned aloud, moving his hands to brace against the Muggle’s torso. The Muggle latched onto his hips, and Draco began to ride him.
“Oh fuck,” Draco moaned, feeling the long slide in and out. The Muggle’s cock was rigid and unyielding. He rose and lowered himself again and again on the thick shaft, assisted by the strong hands on his hips. His mind whited out, and he was in that place where he could only feel.
Sweat dripped from his body and his dampened hair tickled his nose. His fingernails scratched against skin. His thighs trembled and burned. The cockhead bumped deep within him, the hard length stroking in and out and in.
The Muggle came suddenly with a grunt, his body stiffening beneath Draco. The hands on Draco’s hips tightened, fingers biting into his skin. The Muggle thrust up in short, rapid snaps of his pelvis and then held Draco flush against him. Draco could feel the swelling and releasing of ejaculate inside him and he moaned softly in dazed bliss.
He sat back, resting his weight fully on the Muggle, as he returned to coherency. He didn’t want to move and lose the wonderful toy filling his ass. He was erect again, though, and didn’t want to toss off.
With an unhappy, silent groan and a slightly disgusting pop, he unseated himself and moved off the Muggle. Lying back on the bed, he retrieved his wand, cast a quick cleansing spell, and motioned at his erection. “Suck me off.”
The Muggle’s mouth curved bemusedly. Draco almost hexed him, but then he shifted on the bed between Draco’s legs and got to work.
Draco drifted in a pleasure-filled daze as the Muggle licked, nibbled, and sucked. Heavy breathing and occasional slurping rose in the room. He glanced down to see the bald head bobbing over his groin. It was a lovely sight. The scar on the Muggle’s lips was a taut white line splitting the pink of his mouth.
Draco’s legs splayed open, and clever fingers fondled his testicles and stroked behind them. Two digits slipped inside his anus and curled upwards. A few moments later, he gasped and exhaled raggedly through his teeth as he was massaged in just the right spot.
He grasped the Muggle’s head, holding him still. His cockhead bumped the back of the Muggle’s throat as he thrust, riding between the fingers and the mouth. His hips bucked rapidly, orgasm spiraling up from his toes, and he came with a back-cracking shudder.
“Fuck,” he breathed, panting raggedly. His limbs felt like noodles. His brain was possibly oozing out his ear.
The Muggle chuckled and shifted from between Draco’s legs. The mattress raised somewhat as his weight left the bed. Draco peeled open an eye and watched as the Muggle picked up his clothing and disappeared into the toilet. He heard the sink tap turn on.
Draco loathed moving, but it was late, he was sex-exhausted, and he had a Muggle to get rid of. He forced himself to get up and retrieved the transfigured Muggle clothing he’d worn earlier.
The Muggle emerged from the toilet, dressed in his trousers and shoes, and he lifted his brows. A calculating look appeared in his eyes. “Would you mind showing me that magic trick again?”
Draco fetched his wand from the bed, closed the distance between them, and pointed the wand at the Muggle’s chest. “Stupefy.”
Draco caught the Muggle before he fell unconscious to the ground. Another quick spell kept the Muggle standing upright. He raised his wand again to start erasing the welts and scars, and paused. Leaning closer, he examined the marks on the Muggle’s chest. Were they fading?
Walking around behind the Muggle, Draco’s jaw dropped slightly when he saw that the whip marks had nearly vanished completely. The Muggle’s body had healed itself… unless he wasn’t really a Muggle.
Draco cast a basic magic detection charm and was intrigued by the results. The Muggle was just a Muggle, and his body apparently had rapid healing capabilities. A bonus, with his desire for pain, or maybe it was one of the reasons behind it.
Draco wondered if he could make a scar that would remain.
That thought aroused him all over again, though he didn’t physically harden. Draco pushed aside his reaction and focused on the task at hand. He began erasing the still-visible welts and scars on the Muggle, with a handy spell he’d learned from his father using it on him on many occasions.
This was the part he disliked, seeing his artwork completely disappear, like it never had been, but it was a necessity with the game. It appeared as though the Muggle’s scars would’ve faded to nothing, anyway.
Draco knelt on the floor. He pulled the Muggle’s trousers down to erase the marks below the waist. The blackened scar in the shape of Draco’s rune-symbol name stood out vividly on the pale pinkish flesh of the Muggle’s scrotum. He skipped over it and touched each scar on the Muggle’s thighs with the tip of his wand, casting the spell methodically.
Once finished, he fixed the Muggle’s trousers and cast another spell. “Mobilicorpus.”
Draco led the bespelled Muggle out the door, through Knockturn Alley, to the barrier to Muggle London. On the other side of the barrier, he dismissed the mobility spell and cast two more spells in quick succession. “Envenerate. Oblivate.”
The Muggle returned to consciousness and his memories of the past few hours would have disappeared before he could grasp them. He stared at Draco, confusion flitting briefly across his face. His features smoothed into an ambivalent mask. “It’s late. I should be going,” he said, as if he weren’t in an unknown side street with a stranger.
Draco’s lips curved and he inclined his head. “Perhaps I’ll see you again, sometime.”
“Perhaps,” the Muggle said dismissively. Without any awkwardness, he sauntered away.
Draco leaned against the brick wall, watching the Muggle’s ass sway beneath the tight trousers, allowing him to disappear into the night. It had been an interesting evening, unnerving and more exciting than he’d had in a while. The Muggle had caught his attention in ways no other had, and his mind was already coming up with ideas to try and make the masochistic Muggle scream.
Draco could - and would - find the Muggle again. He never was one for sharing his toys or rare treasures, and he wanted to find out if the Muggle was still branded with Draco’s name on his scrotum – the one scar he hadn’t erased.
Removing his wand from his sleeve, Draco transfigured his clothing back into proper wizarding attire, crossed through the barrier into Knockturn Alley, and with a smile on his face, apparated home.