A LESSON IN HUMILITY

His orgasm is a long spasm, almost painful in its intensity, and at the moment it passes horror washes over him in a cold wave. He wrenches out of the tight cavity, hearing a muffled shriek, feeling how the thin body shudders under his palms. Albus Dumbledore falls back on the sofa, trembling violently. His cock, a limp, darkened thing, is dripping white and red, staining his unzipped pants. He gasps; it seems his chest will burst if he doesn't make an intake of breath deep enough. But pleasure still lingers in his lower body like softly smoldering fire.

The boy takes a shaky breath and scrambles weakly to the corner of the sofa, pulling his legs up. The motion is instinctive; he tries to hide himself, to hide the wide opened, bleeding wound of his anus. He whimpers as moving apparently hurts. Small fingers dig into the velvet upholstery of the sofa so hard that the fingernails go white.

The boy's hair, straight, feathery and blond, light like the thinnest silk, is messed up and sticks in all wrong directions. The haughty, smug expression is wiped off his face; now it looks unpretty, streaked with tears. His eyes are red-rimmed and pale eyelashes wet and sticky.

Doesn't look like little something any more, Albus thinks; doesn't look like he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth.

In fact, the boy's mouth is rather red and crumpled now, the skin around it raw and inflamed, and Albus recalls with a pang of remorse how he covered it with his lips, muting the cries, shoved his tongue in, how he sucked and bit on those sweet, salty lips in the frenzy of lust.

Lust… how did it happen? It shouldn't have to. Albus feels bitter taste in his mouth and swallows with an effort. He just… he just invited the boy to talk, worn out with unceasing complaints that came from all teachers and all Heads of Houses except Slytherin. Only two and half months at Hogwarts, and Lucius Malfoy has got on everyone's nerves with his arrogance, his rudeness, his complete confidence that he has the whole world in his pocket.

Snotty little bastard. Albus tried to be patient with him. It was his first year as the Headmaster, and he made promises to himself, before starting it. Of not playing favorites. Of being fair to all children. Of taking their problems to heart. Of being there for them, as long as there is someone who needs him. Of not letting any of them succumb to evil, as Albus saw it happening so many times during his long life.

But Lucius Malfoy tried his patience beyond endurance. Albus could bear it when the boy, his pointy chin raised, listened to his admonitions as if they were an old man's ramblings. He could bear it when Malfoy looked down at him, even though it was Albus whose chair was set on the dais. He even controlled himself when the boy muttered his unrepentant answers through the set teeth.

"With all my respect to you, sir…"

Respect! He didn't even try to pretend he meant it. And just listen to him, an eleven-year-old talking like an adult!

It was the never-ending drawled "My father…" that got to Albus. His father; the member of the Board, one of those who put Albus into this position - and who could take it away any moment, as it clearly sounded in Lucius's every word.

This was something Albus Dumbledore couldn't tolerate.

He was the right man to occupy this position. No one dared to doubt it. He was the defeater of Grindewald, the most powerful wizard among the living. He was there to protect the children, to establish peace between the Houses, to consolidate forces against the new evil that he sees forming during last years.

The little stuck-up brat didn't have the right to ruin everything for him.

Albus vaguely recalls getting up, stepping towards Lucius, towering over him - and the flicker of fear in the pale grey eyes sending a pang of joy through his chest. And Albus wants more of this joy, of this fear that he spotted in Malfoy's light eyes; it is an almost physical need that fills his body, bubbling there like sparkling wine. He raises his hand and slaps the boy.

He hears a gasp - and the boy, with all his arrogant bearing, is just a skinny child; the blow is heavy enough to throw him off the chair, make him land on his arse on the floor. It feels good; it feels good to see the sleek, proud Lucius Malfoy sitting on the floor pathetically, holding his cheek - and Albus's palm tingles warmly with the sensation of soft, hot skin under it.

There is an expression of utter shock in the boy's eyes. No one probably has laid a finger on him before. His hair is tousled and there is an angry red imprint of Albus's hand on his face.

Even now when Albus looks at him he can see this trace, although the boy's face is all pink and tear-streaked…

He remembers shock exchanging with indignance in the boy's eyes. Lucius stares at him furiously, stammering: "You… you didn't have the right… My father…"

He shouldn't have said it. Something snaps in Albus. He has to teach the boy a lesson, to show that he has all the rights here, he's calling the shots. Lucius squeaks in fear as Albus grabs the collar of his robe, yanks him up. The boy's clothes are made of the finest fabric - and his body is so light, weighs nothing at all, like a frail doll.

Albus remembers throwing him on the sofa - and how the pale eyes go dark with dilated pupils, and he remembers thinking how beautiful it looks - nearly black eyes, and half-opened little mouth, and the imprint of his hand on the pale cheek… but it's an odd thought, beautiful has nothing to do with it, all he wants is just to teach the stubborn child obedience, to give him a lesson...

The clothes tear, buttons clattering on the floor - Lucius's tie, green and silver, is yanked off - and under the black robe Lucius's shirt is a flash of blinding white. And beneath, his chest is pearly and smooth, a narrow boyish chest, contours of the ribs visible under the skin that is so pale it looks nearly translucent. His nipples are pink and pale, too, small, flat and puckered, and Albus remembers doing something to them, because they were so vulnerable, so begging to touch them, and it was good to hurt the boy a little, to teach him that not everything goes as the Malfoys want it to, that all their money and power sometimes mean nothing.

The boy holds his arms around his chest now, sobbing. The sounds are dry, he's shed all his tears by now. Behind his arms, Albus can see how bright red and swollen his nipples are. He remembers their taste, the taste of Lucius's skin, warm and slightly salty, remembers twisting them in his fingers in cadence with his thrusts.

Heat washes through his body at this memory. Thin legs thrown wide apart, a hand covering the boy's mouth to prevent him from squealing - and huge, mindlessly scared eyes staring at him over his hand… And the tiniest opening stretching for him, after some resistance, and a thin scream that he muffles with his palm, and Lucius's oddly moving chest as if the boy is choking… Lucius writhes under him, as if trying to escape the thing that enters him but it isn't possible, Albus is much stronger, and his cock is already buried too deep inside him anyway.

And Lucius is so tight and hot around Albus's shaft that it seems almost incredible how such a stuck-up, obnoxious little brat can feel so good. But he does, and Albus can't help it, can't wait, can't stop - thrusting, riding him, battering into him brutally, as if punishing him with every stroke.

His vision goes dark, sweetly dark in approaching climax, and everything else stops existing, everything but the building pleasure in his groin, and his cock slides in and out of the boy smoothly, and it's so, so good…

But now it is all over, and reason comes back to Albus as he looks at the shivering boy huddling in the corner of the sofa, at the red stain soaking into the upholstery between his thighs. Terror comes, too.

He'll tell.

No matter that it was his own fault, that he forced Albus to do it - he'll manage to turn it so that it will become Albus's fault. The brat will appear a victim and his, Albus's, life will be ruined, all his good intentions will come to nothing, all the good he would be able to do as the Headmaster will be forfeited.

Because of the little shit who couldn't keep his legs crossed.

It's wrong. Albus doesn't deserve it. The boy provoked him, practically begged for it - with his snotty attitude, his aristocratic habits, his pureblood conceit.

Albus looks at him, sees him shaking, his gaze frozen - but very slowly animation returns to Lucius's light eyes. He uncurls slowly. He looks disgusting, truly like a whore, with his swollen nipples and reddened genitals - Albus recalls yanking and rubbing the boy's cock, trying to arouse him, to no avail. But despite his debauched, slutty look the little bastard still dares to look indignant as he gazes at Albus and starts:

"My father…"

Then Albus knows what to do - as clearly as if 'Lumos' sounds in his head.

"No a word more, Mr. Malfoy," he says. His voice is calm - as calm as it usually is when he talks to the students, but the note of force in it must remind Lucius who he's talking to. Albus Dumbledore is not someone you can play games with. "Keep your mouth shut until I allow you to talk, or you will regret it."

And something in his words obviously penetrates the boy's mind. Malfoy's breath hitches and he just stares silently as Albus flicks his wand, removing any traces that could be left on and in the boy's body: blood, and sperm, and damage done to his anus, and even the red mark of his palm on Lucius's cheek. Albus picks up the scattered clothes and throws them at Lucius's face. The boy blinks.

"Get dressed."

Yes, that's the right thing, this kind of approach. The little Malfoy obeys the orders unquestioningly; the spoiled brat probably simply needed someone to rule him with a rod of iron. All right, a rod was involved into it, iron or not, it's not up to him to judge but Albus is still quite good for his age, he thinks in secret amusement. He reproaches himself for this thought at once, it's no time for dubious jokes now.

Lucius's fingers shake as he buttons up his shirt and he can't tie up his tie but it's all right, let him leave it hanging around his neck. He stops when seeing that the buttons of his robe are gone - and Albus sighs and puts them back with a simple spell.

The boy's pale eyes are almost iridescent with anger, fear and unshed tears as he looks up at Albus. The look is so passionate, making the boy's colorless face so attractive that Albus almost feels sorry that he will make this look disappear a moment later.

He raises his wand, preparing to say 'Obliviate'. And then he can't do it, simply can't relinquish what he's got today. The thought of never experiencing it again - this heat, this tightness, this struggle - would be unbearable…

And the brat still needs someone to teach him manners. Put him down a peg or two, so to say.

'Obliviate' is a simple spell, even a seventh-year can master it. He, Albus Dumbledore, knows much more sophisticated ways to deal with a human mind. He doesn't even need a wand for it.

He reaches into the boy's mind, into the mess of anger, pain, terror and shame there - and shifts things just a little. Lucius won't tell anyone. He won't think about it - but he also will never fully forget it. It will be a shadow on the edge of his mind, something that will change him forever.

Albus looks at the smooth, startled face of the boy, his hands frozen in a mid-movement, clenched on ends of the tie. He knows something is wrong, something has happened - but he doesn't know what. Then Lucius moves, sitting straight, as he apparently was taught, and wincing in pain. Albus's healing spells were not perfect, it seems.

"Next Wednesday," Albus says, "in my office, Mr. Malfoy. We'll continue our conversation."

Yes, he can afford it; he's made all the arrangements for it.

The boy swallows hard, looking as if he wants to refuse, and then nods.

"Yes, sir."

"Now go, my boy," Albus says benignly.

As Malfoy leaves, limping a little bit, Albus thinks with sudden sadness that no matter how he tried, this one is already lost for him. And not only because, despite the clever web of spells over his mind, Lucius still will always be wary of him, will feel something is wrong. But Albus himself will never be able to love him as he loves his other students, those who are untainted - will never be able to care for Malfoy as much, won't struggle as hard trying to save him from evil.

Well, Albus knows he can't protect everyone. It's beyond the powers of a man - and he's just a man. And even if this one is lost, there are hundreds of other children Albus Dumbledore will be able to protect, to direct to the right path. He relinquishes Lucius Malfoy but there are Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs who can and should be saved.

Yet he feels disappointed and mildly unhappy. Of course, he knows what happens to the best laid plans - but he hoped so much he would be the best Headmaster in the history of Hogwarts, will manage something that no one before could, wouldn't lose even one student.

It's too late now. He has nothing else to do but to accept the situation and fortunately he is clever enough to accept it.

Albus smiles slightly as this lesson in humility and strokes the warm place on the sofa where Lucius Malfoy has sat so recently.

THE END