Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I appreciate this is a difficult decision for you, Mr. Dursley, but it is the right one for the boy,” Father Thomas said. “We have done everything we can for little Harry at the  Sunday school, but he still seems to be deteriorating.”

Harry stared at his feet, listening to the adults talking about him over his head. 

“Right you are, Father,” Uncle Vernon grunted. “The little bug— erm — the boy is incorrigible. I’m afraid my wife can’t take this any longer; there have been too many freaky incidents happening. She’s delicate, my Petunia.”

Aunt Petunia made sure Father Thomas saw her dabbing her eyes with a neatly pressed, pristine handkerchief. Dudley was making faces at Harry from behind her back.

So, it was happening at last; the Dursleys had been talking about giving Harry away for the past two years. Before that, they'd just complained non-stop how much easier their lives would be without him, but ever since Aunt Marge’s dog had suddenly lost his teeth after chasing Harry up to a tree, they’d begun to actively plan for getting rid of him. 

Now that Harry had turned twelve, he was old enough to be signed up to St. Brutus’s Abbey. 

“I understand Mr. Dursley. Your family needs time to heal, and little Harry here needs a chance to be liberated from the Devil’s clutches. This is something we can offer at St. Brutus’s. I promise you that I will personally oversee his progress,” Father Thomas said. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder and left it there. “There is no need to worry, we shall take good care of him.”

Harry sighed in relief at the good news. He rather liked the tall priest, who was stern but had never been unfair to Harry. His warm, firm hands were never cruel when they guided Harry to kneel at the altar or to lace his fingers in prayer. He was one of the few people who didn't turn away in disgust or fear when he looked at the Devil’s mark on Harry’s forehead. 

“Right then, boy. Do as Father Thomas says and get yourself fixed,” Uncle Vernon said, bending so close that a drop of spit hit Harry’s face when he spoke. For an insane moment, Harry thought Uncle Vernon might hug him, but the beefy man only grunted to his ear. “Don’t get yourself kicked out of the place. There’s no coming back to my house with the things you’ve been pulling off.”

Harry had only seen St. Brutus’s Abbey in passing before. A forlorn parking lot separated it from the church where Harry went to Sunday school — Dudley had been excused from participating after he’d thrown a tantrum for not being allowed to eat all the wafer.

The old limestone building stood tall behind thick walls and a verdant garden. Large iron gates at the front squeaked when Father Thomas opened them and let Harry into the courtyard. Harry could smell freshly cut grass and rain in the air; it was strange to think that such a place of tranquillity existed right in the middle of the busy town of Little Whinging. A warm summer drizzle dampened Harry’s hair when they walked through the garden towards the tall double doors in silence.

“All right, Harry,” Father Thomas said, opening the heavy oak doors with a large iron key hanging from his belt. “Welcome to St. Brutus’s Abbey.” 

They entered into a dimly lit corridor, which smelled like dust and leather. A bit like a library, Harry thought. Father Thomas led him past several closed doors and up a flight of stairs, his determined steps clicking against the smooth stone floor. He opened a door at the end of another corridor and urged Harry into a spacious office. A large stained glass window allowed the room to bathe in a kaleidoscope of colourful spots of light. Under the window stood a massive mahogany desk, and the back wall was completely covered with bookcases. At the side stood an oddly shaped, leather-covered bench.

“Why don’t you sit down for a moment, Harry,” Father Thomas said, gesturing towards a guest chair next to his desk. He gave Harry an encouraging smile. “I need to attend to some paperwork right now, but Brother Severus — he is our novice master — will collect you soon. I shall see you again in the evening for the initial inspection of purity.”

“Ok, I mean, yes, Sir,” Harry stammered. He was anxious to learn he’d be separated from the only person he knew in this place so soon. And an inspection of purity? What if they decide that I’m not pure enough? He did sometimes speak in the Devil’s tongue, and then there was the mark on his forehead. Uncle Vernon had said that he wasn’t welcome back to Private Drive again. What if they threw Harry out on the streets? He was beginning to panic.

Father Thomas seemed to notice Harry’s distress and crouched to meet his eyes, placing both of his hands on Harry’s shoulders. 

“Harry, there is no need to worry. You are safe here, and I shall personally oversee your education, like I promised Mr Dursley. Every novice gets inspected when they are admitted here; that’s how we know what kind of issues we need to work on. I’m afraid you have rather more issues than an average novice, but I am here to help you. No one’s planning on throwing you out.” 

Father Thomas straightened his back and looked at Harry questioningly. Nervous sweat ran down Harry’s back again. He was a difficult case — maybe they couldn’t help him after all— 

With a sigh, the priest glanced pointedly at Harry’s nervously fidgeting feet. He lifted his eyebrow. “What did I say about worrying, Harry?”

“Um, that I shouldn’t?”

Father Thomas gave him a small smile. “You will learn to trust us here, I promise you this. The rules are strict, but they are for your benefit." The man gazed out of the window with a pensive look on his face. "Now, I don’t usually do this, but as you are a special case, I shall personally be mentoring you— ah, here’s Severus.”

The door opened, and a sour-looking man entered. Lank, black hair framed his sallow face and black eyes. “You called, Father?” 

“Severus, this is our latest recruit, novice Harry. Would you be so kind as to show him to the dormitories and give him an overview of the basic rules, please? I shall give him further details when we see for inspection tonight.”

Brother Severus’s eyebrows shot up upon hearing the last sentence, but he collected himself quickly. “Of course, Father. Come along then, Harry. There is a lot to go through before supper,” he gestured and, taking Harry’s bag, chased him out of the room.

Harry quickly lost count of the winding passageways and corridors Brother Severus took him through, but eventually they emerged into the novice dormitory. He kept trying to steal glimpses through open doors and tall windows, but it was a struggle to keep up with Brother Severus’s brisk steps as it was. Harry decided to hurry up, wanting to make a good first impression on the novice master.

The dormitory was a long, narrow room on the ground floor, with windows facing towards the garden outside. Six tidy beds lay in a row, between each of them a chest for the inhabitant's belongings.

“This is where the first-year novices sleep, Harry. The second-year dormitory is directly above, on the first floor. I believe this first bed is vacant, so it’s yours now. Unpack your things and change into this.” Brother Severus pushed into Harry’s hands a parcel he had grabbed from a closet on their way to the dormitory. “I’ll be back in a few moments.”

Brother Severus closed the door behind him, and Harry sank on the bed. It was quite overwhelming to take all of this on, and there was a lot more to come. He sighed and got up to empty the few things he had into the chest: a dog-eared Bible, a copy of Oliver Twist, a teddy bear that was missing both eyes and one leg — courtesy of aunt Marge’s dog from when he still had teeth — two pairs of socks (almost no holes) and boxers (brand new!) and a toothbrush. Harry removed his jeans and t-shirt and folded them neatly in the chest. 

It took a moment to work out how to put on the habit Brother Severus had given him. The brown tunic was made of thick linen, not exactly soft, but it was sturdy and fit him surprisingly well. On top of the tunic, Harry put on a cowl made of thick wool. He wrapped himself in the warm clothes and curled on the bed to wait for Brother Severus’s return.

Harry jumped up from the bed in alarm when the door creaked open. Was sleeping forbidden? Would he get punished now? What kind of punishments did they impose here? Uncle Vernon was rather fond of his leather belt, and Aunt Petunia frequently hurt Harry with her mean words — not to mention food restriction. Harry hoped the monks might be different.

“When a superior arrives in a room, you must get up and greet by saying Dominus vobiscum, Harry. It means ‘the Lord be with you’,” Brother Severus said, looking down at Harry. “Say it now.”

“D-dominus vobiscum,” Harry stuttered at his toes, too nervous to meet the man’s eyes.

“Et cum spiritu tuo,” Brother Severus said. “It means ‘and with your spirit’. This is how we reply to the greeting. This is your first lesson in Latin, make sure you learn it by tomorrow.” At Harry’s nod, Brother Severus continued. “The monastery is quite large, and I shall only show you the most important parts today. You are allowed to go anywhere in the building that is not locked, but you will have little free time to wander around, I’m afraid. You are not to leave the premises on your own.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“No need to call me Sir, Harry. Brother Severus is fine.”

Harry followed the dark-haired man down two flights of stairs to another corridor. The air here was damp, and the stone walls were sweating slightly. Brother Severus opened the door at the end of the musty underground corridor and urged Harry in. The room was filled with odd artefacts, sinister-looking objects and piles of thick, dusty tomes. Only a small sliver of light escaped the heavy black curtains blocking a single window close to the ceiling. Brother Severus gestured Harry to sit down on a hard wooden bench while he sat down behind a crowded desk.

“This is my office. I am the novice master in St. Brutus, which means that you can come to me with any concerns or issues you have. I am also the Prior, which means I am superior to all the other monks here, second only to Father Thomas. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Brother Severus.”

“In addition to my duties as the novice master, I am the infirmer; that means that you present to me with any minor illness or injury. 

“We have twenty-six brothers here at St. Brutus, but for now it suffices that you know of the ones who will be teaching you. Brother Rabastan teaches religious studies; he is also the circuitor, that means he is in charge of discipline. Brother Rodolphus is in charge of clothing and feeding us; he will be teaching you any practical chores you need to know, gardening, cleaning, cooking and the like. Brother Bartemius is our librarian, and he teaches Latin. Can you repeat the greeting you learned earlier to me now?”

“D-dominus vo— vo—”

“Dominus vobiscum, Harry.” Brother Severus looked stern but not angry. Harry felt hopeful that he might not have earned a visit to the disciplinarian yet — Brother Rabastan, was it? Dominus vobiscum, dominus vobiscum, Harry repeated in his mind.

“The last teacher is called Brother Regulus. He supervises the choir practice."

Rabastan is the disciplinarian, Rodolphus does practical, Bartemius teaches Latin, Regulus supervises the choir. Why does everyone here have such strange names?

“ — by the end of this week. Are you listening?”

“Yes, Si— Brother Severus. I mean no, I’m sorry.” There was a big lump in Harry’s throat. “I think I missed some of what you said just now.”

“You are forgiven, but pay attention now. I will not repeat myself again,” Brother Severus said sternly. “As I said, here in St. Brutus's we have a schedule that we follow every weekday; Saturday and Sunday have separate schedules. I shall expect you to memorise it by the end of this week.” 

Harry nodded and tried desperately to concentrate on the flood of information that was being poured into him.

Content with Harry’s nod, Brother Severus continued, “We get up at six in the morning and go to bed at eight in the evening. There are three masses during the day. Between them, you will be studying and working with the other novices.

“But now, it’s getting close to suppertime. I’ll take you to the refectory – that’s the dining hall. After the meal, you shall follow the other novices to the evening mass.”

Harry’s head was spinning. At least the schedule is the same almost every day, he thought, that way I have a chance of learning it. 

Brother Severus took him up to the ground floor and back to the wide hallway where he had first entered the monastery. The double doors at the far end were now open, and Harry could see people sitting at long tables, eating and chatting quietly. A delicious smell of food lingered in the air. Everyone wore an outfit similar to his, except for Father Thomas, whose habit was black.

Another monk with square shoulders and lightly stubbled jaw approached them, smiling radiantly. Why is everyone so good-looking in this place?  

“Dominus vobiscum,” he said to Harry. 

“Er,” said Harry, who had no recollection as to what the answer was. “Thanks.” 

“Et cum spiritu tuo,” said the man. His smile deepened, and Harry noticed a devastating dimple on his left cheek. 

Oh my god, he’s so handsome. Harry swallowed a lump in his throat, now panicking again. I can’t say ‘oh my god’ any more, can I? Crap! No— swearing is probably also forbidden. He wanted to sink through the floor.

“Brother Rodolphus, this is novice Harry, who has just joined us today,” Brother Severus said, when it became obvious that Harry had been rendered speechless. 

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Brother Rodolphus said. “How about we get you something to eat? First day, huh? You must be completely overwhelmed, poor thing.”

He kept talking soothingly, taking Harry by the shoulder and leading him towards the back of the room, where food was laid out on a serving table. Harry felt eyes on his back when they passed a table full of teenage boys —  the other novices. 

“Here’s a bowl for you, Harry. After you’ve eaten, wash it in that sink in the corner. Do you know how?”

A snicker escaped Harry. “Yes, Brother, I have been doing all the washing and cooking back at my uncle and aunt’s place as long as I can recall.”

“Really? Well, I guess it’s good you know how to do some chores. I have the feeling we’ll be getting along well,” Brother Rodolphus said and winked at him, making heat rise up to Harry’s ears.

Brother Rodolphus filled Harry’s bowl to the brim with thick, creamy soup and led him to an empty seat at the novices' table. There were a dozen boys already eating and chatting there, all of whom turned to look at Harry on his arrival. Some of the faces peering at him were friendly, some merely curious. Everyone seemed to be around Harry’s age or slightly older, though it was sometimes difficult to judge — he was used to being on the smaller side, even with kids of his own age.

“Ronald,” Brother Rodolphus addressed a red-haired boy next to Harry, “would you kindly take Harry under your wing for the first couple of days?  Show him where to go and when, you know the drill.”

“Of course, Brother Rodolphus!” the boy said and grinned at Harry. “Nice to meet you, Harry! My name is Ron. These are Neville, Theodore, Blaise and Draco.” He pointed in turn at four boys around them while introducing them to Harry. “We’re all first-years. The second-years sit at the other end of the table and the other tables are for the Brothers. I guess you met Rodolphus already? He’s dead nice. I wish he were my mentor instead of old Rabbie,” Ron rambled on. “Who’s yours?”

“Er. I think it’s Father Thomas?” Harry said unsurely.

Ron looked shocked. Several of the other boys were gaping at Harry, too. “You’re joking, right? Tom never takes on novices. Actually, I don’t recall him ever even talking to any of us after we joined, well, except for the High Mass, or when he’s addressing the whole brethren.” 

“I— I think he mentioned it — but it might be that I misunderstood,” Harry said apologetically. “It’s been quite an info dump on me,” he blanched and whispered, “Sorry. I mean, it’s been a lot.”

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to rat on you for something like that,” a chubby, friendly-looking boy — Neville — on his other side said. “Most of the Brothers are pretty cool, they won’t care about bad words and such as long as you behave at Mass and the classes and don’t cause any ruckus. But be careful of Severus and Rabastan; those two love the rules.”

“Thanks, Neville,” Harry grinned shyly and tucked into his food while the other boys chatted away. The hot soup tasted wonderful.

Once Harry had emptied his bowl, he looked at Ron again. “So, what’s next?”

“It’s evening mass with Brother Rabastan, and then we have some time for silent work. It’s meant to be for reading or praying, but they don’t really care what we do as long as we're quiet,” Ron said. “I’ve got some comics in my chest that you can borrow if you like,” he whispered to Harry. 

“Harry’s going to have his inspection tonight though, isn’t he?” said a haughty-looking blond boy who was sitting opposite Harry. The knowing smirk on his face wasn’t altogether friendly. 

“Ooh, you’re right, Draco, he is!” A dark-skinned boy next to him made a low whistle, his beautiful brown eyes going wide. “He’s got the inspection with Tom.”

Everyone stared at Harry for a moment in silent awe before a low chime snapped them out of it. Saved by the bell, Harry thought.

The upcoming inspection was making him nervous, and the other boys seemed to be surprised by who his mentor was. Yet everyone else had been through it, and Harry would make it, too. He trusted Father Thomas. Harry sneaked a peek at the head table where the tall priest was getting up, engaged in a conversation with some of the brothers. 

Harry was distracted throughout the evening mass, squirming on the hard wooden pew. Though he tried to pay attention, the Latin phrases were long and frequent, a lot of it going way over his head. His thoughts kept slipping this way and that, mostly towards the inspection. After talking to the other novices, it had now grown into a huge and scary ordeal in his head.

By the end of the mass, Harry was a quivering wreck. Ron and Neville walked him to Father Thomas’s office, trying to distract him with their chatting, though they were quick to abandon Harry to wait alone as soon as they got behind Father Thomas's door.

After a few moments, Harry heard the now familiar clicking of Father Thomas’s shoes on the stone floor behind him. As he approached, he gave Harry a reassuring smile. He opened the door and urged Harry in before him.

“Dominus v-vobiscum,” Harry stammered as he entered the room

“Et cum spiritu tuo. Very good, Harry,” Father Thomas said and closed the door. Harry heard the lock snick and turned around in alarm. Father Thomas considered his expression for a moment, and when he spoke again, there was a hint of reproach in his voice.

“I am sure the other novices have told you all kinds of stories about what’s happening tonight, but I assure you, it is only a little chat, and then I’ll check you over. There is nothing to worry about. Why don’t you take a seat, first.”

“Yes, Si– Father Thomas,” Harry said, sitting again on the guest chair he’d occupied before. 

The man shuffled the papers on his desk, picking an official-looking form from under a small stack of papers. 

“First of all, how old are you again, Harry? Thirteen?”

“I’m twelve, Father Thomas. I’ll turn thirteen next summer.”

“Hmm, that is younger than we usually accept, but you are a bright boy. I’m sure it will not be a problem.”

They went through a series of questions about Harry’s health, if he had any allergies, if he had received his vaccines, how tall he was and the like. Harry zoned off, replying automatically to the questions until he heard Father Thomas ask about his virginity.

“Excuse me?” Harry spluttered, certain that he had misheard the man.

“I asked if you are a virgin, Harry. Have you had sexual intercourse?” 

“N-no, Father Thomas.”

“How about any other type of sex, oral or anal?” 

“I’m not sure what those things mean. I’m sorry.”

“That is quite all right, Harry. We shall see about that in a moment,” Father Thomas smiled. “What is your sexual orientation?”

“I— I— what’s that?”

“Are you gay, Harry? I apologise, but these questions are necessary, as I am now your legal guardian, as well as the spiritual one. It is important to know if you are pure.”

“I’m not sure, Father. Sorry,” Harry whispered. This wasn’t going well, though Harry didn’t quite understand why. “I’ve had a crush on a boy before, but I’ve never done anything.” Harry blushed. He couldn’t believe he was talking about this, and with a priest as well. 

“All right. Enough with the questions for now, it is time for your physical. Remove your clothes, please,” Father Thomas said, getting up.

Harry hurried to follow the orders, undressing and folding his cowl and tunic on the corner of the table. He’d had a check-up with the school nurse in the past and knew what to expect with measuring his height and weight.

Father Thomas stood right in front of Harry, towering over him. The man placed a finger under Harry’s chin and tilted his face up. Harry felt nervous about being so close to the man but tried not to shy and look away from those deep auburn eyes. 

Father Thomas stroked the Devil’s mark gently with his finger. As before, his touch on the mark on Harry’s forehead burned painfully. Tears welled in Harry’s eyes. Father Thomas tutted but moved his finger lower to trace the borders of Harry’s lips. He was so close that Harry could feel the man's warm breath on his skin. 

“Open your mouth,” Father Thomas said quietly.

“Ah,” Harry said like he would do at the dentist. 

He startled and only barely kept himself from biting Father Thomas, when two fingers suddenly slid in along his tongue and rubbed around his mouth. They felt strange and intrusive in their exploration, but at least there was no pain, only a warm, tingling sensation where the fingers touched.

“Hmm, it seems like you were telling the truth about your mouth. I wonder— ” Tom’s gaze dropped lower; he was now examining Harry’s chest. Father Thomas took Harry by the waist and lifted him up to stand on the chair. Without needing to crouch down quite so much now, Father Thomas placed his hands on Harry’s sides and ran his thumbs along Harry’s flat chest. There was a jolt akin to licking a battery when the rough pads slid over the tiny pink nubs of Harry’s flesh. The thumbs stroked back and forth a few times, and the sensation repeated. Harry looked down and did a double take: his skin seemed to glow in a golden hue wherever Father Thomas’s skin brushed against Harry’s.

“Nobody’s touched you here before.” A small smile curved at the corner of Father Thomas’s mouth. The thumbs were replaced with Father Thomas’s fingers, now drawing little circles around Harry's nipples. “This is excellent news, Harry. It means this area will be easier to purify once we start the process.” Father Thomas straightened up and took a step back. 

“Let’s see the rest. Your undergarments need to go, too,” Father Thomas said, looking gently at Harry.

“R-really?” Harry asked in a quivering voice.

“Yes, really.” Father Thomas hooked his fingers under the waistband of Harry’s boxers, the tug reminding him what he was meant to be doing.

Blushing furiously, Harry shimmied the boxers down and let them drop at his feet. At Father Thomas’s reproachful look, he quickly picked them up and added them to the pile with the rest of his folded clothing.

“It is quite common to be nervous about your first inspection, but I assure you, Harry, that there’s nothing to worry about,” Father Thomas said. “Have the other novices scared you with some wild tales?”

“No Sir, I mean — they didn’t quite say what but— they sort of made it sound like a big deal.” Harry wasn’t sure whether he should mention that what had made it a big deal was Father Tom doing this instead of one of the other teachers. 

“I see,” Father Tom hummed. He picked Harry by the waist and lifted him easily down on the floor again. Despite aunt Petunia’s constant nagging of him eating too much, Harry was small for his age. For someone with Father Thomas’ build, he must weigh almost nothing. 

With Harry safely on the floor, Father Tom circled behind his desk to look at some papers again. “Please kneel on the bench,” he said after a moment, as if an afterthought, his eyes still on the forms.

Harry obeyed the man and settled on the wooden bench. He blushed furiously when he realised that his prone position left his arse up and his little cock dangling free in the air. Other than that it was fairly comfortable to be on the lightly padded bench on his hands and knees, the bench also providing some support under his belly. 

After what felt like a long time the click of Father Thomas’s heels approached the bench. Harry felt a warm, firm hand on his back. 

“You’re very tense, Harry,” Father Thomas said gently. The hand stroked up and down his back, slowly soothing him. “Can you try and relax a bit for me? There’s no need to be shy, it’s just you and me here. You trust me, don’t you?”

Harry concentrated on the warm hand petting him. It was the gentlest touch he’d ever received and bit by bit Harry let go of his tension. He sighed and leaned into the touch.

“That’s it, Harry, very good.” Another hand was added and for a while, Father Thomas worked gently on the tension on Harry's back.

Gradually the hands started to travel slightly lower until they were petting Harry all the way down to his thighs. Despite his initial embarrassment at the situation, the warm hands made Harry feel like he was melting through the bench. Eventually the hands met in the middle to part his cheeks. Harry felt a cool breath on the sensitive skin around his hole as the priest inspected the area, but he was too relaxed to feel self-conscious about it.  Harry trusted that the priest knew what he was doing.

Father Thomas circled around Harry's hole lightly with his thumb, the touch making Harry’s skin tingle and burn again. Harry breathed through the sensation, trying to calm himself down. He concentrated on inhaling the dusty smell of the room and the oiled leather covering the bench. In. Out. The thumb worked on his hole. In. Out. Gradually, he relaxed to the alien feeling of his most private part being touched. In. Out. 

It felt like an eternity before Father Thomas hummed approvingly and released Harry's arse. He urged Harry to turn on his back on the bench. Once Harry was in place, the man did something and the bench moved under him. Suddenly the little side-stands that Harry had knelt on were the right height to rest his feet on. 

Being exposed in a new way, Harry's face grew hot again.

“Shh, Harry, this is the last thing for tonight," Father Thomas murmured, "You’re doing really well.” His hands rested on Harry’s knees and propped them to open. Harry threw his forearm to cover his blushing face and opened his legs a tad. 

“I’m going to need a bit more than this to finish the inspection, Harry,” Father Thomas said warningly and gave his knees a little nudge. Ears burning, Harry let the man push his legs all the way open. 

“Very good,” Father Thomas said and Harry felt the man’s gaze on his crotch. He closed his eyes in mortification — no one had ever looked at him like this.

Father Thomas cupped Harry's little balls in one hand as if to weigh them, and gave them a little tug. A warm sensation shot up and Harry whimpered. “Shh, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m so pleased with you Harry. It appears you were telling the truth earlier.” Father Thomas kept slowly rolling his sack and placed his other hand on Harry’s cock. A tingling sensation spread from his hand and to his horror, Harry felt his cock give a little twitch. Father Thomas hummed, proceeding to inspect the tip of Harry’s cock. He rubbed the slit with a finger, then pulled back the foreskin. The tingling sensation that spread from the man’s hands was becoming unbearable, and was only amplified by the cool breath of air which indicated that Father Thomas had bent closer down. His fingers pulled the foreskin back and forth a few times — why is this necessary? Harry wondered — and was embarrassed to find that once Father Thomas released him, his cock kept standing up all on its own. 

And it glowed.

Father Thomas was smiling warmly now, despite Harry’s horrible behaviour. The man was only doing his job — why did Harry's body have to misbehave like this? Harry covered his face with his hands, but Father Thomas pulled them off gently.

"Hush, there is no need for that, Harry," he said releasing Harry's hands. "You may get up and get dressed now." Father Thomas pressed Harry’s knees back together gently. 

Once dressed, Harry sat down in the guest chair, listening to the pencil scratch while Father Thomas wrote something down on the records. After a while he seemed to notice that Harry was ready and put the work down.

“The initial inspection is finished,” Father Thomas said and Harry released a long breath. He wasn’t sure he could have handled any more tonight. “You are indeed a virgin like you said, the inspection showed no signs of any type of intercourse or oral sex. It also seems that you are gay as I suspected, for you reacted quite strongly to my touch.” 

Harry blushed furiously, hoping the ground would swallow him so he could escape this moment. 

Father Thomas reached forward and lifted Harry’s chin up with a finger. “This is good news, Harry. Your sexual purity will help us greatly once we start the exorcism.”

For a moment, Harry pictured himself levitating over a bed in a long white nightgown, his head rotated in odd angles, while Father Thomas was chanting 'the power of Christ compels you' in a corner. That’s not how it happens in real life, he reminded himself, it is just a silly movie. Yet he couldn’t shake the apprehension he felt for the upcoming rituals, whatever they were. Surely it wouldn’t be painless or easy to rid him of the Devil, otherwise Father Thomas would already have done it, wouldn’t he?

“Ok,” Harry peeped eventually.

He would think about being gay once he’d settled down a bit. It seemed the least of his worries.

“That is everything for tonight; I will let you know when our next meeting is. It is easiest to meet during the evenings, while everyone else is reading and praying quietly. You will need to finish your homework during the day. Can you do that, Harry?”

“Yes, Father.”

The tall priest got up, unlocked the door and ruffled Harry’s hair when he walked past him.

“Goodnight, Harry.” 

“Goodnight, Father Thomas.”

Chapter Text

By the time Harry found his way back to the first-years’ dormitory, it was so late that he barely had time for a quick rinse of his face before lights-out. His bed was the first in the row, next to Draco’s. After the cool reception he’d received at supper, Harry wasn’t keen on talking to the blonde boy, and he was reluctant to try and find out if anyone else was awake. He sank under the thick woollen covers with a quiet ‘goodnight’ and closed his eyes. 

A loud bell woke him up at the crack of dawn. Harry scrambled up from his bed to the showers and ran the cold water for a few minutes before someone from the next stall called to him, “It’s not going to get any warmer, just jump in and wash quickly!” He did as instructed, yelping as he entered the frigid water. Why would they not give us warm water? This is freezing my balls off! 

Harry rinsed himself off quickly and donned the same clothes as yesterday; he’d only worn them for a few hours, and he supposed he’d be given a change at some point. It was not as if he was used to wearing fresh new clothes every day at the Dursley’s. Once dressed, he realised he and Ron were the only ones left in the dorm.

“Hurry up!” the other boy urged him, “Morning mass starts in five minutes!” He took Harry by the hand and started dragging him through a maze of corridors. Despite the clear weather, the autumn morning was brisk, and Harry shivered with cold when they crossed the cloister. It was decorated with interesting statues and artwork, which he promised himself he would come back later to take a closer look at. Right now, he was busy trotting in an awkward half-run to keep up with the long-legged redhead. 

They made it barely in time before Brother Severus took his place at the altar. The chapel was built in a typical medieval fashion in the shape of a cross, the ceiling of the centre aisle disappearing up into a high dome. 

Ron pulled him into the front pew along with the other first-years. Behind them sat the second-years, and the brothers not on duty for the morning service occupied the third row. Draco was assisting Brother Severus; Harry observed keenly what he was doing at each point of the mass — he'd probably get to be an altar server at some point, and he wanted to learn what to expect.

The service, while intriguing, was over not a minute too soon: Ron’s belly made a loud rumble as they got up and left for the refectory for breakfast. Harry was used to occasionally missing a meal, but having risen so early, even he was starting to feel peckish. The novices gathered up their breakfast from the back and sat at their designated table. Harry helped himself to some tea with heaps of sugar and settled next to Ron, who was already tucking into a pile of soft, buttered slices of fresh bread. 

“So, Harry, sweetheart, tell us everything! How was your inspection with Father Tom?” the dark-skinned boy from yesterday — Blaise — asked, looking at Harry with an eager grin. He was obviously hungrier for gossip than food, since he was ignoring his breakfast in favour of quizzing Harry.

“Um, it was fine, I guess,” Harry shrugged.

“You were quite a long time in there,” Blaise continued his quest for information.

“How long does it usually take then?” 

“Well, it’s usually over in ten minutes, but yours took more than an hour. Not that I would mind spending that long with Regulus some time,” Blaise said dreamily. “Reggie is my mentor, he’s that cute one with the curly hair over there. Regulus leads the novice choir.” Blaise pointed at a man with bright blue eyes and thick, wavy hair. He really was very pretty. 

“Right, er, thanks?” Harry said, averting his eyes quickly and concentrating on the sweet aroma of his tea instead. He didn’t want to be caught staring — Father Thomas had told him he was gay only yesterday, and he didn’t really know what to make of it.

Besides, Harry had bigger worries right now. Why had his inspection taken so much longer than the other boys’? Was it the possession, or was there something else wrong with him? As if Harry didn’t have enough problems as it was. He gulped down the last of his tea and braved a roundabout query. Blaise had finally tucked into his porridge, and nobody had taken over the conversation.

“Father Thomas said we’ll have another meeting soon.”

“What, seriously?” Neville asked.

Harry’s heart sank. So, it was definitely abnormal to meet one’s mentor again so soon. Must he always be the exception?

“I’d wet myself if I had to be alone with Tom,” Neville continued. “Well, he’s a bit intimidating, isn’t he?” He addressed the last bit to Draco, who had scoffed at his sentiment.

“Ok, boys, quit scaring Harry, I’m sure it’ll be fine. We need to get going to Relics,” Ron said, getting up while stuffing the last piece of bread in his mouth. “Thafs religioush shtudief,” he added for Harry’s benefit, though the clarification suffered a bit from his muffled speech. 

The first-years made their way to a classroom, which looked surprisingly similar to the ones at Harry’s old school: wooden desks, simple chairs, and a blackboard. It even came with the same smell of boredom, perspiration and chalk. 

Harry found an empty seat behind Blaise, who turned around to give him a wink. Harry blinked. The other boy seemed friendly enough, but there was a lot in his behaviour that didn't make sense to Harry.

The novices didn’t need to wait long before a handsome man with sleek, shoulder-length hair and chiselled cheekbones walked in. Harry was determined now to find out why everyone in this monastery was so attractive. Was it the gayness in him?

“Dominus vobiscum,” the man said, and the novices sprang up to stand beside their desks and replied, “Et cum spiritu tuo,”  together. Harry mumbled along something of the sort as he’d so far only been practising the first part of the greeting. 

The monk’s sharp eyes searched through the class, snapping to place when he saw Harry. 

“Ah, our new novice. My name is Brother Rabastan, and I teach Religious Studies. If you work hard, you’ll have no trouble in my class. If not, well, I’m St. Brutus’s disciplinarian — you’ll find that you want to work hard,” the man flashed a shark-like smile. “Have you taken Religious Studies before, Harry?”

“Um, no? I’ve been to Sunday school, but I guess it’s not the same…” Harry trailed off, embarrassed to once again be the centre of attention.

“Hardly,” Brother Rabastan said drily. “Well, I suppose we’ll see. Some remedial classes might be in order.” 

The man finally looked away from Harry to address the rest of the class. “Today, we’ll be talking about the first Corinthian letter. Who can quote me verses eighteen to twenty?” 

A couple of hands shot up;  Brother Rabastan pointed at a sandy-haired first-year Harry had not spoken to yet, “Theodore.”

“Flee from sexual immorality. All other sins a person commits are outside the body, but whoever sins sexually, sins against their own body. Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? Therefore honour God with your bodies,” Theodore quoted without a glitch.

“Very good. And what does this mean?” Brother Rabastan asked. Hands shot up in the air again.

The class continued like this; they went through Bible verses and discussed their meanings. Brother Rabastan is actually a pretty good teacher, Harry thought. It’s the first time I understand what celibacy means. It’s not so much about touching or not touching, but about the intent and the purity of the act. There are many ways to honour God with our bodies. 

After the class, there was a free period meant for quiet studying at the library (Theodore), but which most of the novices usually spent gossiping (Blaise) or taking a nap in the dorm (Ron). Harry, having started later than the other novices, followed Theodore to the library. He spent the hour reading some of the Bible passages Brother Rabastan had mentioned in class. 

Latin class followed the period of quiet study. Brother Bartemius was tall and slim with sultry bedroom eyes. However, his voice was so monotonous that Harry struggled to concentrate on the tedious subject. He was seriously behind the other students here and was starting to panic when he realised how much catching up he had to do. The meetings with Father Tom would occupy at least some of the evening study periods, so Harry really needed to spend all of his free time studying. 

Brother Bartemius released them with some translations for homework, and the boys headed again to the chapel.

“There’s still the High Mass before we get lunch,” Ron grumbled to Harry. He was leading the way through the drafty corridors, as Harry still struggled to navigate the medieval monastery. “Tom is an impressive speaker, but sometimes I can barely hear him from how loudly my belly is rumbling.”

“Seriously, Ron? We only just had breakfast. No one can be that hungry,” Draco retorted behind them.

“Wanna bet? I could eat a whole cow right now, hoofs and all.”

Harry found that hard to believe. Although Ron was skinny, Harry doubted that a whole cow would fit inside the boy.

“Boys, mass is about to start, quickly now.” It was Brother Rodolphus, the man from last night with a kind, dimpled smile and broad shoulders. He ushered the first-years in and followed them to the pew.

It was the first time Harry had seen Father Thomas the whole day. There was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach when the priest briefly looked in his direction. As if he was looking straight into Harry’s soul, though Harry had surely imagined it. The man cast an imposing figure, standing tall at the altar, eyes blazing.

And Ron was right, the Father was a compelling speaker. Harry drank up every word of the sermon about St. Peter. “Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins,” Father Thomas quoted, and it felt as if he was speaking directly to Harry. He sat motionless on the hard pew, watching bright daylight flood into the chapel through a tall stained glass window behind the altar. It painted everything around Father Thomas in fantastic colours; the man in his black robes a sole dark figure in the middle.

Harry was full of awe after the mass. How could someone speak of forgiveness in such a way? And of love and — he felt as if he was floating all the way to the refectory. He filled his plate and sat down with the other boys, a huge grin on his face. 

“Uh oh, someone’s got an R.E.,” Blaise said when he noticed Harry’s expression. While the others laughed, Neville nudged Harry and whispered, “He means you.”

“What?” Harry looked up from his potato mash, bewildered. He hardly knew what he was eating, and had completely missed what the other boys were talking about while he was dreaming of the sermon — and maybe a bit of Father Thomas’s auburn eyes.

“An R.E., a Religioush Experienfe,” Ron explained, swallowing a large mouthful of the mash. “It’s when your eyes go all glazed and you’re succumbed in your own world. Happens to people sometimes after hearing a good sermon.”

“Or after looking at a particularly inspiring teacher,” Blaise added, smirking.

“Will you stop going on about Reggie?” Draco scoffed.

“Never, my love. Beauty inspires me, I can't help it,” Blaise replied and threw Harry another wink.

Harry blushed, completely baffled by what Draco and Blaise were bickering about. It seemed safest to concentrate on his meal, so he did just that, allowing the soft hum of chatter and clatter of the refectory to fill his ears.

He was glad to have the attention drawn away from himself for once. Not only was he the new boy, he was tutored by Father Thomas himself, and his sessions were longer and more frequent than the other boys’. Already, he was standing out, and the other boys didn’t even know of his shameful secret yet. 

“Right, Harry, are you ready?" Ron asked, having emptied his own plate.

“What?” Harry was startled from his thoughts. He had no idea what Ron was talking about.

“Practical work! It’s the best, usually we get to go out and actually do stuff. I’m not really one for books and libraries.”

“We’ve noticed,” Theodore said drily. He was sitting across the table, participating in the conversation for the first time. “I guess you're lucky in that the monastery needs people for the everyday work, too. Not everyone is meant for research.”

Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Neville cut in before the argument brewed any further. “Yeah, so, Rodie is quite lax, as long as we get the work done. He doesn’t care if we chat along the way and stuff. Anyway, I think we’re meant to be in the gardens today.”

The novices got up to wash up their plates in the corner. Just as Harry was heading out behind the other boys, Brother Bartemius stopped him.

“Just a minute, Harry, if you please.”

“Yes, Brother?” Harry asked, wondering if he’d done something wrong. He hadn’t knowingly broken any rules, but what if he didn’t know all of them? 

“As you are quite behind in your studies, you’ll be spending the afternoon revising in the library,” the brother said.

“Yes, Brother Bartemius.”

Great, remedial Latin, just what he needed.

Harry swallowed his disappointment. He had been looking forward to enjoying what must be one of the last sunny afternoons of the autumn outdoors. Instead,  he got to sit in a dusty library with nothing but a pile of old books for company. Well, and Brother Bartemius, but he was hardly more enthralling than the books.

“Tough luck, mate,” Ron said. “I guess we’ll see you at supper, unless they let you participate in choir practice.”

They did not let Harry participate in choir practice.

Hours ticked by agonizingly slowly. Time and again, Harry caught himself staring into space. He wondered what the other boys were doing, only to have his dreaming interrupted by Brother Bartemius’s dry cough.

The library was a dimly lit space, absolutely packed with books. There were small tables for individual studies and slightly larger ones for group work, not that speaking was allowed. At the back corner stood Brother Bartemius’s workstation, buried under stacks of ancient tomes and scripts. 

Touching the old scriptures without Brother Bartemius’s permission was forbidden. Nobody knew what would happen if they did — it had been a long time since anyone had last braved it. 

Windows were apparently another thing the librarian had banned. Sunlight might erode the precious books, so the offending sources of fresh air and sun had been covered with thick curtains that were always closed.

Halfway through the afternoon, Brother Bartemius disappeared through the back door, only to be shortly replaced by Brother Rabastan. Not really much of an improvement from Harry’s point of view.

“I hope you’ve been making use of this extra time for studying,” the man said. His words were followed by a large pile of books landing on the corner of Harry’s desk with a muffled thump. “Once you’ve finished the tasks Brother Bartemius assigned you with, you will be going through these scripts by St Thomas Aquinas.”

There goes the choir practice, then. 

“Yes, Brother.”

“Another thing. Father Thomas has requested your presence in his office for tonight’s study period,” the man said, disapproval clear on his expression. “Make sure you’re on time.”

“Yes, Brother Rabastan.”

The choir was one of the things Harry had been looking forward to the most when he joined St Brutus’s, but there was no helping it. He just needed to study hard to catch up with the other boys so he'd get to join. Seeing Father Thomas again tonight meant Harry had little hope of that, though. He sighed and picked up his pen. 

Time must have stopped in the library; it was the only explanation. No matter how hard Harry worked, the mountain of heavy tomes in front of him didn’t seem to get any lower, and the hands of a large wall clock hardly seemed to move at all. 

Just as he was about to give up all hope, the bell chimed for supper. Harry arranged his work in neat piles; it seemed he’d be returning to it for some time.

After the evening mass, Harry found himself back in Father Thomas’s austere office.

“There is some more exploration of your condition to do, which is why I requested you to accompany me tonight.” Father Thomas said. “We need to observe the extent to which the Devil has infiltrated you.”

“I— I thought we already did that?” Harry asked, confused. 

“The initial inspection was for the purity of your body. This one will be for your soul.”

“Um, how are you going to test that? Father,” he quickly added, realising he was perhaps being a bit rude, questioning Father Thomas like this.

“You will find out shortly. Please get undressed so we can begin.”

Harry didn’t understand why he needed to be starkers for the inspection of his soul, but the last thing he wanted was to make Father Thomas think Harry doubted him. He relieved himself of clothes and folded them neatly on the table, taking care that he didn’t mix up Father Thomas’s papers.

“Do you know the saying ‘eyes are a window to the soul’?” 

“The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light, but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness.” Harry remembered the Matthew verse well from Sunday school. He’d been thinking about that particular bit quite a lot, wondering how it reflected the darkness in him. Harry’s eyes were healthy, though, so he hadn’t quite understood the verse at the time.

“Good. Like Matthew says, it applies to the whole body, not just the eyes. The way your body reacts will tell me a lot about the state of your soul.”

“Okay,” Harry peeped and looked at his toes. He was starting to feel self-conscious, standing naked in front of the priest, even if the man had seen all of him already. His body had reacted in quite unwelcome ways just the night before — what if it got worse?

“Hide not from me, Harry. I still need to see your eyes, too.” Father Thomas said warningly. He tilted Harry’s chin up with a finger and gazed intently into his eyes. “There is no need to be concerned about your body’s reactions right now. Some level of reaction is to be expected.”

The eyes really must be a window to the soul, Harry thought. It sometimes feels as if Father Thomas can read my mind when he looks at me.  

The man bent down until his face was almost touching Harry’s, his other hand cupping the back of the boy’s head to hold him still. Harry tried to stand very quietly and not blink too much. Still, he startled when Father Thomas’s warm, soft lips touched his scar.

It burned through him like wildfire; had Father Thomas been holding on to him, Harry would have recoiled from the feeling. 

“Wha—?”

“Calm, Harry. This is for the inspection.”

Father Thomas’s fingers curled into Harry’s hair, and the man’s lips moved down to brush against Harry’s mouth.

At first, it was just that, a brush so light Harry thought first he might have imagined the whole thing. Why would—? Then Father Thomas moved his lips against Harry’s, and he could no longer pretend it wasn’t happening.

The man kissed the corner of Harry’s mouth, and a little whine escaped the boy. Soon, Father Thomas was licking the seam of Harry’s lips, coaxing them to open. Harry’s hands hung on his sides, fists clenching empty air. He was willing his body not to react, but his lips obeyed without permission, allowing Father Thomas in. Like the man’s fingers had during the initial inspection, his tongue now explored every corner of Harry’s mouth. It licked his teeth and slid against his tongue, locking their lips even closer together. 

Harry’s eyes fluttered closed, and slowly he relaxed into the touch, breathing in the man’s scent. Father Thomas smelled faintly of cedar and incense, but underneath, Harry could detect the man’s natural musk. 

When the priest withdrew, Harry’s face was flaming, and he wondered whether his chest was as flushed as his face. Father Thomas measured him with his gaze, but “Hmm. Interesting,” was all he said. Harry hoped it was ‘good interesting’, but as he couldn’t be sure what kind of reaction Father Thomas had been looking for, it might just as well have been ‘bad interesting’, too.

“The inspection bench now, if you would, Harry,” Father Thomas said, reaching to his desk to make a note on the papers. “Face up.”

Harry lay down on the bench on his back, his feet finding the supports on the sides easily. The bench was still in the same position as the last time, and Harry briefly wondered whether Father Thomas had used it at all in the meantime. At least not with any of the other novices. And why would he need to inspect any of the brothers? Surely Father Thomas wouldn't have a big piece of furniture crowding his office just for me.

The man’s palms fell heavily on Harry’s knees. “I shall commence the inspection manually. If there are any unresolved issues, I might have to use my mouth — it is more sensitive in detecting anomalies.”

“Yes, Father.”

The priest pushed Harry’s knees apart so that he could stand closer, between Harry’s legs. The fabric of his black robes brushed against Harry's thighs. The material was surprisingly smooth, quite unlike the rough wool Harry’s novice tunic was made of. Father Thomas slid his hands up to Harry’s sides, ghosting over his chest. It didn’t feel too bad, just the same as the initial inspection, really. Harry breathed out, listening to the wind rustling behind the windows. The only surprising thing about the touch on him was the gentleness; Harry was used to being touched with nothing but contempt.

Unlike the first time, though, this time Father Thomas kept brushing back and forth over Harry’s chest. He felt the little nubs harden under the persistent stimulation, and his breathing quickened. A strange warmth was building down below, where the man was leaning against the apex of his thighs. Oh no. My body is doing it again—

“It’s quite all right, Harry,” Father Thomas said soothingly. “There is nothing wrong with having a physical response to my touch. The Holy Spirit working through my hands."

One of those hands kept rubbing on Harry’s nubs, now and again pinching and rolling them between his fingers. The other wandered past Harry’s belly towards his groin. Dark auburn eyes followed the hand, devouring the boy's lithe body, and Father Thomas leaned back to give his hand space to work. Harry bit his lip to stop himself from whimpering.

“You may make a sound if you need to, Harry,” Father Thomas said, “It is vital that you hide nothing from me.”

“Yes, Father.”

The lower hand had found Harry’s privates, petting them against Harry’s belly. Father Thomas’s palm was large enough to cover Harry’s little member and balls completely. For some reason, it made Harry feel quite safe; he was in Father Thomas’s hands. 

The priest curled his hand around Harry’s member, giving it a slight amount of pressure. Harry’s face burned when he felt it hardening. Regardless of what Father Thomas had just said, he squeezed his eyes closed in mortification. 

“Eyes on me, Harry. “ Father Thomas pinched Harry’s nipple warningly, and the boy’s eyes shot open. “I prefer not to repeat myself.”

He was working Harry’s cock in earnest now, sliding up, thumbing the slit, sliding back down again. Harry’s breath was getting erratic, and the warm feeling building up in his belly got worse. There was an embarrassing, slick noise coming from where his member was being handled.

“Please, Father.” Harry hoped the man would know how to make the sensation disappear. “What’s happening?”

“Relax, Harry,” Father Thomas murmured. “You can let go.” 

What should he let go of? Harry couldn't begin to guess. Father Thomas’s hand quit its torment momentarily to roll Harry’s balls in his hand, only to slide back up and work on his cock again. The inspection felt so good that it made Harry squirm on the hard wooden bench. He whined, looking desperately at the man, who was tormenting his body.

The warm feeling in his groin got more and more intense until suddenly Harry’s whole body spasmed. His back arched so violently that he would have fallen on the floor had Father Thomas not supported him.

“W-what was that?” Harry asked once he regained his breath. He was feeling tired and relaxed, enjoying Father Thomas’s warm hands slowly stroking up and down his sides.

“That, darling, was your body disposing of evil,” the man said. He placed a soft kiss on Harry’s forehead, avoiding the scar. “It is excellent news, but you must not try to do it alone, or you might hurt yourself.”  He swept a drop of something from Harry’s belly and put the finger in his mouth. The man shuddered and cracked his neck. His eyes were burning like red coals. “The evil needs a conduit to escape, and were I not there to guide it, it might infiltrate one of the other boys.”

“I’ll be careful, Father,” Harry said. “I promise not to try it alone.”

“Good boy.” Father Thomas smiled warmly and pulled Harry up. “It is getting late, and you must be fatigued: we shall continue this tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Father,” Harry said. His knees felt a bit wobbly, so he leaned on  Father Thomas when he went to collect his clothes.

The day after was spent in a similar manner. Harry attended the morning classes with the other novices and spent the quiet study period continuing with his remedial homework. In the afternoon, he again missed both choir practice and practical work in favour of studying in the library. After evening mass, he headed to Father Thomas’ office.

“Dominus vobiscum,”  he said, after Father Thomas had called him to enter. 

“Et cum spiritu tuo. We shall resume mapping your soul tonight, so please, prepare yourself,” the priest said. He got up to lock the door. “This is only so that we do not get interrupted, Harry. Examining the soul is a delicate process; I want no disturbances.”

“Yes, Father,” Harry said. He’d gotten undressed and was standing in the middle of the room, feeling a bit lost. After the previous night, he no longer felt quite so shy about being naked around Father Thomas, but it was still awkward to stand there waiting when he didn’t know what was expected of him. Harry shivered in the chill of the room.

Father Thomas smiled at him, placing a warm hand on the small of Harry’s back. “Please get up on the bench. No, on your front this time,” he said when Harry sat on the edge. The boy obeyed and lay on his stomach while Father Thomas adjusted the leg-rests for his knees. 

Harry heard a bit of rustling, then felt Father Thomas’s hands on his back. Like the previous night, the tall man leaned on Harry. His clothed crotch pressed against Harry’s arse when he reached to stroke up and down Harry’s back. It felt a bit like a massage — not that Harry had ever gotten one, but at least it looked a bit like this on TV.

“That’s it, ease into it for me,” Father Thomas murmured when Harry started to doze off after a while. “Good boy.” 

Like in the initial inspection, the hands on his back slid gradually lower. Soon, Father Thomas was stroking from the back of Harry’s thighs all the way up to the nape of his neck. After a while, the hands started to concentrate on Harry’s arse. The circular motions made his cheeks part, and eventually the hands stayed there, holding him open. Even half-asleep, Harry couldn’t help but feel slightly self-conscious — Father Thomas could see straight in there — but he tried to relax. The man was trying to help. This inspection of the soul was necessary, and the least Harry could do was to let Father Thomas do it. 

One of the man’s hands disappeared for a bit, while the other stayed on Harry’s behind, spreading it. Harry felt a slick finger circling his hole. He clenched momentarily, but little by little, Father Thomas’s continuous, gentle petting soothed him back into the sleepy state. 

Eventually, the man’s finger zeroed in on Harry’s hole. It pressed lightly and dipped in, making him gasp at the sensation. The shock was quickly replaced with pleasure when he felt a slippery hand on his member — when had it become stiff? The finger petted his hole, while the other hand palmed his cock, rubbing it in a slow, maddening motion. 

The dual sensation was overwhelming. Harry squirmed on the bench, his crotch grinding against Father Thomas’s smooth robes, and the finger slipped inside him. It was an odd sensation: not necessarily a bad one, just one he wasn't used to. His cock twitched in the man’s hand, and Harry bit down his mortification — Father Thomas had said it was all right to react. The finger slipped in and out a few times, the other hand constantly soothing over his member. Harry allowed a whimper to escape his throat.

“Good boy, Harry,” the priest murmured. “You look exquisite, all spread out for me.” 

The man didn’t give Harry too much time to get comfortable with the situation before he started working a second finger in. It burned a bit, but the slick palm pressing on his cock combined the pain with pleasure, making Harry’s brain short-circuit with the onslaught of sensations. 

Two fingers massaged the inside of his hole, now and again brushing something very sensitive that made Harry gasp. Father Thomas hummed. After a while, the fingers concentrated on that particularly sensitive area, and soon there was no break from the intense feeling at all. 

Harry was sweating, no longer bothered by the chilliness of the room. The now familiar feeling in his lower belly was building up to worrying levels. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could take this — it seemed like a considerable amount of time was required to inspect this one aspect of his soul — when suddenly his body spasmed.  Just like the previous night, Harry’s back arched and a tingly feeling spread through his body. This time, though, the man didn’t stop.

“F-father?” he murmured. He didn’t want to interrupt the inspection, but his parts were feeling very sensitive now.

“Hush, darling. We are not quite done yet.” 

Harry felt as if he was going mad.

He squirmed on the bench, but that only pushed the fingers deeper in his hole. He tried to ease into the feeling, but it was impossible with the continuous stimulation. The rubbing of the sensitive spot in his arse never ceased. 

The man pushed a third finger into him, and this time it burned quite a lot. He was definitely going to lose his mind if this continued. Harry tried to pull away, but the slippery hand on his member suddenly grabbed his balls firmly. He gasped before breathing into the sensation, gradually letting go of the tension. 

“There you go, sweetheart. You are doing so well.” 

The third finger pushed in all the way. Father Thomas released Harry's balls, and the hand returned to stroke his cock. It made a squelchy, wet sound. Harry sniffled. He was overwhelmed and felt as if he needed to pee quite badly.

The fingers inside him found that terrible spot again and concentrated on rubbing it ceaselessly. The pleasure was verging on pain, and then Harry spasmed again. His vision blurred as a jolt travelled through his body, Father Thomas's insistent hands stroking him through the spasm.

 When Harry came to, Father Thomas was rubbing his thighs. 

“Let me help you up, Harry.” The bench squeaked as the man lifted Harry to sit on the edge. The boy leaned back on his hands, too tired to support himself upright.

His legs weren’t doing what he wanted them to. Had Father Thomas not been there to catch him, Harry would have fallen on his face when he attempted to stand up. How was it that the man looked so energised when Harry was completely drained?

“Let’s get you sorted, Harry. Looks like the inspection tired you out,” he said fondly and collected Harry in his arms. The man sat down in his chair at the desk and pulled Harry sideways on his lap. 

Harry had never sat in anyone’s lap before.

Harry sank his face into the crook of the man’s shoulder and breathed in the now familiar smell of Father Thomas. He smelled like safety. Harry felt content just lying there in the man’s arms, breathing in and out, one firm hand holding him up, the other petting his neck. 

“Are you ready to proceed now, Harry?” Father Thomas asked after a while, gently peeling Harry’s face from his neck. 

There was more? Harry was exhausted, but he wanted all the help he could get. “Yes, Father.” 

The priest turned him to face the desk, still on his lap.

“This here is your form, Harry,” Father Thomas said, pointing at a piece of paper filled with his neat, slanting handwriting. Harry leaned in to look. It was in  English, but there were lots of complicated Latin words, and the handwriting was old-fashioned. It was incomprehensible to Harry. 

“As you can see, there is a great deal of work ahead of us. But you need not worry,” Father Thomas added when Harry stiffened, “There are ways to exorcise darkness from you, and ways to cleanse you from both inside and out. Given the extent of your condition, it is necessary to use all available techniques.” 

Father Thomas hooked his chin over Harry’s shoulder, his breath tickling Harry’s bare neck. “Your body is also fighting, attempting to purge itself from evil, as we have seen. The spasms occur when the Devil’s claws are ripped off your soul.” 

Harry nodded sleepily.  He didn’t quite understand what the priest was saying, but he trusted Father Thomas to take care of everything. The session had been so long and the man so attentive that Harry was as overwhelmed emotionally as he was physically. Never before had he received so much care and attention. 

Father Thomas leaned back, pulling Harry tighter against him. He could hear the man’s heartbeat through the smooth fabric of his robe.

“As of now, we shall meet regularly. I cannot promise to make time for you every night, but I should be able to arrange several nights a week.”

“Thank you, Father,” Harry murmured, “I really appreciate the time you’re giving me.”

“You are very welcome, Harry. It is as much my pleasure as it is my duty to help you to find your way back to God.” He pressed a kiss on Harry’s temple. “Now, I was going to commence with the cleansing tonight but you are too tired for it — no, no,” he said when Harry was about to protest, “You need to be bright and alert when we begin.” 

The priest reached for the pile of Harry’s clothes from the corner of his desk and started dressing him. It made Harry feel like a little kid. Oddly enough, he found that he didn’t mind; it felt good to be looked after like this. He couldn’t remember a time when anyone had helped him get dressed before, though it must have happened when he was a baby.

Once he was ready, Father Thomas stood up and placed Harry on the floor in front of him. Harry, still feeling wobbly, had to support himself on the man’s shoulder. 

“As I said. You are exhausted.” Father Thomas smiled gently. He bent down to ghost his lips against Harry’s scar. “Not to worry. I shall take you to bed.” And before Harry could protest, the priest had picked him up in his arms again and carried him down the stairs.

He must have taken Harry all the way to the dormitory, because when he woke up to the morning bell in his own bed, clothes neatly folded on his chest.

Chapter Text

“Finally, it's Friday,” said Ron, yawning, and threw himself on his bed after the evening mass.

“Yeah,” said Harry. Ron’s narrow bed slumped when he sat next to the red-haired boy, leaning on the headboard. “So, how does the weekend schedule work then?”

“Well, there are no classes for starters. That’s a good one. On Saturday mornings, we do some physical work with Rodolphus, and then there’s time for quiet studies. Saturday afternoons and Sundays are mostly for resting, but there’s one extra mass during the afternoon.” 

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” Harry said. He could do with a bit of a rest after the busy week he’d had.

His first days at the monastery had passed quickly. They had classes every morning; afternoons were for physical work and choir practice or — in Harry’s case — more studying. He was slowly but surely making his way through the pile of remedial homework Brother Bartemius and Brother Rabastan had given him, and he was hoping to be caught up enough to join the other boys soon.

There were three simple but filling meals every day, always accompanied by a mass — Brother Severus in the morning, Father Thomas at noon, and Brother Bartemius in the evening. Harry liked the one with Father Thomas best, but he found that Brother Severus was quite an interesting speaker, too, often offering new insights to familiar bible passages. Brother Bartemius, despite his pretty brown eyes, was as dull during mass as he was in class. 

Harry found the strict schedule oddly liberating — there was no need to decide anything for himself, just follow the other novices and do as he was told. Even the periods for quiet work in the mornings were enjoyable, as Harry got to study together with the other boys. He felt like some of them were becoming his friends — something he’d never had before, thanks to Dudley and his gang. 

He was also gradually learning his way around the monastery and had even found some time to examine the artwork that was displayed everywhere. His favourite part was the inner garden, protected on every side by the cloister. It was decorated with pristine greenery that was Brother Rodolphus’s pride and joy. Taking a shortcut through the courtyard wasn’t forbidden as such, but no one wanted to spite good-hearted Rodolphus, so the novices stayed on the paved areas. Ron had told Harry that every spring the novices were tasked to scrub the marble statues in the middle clean from lichen and dirt — a job no one was keen on. Harry wondered if he’d mind: the protected garden felt like a sanctuary to him, and he was missing time outdoors.

Right now, though, Harry was glad to learn that weekends held so much free time. Learning so many new things in a span of only a few days was exhausting, regardless of how much he loved his new home.

“You’re forgetting Nocturns, Ron,” Neville chimed in from his bed, where he was curled up with a dog-eared paperback. 

“What’s Nocturns?” Harry asked. His Latin was feeble, but it sounded like it had something to do with night.

“Nocturns is a mass in the middle of the night,” Neville said. “Severus wakes us up around two in the morning for it. We lumber to the chapel and back like zombies and go back to sleep right after.”

“Yeah, but you better not sleep during,” Ron said warningly. “I’ve dozed off a few times, old Rabbie wasn’t too pleased about that.”

“Me too,” Neville said, shivering. “Rabastan is a stickler for rules, all too fond of Proverbs. I bet ‘Whoever spares the rod hates his son’ is his favorite verse in the Bible.”

“Nah, it’s ‘Blows that wound cleanse away evil’. I asked him once,” Ron said darkly. 

“Figures.”

The discussion about Brother Rabastan’s enthusiasm for corporal punishment worried Harry. He was no stranger to beatings, but felt he’d had enough of Uncle Vernon’s belt for one lifetime. If he could avoid finding out what Brother Rabastan had in store for boys who fell asleep during the night mass, he would. Yet he was a sound sleeper and had never even tried to get up in the middle of the night for anything. Harry could hardly keep his eyes open even now, after the taxing week he’d had. 

“I think I’ll go to bed early,” he said quickly and sprang up from Ron’s bed.

“Are you scared of losing your status as the new favourite, then?” Draco said venomously when Harry returned to his own bed to change into pyjamas. “You can kiss the brothers’ arses all you like, but it won’t save you from a fuck up.”

“I’ve not been kissing anyone,” Harry said defensively. “Especially not in the — what you said.”

“You can drop the innocent act now,” Draco scoffed. “Nobody’s buying ‘St. Harry the Pure’, anyway.”

“I’m not acting anything! And I’m not — I mean the inspection — you know — why we even are here in the first place!” Harry was getting flustered. 

He didn’t want to appear as if he thought he was a saint or anything — that was impossible, right? But he wasn’t going to spill to Draco his secret about how tainted he was, either. Surely no one was shown to be completely pure in their inspection? Father Thomas had said it was to highlight the areas each of them needed to work on. That must mean everyone had something.

“Let the kid be, Draco,” Blaise joined in the conversation, lazing off on his bed. “You don’t need to hate him just because he’s cute — we still love you, too.” He blew a kiss to Draco, who grumbled something and stomped to the bathroom.

Harry buried himself under the blankets. The smell of the novice dormitory — damp wool and teenage boy — was becoming a familiar thing to fall asleep to.

Someone was shaking his arm. 

“Wake up, Harry, it’s Nocturns!” Ron looked rumpled and was rubbing his eyes, but he was already somewhat dressed. That meant Harry was late; he jumped up and donned his tunic. The tangled cowl he fought over his head as they left the dorms. 

Brother Severus and the other novices had already left. Harry, Ron, and Neville ran to the chapel through the dark courtyard, avoiding Brother Rodolphus’s precious plants. The statues lit from below made the otherwise dark garden look like something from a fairytale.

Harry had never been to the church at night before. It was beautiful and serene, lit by hundreds of flickering candles. The high central dome disappeared into dark shadows above them. 

The service was led by Brother Regulus, which was a surprise. Blaise was assisting the brother, chanting antiphons next to the altar. Harry was grateful to be able to follow his example without thinking too much for himself. His eyes were bleary and he kept stifling yawns. 

Brother Regulus was reading the Romans in a ringing voice: “Having gifts that differ according to the grace given to us, let us use them.”

Despite the brisk run to the chapel, sleep was clinging to Harry’s body. His eyelids were getting heavier by the minute; the quiet, mystical atmosphere was not helping. A sharp elbow to his side from Ron perked him up twice, but it was no use. The soft light of candles blurred into a warm haze…

The next thing he felt was a stinging pain in his earlobe. Harry suppressed a yelp and looked around in panic; Brother Rabastan was smiling like a shark behind him. His horrified eyes met Ron’s, who gave him a sympathetic look and a minuscule shrug. 

The service was almost at the end, but that wasn’t going to save Harry — he’d been caught sleeping in the Nocturns, and in his first week as well.

He had fucked up, just as Draco had said he would. This was going to be bad.

Maybe they won’t throw me out for this, he thought. Ron and Neville got to stay after doing the same. Maybe they won’t be too strict with me. Maybe… The dread and adrenaline kept him up for the rest of the night.

Had it not been for the impending punishment looming over his head, Harry would have enjoyed the Saturday schedule. 

He got to join practical work for the first time and was assigned to do laundry with Theodore. Harry was curious about the boy he’d not changed many words with yet. Theodore seemed a bit pompous, but not unfriendly.

The wash-room was a large space armed with industrial-size washing machines at the back of the monastery. Countless sacks stuffed with dirty laundry and wicker baskets with clean linen filled the room. 

Harry quite liked the fresh smell of laundry. It was one of the few chores he’d actually enjoyed doing back at the Dursleys’, for it didn’t involve him getting dirty or sun-burned or cuffed on the ear — Aunt Petunia rarely bothered Harry while he was at it. He doubted Uncle Vernon even knew his house had a utility room.

“So, how did you end up here, then?” Harry asked Theodore while struggling to fold large white sheets into the wicker baskets.

“Harry, I know you are new, so you probably don’t know any better, but that is not something we ask each other.” Theodore had stopped working and looked at Harry seriously. “If someone volunteers to share their raison d’être with you, it’ll be a sign of trust, but you cannot go and ask for it.”

“Their what?

“Raison d’être,” Theodore sighed. “The reason why each of us joined.”

“Oh, sorry.” Once again, he was committing an unwitting social suicide, though at least Theodore had explained what he’d done wrong. Maybe the other boy had decided to cut Harry some slack because he was new. He tried again.“Um. Well, how do you like it here, then?”

“It’s not a question of liking,” Theodore said, turning back to his work. “I’m here to serve God.”

It was Harry’s turn to sigh; there was no pleasing this boy. At least he’d tried to be friendly. 

Though why had Theodore first snapped at him, then given his reason to Harry anyway? And he wasn’t the only one whose behaviour was cryptic. Why was Blaise constantly winking at Harry? What had he done to deserve Draco’s ire? Harry sighed in resignation, wondering if he’d ever learn to understand the other boys. He continued to fold the sheets.

They worked in silence for a moment, then Theodore spoke, “How about you, then? How did you end up here? You seem a bit younger than the rest of us.”

And now he’s asking me the forbidden question. He doesn’t seem to mind talking about it after all. Was it just to chide me? Harry didn’t understand the rules of this conversation, but he was keen to make friends. He blundered on bravely. 

“Er, I’m here to serve, I guess?” He supposed that was what one was meant to say, but Theodore just scoffed disbelievingly at his answer. 

Harry tried again. “To be completely honest with you — and I haven’t told this to the other boys — but Father Thomas recommended to my aunt and uncle I join.”

Theodore’s eyebrows shot up. “Father Thomas personally asked you to join, really? It’s usually Brother Regulus’s job to do recruiting and fundraising. He bats his lashes and flashes his smiles, and the masses flock to him,” Theodore said disapprovingly. “If I were in charge, I’d put someone with more pure motivations to recruitment and PR, if you know what I mean.”

“Er.” Harry had no clue what Theodore meant. 

The other boy rolled his eyes. “Some of the brothers appreciate male beauty a bit too much. I won’t mention names, but you can probably guess who I mean, as they are not especially subtle about it.”

What’s wrong with appreciating beauty? Harry appreciated it too. He wanted to ask, but at the last second decided against it. The answers Theodore provided to his questions seemed only to confuse him further. 

“Well, that’s not why I joined,” Harry said.

“Obviously.”

Harry had finished with the sheets and started hanging up the wet laundry while Theodore sorted the dirty clothes into the washing machines. Harry soaked in the quiet atmosphere of the laundry room while they worked. There was something satisfying in seeing the immediate result of his work; besides, it kept his mind off the upcoming encounter with Brother Rabastan.

“Father Thomas said I’ve got the Devil in me,” Harry blurted, breaking the silence. He hadn’t planned on sharing the full reason why he’d joined, but something in the secluded atmosphere of the laundry room told his sleep-deprived mind he could trust the other boy.

The truth was that he needed someone to confide in. Theodore seemed like a reasonable choice: he kept mostly to himself, seemingly above the everyday gossip of the other novices. Harry knew he needed to tell his friends at some point — something weird was bound to happen around him sooner or later — but he just wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to lose his friends just yet. Theodore might start to detest him, but he would mind it less than if it were Ron or Neville. 

“Father Thomas tried to help me at church and at Sunday School, but it wasn’t enough. They’re going to do excor- exorcism on me,”.

“Wow. Cool,” Theodore breathed and turned to look at Harry in awe. “Is that the Mark?” His eyes flickered to the scar on Harry’s forehead, and Harry suppressed the urge to smooth his hair over it. Theodore’s reaction was unexpected, to say the least.

Theodore seemed to notice Harry’s bewilderment and recalled himself. “I mean, that’s really unfortunate for you, obviously, but it’ll be a good learning opportunity for the rest of us. I bet Brother Bartemius has tons of research on the topic. He’s really good; he’ll find a cure for you. He lets me assist with the books, you know.”

“Hey, you two, it’s time for mass!” Neville’s friendly face peeped through the laundry room door. 

Harry was grateful for the interruption — this whole interaction with Theodore had left him confused. While he was happy that Theodore hadn’t recoiled from him, his cryptic answers and not-so-humble bragging were beginning to grate on his nerves. Could have been worse, I guess. At least he didn’t start to make cross signs or cite the Exorcism of the Devil.

When High Mass was over, the novices flocked to the chapel door. Harry was about to follow when Brother Rabastan materialised in front of him. Ron and Neville shot him an apologetic look and disappeared into the winding corridor. Harry was left alone in the chapel with the stern-looking man. He was trembling slightly, but met the man’s eyes head-on. 

“Harry, I have to say I was disappointed to see you falling asleep last night during Nocturns. It was disrespectful to Brother Regulus and to God,” Brother Rabastan said gravely. “You will face disciplinary action. It is my duty as St. Brutus’s disciplinarian to monitor and reinforce the inhabitants' conduct and to keep us all on the right path. However,” the man spat the last word, “Father Thomas has informed me that in your case, he will be doing it personally. You are to present yourself in his office tonight after the evening mass.”

Disapproval was clear on the man’s face, and Harry wondered whether the man was more upset for the deviation from rules or for missing out on dealing punishment himself. 

“Yes, Brother Rabastan.” 

For once, Harry was glad to be the exception. If he were to be expelled, he’d rather hear it from Father Thomas. Actually, he’d rather take any form of punishment from the Father than Brother Rabastan. 

As soon as the Brother turned his back, Harry darted through the drafty corridor. He felt as if he’d narrowly escaped a trap and breathed out only once he reached the warmth and light of the refectory. The familiar ripple of conversation and clinking of cutlery felt more welcoming than ever.

Hand still shaking lightly, Harry helped himself with some stew and found a seat at the novice table next to Ron.

“So, is it time for little Harry to face the consequences?” Draco sneered as soon as Harry had sat down. “Being Tom’s favourite won’t save you now, will it?”

“Actually—” Harry started.

“Oh my God,” Draco groaned. “Don’t say it does.”

“Er, apparently he’d told Brother Rabastan that he’d handle it himself,” Harry said. “There’s still going to be disciplinary action, though.”

“What’s Tom want you so often for? I’ve only seen my mentor once a year since my initial,”  Ron asked. “Well, if we don’t count punishments.”

“That’s because Rabbie doesn’t care to see you naked,” Draco said. “I mean, who would?”

“Good old Rabs, he’s only interested in a naked arse if he can hit it with a cane.” Blaise winked at Harry, who wasn’t sure whether it’d been a joke or not. 

“Sometimes disciplinary action is required to keep us on the right path, and Brother Rabastan is doing fine work with it.” Theodore reprimanded. “You are confusing young Harry with all your talk about nudity, which is completely beside the point.”

“Hey, I like a naked arse just as much as the next person,” Blaise leered. “Or more, depends on who’s beside me.”

That, at least, must be a joke. He wouldn’t just say something like that, Harry thought, shooting Theodore a grateful smile. The stuck-up boy had not only kept Harry’s secret but diverted the conversation to a safer path.

“Please, no more arse-talk. Some of us are eating,” Ron said despairingly. 

“Hear, hear,” mumbled Neville, whose ears were flaming red.

“Nothing wrong with a bit of arse-eat— mph!” Ron’s hand slapped over Blaise’s mouth.

Ignoring Blaise, Draco turned to inspect Harry with sharp eyes. “Actually, Harry, do tell us why you are summoned so often? And why is Tom punishing you himself?”

“Um,” Harry started. It seemed he wasn’t off the hook yet. Draco was not going to let it go, and the other boys were curious as well. 

He was unsure as to how much he should share. Father Thomas hadn’t said anything about their meetings being secret, but Harry wasn’t ready for his friends finding out that he was tainted yet. He glanced at Theodore for help, but Blaise’s crudity had apparently made the haughty boy lose interest in the discussion.

“Father Thomas is helping me with something,” Harry eventually settled on.

“Oh, I’m sure he is,” Draco smirked. “I can imagine it all too well.”

“Boys. Draco.” A deep voice behind them startled the novices. “You would do well to trust Harry’s spiritual growth to your superiors and concentrate on your own. I receive enough calls from your father as it is.”

“Yes, Father Thomas.” Draco was suddenly very pale and bowed his head to concentrate on his stew. 

Harry could have sworn he felt a light touch on the small of his back, but when he turned to look, Father Thomas was already gone.

After lunch, the novices gathered in the library for the last study session of the week. Harry, unable to concentrate on reading, spent the afternoon biting his nails and pacing in nervous circles. He had planned on revising his Latin, but the anxiety made it a lost cause.

“Will you stop pacing, Harry,” Ron finally snapped. “Look, it’s going to be fine. Rabbie usually gives us a few lashes from his cane, and then it’s all forgive and forget. Tom can’t be that much worse, can he?”

“Yeah,” Neville agreed, though his face told Harry that he didn’t really consider a few lashes to be ‘fine’. 

“You really think so?” asked Draco from behind them. “I happen to think that Father Thomas might get quite a bit more creative than Rabastan.”

“Oi, didn’t Tom just tell you to shut up about Harry?” Ron asked.

“He told me to leave Harry’s spiritual growth alone. One has to wonder if their sessions count as such.”

“Will you be quiet, or do I have to get Brother Bartemius here?” Theodore snapped. “Some of us are actually trying to study.”

Once again, Theodore had rescued Harry. Though it was probably as much for selfish reasons as it was for Harry’s benefit, he was grateful. Telling Theodore his secret might not have been such a bad idea.

Ron and Draco returned to their work, leaving Harry to his fidgeting until it was time for supper and evening mass.

The mass passed simultaneously both too fast and too slow, Brother Bartemius’s words a blur in Harry’s ears. What if it was the last time he got to attend a mass? What if he got expelled? Harry would rather take a hundred lashes from a cane than knock on Uncle Vernon’s door. 

Oh God, what if Father Thomas does have a cane? 

Harry headed up to Father Thomas’s office with an encouraging nudge on the shoulder from Ron (‘It’ll be fine, mate’) and a less encouraging comment from Neville (‘I got really good salve for bruises if you need it after’). Even dragging his feet, Harry shortly arrived at Father Thomas’s door.

“Come in,” the priest said without looking up from his work when Harry knocked on the open door-frame. “Take a seat, Harry. I’ll be with you in a moment. ” 

Harry sat down on the guest chair. He had to sit on his hands to resist the urge to bite his nails while Father Thomas rustled his papers. The man scribbled something on the top one. Was it Harry’s record he was writing down? Was it a criminal record? 

He averted his eyes from the papers and stared out of the window. It was a clear, crisp night, and the waxing moon was visible in the night sky. Harry attempted to count the stars around it.

At last, Father Thomas was ready and faced the nervous boy. “Brother Rabastan tells me you fell asleep during Nocturns.”

“Yes, Father. I’m sorry.” Harry stared at the floor. 

“He tells me that you need to face disciplinary action.”

“Yes, Father.”

Here it comes. 

“I disagree,” Father Thomas said and got up from his chair to stand in front of Harry.

Harry’s eyes shot up; had he heard right? Had he been deemed incorrigible? They wouldn’t even punish him, just throw him out—

“I am not dismissing you. This is your home now, I wish you could trust me enough to remember that”, he said gently, stroking a thumb down Harry’s face. “It is your first week here; you are tired and overwhelmed. Punishment will not help with that.” 

“Oh,” Harry sniffled, swallowing back tears of relief. “Thank you, Father. Sorry.”

“I called you here tonight to commence the exorcism. The first step in my plan is to cleanse your mind.” Father Thomas brushed Harry’s temple gently. “This is easiest accomplished through the mouth, which is intimately connected to your soul. Darkness is repelled by the touch of the Holy Spirit, which I, as a man of God, can provide.

“However, as the Devil has had its claws on you for a long time, exorcising it will also take time. I am a busy man, so, as much as I want to help you, I cannot dedicate hours or my time to touching your mouth. You understand this?”

“Y-yes,” said Harry, who had no clue what Father Thomas was talking about.

Maybe he won’t have time to help me after all? 

“Of course, I still wish to aid you, Harry. We shall do the cleansing with a body part that does not prevent my work. There is also an additional benefit: Should we be successful, my body may release a sacred substance which continues the cleansing even after you leave this office.”

“Oh.” Harry swallowed thickly. Father Thomas is really dedicated to helping me. Wait— which part is he talking abo—?

“Go on then, under my desk.” Father Thomas gave Harry a small smile. He sat down in his chair and pulled it back so there was room for Harry to crawl in.

Harry kneeled on the floor between the man’s legs. He was still confused as to what was asked of him when he saw Father Thomas part his tunic, revealing his groin. 

“Father Thomas?” 

“Enclose it in your mouth, Harry. You want to heal, do you not?”

Harry squeaked in accordance and stared at the man’s member jutting in front of him. It was quite large — what part of it was the cleansing one? Would it work even if Harry couldn’t fit all of it in his mouth?

“Take your time,” Father Thomas said, noticing the boy’s hesitation. “You may begin with just the tip and work your way up to more.”

Harry watched as the priest pulled the foreskin back, revealing smooth, pink skin under it. He gave it a tentative lick; the taste was unexpected but not bad as such.

“Ah ah, Harry, no licking or sucking. Just keep it in your mouth. You may swallow periodically if you must, but do not allow your greed to distract me. Those sinful lips of yours would tempt even a saint, and I have got work to do.” 

Harry felt chastised. Here he was, sabotaging the priest, who was only trying to help. 

He took the tip in and the tangy flavour filled his mouth. It was quite strong yet somehow enticing; not unlike Father Thomas’s natural musk. Harry found that his mouth was quite full with just the tip. As the man had said it was all right, Harry didn’t immediately try to do more.

He realised quickly that saliva was going to be an issue. As he wasn’t allowed to lick or suck, some would eventually leak out from the corner of his mouth and land on Father Thomas’s thigh. Swallowing helped only so much when his mouth was so full he couldn’t move the gathering moisture around with his tongue.

Some drool fell on his chin and dripped on the man’s leg. Harry worked a bit more of the cock in his mouth and heard the rustle of Father Thomas’s pen pause momentarily. He shuffled his legs, trying to get comfortable on the cold floor, and rested his head on the man’s warm thigh.

After a while, he was able to relax into it. There was nothing else to do but keep the member inside his mouth nice and cosy. It’s only fair that Father Thomas is comfortable, too, Harry thought, he’s doing so much for me. 

He sighed and closed his eyes. Now and again, Father Thomas’s hand found his hair and scratched behind Harry’s ear. It felt nice. 

He allowed his mind to wander. 

“Harry. Darling, are you awake?”

Father Thomas’s voice sounded as if it came through thick fog. Harry blinked open his eyes. The room was darker than before, and his knees were hurting from kneeling on the hard floor. He felt oddly lethargic, his head still resting in Father Thomas’s lap, the man’s member nested in his mouth.

“Mmhm,” Harry hummed. The cock twitched on his tongue.

“Darling, you have been so good. I shall release some holy substance for you now. You remember, to increase the duration of this cleansing?”

“Mmhm,” Harry hummed again.

“Open your mouth a bit wider, just a bit more. Good, that is excellent, Harry.” 

Harry struggled to take more of the man’s cock in his mouth, but Father Thomas’s hand curled on the back of his hair, giving him no choice but to allow his mouth to be stuffed further. The strain made Harry’s eyes water.

“You may suck, sweetheart. Go ahead.”

Harry gave a tentative suck. It felt good to be able to move his mouth after being still so long, and he continued to suckle the hard member, occasionally moving his tongue around to collect the saliva and swallow it down. 

Somehow, the cock seemed to grow larger and harder, and Harry’s mouth was beginning to stretch uncomfortably wide. Even so, he struggled to take all of it in. Father Thomas didn’t seem to mind his inadequate performance, though, for which Harry was grateful. 

The man kept Harry’s head in place and pulled his cock out a bit before thrusting it back in again. Harry hooked his arms around the priest’s legs to keep himself from sliding back and forth on the floor. 

Soon, there was a steady rhythm, the member gliding in and out along Harry’s tongue, now and again hitting the back of his throat. It made him want to swallow, but when he did, Father Thomas let out a very strange groan. Worried that he was doing something wrong — maybe he was hurting Father Thomas — Harry attempted to pull back, but Father Thomas’s fingers tightened in his hair.

“That is very good, Harry, keep doing that, you may swallow now,” the man said. 

The cleansing was becoming quite uncomfortable. Harry’s jaw was hurting, and his knees were chafed, but he was keen to get it right, so he followed Father Thomas’s instructions, holding tightly on to the man’s legs.

Not that he had much choice. The man buried his cock deeper, and Father Thomas kept Harry’s head firmly in place. Harry’s eyes were watering. The large member was now nestled in his throat, only occasionally withdrawing barely enough to allow him a quick breath. 

“Eyess on me.” 

Harry looked up. Tears started to roll down his cheeks onto the man’s cock. He swallowed and sucked, the salty taste of his tears mixing with the tang of Father Thomas’s skin. 

Then the man pushed in even deeper than before. The member was now lodged in Harry’s throat, completely blocking his breathing. Harry was starting to panic; the world narrowed down to the cock stretching his mouth wide open. His throat worked on it, attempting simultaneously to swallow it down and push it out. He fought against the urge to struggle free, arms squeezing tightly around Father Thomas’s legs, when something wet shot down his throat, giving him no choice but to swallow it. 

Father Thomas groaned and withdrew a bit to allow Harry a breath. Immediately, his mouth filled with a pulse of bitter liquid. Harry spluttered and tried to back away, but the hand in his hair held tight until he’d swallowed all of it. 

“That was very good, Harry.” Father Thomas’s eyes flickered between Harry’s teary eyes and stretched mouth. “I am very pleased with your performance for the first cleansing.”

The priest smiled radiantly and released Harry’s head, pulling his cock out. Air rushed into Harry’s lungs. He crumpled on the cold stone floor on all fours, coughing.

“Come here, sweetheart.” 

Father Thomas pulled Harry into his lap. The man’s robes were smooth and warm against Harry’s face, and his breathing calmed down as he relaxed. 

Harry sniffled, hiding his teary face into the crook of the man’s neck. His throat was raw and his limbs felt like lead, but the arms around him made him feel so safe that he didn’t care.

“You are all mine, little one, are you not?” Father Thomas murmured in Harry’s hair, stroking his back. “Such a good boy, taking your medicine. It will make you all better.”

Harry wondered how long the holy substance would be effective; would he need to take it again? It had been difficult, but he couldn’t make himself worry about it just then. 

“Thank you, Father,” he mumbled, too tired even to speak. 

Why am I so exhausted? Being on the edge the whole day explained some of the lethargy, and he had spent half the night awake worrying about the upcoming punishment. Yet this fatigue felt all-encompassing in a way Harry had never experienced before. Maybe it was a side effect of the cleansing? His body and soul were fighting against the Devil. Maybe he should ask Father Thomas about it sometime. For now, Harry snuggled closer into the warmth of Father Thomas’s chest with a contented sigh.

“You need to be in bed, little one,” the priest said softly. 

Harry was only remotely aware of the man standing up and carrying him away.

Chapter Text

“Oh, hello,” Harry said. He’d just spotted a young grass snake basking on a smooth rock  in the late autumn sun. The day was bright and crisp; a perfect weather to spend outdoors. 

“Sspeaker?”

“You’re a pretty girl, aren’t you?” Harry reached to pet the snake’s head. “Shouldn’t you be looking for a nice, cosy place to hibernate in?”

“Sssoon. Iss warm.”

“Harry? W-what are you doing?” 

Harry turned to see Ron and Neville gape at him. Blood escaped his face when he saw the other boys’ horrified expressions. Had he done something wrong again?

The day had started so well. After a few weeks of diligent work, Brother Bartemius had deemed Harry’s Latin acceptable. He’d finally gotten the permission to join the other novices for the afternoon. 

Harry liked Brother Rodolphus, who supervised practical work. He was easy-going and allowed the boys to chat while they worked, as long as they got the job done. The Brother seemed to like Harry, always smiling or ruffling Harry’s hair in passing.

Practical work was a shared class with second-year novices, and Harry had even talked to two of them briefly: a sandy-haired boy called Cedric and Ron’s older brother, William (‘Just say Bill’). Both of them were friendly enough, not caring that Harry was a fair bit younger than them. 

The tasks varied daily, based on what Brother Rodolphus deemed necessary. Some days, the novices worked in the kitchen or laundry; on others, they weeded the gardens or polished the endless number of chandeliers in the chapel.

Today, they were picking apples in the orchard. Or had been, before the snake had interrupted the work. Harry had only been worried for the poor thing; it might freeze if it didn’t find a place to hibernate before the winter.

Ron and Neville were observing Harry warily, and some of the other novices were gathering round to see what the fuss was about. 

“Sspeaker,” the snake butted against Harry’s hand, prompting him to pet her some more. “What’ss wrong?”

“It’s all right.” Harry glanced at the snake, stroking its head absent-mindedly. “Um. I was just admiring this little girl. Is that— is that forbidden? I didn’t mean to, I just saw her sleeping on the rock and got worried for her. ”

“Mate. You were talking to it,” Ron said in a choked voice.

“Yeah, I mean, people talk to animals all the time, don’t they? Is it because she’s a snake? I know some people don’t like them, but she’s not poisonous or anything.”

Ron was just about to answer, when Brother Rodoldphus strode towards the little group. “What’s going on here? Everything all right?” he asked, frowning.

“Harry was speaking to a snake,” Blaise said. “And it sounded as if the snake was replying.” He seemed to be torn between fascinated and horrified. 

“Really?” Brother Rodolphus asked. He looked at Harry quizzically. “That’s rather biblical of you, Harry. Speaking in tongues.”

“Um. I don’t think I did?”

“Yeah, you did, mate, you were hissing like mad.” Ron’s eyes were still wide, and he was giving Harry some berth.

Oh. Harry’s heart was sinking. It must be the Devil speaking through his mouth; it had happened once before, back at the Dursleys’. 

He looked at the other novices’ wary expressions. His secret was going to be out. They were going to hate him, or be afraid of him. Or both. He’d lose the first and only friends he’d ever had, and the Brothers would look at him in repulsion and— 

Harry felt as if all oxygen had been sucked out of his lungs. His heart raced madly and he was starting to shake.

“Slow down, Harry. Breathe with me, slowly, now.” Brother Rodolphus said. He placed his hands on Harry’s shoulders, and the warm weight of them grounded Harry slightly. “In. Out. Yes, just like that. You’re all right. In. Out. Why don’t I take you indoors, and see if we can find Father Thomas? You can join the others a bit later.

“Cedric, can you oversee the work in the meantime please? Once the baskets are full, take them to the pantry,” 

“Of course, Brother.”

Harry stumbled to follow Brother Rodolphus, feeling the other novices’ eyes on his back. He threw one last glance at the snake, but it had disappeared, leaving the rock empty. 

They didn’t find Brother Thomas in his office, or in the library, or in the chapel. Instead, they found Brother Severus, working at the infirmary.

“What’s this about?” The man asked sharply, taking in Harry’s shaken appearance.

“Harry here had a little scare,” Brother Rodolphus said. “We’re looking for Father Thomas. Do you know where he is?”

“He’s away for the afternoon, I’m afraid,” Brother Severus said. “Why don’t you stay here with me for a while, Harry? At least until you feel a bit better.”

“That’s a good idea, Severus, thank you,” Brother Rodolphus said. “We can talk later, but first I need to go and check how the other boys are doing.”

“Of course. Harry will be fine with me. We’ll talk when Father Thomas has returned.”

Brother Rodolphus gave Harry’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and left him with Brother Severus.

“Here, drink this, it’ll help,” Brother Severus said, offering Harry a glass of water. 

Harry sipped the water, taking in his surroundings for the first time since he had arrived. The infirmary was a spacious, airy chamber — quite unlike the novice master’s own dank office in the basement. Three gurneys stood in front of the windows, and a large workstation was situated at the back.

“Thank you,” Harry said meekly. The first words he’d said since the garden. “I—” he didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

“I can see you’re shaken. Do you want to talk about it?”

Harry stared at his feet. He didn’t really want to talk, but his secret was going to be out now, anyway. 

“Does this have anything to do with what you’re working on with Father Thomas?” Brother Severus asked when Harry didn’t reply.

“Yes, Brother, I think so.”

“That’s all right. Father Thomas has informed me about your condition. You don’t need to say any more right now.”

The man guided Harry to sit down on one of the gurneys and returned to his work. He seemed to be mixing some kind of poultices and bottling them in small jars, which he placed on a glass shelf. Harry watched the simple steps of the process repeat themselves over and over. Little by little, he calmed down, the quiet atmosphere of the infirmary soothing his frayed nerves. 

“I talked to a snake,” Harry whispered to Brother Severus’s back. The man hummed in response, but continued working. 

“I talked to a snake, and it talked back to me,” Harry repeated, slightly louder.

“You’re hardly the first one to do so,” Brother Severus said, without up from his work. 

Harry wasn’t sure how to feel about the man’s attitude. Brother Severus didn’t seem to think he’d done anything unusual, but he had, hadn’t he? Not that he wanted to, but none of the other boys talked to snakes.

Yet Brother Severus’s unfazed demeanour was also reassuring. The man seemed to be completely unimpressed with the new way Harry’s possession had presented. He’d said Father Thomas had told him about Harry’s condition, and wasn’t making a fuss. 

Shadows had grown long on the infirmary floor when the man stopped working. He washed his hands and approached Harry, who was still sitting on the gurney with an empty glass of water in his hand.

“You’re still looking a bit pale. How are you feeling?” He felt the pulse point on Harry’s wrist.

“Better, Brother Severus.”

“Are you certain? It’s almost time for choir practice, if you’re feeling up for it?”

The choir practice. 

The one thing Harry had been looking forward to more than anything since he joined. Yet now his stomach twisted in knots at the thought of facing the other novices. Would they recoil at the sight of him? He felt sick at the thought of losing his friends, but he would have to face them sooner or later. Perhaps it was best to get this out of the way.

“Y-yeah. I guess. Thank you, Brother.”

“Good. I’ll walk you there.” 

The first-years had already gathered in the chapel and were standing in front of the altar. To his surprise, Harry also saw four boys sitting at the side with string instruments. The two second-years he’d met in the orchard, Bill and Cedric were tuning a violin and a cello; he didn’t know the names of the other two.

Brother Regulus was already there, chatting animatedly to a simpering Blaise, which seemed to earn some dark glances from Draco. What was that about? Harry had thought Draco liked the choir, or at least the boy was always bragging about getting all the solos. Why was he so grumpy?

Harry stood at the door, contemplating going in, when Brother Regulus spotted him. The man approached him, drawing everyone’s attention to Harry. No chance of running away, now.

“Harry, so nice to meet you at last,” Brother Regulus said, smiling warmly. “I heard from Barty that you were going to join us! Do you have any experience singing in a choir? Or of music?”

Harry felt disoriented with the sudden emotional whiplash. He’d only just calmed down from his anxiety attack in the quiet infirmary, and now he was facing a very enthusiastic, very pretty Brother Regulus. The man was so animated it made Harry feel dizzy.

“Um, no. I like to sing by myself, though, but—” Uncle Vernon hates noise in the house “— I haven’t had the chance to practice much.”

“Oh,” Brother Regulus’s radiant smile faded a notch. “Well, let’s see what you got, anyway. I need to hear your voice to place you in the correct section. Do you know Ave Verum Corpus?”

“Yes, Brother.”

“Right then.” The man nodded at the string quartet. “Two, three—-” 

Harry’s voice trembled slightly at the first words, but soon he caught up with the familiar tune, relaxed, and let the music lead him. He closed his eyes and listened to his voice mixing with the sound of soft strings in the grand acoustics of the medieval chapel. 

When he stopped singing, the room was completely silent. Harry opened his eyes to see everyone gaping at him, again. What now? Was it that bad? But they don’t look so much horrified as—

“Such a voice — fantastic — like an angel! You really haven’t received any training?” Brother Regulus gushed, taking Harry’s hands in his. The man’s eyes shone with excitement. 

“Er,” said Harry, completely baffled. Nobody had ever commented on his voice before, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit pleased with Brother Regulus’s reaction. 

I shouldn’t get prideful, he reminded himself. Still, he had to say something to the eager man before him. “No, I haven’t.”

“Really? You’re a natural, then. How unusual! Where have you been hiding?”

“I haven’t — I mean — I needed to catch up with Latin first and — Does this mean I get to be in the choir?” 

“Does this—? Everyone gets to be in the choir, but you, Harry, you’ll be the star!”

Harry looked around in bewilderment. All the other boys were still looking at him with a mixture of fascination and caution. Everyone except for Draco, who looked as if he’d swallowed something sour.

Harry slipped away from the choir practice before his friends, their earlier, horrified expressions still glued to the forefront of his brain. Some of the others might have appreciated his singing, but Harry did not believe for a second that they’d forgotten about the snake. He didn’t want to find out just yet if they were going to avoid him from now on. 

He hid in the darkest corner of the library to do his homework until it was time for the Evening Mass. He wouldn’t have been able to eat, anyway. 

After the mass, Harry had a meeting with Father Thomas, which gave him an excuse to avoid the other boys until bedtime.

“I noticed you weren’t at supper, Harry. I don’t like you skipping meals. You’re thin enough as it is.” Father Thomas said sternly, once Harry had sat down. 

“Sorry, Father.”

“Does your behaviour have something to do with what happened in the garden this afternoon?”

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. Despite Brother Severus’s and Rodolphus’s mild reactions, Harry was concerned as to what Father Thomas would say. Would the man finally kick him out? He had been conversing with a snake in the garden, and might as well have a neon sign of ‘original sin’ over his head. 

“Harry.” Father Thomas materialised in front of the guest chair where Harry had slumped.  The man sounded angry now, and Harry cowered. “I want you to understand this: You are. Not. Going. Anywhere.” 

The man placed his hand on Harry's throat, forcing his chin up. His eyes were burning like hot coals. “I am displeased with you. Not because of the Parsel— talking to a snake, but because you still distrust me.”

“I’m sorry, Father. I’ll — I’ll try to do better.”

Harry’s ears burned. Father Thomas had told him repeatedly that he wasn’t going to be sent away, and he hadn’t trusted the man’s word. But it was different to know something and to believe it. A bit like faith. I must learn to trust Father Thomas as I trust God.

The frown on Father Thomas’s face was replaced with a warm smile. It melted something cold and solid that had clung to Harry’s chest since that morning.

“I know it is difficult for you, but you will succeed. Now, I need to know whether you have talked to the other novices about our sessions?”

“No, Father. Oh! I— I told Theodore why I’m here. About the possession, but not about the excor— exorcism.”

“Very good. Let’s keep it that way. You understand what would happen if people knew I can perform miracles?”

Miracles? 

“The exorcism, Harry.”

“They— they would make you a saint?”

“No, sweet boy, they would not. They would come to me with every little problem, instead of helping themselves. People need to learn how to solve their own issues and not depend on God’s help in everything. Or mine. God helps those who help themselves.”

“Oh.” Harry rather thought Father Thomas would make a good saint. He was pretty enough, and so strong and clever. Apparently, he could do miracles, too!

"Now, tonight we are going to try something new.

“The Devil has spoken through your mouth despite the regular cleansing we have applied. It seems it isn’t repelled by that alone, so we shall try other ways of removing the darkness. First, your body needs to be prepared. Remove your clothes and lie on your back on the bench, please.”

Harry did as requested, lying on the wooden bench. He listened to Father Thomas moving around in the room: there was a clink as a metal object was placed on the bench next to him. Next, there was a cool, wet sensation on his groin. Harry flinched.

Father Thomas tsked at him. “I need to remove any body hair before we can start, Harry. Stay very still as I do not wish to cut you.”

The wet sensation had been Father Thomas lathering soap on him, Harry realised. Something cold scraped his groin. Harry held his breath; he really didn’t want Father Thomas to nick him by accident. After a while, the scraping moved to his balls and then, to his embarrassment, around his hole. 

“There is not much here since you are so young, but even the little needs to go, I am afraid,” Father Thomas murmured. When Harry didn’t reply, he looked up with a frown. “Breathe, Harry. I will not cut you.”

Harry let out a breath with a nervous bit of laughter. 

“Very good. Now, as I was saying, there is very little hair here. Once it is gone, I shall apply this special ointment on you so that it will never grow back.”

“Ever?” Harry asked in concern. “Won’t that be strange when I’m an adult?”

“Nobody is ever going to see you but me, darling.”

“Oh, I guess—” Harry hesitated. It was true that he would be sworn into a life of celibacy once his novice training was completed, so nobody would see him. Still, something so permanent worried him a bit.

“We can stop if you do not want my help,” Father Thomas said, sounding hurt. He pulled back.

“No, I want it! Please, I need your help, Father,” Harry said, panicking. If it came to it, he would rather live without body hair than without Father Thomas. 

“All right then. Hold still for a moment, I need to look for any leftover hair.” Father Thomas smoothed around the skin of Harry’s hole, then his privates. Apparently satisfied with the result, the man took a damp towel and wiped away the remaining lather. He then took a small bottle of ointment from his pocket. It smelled minty when Father Thomas poured some on his hands and rubbed it gently into Harry’s skin. Gradually, he started to feel warm and tingly under the man’s touch, sort of electrified. 

Harry lifted up his head a bit and was surprised to see that his skin was faintly glowing pink wherever Father Thomas was touching. 

“What is that, Father Thomas?” he asked in wonder.

“This is a special concoction I made especially for you. It keeps the hair from growing back.”

“But it’s glowing!”

“Like I said, special. I have a talent for making ointments,” Father Thomas said with a small smirk, working the last of the ointment into Harry’s skin. 

Harry was fairly sure that ointments didn’t usually make people’s skin radiate pink light, but he wasn’t going to be able to ask anyone, was he? Hey Ron, when Rabbie did your hair removal down there, was your hole glowing too?

“Now that you have been prepared, we can proceed to the next part. I am going to suck the Devil out of you. It might feel a bit curious at first, but you will get used to it soon, just as you did with the mouth-cleansing.”

“Okay.” Suck the Devil out? Harry wondered if Father Thomas had some kind of special vacuum cleaner for this or something. 

“As you know, the Devil’s essence needs to go somewhere when it is being repelled from your body. The Holy Spirit residing in me can take care of and dispose of it, which is why I shall be using my mouth for the removal; this way, there is no chance for the Devil to escape. You may want to hold on to the bench.”

Nothing could have prepared Harry for what happened next. Father Thomas placed his hands on Harry’s thighs and put his mouth on Harry’s cock, sucking the tip carefully in his mouth. It felt overwhelming — Harry’s whole body was heating up, and he had to fight to keep his hips still. It would be rude to push more of his cock into Father Thomas’s mouth, no matter how good it felt!

Father Thomas must have noticed his dilemma, as he got up and frowned at Harry. “You need to stay still for the treatment, Harry. I cannot help if you are fidgeting.”

“O-okay. I’m trying, Father,” Harry whimpered.

The suction was back on his cock, and as if it wasn’t enough, Father Thomas started to work his tongue around the tip, too. Harry was panting now, trying desperately not to squirm, but heat was pooling in his groin, and it was becoming increasingly difficult.

One of Father Thomas’s hands had accidentally slipped down Harry’s oily thigh. His thumb slid directly on Harry’s hole, petting it absent-mindedly. Harry wondered whether he should mention this to Father Thomas, whether it was an accident, but suddenly his vision went white with the force of the Devil leaving his flesh. 

When he came to, Father Thomas was standing between his legs, rubbing Harry’s thighs soothingly. Harry suddenly felt very tired. His body must be working hard to rid itself of evil, but why did it look like the Father was gaining energy from it? The man was positively radiant. What if it was evil energy? Had Harry tainted the man with his darkness?

“I hope it was not painful to you, Harry?” he asked. “You seem quite overwhelmed.”

“I— it wasn’t painful,” Harry blushed as his voice trailed off. Should it have been painful?  He tried again, “It felt kinda good? Sorry!”

“No, no, everything is fine, sweetheart, it is not your fault. Your body is rejoicing in its freedom from the darkness,” Father Thomas said. “It is natural to feel good about it.”

“Oh,” Harry said, blushing even more furiously. His body had felt like it was rejoicing quite enthusiastically, and he was still embarrassed about his strong reaction. 

“May I ask you something, Father?”

“Of course Harry. I am pleased you are taking an interest in how the treatment works.”

“Um, I wonder — you always seem sort of shiny after the treatment and — and I’m worried it’s affecting you. I don’t mean to doubt! But I’d feel horrible if I tainted you somehow…” Harry trailed off, suddenly worried that his outburst had offended the man. He had already told Harry off for distrusting him tonight.

“Harry. Darling, it is very sweet of you to worry about me. It means the healthy parts of your soul are stronger than the tainted ones. But rest assured, I am more than capable of handling this.”

“Ok. Sorry, Father.”

“You are forgiven. Now, about tonight’s treatment, I am quite satisfied how well it went. Given how far the possession has progressed, your body seems remarkably apt in purifying itself. I would still like to try something else tonight, unless you are too tired?” 

“I’m not,” Harry said quickly. He didn’t want to miss an opportunity for treatment, even drained as he was. 

“Very good.”

Father Thomas kneeled on the floor, face level with Harry’s groin. His hands slid down Harry’s thighs, and soon he felt a slick finger circling his hole. The fingertip prodded in, and though Harry had experienced this before during his inspection, it had been a while. He tensed momentarily, but soon the soothing hands lulled him back to relaxation. 

Father Thomas pushed the finger deeper inside, then started slowly pumping lazily in and out. The squelchy noise made Harry’s face burn.

Soon, another slick finger slid in his arse. This was definitely too much, and an involuntary whimper escaped Harry’s throat. He wanted to pull his knees together, but a disapproving noise from Father Thomas made him think better of it.

The man looked up. “So, Harry. Sucking the Devil out works well with you. We shall repeat it in a different location.” 

Surely he can’t mean—?

Harry moaned when Father Thomas bent closer and closed his mouth on his hole. The man licked around the fingers still inside Harry, teasing the stretched rim. Harry had never felt anything like it before; he was hot and cold and dizzy all at the same time. He concentrated on his breathing, holding tightly onto the wooden bench.

The fingers inside him ghosted over something very sensitive. Combined with the Father’s mouth, the effect was mind-blowing. Harry’s brain short-circuited — there was nothing in the world but the wicked mouth and the oily fingers. 

“Good boy,” Father Thomas hummed against his skin, “you are doing so well, darling.” And now he was sucking, teasing Harry’s hole gently with a hint of teeth. Harry was sobbing, desperate to escape the overwhelming feeling, but the man’s hand on his thigh was like steel. It locked Harry into place, exposed and unable to move. He could do nothing but take the treatment Father Thomas was administrating.

The man’s fingers concentrated solely on the sensitive area inside Harry, rubbing and pressing on it on every stroke. It was too much for Harry. The heat in his belly overflowed, and his body spasmed with Father Thomas’s mouth still sucking on his rim. 

Harry lay panting on the wooden bench. He couldn’t lift a finger for how exhausted he was. The man gave his hole one last kiss and removed his fingers with an embarrassing pop. 

Father Thomas stood up and leaned over Harry, kissing away the tears Harry hadn’t noticed rolling down his cheeks. The man didn’t look just radiant now; he was positively glowing in the dim room.

He’s so beautiful. The light must shine on him directly from heaven.

Father Thomas flashed Harry a brilliant smile.

“That was excellent, Harry. I am proud of how much progress you are making.” The man kissed the corners of Harry’s wet eyes. He brushed his lips on Harry’s mouth, nibbling his lower lip between his teeth. “One last thing, then we are done for the night.” 

Father Thomas straightened up, still standing between Harry’s legs. He leaned against Harry’s crotch and pulled out his own cock.

“Just to make sure that the effect of the potion is permanent,” Father Thomas muttered, stroking his member in his oiled fist. The man’s eyes roamed up and down Harry’s wrecked body. 

Harry watched the priest calling forth the cleansing ointment with increasing tempo. His other hand stroked down Harry’s thigh, a fingertip ghosting over his hole, petting it. Harry whined — his hole was so sensitive he didn’t think he could take any more treatments that night.

“Hush, this is for your own good. You are taking it so well,” Father Thomas murmured. He stroked his cock faster now, the fingertip prodding barely inside Harry’s hole. Harry could do nothing but whimper, too tired to try and escape the demanding hand. 

At last, the ointment was coming out, and Father Thomas leaned back, smoothing it all over Harry’s privates. The man squeezed the last of the ointment out of his member and rubbed it into Harry’s freshly shaved skin. 

Harry started to drift off, feeling completely drained. The last thing he felt through sleep was being lifted up from the bench and carried off in strong arms. That, and the smell of safety.

He woke up to the morning bell in an unfamiliar bed, feeling relaxed and happy. A large window let in the first rays of bright morning light. Harry stretched on the soft mattress, yawning. Father Thomas was bent over a desk on the other side of the room, his pen rustling on paper. 

Morning light? 

Harry jumped up in alarm. Father Thomas paused his scribbling and turned towards Harry, smiling.

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Father —  am I — am I in trouble? Did I miss morning mass? Why am I not in my bed? What happened?” Harry’s voice grew increasingly shrill while the panic inside him grew. He had barely avoided punishment for falling asleep during Nocturns and now he was late for morning mass! 

“Calm down, sweetheart. Last night’s treatment took a heavier toll on you than I expected and you were in no shape to walk back to the dormitory. I brought you to my rooms to avoid disturbing the other novices, and told Severus that you were excused for the night. There was no point in waking up all the first-years just because your treatment took so long.”

“Oh,” Harry said in a small voice. “Sorry for causing you extra work.”

“It is fine, Harry. That is what I am here for — to take care of you. Let us get you up now, the morning mass is about to start and Severus will have my head if I keep you any longer.”

Harry still felt quite drained from last night, and Father Thomas had to help him get dressed and out of bed. When he tottered to the morning mass, he pondered at the man’s words. They made him feel all warm and happy inside — Harry had never had anyone to take care of him before.

Following Father Thomas’s orders, Harry attended breakfast and lunch. He ate quickly and murmured an excuse as soon as his plate was empty. The other novices gave him space; apparently, nobody dared to ask him about the snake incident while the brothers could hear. 

Harry managed to scramble through the morning classes without talking to any of his friends. For the quiet period, he took a seat right in front of Brother Bartemius’s desk in the library, knowing it would guarantee he was left undisturbed. Ron and Neville sat close by, whispering to each other, occasionally throwing furtive glances in Harry’s direction. He was relieved not to find hostility in the expressions of at least those two; he’d felt the Brothers’ gazes at the back of his neck the whole morning, whenever they thought Harry didn’t notice. 

Once again Harry was the freak and the outcast. 

The afternoon’s practical work consisted of clearing an old shed at the back of the garden. It was raining, so all the boys packed into the small space crowded with broken tools and empty paint cans. The work was dusty, and soon the boys were covered in grime. 

It shortly became obvious Harry could no longer avoid the dreaded conversation with his friends. He answered curtly to the tentative questions from the other boys, but it was no use.

“Look,” he finally sighed, wiping his sweaty face. “I’ll tell you why I’m here; that’ll probably answer all your questions. It’s a whole thing, isn’t it? The reason why each of us joined?” 

The other novices stopped even pretending to work, everyone creeping closer to hear Harry better. Even Cedric and Bill joined the first-years, drawn in by the hushed conversation.

“I’ve already told Theodore, anyway,” he said. Many threw quizzical looks in Theodore’s direction at that — it was curious that gentle Harry was friends with the stuck-up boy. Theodore shrugged. 

“See, the reason why Father Thomas recommended I join—” a few eyebrows rose at this “—is that I’m possessed by the Devil.” Harry held up a hand in an uncharacteristic show of assertiveness to stop the other boys from interrupting. If he didn’t get this out now, he might never be able to. Harry slumped on a wooden crate and continued.

“Father Thomas tried to help me while I was still living with my aunt and uncle, but I was only able to meet him once a week after Sunday school, and that wasn’t enough.” Harry scratched his neck. “So, um, strange things happen around me when I get nervous or angry, and that’s the reason why. Apparently, the Devil now speaks in tongues through me, which was what the whole snake thing was about. And then there’s this. The Devil’s Mark.” Harry cringed and lifted his bangs to show the scar on his forehead. “Anyway, now you know. I’m here because I’m tainted, and Father Thomas helps me with that. I understand if you no longer want to be friends with me.” 

There was a moment of stunned silence. Harry looked down at his hands, hoping the dim lighting covered the tears gathering in his eyes. It had been great to have friends for as long as it lasted, but he’d been alone his whole life; he could do it again. It’s fine. It’s better this way, at least I’m not tainting them—

“Of course we still want to be friends with you!” Ron interrupted Harry’s thoughts, and Neville made a noise of agreement. “Father Thomas will cure you in no time, he’s so powerful! And look, just, we know you’re trying to get rid of — it — and that’s the most important, right? It’s not your fault.”

Harry wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up. None of the boys gathered around him looked hostile — with the exception of Draco perhaps, but that was nothing new. Maybe everyone didn’t hate him after all? 

“I can tell you why I’m here, too,” Neville said quietly. All eyes were drawn to him, apparently, this was news to everyone. Harry shot the boy a grateful look.

“My gran thinks clergy is an honourable profession that suits my talents, so she sent me here. She wants me to become a bishop or something.” Neville blushed, “I know it’s rubbish — I’d be quite happy to stay here as one of the brothers. I like gardening and I hope I get to learn healing from Brother Severus at some point.”

Surprisingly, it was Cedric who spoke next. His voice was so quiet Harry had to strain to hear it.

“I joined because— because of my mother.” Cedric’s voice was barely audible. Many of the other novices looked at the sandy-haired boy with wide eyes. “She died giving birth to me and— and she was fervently religious. She would have wanted me to join the clergy, I think.”

There was nothing to say to that, and the boys stood in silence for a bit. Cedric was blinking furiously and Bill turned to give him a hug.

“Well, everyone knows why I joined, so might as well tell Harry, too,” said Ron when the silence was starting to stretch uncomfortably. “There’s too many children in my family, and when I managed to get a scholarship here, my parents jumped at the opportunity.” He shrugged. “Dunno what the scholarship was for, though. I’m hardly a top student.”

“It’s a scholarship for poor people,” Draco said scathingly, smirking at Ron’s stricken expression. “I should know, as my father funds it.”

Ron opened his mouth to start arguing but was interrupted by Blaise, who flashed Harry a conspiratory smile.

“And I’m here because I’ve got eyes,” the boy said. Harry wasn’t sure what that meant — plenty of people with eyes didn’t join monasteries. 

He was starting to like Blaise, though. The other boy often made strange comments, but he was good at defusing tension in the group, and he seemed to be the only one Draco listened to.

“Now we all know each other, how wonderful. Why don’t we sing Kumbayah while we’re at it? I can’t believe I’m saying this but can we please go back to work now?” Draco said dryly and stalked out into the rain.

Chapter Text

“Libido, libidini — um, no — libidinis, libidini, libidinem, libido, libidine. That’s the singulars,” Harry sighed. The morning was grey and misty, and the single radiator in the corner did nothing to heat the library.

A few weeks had passed since the snake incident. Dust had settled on the whole thing, and the brothers and other novices mostly treated Harry as before. Draco, on the other hand, was becoming increasingly snappish as October rolled past. Brother Regulus had announced soloists for the choir’s performance at the upcoming annual St. Brutus’s Christmas Event, and Harry got more solos than all of the other boys combined. The extra choir practices meant that his Latin was suffering again, though, and he was getting frustrated with the difficult subject. 

“I don’t know how you guys learn this stuff,” he moaned, resting his head on a large pile of textbooks.

“We don’t,” huffed Ron, “My Latin sucks almost as bad as yours, and it doesn’t help that Barty’s voice is so soothing. It always lulls me into a false sense of security, and my brain thinks it’s ok to fall asleep.”

“If you two concentrated on studying instead of complaining, you might actually learn something,” Theodore snapped from the table behind them.

Brother Bartemius emerged from the back room and frowned at the boys. “Quiet in the library, boys, please.” 

“Prick,” Ron mouthed to Harry, inclining his head towards Theodore. Harry flashed back a guilty grin, then attempted to turn his attention to the homework. His mind kept wandering back to last night’s cleansing. It was growing on Harry — he quite liked the soothing effect of nursing something in his mouth, and he had started to look forward to all their sessions, especially when he got to sit in Father Thomas’s lap at the end.

A tap on Harry’s shoulder alerted him from his daydreaming.

“Harry, can I borrow you for a minute?” Brother Regulus asked.

“Um, ok? I mean, yes, Brother.” 

Harry followed the man outside the library.

“What is it, Brother Regulus? Is everything all right?” The choir leader had never sought him out outside choir practice before, and Harry was a bit nervous about what the man might have to say. What if his studies were going so badly that he wasn’t allowed in the choir anymore? Though if that was the case, Brother Rabastan would probably be the one to break the news. The disciplinarian would want to watch his expression if he got to take away something Harry loved.

“I have some important benefactors of the monastery visiting us tomorrow morning. I’d like you to come and receive the guests with me,” Brother Regulus said. “These are our most important patrons; it is with their support we can run the novice program, for example.”

“B-but — me? I don’t know what to say.”

“It’ll be all right, I’ll do the talking. You’ll greet them and look pr— tell them how much you’re learning here.” Brother Regulus beamed at Harry. “All benefactors will be present at the St. Brutus’s Christmas Event, but there are a few whom I meet regularly throughout the year. I’d like to give them a sneak peek of your singing tomorrow.”

“All right. Of course I want to help,” Harry said. “What about class, though? I’m already a bit behind in Latin.”

“I’ll let Brother Bartemius know that I’m borrowing you. Oh, and I need to talk to Rodolphus; he’ll give you new clothing for tomorrow. These patrons have donated new Christmas event outfits for the choir; you should wear yours.”

Harry returned to the library and slumped back into his chair. He sighed, glaring at the Latin books that looked as unappealing as ever.

“What did Reggie want?” Ron whispered.

“He wants me to sing to some guests tomorrow morning. Benefactors.”

“Cool, you get to skip class!”

“Another case of special treatment for our golden boy,” Draco sneered from the next table. “Why am I not surprised that you get away with stuff just by batting your lashes at Reggie?”

“Er, I need to blink sometimes,” Harry said. “What does that have to do with Brother Regulus?”

Draco banged his forehead on the desk, inciting a dry cough from Brother Bartemius.

The next morning, Harry donned the pristine white tunic and cowl that Brother Rodolphus had provided him with last night. The fabric felt soft in his hands; he’d never worn anything so fine before. Back at the Dursleys’, he’d only ever gotten Dudley’s cast-offs, and here at St. Brutus’s the novice outfits were handed down to new boys whenever a novice took his vows to join the brethren. Harry couldn’t resist looking at himself in the mirror, though he felt a bit bad for the small act of vanity.

After the morning’s quiet work period, Harry left the library to find Brother Regulus and the guests. He walked past Draco’s desk just as the other boy stretched and yawned, accidentally placing his foot right in front of Harry. Harry stumbled into Draco’s desk, toppling over a full bottle of black ink. The entire contents spilled on the desk and splattered on Harry’s new tunic.

“Oh dear, I’m so sorry,” Draco drawled. “Looks like your new clothes are completely ruined now, whatever will Brother Regulus say?”

“Oh no! What am I going to do? I can’t go in like this!” Harry cast a panicked look at his tunic: there was a huge stain right in the front, and he was due to meet the guests in five minutes. There was no time to change — not that he even had anything else to wear; none of the other boys had received their new choir outfits yet. He couldn’t even borrow a clean one.

“Mate, that sucks,” Ron said. “Maybe you can keep your hands in front of the stain to hide it?”

Harry tried. It was awkward, but he could cover most of the stain if he didn’t move his hands at all.

“I— I guess?”

“You should probably go, unless you want to be late. Tardiness won’t make you look any better, you know,” Draco suggested.

“This is quite convenient for you, isn’t it?” Ron asked Draco. “You’ve been jealous of Harry ever since he joined.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Draco snapped back. 

“Might be, yeah,” Ron said.

“Please, Ron,” Harry cast a pleading glance at Ron. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.” With that, he took off, sprinting towards the meeting room Brother Regulus had shown him the day before.

It’s better to be on time. The guests can’t be offended because of an accident, can they? Rabastan will be angry when he finds out, though, he’s always going on about how money is tight, and now this new robe is ruined. 

 Harry stood behind the meeting room door. He couldn’t stand to even think about how disappointed Brother Regulus would look when he saw Harry’s ruined outfit. Could he open the door while simultaneously covering the stain with his hands?

He was just about to try and knock with his elbow when he heard sharp steps from behind him. 

“Oh, baby, are you lost?” a sickly sweet voice asked. Harry turned to meet the strangest woman he’d ever seen. She had wild, black hair and a whirlwind of black clothes that involved lace, leather straps, buckles, and tartan. She looked like something out of a magazine or maybe a theatre.

“Er,” said Harry, slapping his hands to cover the ink stain. “No, Miss.”

“Oh, what a little cutie pie you are!” she cooed. “Let’s go in then, shall we?” The woman burst into the meeting room, leaving Harry no choice but to follow.

The room was light and airy with a round, polished table in the middle and chairs for a dozen people. A large bay window opened a view to the misty garden.

“Bellatrix, great to see you. I trust you are well?” Brother Regulus greeted the strange woman warmly with a hug. “Oh, and I can see you brought our little star with you! Say hello to our guests, Harry. This is Mr Dumbledore.”

“Dominus vobiscum. Nice to meet you, Sir. Miss.” Harry said obediently, hands still awkwardly covering the stain in his clothes. His eyes wandered to a man who — if possible — looked even stranger than Miss Bellatrix. He had long, white hair and an equally long white beard and was dressed in an orange velvet suit, which, like Miss Bellatrix’s, looked like a theatrical costume.

“Albus is fine,” the man said. “Nice to meet you, too, Harry! Brother Regulus has been gushing about you for weeks.”

“And for a good reason!” The priest said. “Harry, we’re expecting one more guest. Be a dear and pour our guests some tea while we wait, please.”

Harry had no choice but to move his hands and reveal the stained tunic, but the noise of dismay he expected from Brother Regulus never came. Had the man not noticed? Harry braved a glance down.

The fabric was pristine white; the stain gone.

What?

Brother Regulus cleared his throat and nodded towards a tea tray set on a side table. Harry closed his gaping mouth and started serving tea to the adults. 

What on earth had happened to his outfit? Was he going crazy, having imagined the whole incident with the ink-stain? Harry was positive it had still been there right when he left the library.

The door opened just as Harry was pouring tea for Mr Dumbledore. A proud-looking blonde man walked in, dressed in a sharp black suit.

“Ah, Mr Malfoy, just in time! Please have a seat,” Brother Regulus chirped. 

“Good Morning, Brother. Albus, Bellatrix. I apologise for my tardiness,” the man said politely, but his expression was cold.

“Not at all, Mr Malfoy, not at all! We are so glad to have you today.” Brother Regulus chirped at the patron.

“Of course, Brother. It is my duty — nay — pleasure, as an upstanding member of society, to support the church.”

Once Mr Malfoy had his tea, Harry glanced at Brother Regulus, looking for instruction. The man grinned and addressed the guests.

 “Before the tour on the grounds, Harry might sing for us a bit today. Our choir is currently practicing for the annual Christmas event.” He turned to Harry, “Go on, Ave Verum Corpus, if you please?”

Harry breathed in. The familiar notes poured out of him with ease, all his worries disappearing whenever he got to sing. He let the music lead.

There was a mixed applause when the song ended. Albus clapped enthusiastically, Mr Malfoy lazily; Miss Bellatrix jumped up and down in her chair. She pounced on Harry with a manic grin, took him by the cheeks, and jiggled them in her hands. “What a cute little pup you are, yes you are,” she babbled in that horribly sweet voice people usually reserve for babies and pets.

“Erm, thank you, Miss Bellatrix,” Harry said awkwardly. He glanced at Brother Regulus for help.

“Yes, thank you, Harry, that was beautiful,” Regulus said. He pried the woman’s hands off Harry and guided her back to her seat. “I’m glad you enjoyed it, Bella.”

Harry was dismissed to class shortly after. Before the door closed behind him, he heard an icy voice, “I guess that was acceptable, but I have to wonder, where is Draco? He has usually been the one to perform for us.”

“So, what happened to the stain? Did you manage to cover it?” Ron asked at lunch, stuffing himself with hot beetroot soup.

“Um. I found a spare robe at the last minute, so it was fine,” Harry muttered into his plate. After the benefactor meeting, Harry ran to the dormitory to change into his regular outfit. He felt bad about lying to his friends, but it was for the best; they might not be able to handle another strange incident around him so soon.

“Lucky you,” Draco sneered. He kept shooting Harry nasty looks whenever he wasn’t glaring at the head table, where the guests were enjoying lunch with the Brothers. They seemed to be engaged in conversation with Father Thomas and Brother Regulus.

Harry looked from Draco to the guests and did a double-take — with the similarly striking blond hair, Mr Malfoy looked an awful lot like Draco. Before he was able to stop himself, Harry blurted out: “Hey, er, Draco. Have you noticed that you and Mr Malfoy look like each other? Maybe you are related to our mysterious benefactor?”

Draco put his spoon on the table and gave Harry a withering look. 

“He is my father, you absolute moron. That’s why.”

“Oh! Must be great that you get to see him, then.” Harry flashed Draco a friendly smile. He still didn’t understand why Draco was always so nasty towards him. Maybe if Harry tried harder, the other boy would come around.

“You think that he would lock me up in a monastery,” Draco said icily, “if we were on good terms?”

“But why? I mean—” Harry trailed off when Ron elbowed him quite hard between the ribs.

“We don’t ask each other that, remember?” Ron whispered furiously. 

“Sorry,” Harry peeped. He started to spoon his soup in haste to stop himself from digging himself into a deeper hole. It was obvious he’d said something wrong again.

Draco opened his mouth to give what no doubt would have been a scathing reply, but Blaise was faster.

“Right, that concludes the confessional part of our lunch today!” the dark-eyed boy declared, flashing a warning glance at Harry. He grabbed Draco’s arm and dragged him up. “Let’s go, Draco.” 

Draco shook the other boy’s hand off and stormed out of the refectory, leaving behind his unfinished meal and a stunned Blaise.

“What just happened? Why was he so upset?” Harry asked.

“Oh, Harry, you’re so precious.” Blaise sighed and sat back at the table to continue his meal. “Draco’s dad made him join because he’s gay. Joining a monastery is one of the few things that gets a boy of his standing out of marriage without outing him to society, which is something Mr Malfoy is keen to avoid; it’s a whole thing in the upper class.” Blaise smiled sadly and continued, “I’m only telling you this, because it should have already been obvious from what he said before.”

Once again, getting answers to his questions confused Harry even more. Was Draco angry about being gay? Harry was gay, too, yet what difference did it make when they were going to be monks? He really needed to think this through. Maybe Father Thomas could help him understand?

Father Thomas had requested Harry to meet him in the chapel after lunch the following day. The novices had been told to make appointments with their mentors to start practicing for taking confessions. The first step was to clear their own consciences.

Harry had mixed feelings about the whole thing; while he was always happy to see Father Thomas, he dreaded the amount of sin he had accumulated since his last confession. It shouldn’t matter, he thought. Father Thomas already knows about the darkness in me. What I have to confess can’t possibly be worse than that. 

He entered the empty chapel. It was dimly lit and quiet even in the middle of the day, and Harry took a moment to breathe in the calm before he opened the carved wooden door of the confessional booth with trembling fingers. It clicked closed behind him. 

The booth was small, but the snugness felt safe rather than suffocating to Harry.  Faint light filtered through the decorative door, and it smelled faintly of dust.

Harry kneeled on the worn wooden bench and laced his fingers together. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been several weeks since my last confession. Um. Probably since before I joined, to be honest. Sorry! I don’t exactly recall how long.”

“There is no rush, Harry. Use your own words.” Father Thomas’s familiar voice behind the mesh-covered window calmed him down a bit.

“I used some bad words before, but I’ve tried really hard to stop doing it. I know it doesn’t make it all right! But I’m really trying.”

“Carry on, child.”

“I— I dozed off during Nocturns again, but Brother Rabastan didn’t notice. Just for a few seconds, I swear! And I guess you already know about the first time.”

“I see. Anything else on your mind?”

“I’ve been happy about joining the choir, and I think it made me a little bit prideful.” Having confessed the easy things, Harry had to gather some courage to talk about the things that were really bothering him.  “Father, yesterday my new robes — I looked at myself in the mirror with vain thoughts. And then something spilled on them, and the stain — it just disappeared! I don’t know what happened. I was too scared, and I lied to the other boys about it. Do you think it was the Devil’s work again?”

“Hmm. We shall get back to it. Was that all?”

“The first day I joined, Father, you said I was— I was gay, and I haven’t really had time to think about it much. Is that a sin? We’ve been talking about Leviticus in Religious Studies, but I didn’t quite understand what it all meant. Am I an abomination?”

“Good question, Harry. I wish you had trusted me with this earlier, as I could have put your mind at ease. Practicing homosexuality — to lie with another man — is a sin. However, being inclined that way, if you do not act on it, is not. As you are about to give a vow of celibacy next year, this should not be a problem for you.”

Harry felt as if a heavy load had been lifted from his shoulders. While he had had little time to think it through, the whole gay thing had been nagging at the back of his mind, especially since the altercation with Draco yesterday. 

“So if I keep praying and not— not doing it, I’ll be ok? Is it a sin to think about it?”

“Have you been thinking about it?”

“I— a little bit?”

“Who have you been thinking about?” Father Thomas’s voice suddenly lost all its warmth.

“I mean, I don’t think about it but, er, sometimes I notice that someone looks pretty, or— or something, and I remember it, that’s all.”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who are you thinking about, Harry? Who do you think looks so good that you allow it to distract you?”

“Um.” Harry would die rather than say ‘you’, though he thought Father Thomas the most beautiful person he’d ever seen. And kindest, and smartest. “I guess, er, Cedric has a nice smile.”

“Who else?”

“It’s not like that, Father—”

“Who else?”

“Blaise is funny, and he’s always winking at me, though I don’t know what it means! And  Bill is pretty cute, I guess, and, um, Brother Regulus is nice. His eyes are pretty, too.” Harry said the rest of the names in quick succession, hoping to get this over with. “And I like Brother Rodolphus’ smile.”

“I see.” Father Thomas was silent for a few icy minutes. “Any other sins to confess?”

“No,” Harry peeped in a tiny voice, and continued with the sacramental words. “This is all I can remember. I am sorry for these and all my sins.”

“All right, Harry. You have committed the following sins: unwholesome talk; sloth, for falling asleep during Nocturns; pride, for your position in the choir and your new robes; and lust. I am most concerned about the last one. You have lusted after several other boys and men, and these thoughts are frequently occupying your mind and disrupting your work.”

It sounded quite bad when Father Thomas put it like that. Harry had committed three of the seven mortal sins!

“Now, about the possession. It seems like the Devil removed the stain from your new clothes to encourage your feelings of pride and vanity. Heeding the Devil is indeed a grave sin, but I will not hold against you a matter that is beyond your control. We shall continue working on it, together.

“As penance for your sins, you will say the Lord’s prayer for a full hour in my office tonight, while fortifying your mind against the sin of lust.”

The door was open when Harry arrived at Father Thomas’s office. The priest was nowhere to be seen, but the lights were on, indicating that the Father would soon return. Harry entered and sat on his customary chair to wait.

After a few moments, something caught his eye on the table: a note with his name on top of it. He read the words written in neat cursive:

Harry,

Kneel by the bench and commence the penance. I will return shortly.

Father Thomas

Harry hesitated for a moment, then closed the door; Father Thomas had said it was important they didn’t get disrupted, and he always closed the door, too. He quickly removed his clothes, folded them on the chair, and knelt on the floor. He rested his forehead on the bulk of the bench and started reciting. Pater noster, qui es in caelis…

He was somewhere in the middle of his tenth repetition when the door creaked and Father Thomas’s familiar steps clicked closer. 

“Please continue, Harry,” the man said. The man’s woolen robes brushed against his lower back, and large hands urged Harry to get up. He kneeled on top of the wooden bench, all the while reciting his prayers.

Father Thomas’s body pressed against his back. Warm, soothing hands slid up and down his sides, and Harry relaxed into the touch.

“Remember that you are here to learn how to resist temptation,” the priest whispered into Harry’s ear and nibbled his earlobe; Harry shivered at the odd sensation. He would never have guessed, but it felt rather good to be kissed on the ear.

“Sanctificetur nomen tuum,” Harry muttered. Father Thomas’s arms wrapped around him. 

“A—adveniat reg—regnum tuum.” The priest pinched painfully the tiny nubs on Harry’s chest, then soothed over them. He kept alternating between pinching and soothing, and soon it was becoming quite difficult to concentrate on the words of the prayer. The torment continued until Harry could recite the whole prayer while his nipples were constantly touched. He stole a glance down and gasped at how red and puffy his chest was.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” Father Thomas said, pinching a sensitive nub warningly. “It’s only been twenty minutes.”

Twenty minutes! It felt like two hours to Harry, who was becoming more flustered by the minute. Penance back at the Sunday School had been quite different. Still, he was determined to learn his lesson and continued to pray. “Fiat voluntas tua.”

“Quite.”

The man peeled himself off Harry’s back, straddled the bench in front of him, and lifted the boy into his lap. Harry sighed in relief for the break his overly sensitive chest was getting, but the respite was short-lived. Father Thomas started licking on the abused flesh. “Sicut in caelo, ah—!” Harry couldn’t help yelping when the demanding mouth latched on his puffy nipple “ —et in terra.”

As if to distract him from the torment of his chest — and his praying — slick hands started stroking Harry’s thighs. He swallowed thickly when they closed on his member, lathering it with warm oil. Harry was mortified to realise it was already hard. His member seemed to have a mind of its own; it started poking back and forth between Father Thomas’s laced fingers. 

“P-panem nostrum—” Harry's voice was shaking, “—q-auotidianum da n-nobis hodie.”

It was incredibly difficult to stay still. Father Thomas seemed determined to teach Harry how to resist the most tantalising of temptations, petting and massaging his little cock between his palms, his rough tongue lapping over Harry’s puffy nubs.

It went on forever. Harry recited while Father Thomas abused his chest and member, releasing him only to occasionally hiss into his ear something like “Good boy,” or “You are so beautiful like thiss.” Then he continued with the sweet torture.

Just as Harry thought he couldn’t possibly take any more, Father Thomas paused and turned him around in his lap. He heard the man rustle with his clothes.

“The lesson is beginning to sink in,” Father Thomas murmured into his ear. “You are resisting temptation quite well, are you not?”

“Et dimitte nobis debita nostra,” replied Harry, never once having stopped reciting the prayer, even though there was nothing his body wanted more than to seek release in Father Thomas’s hands.

The man pulled Harry flush against his bare chest.

I can’t let the Devil win, Harry’s brain said, but his body was on the verge of giving up on all reason.

“S-sicut et nos— nos dimittimus—” he stuttered. Father Thomas’s cock pushed between Harry’s thighs. The tip of it peeked out at the front under Harry’s. 

It shouldn’t have felt amazing — none of this should — but the large member rubbed against Harry’s hole and his balls and—

 I must— I must— oh, God— I must not—

“Don’t give up now, darling,” Father Thomas breathed into his ear. “Only a few minutes left.”

“I— I ca—”

“Yes, you can.”

“ —-debitoribus n-nostris.” Harry was sobbing the words. The priest started thrusting back and forth between Harry’s slender thighs, the tip nudging at his hole on every stroke.

Harry couldn’t—- he couldn’t—

“Almost there. Shall I give you some assistance?” Father Thomas asked. He moved one hand to squeeze around the base of Harry’s cock and— 

— it helped. Harry was still feeling so hot, so desperate, but the firm grip kept him from letting go completely.

“Et ne nos inducas in tentationem.”

“Indeed, Harry. Time is up, I hope you learned your lesson?”

“Y-yes, Father!” Harry sobbed. “I— I won’t lust any more, I promise!”

“And you will stop thinking about all those other boys and men, hmm? You will not let anyone touch you but me?”

“No, Father. Please!” Harry felt desperate for something to happen, certain that Father Thomas could give it to him.

The man released Harry’s cock from the tight hold and closed his fist around it. He started rubbing it in his hand in time of his thrusts.

In mere moments, Harry was shivering violently in Father Thomas’s arms, a wave of intense pleasure travelling through his body, something sticky pouring out of his member. Father Thomas collected it and rubbed it on the tip of his own cock that peeked from under Harry’s balls. 

As soon as Harry went slack, Father Thomas started pushing faster. The blunt tip nudged his sensitive balls, and it was too much; had he had any energy left, he would have begged the man to stop.

Father Thomas mouthed on his neck and held Harry so tight he could hardly breathe. 

“Sed libera nos a malo, sweetheart,” the man murmured against Harry’s skin. 

Holy substance from Father Thomas’s cock spilled on Harry’s thighs. The man collected it in his hand and smeared it on the abused flesh of Harry’s chest, cleansing it.

“Come here.” Father Thomas collected Harry in his arms as if he weighed nothing. Harry was only too glad to wrap his own around the man's neck and rest his head against the man’s firm shoulder. 

Father Thomas carried Harry over to the table and sat on his chair, pulling Harry onto his bare lap. It felt a bit sticky, but the skin contact was warm and nice. Harry nuzzled his face into the Father’s warm neck, inhaling the faint scent of musk and sweat.

His eyes were starting to feel heavy. It was so warm and relaxing to be held like this. The way Father Thomas took care of him, it — it was as he had always imagined having a father would be; firm and gentle. Harry yawned against the man’s skin and mumbled, “I like you, Father Thomas.”

“Of course you do, sweetheart.” Harry heard the smile in the man’s voice. “I like you too. Now, you should catch some sleep.”

“Yes, Father,” Harry said sleepily. He curled into the man’s lap and closed his eyes.

The morning bell woke Harry up in Father Thomas’s now familiar bed. He peeked from under the white covers and blushed when he noticed that his chest and belly were clean. Father Thomas must have washed him while he was asleep. Harry braved a touch on his chest and gasped at how sensitive the puffy nubs still were. 

Serves me right for being so full of lust, he thought. I’ll have to try to do better. Harry decided to think of Father Thomas if he noticed any lustful thoughts in the future — maybe that would help?