"I won't say anything," Blaise whispered.
                              
"Good. You like being with me, right? Cause I like you, a lot," Flint said, caressing his cheek.
                              
Blaise couldn't deny that Marcus made him feel things that he never thought were possible. It felt so good sometimes, but it hurt, too. He didn't like the others touching him. He didn't like when Marcus played games, either. But he didn't know how to say no, set limits. He did what he was told and they had really hurt him this time.
                              
"Last night though..." Blaise whispered, feeling his wrists where the rope had cut in.
                              
"Hey! Are you a little bitch? If you can't handle playing with the big boys, you can go back with the other bottom feeders. Maybe you can go room with the first and second years?" he threatened.
                              
"I d-didn't m-mean..." Blaise backtracked, shaking.
                              
"But you did. You want to be with the elite, right? The purebloods? There are some questions about your line, Zabini, do you want me to mention that to the others?" His voice was vicious. There was no mercy in it.
                              
"N-No... please. I'm sorry," he apologized, desperately.
                              
"You want to be something when you leave here? You have to pay for it! The others are starting to think you're not worth it. I had to put myself on the line to keep you in their good graces. How does it look if someone like you is with us?"
                              
Blaise lowered his head, his eyes watering. "I'm sorry."
                              
"You've got some bloodline issues and you haven't been supporting our creed. Not to mention your... skin color. I gave you a chance to be someone other than your mother's bastard son or whatever you are. I gave you a chance to prove yourself last night. You want to go back and be nothing?"
                              
Blaise trembled. The Slytherin team wanted to celebrate Gryffindor's lost to Hufflepuff and he was one of the few invited to the seventh year dorm year to party. He had quite a few drinks and hadn't realized that Marcus pulled him into his private room. Blaise was used to being his knees for him, already. It was normal, Flint had told him. Some part of him liked it, especially when Marcus touched him. But he had tied him to the bed and gagged him. He had been rough before, but he hadn't hurt him that much. Then he brought his friends in, told him it was time to show what he was ready to be one of them. He left him bound there all night. Come morning, Marcus had tried to heal him, but he wasn't good with internal wounds. 
                              
"No... but it... hurt," he breathed.
                              
"I'm sorry. I thought you could handle it. That you were strong enough," Marcus said, disappointment in his voice.
                              
"I can and I am," he insisted, raising to his challenge. His mother would kill him if he ever balked from anything. She never let anyone get anything on her. She would rather die than beholden to anyone. She would kill anyone who tried. He knew that all too well.
                              
"Then stop complaining and obey me! Unless you don't want me to touch you anymore?" Flint said, and placed his hand on his crotch. He rubbed through the fabric of his robes. Blaise let out a moan against his will.
                              
"Please..." he pleaded.
                              
"Please, what?"
                              
Salazar, he just wanted Marcus to finish. "Touch me."
                              
"Well... you best get back out really soon. Your job is to get the bleeding to stop and get back out here without Pomfrey sounding the alarm. I'll be waiting and you had better not mess this up. I can think of some very unpleasant punishments, Blaise," Marcus warned, moving his hand away and healed the rope marks on his wrists.