Tangible Clue

"Here, found it at the scene," said Ron, tossing a rather crumpled paper packet the size of a palm onto the table. Harry could no longer remember when he had last seen such packets - in the Auror office, they had long been using semi-transparent enchanted Muggle bags. Thanks to Hermione. "Are those the remains of the victim?" he joked, but Ron's grim expression told him he wasn't too far from the truth. A grubby ring with a large stone plopped onto his palm from the packet. Harry picked it up with the tips of his fingers and turned it before his eyes. "Are you proposing to me?" he asked Ron, but his friend did not respond to this joke either, continuing to furrow his brows sternly. "Be careful with it," Ron said after a long pause. "An artifact?" Harry was surprised. Artifacts were usually sent directly to the Department of Mysteries. Aurors didn't have the time to deal with them, given the number of daily operations they had been handling over the last year. "Hermione says you better take a look yourself," said Ron. "Why didn't she come herself?" Harry frowned. The ring warmed under his fingers. A couple of light stinging sensations traveled from the tips to the lower phalanges. "Bites, does it?" he thought to himself. "Rose is unwell," said Ron. "Rose?" Harry couldn't remember that Hermione had decided to name her daughter Rose. "Ah, right, of course. Maybe you should also go home early? I'll handle this..." Ron initially resisted, but it was clear he was ready to give in and go back to his wife and kids. It wasn't hard for Harry to let him go early from the shift, because keeping Ron, who was worried about his family, was counterproductive, with or without the dark artifact. "Well, let's see what we have here," Harry said to the ring, laying it out before him on the table. The lightness in his fingers when the ring was on the table felt almost alien. Unnatural. He almost wanted to pick the ring back up immediately. "Wow, you've got character!" Harry exclaimed joyfully. It had been a while since he encountered anything interesting; he was getting bored. A strange ring from a raid on a Death Eater's hideout was just the thing for a Saturday evening before a day off. Unveil a secret or two and leave with a sense of duty fulfilled. Revelio and Finite Incantatem spells showed Harry the middle finger - simple charms like these only made the ring spin on the table. "Come here," Harry smiled, scooping up the ring with his wand and dropping it into his outstretched palm. Its pleasant weight and warmth were soothing. He clenched the ring in his fist. A tingling sensation spread from the center of his palm to the edges in waves, each barely perceptibly stronger than the last. The ring seemed to be testing his endurance, adjusting to his body and character. He picked it up again with two fingers and now brought it close to his face to examine the surface carefully. "Merlin, where have they been sticking you?" Harry muttered. The matte metal edge bore old scratches, covered in a repellent layer of dust, encrusted dirt, and ugly brown stains. The massive black stone was coated with dried grease and parchment pieces. "Alright, beauty, may I clean you?" Harry asked gently. The ring didn't respond - a good sign. It reacted favorably to simple household magic. Dust and grime vanished, revealing the shiny metal surface and the entrancingly deep black abyss of the stone. "Much better now," Harry praised. The ring in his hand seemed to become slightly heavier. It couldn't speak a language Harry was accustomed to, but that didn't mean they couldn't communicate. In his short but eventful life, Harry had chatted with so many people, magical creatures, and objects that it would make another wizard's head spin. So instead of heading to the Department of Mysteries, he asked: "How about a short conversation?" The weight in his left palm became noticeably pleasant. It felt like he was holding a broomstick, not a tiny piece of jewelry. "Will you show me what you like to do?" Harry suggested. Luna had taught him to ask the right, Ravenclaw-type questions, and he had become quite adept at them. The ring slowly heated up. The burning sensation from the metallic edge penetrated his skin. Harry saw that the ring had not changed its shape or color, but the sensations told him it should be reddening like a heated piece of iron, gradually burrowing inside... Under the skin. When he imagined what it felt like to feel metal under his skin, a heat arose in a place the ring could not have reached, even if it were ten times larger. "Wow," Harry chuckled. "You've got a lot of talents." A sharp pain in his palm and wrist made him drop the ring onto the floor. It defiantly gleamed on the parquet. "Don't be offended," Harry addressed the ring, "but you provoked me yourself." The provocation, however, worked as expected with dark artifacts of a certain nature - effectively. He felt an urge, if not to have sex, then at least to masturbate. Harry magically locked the door and unzipped his trousers. He couldn't remember the last time he masturbated in the office - Ron often stayed late with him, vainly trying to solve another pending case at night. But in his first year of service, when Ron had just entered into a happy marriage, he would leave immediately after the official end of the workday, allowing Harry some freedom. He wanted to pick up the ring from the floor until his palms sweated, but he resisted, guessing that's what the artifact wanted. Harry had a better plan - to relieve his arousal and approach the ring from a different angle, when it would have no more tricks up its sleeve. He would certainly have an hour or two to spare. "Don't be mad, you understand, it's just my job," he explained to the ring, already sliding his hand under his robe. His imagination immediately added a detail - the ring in his other hand. It would be so convenient. Heavy, hot, it could be such a pleasant addition to what he was about to do. It's just masturbation - to relieve tension. He wouldn't fall in love with the ring, right? That doesn't happen. Even if the artifact needed his arousal - Harry wouldn't give in. He had made significant progress in mastering Occlumency over the years. He would handle it. Just to take it in hand, and... His hand stopped halfway. "You're persistent!" Harry admired. "You don't even need to be held now, do you? The enchantments must be powerful." With such a level of enchantment, the effect could be magnificent. Harry had once tried a toy from Knockturn Alley under the supervision of more experienced colleagues before handing it over to the Unspeakables... Yes, if it weren't for strict accountability, he would have kept the old wizard's stash for himself. For personal, so to speak, use. Memories of that experience helped him fall asleep faster for several months. Maybe this ring too, if he just hooked it with his finger... "Sweetheart, won't you give up?" Harry winked at the facets of the stone, which were so close that all he needed to do was close his fingers around them. His cock was already uncomfortably pressing against the folds of his trousers, making him want to at least adjust it, but when Harry thought about the things he could do with the stone... Furthermore, about the things the stone could help him with... Yes, those games had long been left in the past. They required a bit more energy and time than what was left after shifts and raids. He had to stop, especially when Kingsley significantly glanced at a fresh set of cuts above the wrist that Harry had forgotten to heal in the morning. The higher-ups didn't start any heavy conversations, but Harry understood from the look that he was under close scrutiny. He didn't plan to explain to Kingsley that it wasn't about a suicidal inclination. Nor did he intend to pull out the sharp snake fang from his chest. The wounds it left were jagged, more like scratches than cuts, and he always regretted having to magically erase them. He wanted to take a long business trip and return with scars from "a strange creature in the forest." Memories of minutes spent in a closed room with fangs, knives, claws, and sharply-sharpened feathers flooded in one after another. "I'm not that stupid, sweetheart," said Harry, almost choking on his saliva. He hadn't noticed how it had accumulated in his mouth. "You want my blood, right? You'll have to do without it..." If he's caught conducting such 'research', if there's even the slightest trace or hint of what he did, Hermione and Kingsley would wring him out, maybe even doubly so. No, he wouldn't behave irresponsibly and reprehensibly. Even if a couple of edges on the sides seem specifically designed to slice through thin skin. Even if feeling the black abyss inside would be a hundred times more pleasurable than masturbating to a magazine spread. Even if every drop of his blood, every precious drop absorbed into the metal, becomes forever one with it. Even if their thoughts intertwine into a single stream, and Harry could at any moment he wishes, invoke this immense feeling of sharp hunger, and then just as easily, at any moment, satisfy the hunger with just a drop of blood. The sharp black edge of the stone touched his wrist. A gentle flash of pain pierced from the surface of the skin to the very heart. His pulse drowned out the surrounding sounds. Harry sat on the floor. Apparently. And he seemed to be holding the ring, under which the skin parted as unevenly as under the fangs of snakes. "Deeper," the soft reflections of the metal suggested. Harry pressed harder on his skin and moved the stone in the opposite direction. A bright red trail was left behind the ring, which he licked to recall the taste of blood. If he had three hands - he would have reached for his cock again, but now he was more eager to listen to the black voice, which knew exactly what to do to make Harry feel very - very - good. First, he needed to put the ring on his right hand with the stone facing the palm. Harry marveled at how foolish he had been just a minute ago. It was much more convenient than trying to hold the tiny, helpless ring with his fingers. This way, it would be safe. This way, he could press it against his wrist next to the first cut and, secondly... Secondly, run it across the skin so slowly that the thick blood had time to soak into the metal. The familiar, cozy pain, manageable, obedient, and safe, intensified a thousandfold. Harry closed his eyes to better feel it, while the ring lapped up the blood from the wound. The slight tingling sensation excited him; he dreamt of what would come next... Pushing himself up with his injured hand on the floor (and it wasn't painful at all - especially if one could simply not feel the excess), he got on all fours, pulled down his trousers and underwear, and finally, with trembling fingers, touched his cock. The warm hand, still wet with fresh blood, felt like the body of a lover. Harry stroked his cock once, then again - his fingers stuck to the surface, the skin uncomfortably stretched. "Alright, alright, just a moment," he whispered tenderly, squeezing his cock hard. He needed to press harder and move across the skin so slowly that the blood didn't have time to clot. To get more of it. "The unexpected encounter," whispered the ring, its voice gliding down his spine like the touch of an invisible hand, under which Harry arched, gripping his cock tighter. The warm blood made each subsequent movement softer, gentler, sharper. He feared finishing too early, before the ring had its fill, and slowed his movements each time his body threatened to let go. The whisper-touch alternated between grasping his throat and pulling his hair, yet it was so distant that Harry barely felt its presence. Still, when the whisper said, "Enough," Harry froze. He had no right to disobey. All he had to do was waiting for the whisper's next command, but Harry hoped he would be allowed to climax. And the voice, cursed be it, commanded: "Take it off, I want to play with you again." So Harry had to remove the ring, tuck it in his pocket. Even though it was so close, he still bit his lip in resentment while his hand, obeying the same invisible whisper, made the final movements. Mechanical "up-down". The burning, the dull pain - it couldn't compare to the sharp pleasure he remembered from the touch of the ring. But the whisper was insistent, and when Harry finally reached orgasm after the long, monotonous movements, his efforts were rewarded. The pain turned into euphoria, he collapsed on the floor, exhausted, and for a few minutes, he savored the lightness. The jagged lines on his left wrist had already begun to heal and were turning into scars right in front of his eyes. Everything happened as he wanted. Everything happened as he dreamed. The ring lay in his pocket. "What's your name?" Harry whispered to the invisible shadow, whose will still held his own in a death grip. "We're acquainted," the shadow replied, dissolving.