A Little Bonus
Jun. 13th, 2007 10:33 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lokifanPairing:Harry/Draco
Rating: 12
Warnings: bad language, mean!Harry
Summary: After running from the war, Draco is captured a week after it's end, and a vengeful Ministry hands him over to a Harry Potter who's doing his best to be in control. But Draco doesn't do submissive - at least not unless asked nicely.
Disclaimer: Not mine, will put them back when I'm done.
As Harry stepped into Leaky Cauldron, he had a sudden, brief flash of deja vu. This was how he’d entered the wizarding world for the first time, those seven years ago. In retrospect Harry was incredulous at his own naivete. He’d been such an innocent, still almost oblivious to Voldemort and aware of death only as the force that kept his parents away from him.
Now he’d grown from that nervous, innocent boy into a confident warrior, a murderer, a hero even. He’d become part of the wizarding world to the extent that he had a human slave and house elves; he owned the entirety of three old wizarding families. It may not have been a supremely happy seven years, but Harry couldn’t deny the depth of the change in him. He was no longer a victim. He’d escaped the Dursleys, and Voldemort was gone forever.
There was another important difference from his first excursion to Diagon Alley. Harry now knew enough magic to create a glamour. It was basic, since he usually relied on his Invisibility Cloak when he wanted to go unnoticed. But his scar was hidden, and his jet-black hair had faded to ditchwater brown.
Harry quickly walked to the back of the pub, and into Diagon Alley. He smiled as he entered it – the fearful atmosphere from the last few times he’d been here was gone. Grim purple Ministry posters were vanishing, and so were the sombre closed-down shop fronts and the seedy merchants. People actually looked cheerful. It was brilliant.
Harry felt his heart lift in his chest as he passed happy wizards. It skipped a beat when he saw the Daily Prophet’s headline, on a paper tucked under someone’s arm – WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE MAN-WHO-LIVED? He found himself hoping fervently that his glamour held – get caught now and he’d be lucky to escape the autograph-seekers alive.
Harry speeded up his gait, wanting to finish his shopping and get out of Diagon Alley. But as he saw Madam Malkin’s, he stopped cold. It had closed due to the war about nine months ago, and apparently hadn’t re-opened yet.
He muttered a swearword under his breath as he turned, earning a scandalised look for the witch behind him and a fascinated one from her small son. Harry couldn’t suppress a grin as she dragged the boy away, shooting him scowls over her shoulder. He wondered what she’d say if she knew it was him.
Seeing only one thing to do, Harry turned and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. He went up to the bar, having to wait while Tom served various loud, cheerful punters. Eventually Tom turned to him.
Harry knew he’d have to get a drink, he couldn’t just ask his question and leave. He’d opened his mouth to automatically request a butterbeer, when he thought – no. Harry was an adult even in the Muggle world now; hell, the Prophet was calling him the Man Who Lived. He was certainly old enough to drink something other than Butterbeer. Harry nodded decisively to himself and ordered a pint.
As Tom drew it, Harry asked, “can you tell me where to go to buy clothes, please? Malkin’s is closed and I need to get some stuff for this guy.”
Tom looked at him as he handed over the pint, and Harry abruptly felt very naked. The tiny dark eyes twinkled and Harry was certain Tom had seen through his disguise. “I’d suggest Unuze Alley, most of the shops there have re-opened, or even stuck it out during the war. The turnoff’s by the post office, on the right.”
Harry nodded. “Cheers.” He drank his beer swiftly, then headed back out.
When he got to Unuze Alley, Harry stopped and blinked. These shops were not like the ones on Diagon Alley – or Knockturn for that matter. They were dramatic, eye-catching and faintly ridiculous – Harry imagined the proprietors were combinations of the Weasley twins and Luna Lovegood’s father.
The shop fronts were weird and wonderful. There was a shop apparently devoted to love – the stock included love potions and gifts for sweethearts. The window was crawling with what looked like giant ants; the sign above them screamed LOVEBUGS! Giant pink bubbles shaped like hearts were wafting from the doorway.
Another sold quills. In one window was a massive page, with different quills scurrying across it busily. There were all different sizes and styles, from the functional white-feather types Hermione favoured, to a tiny gold one that flashed in the sunlight. Harry’s personal favourite was a violently red quill which steamed as it wrote. In the other window was displayed a gigantic, gorgeous quill with a feather that looked to have been taken from a peacock the size of a rhinoceros.
Harry tore his gaze away and tried to think. Now Madam Malkin’s was out, what did he want to buy Draco? He’d heard Narcissa Malfoy mention Twillfit and Tatting’s before, but Harry didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to buy Draco posh, expensive clothes like he’d had before. They were going to be Harry’s choices, not his.
It began to dawn on Harry just how much control over Draco he really had. He’d understood the big things – his right to torture, starve, kill without sanction. But it was the little things that truly made Draco his slave. He could choose what Draco wore, what he ate, when he slept; the blond had no say in his life at all. Harry felt a brief shiver at the idea of being so totally controlled.
Another window display – this one of singing flowers – caught his eyes and his thoughts were driven out of his mind. Harry continued down the cobbled street, before stopping short.
Mad Martin’s – For All Your Muggle Needs! The declaration on the large shop’s front was in plain black paint, not the curling purple most of the other wizarding shops favoured. Harry would never have thought a shop with Muggle goods would have any custom in the wizarding world, but perhaps Muggleborns got nostalgic.
Then Harry noticed the miniskirt and top in the window, and felt his lips curl into a smirk worthy of Draco himself. He’d dress Draco in Muggle clothes! He’d hate it. Harry decided he was a genius.
He entered the shop with a grin on his face, and looked around, wide-eyed. Harry hadn’t expected much from a wizarding ‘Muggle’ shop to be honest – he’d almost anticipated galoshes and scuba diving suits. Instead Harry saw a shop filled with clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any Muggle high street. There were T-shirts, skirts, shorts and jackets; trousers, dresses and even jeans. There was bright cotton and denim instead of the linen wizards favoured. The clothes of the wizarding world seemed little affected by the seasons; to see a wizarding shop stocking bright, skimpy summer clothes seemed like a miracle.
Harry grinned as he went though the rails, picking out anything that struck his fancy. He grabbed lots of red and yellow, wanting to see Draco dressed in Gryffindor colours. He was quickly weighed down by clothes.
“Sir?” Harry turned at the squeaky voice. “Down here, sir.” Harry peered down to see an elf looking at him reproachfully.
“Er, hello,” he said awkwardly.
“I is happy to help sir. Is sir looking for something in particular?”
“Not really. I’m buying for someone who doesn’t own any clothes at all at the moment,” Harry explained, and tried to ignore the elf’s raised eyebrows. “I’m pretty much getting anything the right size.”
The elf nodded. “Would sir like me to shrink sir’s package and send it to his home? Flitty can send the bill there too.”
“That’d be great, actually.” Harry looked at the bundle of garments he was just about keeping a hold on and wondered how he’d thought he was getting it back to Malfoy Manor. He coloured as he realised that worse, the bag of Galleons in his pocket was nowhere near enough to pay for everything on the spot. Thank God for helpful house-elves.
The elf – Flitty, presumably – nodded, and the clothes vanished from Harry’s hands. Harry looked around some more. After Ron and Hermione’s almost constant company during the Horcrux hunt it felt odd not to have them here. He had utterly relied on Ron, with his strategic skills and his jokes, and Hermione’s intelligence and the way she always thought of everything, during the war. Harry felt sure he’d forget some vital thing that Hermione would have done in an instant.
The next second, this thought was confirmed. Pants and socks – he’d bought neither. Luckily Mad Martin’s stocked these – Harry could see no difference between them and the wizarding variety, but what did he know about fashion? He grabbed a pack of Y-fronts and some trouser socks.
“These too, please,” he said, handing them to Flitty. “Thanks very much.” Harry headed for the door after Flitty’s squeaked reply. At least that was done with.
What now? Harry wandered along Unuze Alley for a stretch, his mind going blank as he relaxed into the calmness of having no Horcrux to find or Order member to save.
Then he saw Eros.
Harry wondered for a moment how he’d missed the place before, but it wasn’t really that surprising. The rest of the shops on Unuze gave off an impression of bright colour and energy, of wanting to be noticed. Masquerade, on the other hand, gave Harry the distinct impression that it wasn’t wanting so much as waiting to be noticed. It had its own peculiar brand of intensity, but the shop looked as if it was only visible if you paid attention.
The windows displayed costumes, but this wasn’t the sort of place you took your six-year-old when they were invited to a dressing-up party. The costumes were all adult-sized and very recognisable stereotypes. A nurse, a nun, a teacher, a pirate... Harry had to admit, studying them, that the outfits were all very well made – there was a caveman outfit that looked to his unschooled eye like real bear fur. This fact did nothing to lessen his blush. Harry could hardly believe that the wizarding world, with its reactionary newspaper and conservative values, had a shop like this.
He might have grown up before his time, but Harry was an eighteen year old. It took under thirty seconds from seeing the shop to being inside it.
He looked around in awe. There were really raunchy things inside. The windows seemed to be almost smothered by the sheer number of costumes, and so the place felt shadowy and out of the way; forbidden in that special sense that sent a tingle of excitement up Harry’s spine.
He saw bunny outfits and evening dresses, leather trousers and collars. Harry couldn’t see a proprietor, so he wandered, examining the underwear. There was feminine lingerie on offer – maidenly white lace or siren’s satin in deepest crimson. There was underwear for men too – silky briefs or boxers as well as the requisite thongs. Harry eyed a slinky, Slytherin green pair of briefs speculatively and grinned to himself.
“Would you like some assistance, sir?” This voice was definitely human, and it was husky as hell. Harry turned ruby red and tried to breathe deeply. A woman running this place had to be a vamp. Harry prayed to the god of sex that Romilda Vane hadn’t somehow ended up here.
He turned to face the inevitable vision of loveliness, and blinked. Somehow this was not what he’d pictured. Instead of a creature of predatory sexuality, there was... well. She was a woman. But she looked like a librarian. Her lipstick was not passion-red but a sort of fuchsia shade and her watery blue eyes seemed politely inquiring, not filled with heat. The woman was dressed in a cardigan that reminded Harry of his Weasley jumpers, and a long skirt. Her hair was in a bun.
And then there was the fact that she looked about ninety years old.
“Uh... no thanks,” Harry managed, aware his expression was probably not the look of neutral politeness required. “I’m just browsing.”
The little old woman nodded sweetly and vanished behind the stacks of naughty underwear. Harry shook his head.
There was another rack of fantasy outfits further back. Harry blushed again as he saw two different Harry Potter outfits – one Gryffindor Seeker set of Quidditch leathers, and some red robes that looked like the ones he’d worn on the day he defeated Voldemort. They both came with accessories, like a pair of round glasses and a stick-on lightning bolt scar.
That was when he saw the French maid’s outfit. It was a tiny black frock made out of some slightly silken, slippery material, with a white lace apron. Harry couldn’t stop looking. The dress was obscenely short, and it came with black, silky French knickers. Then there were the black stilettos and the inevitable fluffy feather duster. Moving closer, Harry saw details that made his mouth go dry. The back of the dress was pretty much non-existent – it swooped down, only covering the small of the wearer’s back. Ditto with the front – the frock left the ‘maid’ bare until just below the navel. This outfit was obviously designed by a genius; Harry would be convinced of this by those truly inspired nipple clamps alone.
Making one of those impulsive decisions he was famed for, Harry called for the little librarian running the shop, and gave her the paper with Draco’s vital statistics.
And grabbed a few pairs of silky briefs. Including those green ones.
***
Harry smiled to himself as he Flooed back into Malfoy Manor’s little receiving room. That was one hell of a productive shopping trip. Maybe he should go see Draco and tell him he was getting some clothes of his own... as well as a little outfit well suited to his new station.
No. It might be more fun to introduce Draco to Muggle clothes as a surprise; and besides, Harry still wasn’t sure about presenting him with that maid’s outfit. There was something of a potential for disaster there if he wasn’t confident in his ability to make the petulant blond behave.
Harry decided to explore Malfoy Manor a little more. He barely knew this enormous house he was living in, and sooner or later that would undoubtedly become a problem.
He was standing on the ground floor trying to decide which way to go when one of the house elves appeared with a pop. Harry jumped, and hoped he wasn’t expected to know its – her? – name yet.
“Flitty from Mad Martin’s brought your clothes, Mr Harry Potter sir,” she squeaked. “Heggy is wondering where to put them, sir.”
“Er – just put them in my room for now. Don’t put them away or anything, though.” Heggy nodded and vanished before Harry remembered to say ‘please’.
He shrugged and went exploring. Harry was standing in one of the endless, apparently pointless little rooms on the first floor, trying to decide whether touching the sinister but interesting-looking desk was too risky, when he heard Ron’s voice calling him.
He rushed from the room and followed Ron’s voice. Eventually he came out in what looked like a small parlour, and grinned, seeing Ron’s head amidst the flames. With his vivid hair it looked as though his head was on fire.
“Hey! How are you?”
“Good. Mum’s still treating us all like princes, she’s so glad we made it through the war in one piece.”
More or less, Harry thought, but didn’t say, not wanting to bring the mood down. “I’m glad. Er...how’s Hermione?”
Ron winced in sympathy. “Still angry. She was here earlier, stamping around and muttering about double standards, but she’s off with her parents at the moment. I wouldn’t worry, Harry; I’ve pissed her off loads of times and she’s always got over it.”
“That’s why I’m worried. She might get angry with you all the time but she doesn’t usually yell at me,” Harry pointed out. “Anyway, hopefully she’ll get over it when she sees this isn’t starting some great new wave of slave-owners.”
“You never know,” Ron grinned, “maybe it’ll started a fashion. You are the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort.” Harry made a face.
“So how’s life with the ferret? Is he being a brat or have you taken him in hand?” Ron’s grin became vicious, and Harry smiled a little uncomfortably.
“It’s going OK. He’s furious, obviously, but he can’t really do anything. It’s pretty fun showing him who’s got the power here, actually.”
“Where is he? I’d love to see him. Anyway, if I was you I’d have him following me and waiting on me hand and foot.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve got him locked in his little room sulking. I’ll let him out tomorrow, when I’m ready to deal with him. You wanna come over tomorrow and see?”
“Brilliant! It’ll be great to talk to you properly, mate. And see Malfoy, obviously. What time?”
Harry’s eyes gleamed with an uncharacteristically malicious glee as a thought occurred to him. “One, say. We can have lunch and I’ll get him to serve you.”
“Cool. See you then.” Ron’s head withdrew from the fire with a crackle.
Harry smiled and left the room.
***
Harry tapped the lock with his wand and opened the door. The instant he stepped through it, the yells began. Draco was standing on the mattress screaming at him, hair in disarray and cheeks pink with fury. Harry barely paid attention to the sound beyond a wince for his poor eardrums, concentrating on looking around instead.
The house elves had clearly brought Draco meals as he’d asked. The lunch tray seemed to have been thrown across the room by Draco – the mashed potatoes were still stuck to the wall. He’d given up over dinner, though; Harry could see the empty plates on the tray by the bed. Harry wasn’t surprised. He doubted any decent food had come Draco’s way since his capture.
He finally tuned in to Draco’s screeches, frowning in irritation at the blond’s shouting and raving which hadn’t abated at all, despite Harry’s blatant lack of interest.
“ – dare you think you can do this to me?! To my fucking FAMILY HOME?! You have no right to be here – you’re not fit to lick my parents’ boots! I can’t believe I was ever grateful to you for killing the Dark Lord!” At that, Harry blinked, meeting Draco’s almost frantic grey eyes as he continued to shout. “You might be brave, Potter, you might be powerful, but you’re a thief! Tell me, what does the Mudblood think of this?”
At the word mudblood, Harry’s mouth twisted. “You’ll wear these,” he rapped out, unshrinking the bags of clothes and chucking them to the floor carelessly, uncaring as they spilled. He turned round and stormed out, almost forgetting to lock the blond in again. He slammed the heavy door shut on the sound of Draco’s angry sobs.
***
Harry glared up at the canopy above his head. After leaving Draco he’d gone straight to his en suite to brush his teeth, in an attempt to get rid of the bad taste the encounter had left in his mouth. Now he was lying there in the Malfoys’ king-sized bed, staring up and stewing.
Harry shifted, turning over for the third time in as many minutes. He couldn’t sleep. The silk sheets felt all wrong on his skin, slippery and cool after the warm cotton of the Burrow. He felt weird, sleeping on silk sheets in his battered pyjama bottoms, the same ones that bad been everywhere with him while he was searching for Horcruxes. And at the end of the day, sleeping in this room was creepy. He wasn’t used to this kind of luxury, and it felt even odder knowing this had been the bedroom of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. This was the very bed in which Lucius had snuggled up happily, dreaming about torturing Muggles.
Harry tried to force his mind blank. He’d improved exponentially at this over the last year – Snape’s Occlumency training finally took. “Or you finally put a touch of effort in,” he heard Snape’s voice say.
Despite his new status as an Occlumens, Harry couldn’t get Draco out of his head. He kept seeing the pink face and accusing grey eyes, hearing Draco’s anguished shouts.
Harry fluffed his pillow unnecessarily with a huff. He’d fought for all of this. This goosedown duvet and luxurious room were payment for a year of hard ground and harder battles, of sleeping bags and field rations. It had been given to him. Whatever Draco said, he hadn’t stolen anything. And anyway, what gave Draco the right to all this luxury? What had he done to earn the Malfoy estates? Nothing, that’s what. Harry had risked his life; Draco had just been born into the right family.
Harry nodded firmly to himself. This wasn’t stealing. Draco was just trying to unsettle him, as usual.
A pause.
Finally Harry got up with a loud huff. Fine. He went to find a guest room.
***
Next morning Harry was tired and a little grumpy, after all the effort he’d had to go through to find somewhere he could actually sleep. It was really rather nice to be here rather than the Burrow in that respect; there were no friends around who he had to make an attempt to be friendly with. There was only Draco, and he scarcely had to worry about controlling his irritability there.
He opened the door to the room, and stopped. Draco was sitting palely by the window, his arms curling loosely around his knees. He was staring out at the misty grounds, and he was totally still. Looking at him, Harry felt an odd swoop in his stomach, like he’d missed a step going downstairs. Draco wasn’t ever supposed to be still. Harry swallowed and slammed the door shut behind him, relishing Draco’s jerk.
“Get dressed,” Harry snapped, pulling clothes almost at random from the scattered pile on the floor and throwing them across the room to land haphazardly by Draco. The blond turned, his expression a symphony in scorn, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was preparing to sneer and snipe at any and all articles of clothing Harry provided. Then Draco looked at the clothes, and his glower was swallowed by confusion.
He picked up one of the things Harry had chucked at him – a navy T-shirt – and looked at it, his expression bemused. Despite his lingering irritation, Harry bit back a smile. Draco looked utterly stymied by what confronted him. Maybe his Slytherin friends never wore this sort of thing.
“What are these, Potter?”
“Muggle clothes,” Harry replied, watching slyly for the pureblood’s reaction. “You’ll be wearing them from now on.”
Draco blanched and Harry grinned. “I – you – but – ” Draco spluttered. “I’m not wearing cheap, revolting Muggle clothes! I’ll catch rabies!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ll wear what I tell you to wear, remember?” He went over, picking a white T-shirt off the ground as he walked. “Come on, get that off,” Harry said, gesturing at Draco’s pyjama top. He stood stolidly, waiting for Draco to move.
The blond scowled as he stripped off his shirt. “Pervert,” he muttered, ducking his head in slight embarrassment at Harry’s unwavering gaze. Draco almost snatched the T-shirt from Harry’s hands and shoved it on, obviously uncomfortable being shirtless in front of him. He looked at the clothes strewn near his bed, apparently in a hurry to get this over with so he wouldn’t be any more of a spectacle.
Harry knew the exact instant he saw the underwear. Draco’s eyes had been raking through the clothes, rapidly cataloguing and dismissing them, looking for something both recognisable and acceptable to his aristocratic tastes. The grey eyes hit a pair of briefs and froze, while a blush slowly worked its way up his neck.
“Problem, pet?” Harry inquired sweetly.
Draco threw him a dirty look. He shifted, still blushing and probably remembering Harry’s lecherousness the day before – someone with such unfettered access to his body buying him silk underwear clearly did not make him happy. But what could he say?
“No.”
“No, master,” Harry corrected, just for the hell of it.
Draco turned to him furiously, grey eyes sparking with defiance and mouth already open to tear strips off him. Harry shoved a pair of red shorts under his pointed nose, forestalling the rant.
“You – what are those?”
“Shorts.”
Draco snatched them out of his grasp in an only-child’s gesture, and stared at what he was holding. His face screwed up in confusion and Harry felt a rush of almost-affectionate amusement at his scrunched-up nose and confused eyes. He looked at Harry in bewilderment. “This is underwear!”
Harry laughed. “No, they’re shorts. Muggle short trousers. You wear them in the summer, when it’s hot. They’ve got to better than those heavy robes you lot wear.”
Draco looked at him suspiciously, as if he thought Harry was tricking him. He seemed to accept it, but gave the shorts a narrow-eyed glare. “They’re red,” he pointed out.
“Is there something wrong with red?” Harry asked pointedly.
“I’m not a bloody Gryffindor,” he snarled.
“Very true. You’re still going to wear those.”
Draco gave him a look, but seemed to decide that the colour of his clothes wasn’t worth challenging him over. He was probably saving all that angry energy for a more opportune time. The blond’s shoulders relaxed a bit and he reached for the waistband of his grey bottoms.
Then he stopped. “Turn around!” Draco snapped, waving a hand. Harry considered refusing; Draco looked good shirtless, regardless of his recent experiences, and after all the blond could hardly force him to turn. But Harry was recovering from his irritation, and Draco was rather cute with all his blustering and confusion; if Harry made him really furious he’d be far less entertaining. Harry smirked, dragging his green gaze slowly down the length of Draco’s body. The other boy shifted uncomfortably under his eyes. Then Harry smiled, and turned around.
He heard the rustle of cloth as Draco dropped his grey bottoms and got into the briefs and shorts. Harry turned back to face Draco as the blond asked, “what about shoes?”
Truthfully, Harry had completely forgotten about shoes – except for the black high heels on their way from Eros, but he was hardly going to admit that. Admitting a mistake at this point, while Draco was still defying him at every turn, could well prove fatal.
“Well?” Draco demanded.
“And why would you need shoes, pet? You don’t go outside unless I say you can, and I don’t. So you can just stay barefoot.”
Draco gave him a look as foul as any Harry had ever seen. “Oh, I see. This is another of your twisted little power games, isn’t it? Keep me barefoot, so I look like a slave. Stop me going out, so I’m trapped. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? I’m Lucius Malfoy’s son, I know all about looking powerful..”
Harry was left a little off balance. That hadn’t been what he’d intended at all – the lack of shoes was due to forgetfulness, not cunning – but hey, if Draco thought he was that scheming, it could only be a good thing.
“And,” Draco continued, “you’re going to have to give in. Or are you going to ban me from the sodding gardens?”
Harry frowned. “It depends on whether you’re good.” Draco opened his mouth and Harry kept talking, cutting him off. “Anyway you’re dressed well enough for breakfast. Follow me.”
Draco scowled but couldn’t ignore a direct order. The two of them left the bare room and made their way along corridors towards the large main dining room. It was really too big for the two of them; it had probably been used for dinner parties in Draco’s childhood, meeting old Death Eater chums and schmoozing politicians. Still, Harry was going to use it. He owned this place now, and he was going to make himself comfortable with living this way.
Draco looked around as they went, seeing the damage done by the Aurors. Anything remotely dark or suspicious had been confiscated, meaning that little objects Draco never would have noticed until their absence were gone. A little end table had been taken because the Aurors had been mistrustful of the nature of the Thestrals carved on its sides. Draco missed the vase of white flowers that had always been there; Narcissus, because his father insisted that they always be growing in the gardens.
The portraits were gone too, at Harry’s request. It wasn’t just the loss of various things; the house itself had been hurt by the careless Aurors. The wood panelling was scraped, the floors scratched and scuffed. Draco swallowed. His mother would have been so upset; she’d always hated the raids, because they hurt the house itself as much as for the invasion of privacy.
Harry watched Draco’s reactions to the changes, and felt a guilty pang. He’d risked Death Eater discovery to visit Godric’s Hollow nearly a year ago; he understood about family homes. For Draco it must mean even more; he’d grown up here, generations of Malfoy history permeated its walls. For Ron, having what his family had passed down was a source of shame; for Draco it was clearly a matter of pride. The wounded grey eyes, for once guileless, showed the pain at the harmful indifference of those who’d invaded his home, who'd defiled something almost sacred.
Harry swallowed and told himself this was his home now. Besides, there were very good reasons for those confiscations.
Draco looked a little ill as he took in the changes to his family’s dining room. The furniture looked largely the same – the centre of the room was still the six-person, beautifully engraved mahogany table. Little side tables topped with expensive vases filled with flowers still stood against the wood-panelled walls. But the chairs that had lined the table had vanished, leaving just one, and every painting, no matter what it showed, had been removed.
He swallowed, obviously upset by the changes Harry had wrought. Or even, Harry thought, watching him out of the corner of his eye, that it’s still mostly the same, but it belongs to me now – and so does he.
Harry sat down in the single chair, which was at the head of the table, naturally. Draco stayed by the door, glaring as a lavish breakfast appeared in front of his master. “Where’s my food?” he demanded venomously. Harry heard the slight note of distress in his slave’s voice and wondered if he thought he’d have to stand and watch Harry eat, or even feed him himself.
Harry muttered a spell, jerking his wand. A low table appeared on the floor to its right, its mahogany and engravings matching the decor. On top of it was some buttered toast and water. Adequate, but nothing like the spread before Harry, and unlike Harry, Draco apparently did not merit the ancestral Malfoy crockery. That had to really burn. Harry had to hide a smirk before he turned to look at Draco. He was giving the table a narrow-eyed grey stare.
“You’ll kneel at my side and eat there,” Harry told him.
Draco’s head whipped round. “No way!” he retorted loudly. “If you think I’m kneeling next to you, eating off that thing like – ”
“It’s the only way you’re getting any food,” Harry said calmly. “I won’t order you, but you’re going to have to give in eventually.”
He turned back to his embossed, silver plate, and started covering the Malfoy crest in the centre with grilled pineapple, plain yoghurt and toast. There was a lovely selection laid out in front of him – toast, kippers and porridge; various kinds of jam and different fruits; tea, coffee and orange juice. Harry glanced over to see Draco glaring at his toast, arms folded in front of his chest and jaw clenched.
Harry nonchalantly munched a pineapple ring, watching Draco covertly. He could see the struggle between hunger and pride in his tense muscles, furrowed blond brows, shifting stance. Eventually he must have decided that he’d have to give in sooner or later, so why stay hungry: he sank to his knees at Harry’s feet and picked up some toast.
Harry smiled to himself.
Draco was obviously irritated that Harry was controlling him so effortlessly; he began tapping annoyedly at the surface of his table. Harry glanced down in irritation, but decided that he wasn’t going to be goaded into a reaction.
As this was Draco Malfoy, the decision was, naturally, futile.
“So what are you going to do today?” Draco asked after a bit, still tapping. He was barely eating, too busy trying to bother Harry. “Lock me up again and see if I die of boredom? Go and see the Mudblood and the Weasel?”
Harry’s hands clenched on his cutlery. He’d have train him not to say ‘mudblood’ any more, but he wasn’t going to let Draco see his fury. He owned the blond, he shouldn’t be able to manipulate Harry like this.
“Tell me, have they started making halfbreed babies yet?” Draco continued, sounding revolted. “A pureblood and a mudblood – it’s practically bestiality.”
Harry whipped his head round and glowered furiously down at Draco, only to be brought up short by his little smirk. He was looking up at Harry with amused grey eyes, daring Harry to punish him.
Right, Harry thought grimly. He is going to learn not to push me. I’m not going to back down, nor hurt him – I’m going to humiliate him. Forcing the proud blond to kneel at his feet had been its own kind of rush. Harry was quite willing to take this up another notch. “Slave,” he rapped out.
Draco glanced up, defiance sparking in his eyes again. They widened as he saw Harry’s wand pointed straight between his eyes. “Get up,” Harry said softly. “I’ve decided you’re going to sit on my lap.”
Draco blushed furiously – whether with anger or embarrassment, Harry wasn’t sure, but it amused him all the same. The slave would have to do this eventually – the collar would make sure of that – but it should be interesting to see how long he held out.
“I – ” Draco spluttered. Harry jerked his wand warningly just as the blond felt his collar begin to constrict. “Fine,” he muttered mutinously, levering himself up with a slight sigh of relief; the stone floor couldn’t be easy on his bare knees. Harry scooted his chair back to give him space and grinned, opening his arms in welcome and mockery. Draco looked a bit uncertain, and Harry guessed he didn’t know exactly what was expected.
“Come on, pet,” Harry said, still grinning. “Sit sideways, your legs should go over my left side.”
Draco sighed and obeyed. Harry smiled a little more gently as he felt the blond settle on to him, sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap. Harry wound his right arm around the blond’s waist and cuddled him, making Draco relax against him slightly.
Harry enjoyed the feeling of the warm, helpless weight atop him, the golden slave collar almost at his eye level. Draco sighed, apparently resigned to this (and maybe enjoying the contact a bit) and reached for some toast off Harry’s plate.
Harry instantly slapped his hand hard, making him withdraw it with an indignant cry. “Stop that!” Harry said sharply. Then he added more gently, “don’t take my food, pet. I’ll feed you.”
“I’m quite capable of feeding myself, Potter,” Draco said indignantly, cheeks flushing in affronted dignity once again.
This whole defiant thing isn’t as amusing as I thought. I may not want him really hurt, but I do want him scared. He’s rather cute now though, all helpless and flustered, and annoyed at me, biting his lip.
Harry decided to ignore what Draco had to say and just proceed with feeding him. He picked up a fragment of pineapple and dipped it in yoghurt. Then he lifted the fruit, offering it to the blond. Draco tried to take it in his hand, but Harry jerked it back, smiling wolfishly, and lifted it to Draco’s lips. The blond rolled his eyes and leaned forward to get the fruit into his mouth.
He swallowed quickly and immediately leaned back, sitting up poker-straight again. He’d no longer recovered some of his dignity when Harry said smoothly, “good, pet.”
Draco gave him a wary look, hearing the purr in his voice. His eyes widened anxiously at Harry’s lecherous expression. Harry smirked slowly, deliberately unsettling him and feeling Draco shift on his lap. Harry could see his blond wondering again if Harry would take him to bed. God, this game was exhilarating: keeping Draco off balance, not giving his pet a chance to claw back some of that icy composure. He doubted Snape would approve of this use of the psychology he’d taught him, but after all, Draco was his now; and even at school, he’d never missed a chance to mess with the Slytherin. It was just nice to know that this time he couldn’t lose.
Harry selected another piece of pineapple and held it out. Draco looked at it askance and Harry said warningly, “go on, pet.”
Draco scowled. “I’m not your pet.”
“Oh I disagree,” Harry murmured, as Draco ate the fruit.
He selected some toast for himself and munched on it, pondering how else to unsettle Draco. He was really enjoying this, even though some affection for the blond now shot through his very real lust. Why he should feel any affection for his bratty, prejudiced old enemy Harry had no idea; perhaps it was just his Gryffindorish tendencies coming out now he was faced with someone helpless. Having all this warm skin perched on his knee, Draco vulnerable in his shorts and T-shirt, was intoxicating.
“So what happened to you after Hogwarts?” Harry asked, as he finished his toast and handed Draco a slice, allowing him to hold it in his hands this time. Harry wiped his left hand and rested it on Draco’s right leg, just above the knee.
“I ran away with Snape,” Draco started. “He took me back – ” He stuttered to a stop, his grey eyes widening, his skin no doubt prickling. Harry’s thumb was rubbing over his pale skin. Draco turned to look at Harry. The ex-Gryffindor kept his green eyes neutral, but he never stopped rubbing at Draco’s skin.
Draco recovered his composure and began to talk again. “Snape Apparated me back to Riddle Manor. He took me to Voldemort. He was muttering to me as we went, telling me what to say, how to act, but...but I was too scared to listen to him.” Draco’s eyes met Harry’s defiantly, as though daring him to laugh. Harry saw nothing funny in a teenage boy’s terror of Voldemort – he’d been there himself, after all. He simply looked back calmly and nodded at him to go on.
“Anyway we went back, and...” he swallowed. “Voldemort wasn’t too happy. I faltered, but he’d meant Snape to do it in the end anyway, so he let me live. He told me a soft Death Eater was no use to him and tomorrow I’d have to kill Muggles. My – my mother killed herself the next morning.”
Harry stared, aghast, and pulled Draco closer. Harry held Draco against his body as he saw the grey eyes swimming with tears, arms around him protectively. He was improvising, wanting to discomfort Draco, and now he’d made him cry over his mother.
“She didn’t want to be used to force me into obeying,” Draco continued, sounding a bit choked, “and I think she lost hope that our family would have a happy ending after Dumbledore died.”
He shifted in Harry’s arms and added acerbically, “she was right, I daresay.”
Harry scowled. “Go on.” Draco nodded, seeming to have recovered some of his calm.
“After that I had no reason to stay – the Aurors were all guarding Azkaban like maniacs, so my father was safe, and anyway I knew my mum wanted me to get out. So I ran for it. I only had my wand, but I got to the Channel Islands and there’s a Malfoy cottage there. I used my blood to raise the wards as far as I could and waited it out.”
“So you just never came out?”
Draco shrugged. Harry’s arms loosened, his left hand slipping back to Draco’s leg. “The place had a house elf on retainer. She was crazy but she kept me fed. The place had a library and a Quidditch pitch – I survived. I was bored out of my mind but I was more scared of what would happen to me if I left than of tedium-induced insanity.”
“So what happened after?”
“One day the Prophet said you’d won. Considering the quality of its reporting, I waited a few days and it kept saying the same thing. So I Flooed home to try and find my dad.” Draco glanced down, eyebrows raised, as he felt Harry’s fingers start to stroke his skin again, but continued. “Unfortunately the Aurors were swarming everywhere by then and I appeared in the fireplace in the reception area. Instant capture.”
Harry nodded, and stealthily began teasing at the skin a little further up Draco’s thigh.
“They took me back to the Ministry. I got put in a holding cell because they weren’t quite sure whether I was a real criminal or not. After all, I’m a Malfoy, and I did something awful – but Snape said I was coerced and I was underage when it all happened.
“Anyway, the Wizengamot said I had to be tried. I used an Unforgivable, that’s what they were really pissed about. So they – ”
Draco suddenly stopped, inhaling sharply in a breathy squeak. Harry had been very gently moving his hand up Draco’s leg, stroking his fingertips in small circles. Draco had been almost unaware of the caresses that had startled him before, wrapped up in reliving his experiences. But he’d just felt Harry’s fingers slide under the hem of his shorts, and Draco’s fears about Harry’s power and preferences welled up again.
Harry gave him a carefully emotionless look, though he couldn’t quite stop one side of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Go on,” Harry repeated, his tone making it a command. Draco swallowed, seeing how dilated Harry’s pupils were. “Pet, do as I say.”
Draco made a strangled noise. Pet? Just what am I to him? Harry’s hand squeezed his thigh at the delay, so Draco forced himself back on track.
“Right, the Wizengamot. They put me on trial. It lasted more than a week, and it had all these people coming up and saying stuff I’d said years ago. Snape spoke for me, and said Dumbledore had still tried to get me onside. But the court reckoned I’d probably not have taken his offer and I would have killed Dumbledore if Snape hadn’t got there first.” Draco scowled. Harry began sliding his hand a little further under Draco’s shorts, but carefully, and Draco talked fluently despite his master’s whims.
“But by this time you’d woken up and they bundled me off back to the holding cell. I was left there for ages. I think the Minister got me dumped there ’cause he’d already decided what to give you. I was left and they barely fed – ” Draco broke off, eyes wide. Harry’s hand had travelled worryingly. He was stroking at the soft skin and fiddling with the bottom hem of Draco’s briefs. If he moved his hand just a couple of inches, he’d reach his pet’s cock.
Harry smiled at Draco’s wide-eyed look of surprise. He kept touching, teasing at Draco’s skin. The blond squirmed in his lap, unable to contain his reaction. Harry met the anxious grey eyes, and saw Draco’s thoughts in them clearly.
What is he planning to do? Is all this just to torture me, or would he really rape me?
Harry grinned ferally and Draco swallowed. Harry decided to see if he could increase the slight arousal he could read in Draco’s squirming and quickened breaths, instead of the fear that ran alongside it. He moved his caressing hand just a fraction of an inch closer to Draco’s cock, and the blond snapped.
“Get OFF me, you PERVERT! Just leave me fucking alone!”
Harry glared and whipped his hands away. Draco gave a sigh of relief, which was quickly cut short as one hand buried painfully in his hair, pulling his head back harshly; the other lying against his collarbone, fingers resting warningly around the base of his throat.
“I warned you, pet. Behave well or you’ll regret it. You don’t want to test me, I promise you. Talk to me with respect, or you’ll be punished, and punished hard. Is that understood?”
Draco gasped. He wasn’t sure if he believed Harry capable of real harm – much as he was blatantly enjoying Draco’s helplessness, he doubted Harry would enjoy his pain – but the sudden shift from teasing to threatening had completely taken him by surprise. The fingers at his throat and in his hair tightened. “Is that understood?” Harry repeated, his voice a growl.
“Yes,” Draco forced out, breathing fast. “I understand, I do, just let go!” His voice rose in a pleading cry. “Master!”
Harry let go so quickly Draco nearly fell, but Harry caught him quickly. “There you go. Is calling me ‘master’ so hard?” He tried to sound insouciant, but Draco heard the unevenness in his tone.
“Pfft.” Realising Harry was no longer holding him into his lap, Draco quickly leapt away. “Don’t expect it to happen again any time soon. I’m really not the ‘master’ type.”
“What about Voldemort?” Harry pointed out as he stood up. Draco gave him a glare.
“That was a cheap shot. And it’s a completely different situation. You don’t have the ability – or the ruthlessness – to threaten my parents.”
Harry smiled wickedly, and came to stand behind Draco. He pressed his body against the other boy’s, one hand on the blond’s hip, the other going to caress at his stomach. “True,” he breathed in Draco’s ear. “But then I have lots of ways to control you that he never thought of.”
Draco struggled, and Harry let him go with a laugh. Draco turned to glare up at him. He looked slightly ruffled and very annoyed, but he couldn’t conceal the slight dilation of his pupils or his quickened breathing. “That was cheesy, Potter.”
Harry chose to ignore this. This one was a win for him, whatever the blond said now. “Come along, pet.”
*
Draco rolled his eyes as Harry unlocked the door with a tap of his wand. “You’re leaving me here again?”
“I’ll let you out again for lunch,” Harry retorted. “And you could do with a little more respect in your tone.”
Draco snorted. “I’m sure. What’s happening at lunch, anyway? You just bringing me out for a little recreational molesting then chucking me back in the cell? Or are you actually going to get past feeling me up?” Draco’s eyes were ever so slightly wild; Harry recognised the look the blond got when he was just letting rip, when he wouldn’t know when to stop. “Of course, I understand if you wouldn’t. I am a little too much man for you. Although if you can handle the Weaslette – I understand she’s one hell of a goer – ”
Harry slammed Draco against the wall. “Shut. Up,” he gritted. “Just stop talking. I am sick of your attempts to provoke me, and you talking about people I care about. I – am – your – master, and you should be cleverer than this. You’ll certainly have to keep your mouth shut at lunch. Ron’s coming over, and if he’d heard what you’d just said you’d be spitting teeth right now.”
Draco quailed a bit at that. Harry suspected he had good reason; Ron had been unremittingly cheerful about Draco’s servitude. But he raised his chin all the same. “How good of you, Potter. Having a soup kitchen for the poor and needy, are we?”
Harry’s hands tightened on Draco’s shoulders, and the blond winced. “You’d better keep the lid on any comments like that at lunch. My friend is joining us, and you’ll serve him like a good pet, won’t you?”
“I am not your pet!” Draco yelled at the top of his voice.
Harry smiled, and raised a hand to stroke Draco’s hair. “You were a good pet through most of breakfast, though. Cute, nice to stroke and eating out of the palm of my hand. You might have been a little wild at first, but I’ve got you very tame now, haven’t I, pet?” He recalled the feeling of Draco on his lap, eating only from his hand and helpless, and smiled.
Feeling Draco try to move, Harry pressed himself closer against the warm body. Draco squirmed against him, but Harry was bulkier and the wriggling did nothing but amuse his master. His hands were now firmly around Draco’s upper arms and the blond could do nothing to dislodge them. “I’m sure you’ll be a very good pet for Ron.” Harry eyed the pouting lips and couldn’t help himself. He swooped down, crushing Draco’s lips with his, claiming more than kissing him. Draco made an outraged noise against his mouth, and Harry laughed low in his throat before pulling away. “You’re mine.” He pressed his thumbs firmly into the flesh of Draco’s arms, holding him tight as the blond fought. Harry finally rolled his eyes and propelled Draco into his room.
“Be ready to serve us, pet.” He slammed the door, chest heaving.
And now for a nice relaxing wank.
Rating: 12
Warnings: bad language, mean!Harry
Summary: After running from the war, Draco is captured a week after it's end, and a vengeful Ministry hands him over to a Harry Potter who's doing his best to be in control. But Draco doesn't do submissive - at least not unless asked nicely.
Disclaimer: Not mine, will put them back when I'm done.
As Harry stepped into Leaky Cauldron, he had a sudden, brief flash of deja vu. This was how he’d entered the wizarding world for the first time, those seven years ago. In retrospect Harry was incredulous at his own naivete. He’d been such an innocent, still almost oblivious to Voldemort and aware of death only as the force that kept his parents away from him.
Now he’d grown from that nervous, innocent boy into a confident warrior, a murderer, a hero even. He’d become part of the wizarding world to the extent that he had a human slave and house elves; he owned the entirety of three old wizarding families. It may not have been a supremely happy seven years, but Harry couldn’t deny the depth of the change in him. He was no longer a victim. He’d escaped the Dursleys, and Voldemort was gone forever.
There was another important difference from his first excursion to Diagon Alley. Harry now knew enough magic to create a glamour. It was basic, since he usually relied on his Invisibility Cloak when he wanted to go unnoticed. But his scar was hidden, and his jet-black hair had faded to ditchwater brown.
Harry quickly walked to the back of the pub, and into Diagon Alley. He smiled as he entered it – the fearful atmosphere from the last few times he’d been here was gone. Grim purple Ministry posters were vanishing, and so were the sombre closed-down shop fronts and the seedy merchants. People actually looked cheerful. It was brilliant.
Harry felt his heart lift in his chest as he passed happy wizards. It skipped a beat when he saw the Daily Prophet’s headline, on a paper tucked under someone’s arm – WHAT’S NEXT FOR THE MAN-WHO-LIVED? He found himself hoping fervently that his glamour held – get caught now and he’d be lucky to escape the autograph-seekers alive.
Harry speeded up his gait, wanting to finish his shopping and get out of Diagon Alley. But as he saw Madam Malkin’s, he stopped cold. It had closed due to the war about nine months ago, and apparently hadn’t re-opened yet.
He muttered a swearword under his breath as he turned, earning a scandalised look for the witch behind him and a fascinated one from her small son. Harry couldn’t suppress a grin as she dragged the boy away, shooting him scowls over her shoulder. He wondered what she’d say if she knew it was him.
Seeing only one thing to do, Harry turned and headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. He went up to the bar, having to wait while Tom served various loud, cheerful punters. Eventually Tom turned to him.
Harry knew he’d have to get a drink, he couldn’t just ask his question and leave. He’d opened his mouth to automatically request a butterbeer, when he thought – no. Harry was an adult even in the Muggle world now; hell, the Prophet was calling him the Man Who Lived. He was certainly old enough to drink something other than Butterbeer. Harry nodded decisively to himself and ordered a pint.
As Tom drew it, Harry asked, “can you tell me where to go to buy clothes, please? Malkin’s is closed and I need to get some stuff for this guy.”
Tom looked at him as he handed over the pint, and Harry abruptly felt very naked. The tiny dark eyes twinkled and Harry was certain Tom had seen through his disguise. “I’d suggest Unuze Alley, most of the shops there have re-opened, or even stuck it out during the war. The turnoff’s by the post office, on the right.”
Harry nodded. “Cheers.” He drank his beer swiftly, then headed back out.
When he got to Unuze Alley, Harry stopped and blinked. These shops were not like the ones on Diagon Alley – or Knockturn for that matter. They were dramatic, eye-catching and faintly ridiculous – Harry imagined the proprietors were combinations of the Weasley twins and Luna Lovegood’s father.
The shop fronts were weird and wonderful. There was a shop apparently devoted to love – the stock included love potions and gifts for sweethearts. The window was crawling with what looked like giant ants; the sign above them screamed LOVEBUGS! Giant pink bubbles shaped like hearts were wafting from the doorway.
Another sold quills. In one window was a massive page, with different quills scurrying across it busily. There were all different sizes and styles, from the functional white-feather types Hermione favoured, to a tiny gold one that flashed in the sunlight. Harry’s personal favourite was a violently red quill which steamed as it wrote. In the other window was displayed a gigantic, gorgeous quill with a feather that looked to have been taken from a peacock the size of a rhinoceros.
Harry tore his gaze away and tried to think. Now Madam Malkin’s was out, what did he want to buy Draco? He’d heard Narcissa Malfoy mention Twillfit and Tatting’s before, but Harry didn’t want to go there. He didn’t want to buy Draco posh, expensive clothes like he’d had before. They were going to be Harry’s choices, not his.
It began to dawn on Harry just how much control over Draco he really had. He’d understood the big things – his right to torture, starve, kill without sanction. But it was the little things that truly made Draco his slave. He could choose what Draco wore, what he ate, when he slept; the blond had no say in his life at all. Harry felt a brief shiver at the idea of being so totally controlled.
Another window display – this one of singing flowers – caught his eyes and his thoughts were driven out of his mind. Harry continued down the cobbled street, before stopping short.
Mad Martin’s – For All Your Muggle Needs! The declaration on the large shop’s front was in plain black paint, not the curling purple most of the other wizarding shops favoured. Harry would never have thought a shop with Muggle goods would have any custom in the wizarding world, but perhaps Muggleborns got nostalgic.
Then Harry noticed the miniskirt and top in the window, and felt his lips curl into a smirk worthy of Draco himself. He’d dress Draco in Muggle clothes! He’d hate it. Harry decided he was a genius.
He entered the shop with a grin on his face, and looked around, wide-eyed. Harry hadn’t expected much from a wizarding ‘Muggle’ shop to be honest – he’d almost anticipated galoshes and scuba diving suits. Instead Harry saw a shop filled with clothes that wouldn’t have looked out of place in any Muggle high street. There were T-shirts, skirts, shorts and jackets; trousers, dresses and even jeans. There was bright cotton and denim instead of the linen wizards favoured. The clothes of the wizarding world seemed little affected by the seasons; to see a wizarding shop stocking bright, skimpy summer clothes seemed like a miracle.
Harry grinned as he went though the rails, picking out anything that struck his fancy. He grabbed lots of red and yellow, wanting to see Draco dressed in Gryffindor colours. He was quickly weighed down by clothes.
“Sir?” Harry turned at the squeaky voice. “Down here, sir.” Harry peered down to see an elf looking at him reproachfully.
“Er, hello,” he said awkwardly.
“I is happy to help sir. Is sir looking for something in particular?”
“Not really. I’m buying for someone who doesn’t own any clothes at all at the moment,” Harry explained, and tried to ignore the elf’s raised eyebrows. “I’m pretty much getting anything the right size.”
The elf nodded. “Would sir like me to shrink sir’s package and send it to his home? Flitty can send the bill there too.”
“That’d be great, actually.” Harry looked at the bundle of garments he was just about keeping a hold on and wondered how he’d thought he was getting it back to Malfoy Manor. He coloured as he realised that worse, the bag of Galleons in his pocket was nowhere near enough to pay for everything on the spot. Thank God for helpful house-elves.
The elf – Flitty, presumably – nodded, and the clothes vanished from Harry’s hands. Harry looked around some more. After Ron and Hermione’s almost constant company during the Horcrux hunt it felt odd not to have them here. He had utterly relied on Ron, with his strategic skills and his jokes, and Hermione’s intelligence and the way she always thought of everything, during the war. Harry felt sure he’d forget some vital thing that Hermione would have done in an instant.
The next second, this thought was confirmed. Pants and socks – he’d bought neither. Luckily Mad Martin’s stocked these – Harry could see no difference between them and the wizarding variety, but what did he know about fashion? He grabbed a pack of Y-fronts and some trouser socks.
“These too, please,” he said, handing them to Flitty. “Thanks very much.” Harry headed for the door after Flitty’s squeaked reply. At least that was done with.
What now? Harry wandered along Unuze Alley for a stretch, his mind going blank as he relaxed into the calmness of having no Horcrux to find or Order member to save.
Then he saw Eros.
Harry wondered for a moment how he’d missed the place before, but it wasn’t really that surprising. The rest of the shops on Unuze gave off an impression of bright colour and energy, of wanting to be noticed. Masquerade, on the other hand, gave Harry the distinct impression that it wasn’t wanting so much as waiting to be noticed. It had its own peculiar brand of intensity, but the shop looked as if it was only visible if you paid attention.
The windows displayed costumes, but this wasn’t the sort of place you took your six-year-old when they were invited to a dressing-up party. The costumes were all adult-sized and very recognisable stereotypes. A nurse, a nun, a teacher, a pirate... Harry had to admit, studying them, that the outfits were all very well made – there was a caveman outfit that looked to his unschooled eye like real bear fur. This fact did nothing to lessen his blush. Harry could hardly believe that the wizarding world, with its reactionary newspaper and conservative values, had a shop like this.
He might have grown up before his time, but Harry was an eighteen year old. It took under thirty seconds from seeing the shop to being inside it.
He looked around in awe. There were really raunchy things inside. The windows seemed to be almost smothered by the sheer number of costumes, and so the place felt shadowy and out of the way; forbidden in that special sense that sent a tingle of excitement up Harry’s spine.
He saw bunny outfits and evening dresses, leather trousers and collars. Harry couldn’t see a proprietor, so he wandered, examining the underwear. There was feminine lingerie on offer – maidenly white lace or siren’s satin in deepest crimson. There was underwear for men too – silky briefs or boxers as well as the requisite thongs. Harry eyed a slinky, Slytherin green pair of briefs speculatively and grinned to himself.
“Would you like some assistance, sir?” This voice was definitely human, and it was husky as hell. Harry turned ruby red and tried to breathe deeply. A woman running this place had to be a vamp. Harry prayed to the god of sex that Romilda Vane hadn’t somehow ended up here.
He turned to face the inevitable vision of loveliness, and blinked. Somehow this was not what he’d pictured. Instead of a creature of predatory sexuality, there was... well. She was a woman. But she looked like a librarian. Her lipstick was not passion-red but a sort of fuchsia shade and her watery blue eyes seemed politely inquiring, not filled with heat. The woman was dressed in a cardigan that reminded Harry of his Weasley jumpers, and a long skirt. Her hair was in a bun.
And then there was the fact that she looked about ninety years old.
“Uh... no thanks,” Harry managed, aware his expression was probably not the look of neutral politeness required. “I’m just browsing.”
The little old woman nodded sweetly and vanished behind the stacks of naughty underwear. Harry shook his head.
There was another rack of fantasy outfits further back. Harry blushed again as he saw two different Harry Potter outfits – one Gryffindor Seeker set of Quidditch leathers, and some red robes that looked like the ones he’d worn on the day he defeated Voldemort. They both came with accessories, like a pair of round glasses and a stick-on lightning bolt scar.
That was when he saw the French maid’s outfit. It was a tiny black frock made out of some slightly silken, slippery material, with a white lace apron. Harry couldn’t stop looking. The dress was obscenely short, and it came with black, silky French knickers. Then there were the black stilettos and the inevitable fluffy feather duster. Moving closer, Harry saw details that made his mouth go dry. The back of the dress was pretty much non-existent – it swooped down, only covering the small of the wearer’s back. Ditto with the front – the frock left the ‘maid’ bare until just below the navel. This outfit was obviously designed by a genius; Harry would be convinced of this by those truly inspired nipple clamps alone.
Making one of those impulsive decisions he was famed for, Harry called for the little librarian running the shop, and gave her the paper with Draco’s vital statistics.
And grabbed a few pairs of silky briefs. Including those green ones.
***
Harry smiled to himself as he Flooed back into Malfoy Manor’s little receiving room. That was one hell of a productive shopping trip. Maybe he should go see Draco and tell him he was getting some clothes of his own... as well as a little outfit well suited to his new station.
No. It might be more fun to introduce Draco to Muggle clothes as a surprise; and besides, Harry still wasn’t sure about presenting him with that maid’s outfit. There was something of a potential for disaster there if he wasn’t confident in his ability to make the petulant blond behave.
Harry decided to explore Malfoy Manor a little more. He barely knew this enormous house he was living in, and sooner or later that would undoubtedly become a problem.
He was standing on the ground floor trying to decide which way to go when one of the house elves appeared with a pop. Harry jumped, and hoped he wasn’t expected to know its – her? – name yet.
“Flitty from Mad Martin’s brought your clothes, Mr Harry Potter sir,” she squeaked. “Heggy is wondering where to put them, sir.”
“Er – just put them in my room for now. Don’t put them away or anything, though.” Heggy nodded and vanished before Harry remembered to say ‘please’.
He shrugged and went exploring. Harry was standing in one of the endless, apparently pointless little rooms on the first floor, trying to decide whether touching the sinister but interesting-looking desk was too risky, when he heard Ron’s voice calling him.
He rushed from the room and followed Ron’s voice. Eventually he came out in what looked like a small parlour, and grinned, seeing Ron’s head amidst the flames. With his vivid hair it looked as though his head was on fire.
“Hey! How are you?”
“Good. Mum’s still treating us all like princes, she’s so glad we made it through the war in one piece.”
More or less, Harry thought, but didn’t say, not wanting to bring the mood down. “I’m glad. Er...how’s Hermione?”
Ron winced in sympathy. “Still angry. She was here earlier, stamping around and muttering about double standards, but she’s off with her parents at the moment. I wouldn’t worry, Harry; I’ve pissed her off loads of times and she’s always got over it.”
“That’s why I’m worried. She might get angry with you all the time but she doesn’t usually yell at me,” Harry pointed out. “Anyway, hopefully she’ll get over it when she sees this isn’t starting some great new wave of slave-owners.”
“You never know,” Ron grinned, “maybe it’ll started a fashion. You are the Boy-Who-Defeated-Voldemort.” Harry made a face.
“So how’s life with the ferret? Is he being a brat or have you taken him in hand?” Ron’s grin became vicious, and Harry smiled a little uncomfortably.
“It’s going OK. He’s furious, obviously, but he can’t really do anything. It’s pretty fun showing him who’s got the power here, actually.”
“Where is he? I’d love to see him. Anyway, if I was you I’d have him following me and waiting on me hand and foot.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve got him locked in his little room sulking. I’ll let him out tomorrow, when I’m ready to deal with him. You wanna come over tomorrow and see?”
“Brilliant! It’ll be great to talk to you properly, mate. And see Malfoy, obviously. What time?”
Harry’s eyes gleamed with an uncharacteristically malicious glee as a thought occurred to him. “One, say. We can have lunch and I’ll get him to serve you.”
“Cool. See you then.” Ron’s head withdrew from the fire with a crackle.
Harry smiled and left the room.
***
Harry tapped the lock with his wand and opened the door. The instant he stepped through it, the yells began. Draco was standing on the mattress screaming at him, hair in disarray and cheeks pink with fury. Harry barely paid attention to the sound beyond a wince for his poor eardrums, concentrating on looking around instead.
The house elves had clearly brought Draco meals as he’d asked. The lunch tray seemed to have been thrown across the room by Draco – the mashed potatoes were still stuck to the wall. He’d given up over dinner, though; Harry could see the empty plates on the tray by the bed. Harry wasn’t surprised. He doubted any decent food had come Draco’s way since his capture.
He finally tuned in to Draco’s screeches, frowning in irritation at the blond’s shouting and raving which hadn’t abated at all, despite Harry’s blatant lack of interest.
“ – dare you think you can do this to me?! To my fucking FAMILY HOME?! You have no right to be here – you’re not fit to lick my parents’ boots! I can’t believe I was ever grateful to you for killing the Dark Lord!” At that, Harry blinked, meeting Draco’s almost frantic grey eyes as he continued to shout. “You might be brave, Potter, you might be powerful, but you’re a thief! Tell me, what does the Mudblood think of this?”
At the word mudblood, Harry’s mouth twisted. “You’ll wear these,” he rapped out, unshrinking the bags of clothes and chucking them to the floor carelessly, uncaring as they spilled. He turned round and stormed out, almost forgetting to lock the blond in again. He slammed the heavy door shut on the sound of Draco’s angry sobs.
***
Harry glared up at the canopy above his head. After leaving Draco he’d gone straight to his en suite to brush his teeth, in an attempt to get rid of the bad taste the encounter had left in his mouth. Now he was lying there in the Malfoys’ king-sized bed, staring up and stewing.
Harry shifted, turning over for the third time in as many minutes. He couldn’t sleep. The silk sheets felt all wrong on his skin, slippery and cool after the warm cotton of the Burrow. He felt weird, sleeping on silk sheets in his battered pyjama bottoms, the same ones that bad been everywhere with him while he was searching for Horcruxes. And at the end of the day, sleeping in this room was creepy. He wasn’t used to this kind of luxury, and it felt even odder knowing this had been the bedroom of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. This was the very bed in which Lucius had snuggled up happily, dreaming about torturing Muggles.
Harry tried to force his mind blank. He’d improved exponentially at this over the last year – Snape’s Occlumency training finally took. “Or you finally put a touch of effort in,” he heard Snape’s voice say.
Despite his new status as an Occlumens, Harry couldn’t get Draco out of his head. He kept seeing the pink face and accusing grey eyes, hearing Draco’s anguished shouts.
Harry fluffed his pillow unnecessarily with a huff. He’d fought for all of this. This goosedown duvet and luxurious room were payment for a year of hard ground and harder battles, of sleeping bags and field rations. It had been given to him. Whatever Draco said, he hadn’t stolen anything. And anyway, what gave Draco the right to all this luxury? What had he done to earn the Malfoy estates? Nothing, that’s what. Harry had risked his life; Draco had just been born into the right family.
Harry nodded firmly to himself. This wasn’t stealing. Draco was just trying to unsettle him, as usual.
A pause.
Finally Harry got up with a loud huff. Fine. He went to find a guest room.
***
Next morning Harry was tired and a little grumpy, after all the effort he’d had to go through to find somewhere he could actually sleep. It was really rather nice to be here rather than the Burrow in that respect; there were no friends around who he had to make an attempt to be friendly with. There was only Draco, and he scarcely had to worry about controlling his irritability there.
He opened the door to the room, and stopped. Draco was sitting palely by the window, his arms curling loosely around his knees. He was staring out at the misty grounds, and he was totally still. Looking at him, Harry felt an odd swoop in his stomach, like he’d missed a step going downstairs. Draco wasn’t ever supposed to be still. Harry swallowed and slammed the door shut behind him, relishing Draco’s jerk.
“Get dressed,” Harry snapped, pulling clothes almost at random from the scattered pile on the floor and throwing them across the room to land haphazardly by Draco. The blond turned, his expression a symphony in scorn, and it couldn’t have been more obvious that he was preparing to sneer and snipe at any and all articles of clothing Harry provided. Then Draco looked at the clothes, and his glower was swallowed by confusion.
He picked up one of the things Harry had chucked at him – a navy T-shirt – and looked at it, his expression bemused. Despite his lingering irritation, Harry bit back a smile. Draco looked utterly stymied by what confronted him. Maybe his Slytherin friends never wore this sort of thing.
“What are these, Potter?”
“Muggle clothes,” Harry replied, watching slyly for the pureblood’s reaction. “You’ll be wearing them from now on.”
Draco blanched and Harry grinned. “I – you – but – ” Draco spluttered. “I’m not wearing cheap, revolting Muggle clothes! I’ll catch rabies!”
Harry rolled his eyes. “You’ll wear what I tell you to wear, remember?” He went over, picking a white T-shirt off the ground as he walked. “Come on, get that off,” Harry said, gesturing at Draco’s pyjama top. He stood stolidly, waiting for Draco to move.
The blond scowled as he stripped off his shirt. “Pervert,” he muttered, ducking his head in slight embarrassment at Harry’s unwavering gaze. Draco almost snatched the T-shirt from Harry’s hands and shoved it on, obviously uncomfortable being shirtless in front of him. He looked at the clothes strewn near his bed, apparently in a hurry to get this over with so he wouldn’t be any more of a spectacle.
Harry knew the exact instant he saw the underwear. Draco’s eyes had been raking through the clothes, rapidly cataloguing and dismissing them, looking for something both recognisable and acceptable to his aristocratic tastes. The grey eyes hit a pair of briefs and froze, while a blush slowly worked its way up his neck.
“Problem, pet?” Harry inquired sweetly.
Draco threw him a dirty look. He shifted, still blushing and probably remembering Harry’s lecherousness the day before – someone with such unfettered access to his body buying him silk underwear clearly did not make him happy. But what could he say?
“No.”
“No, master,” Harry corrected, just for the hell of it.
Draco turned to him furiously, grey eyes sparking with defiance and mouth already open to tear strips off him. Harry shoved a pair of red shorts under his pointed nose, forestalling the rant.
“You – what are those?”
“Shorts.”
Draco snatched them out of his grasp in an only-child’s gesture, and stared at what he was holding. His face screwed up in confusion and Harry felt a rush of almost-affectionate amusement at his scrunched-up nose and confused eyes. He looked at Harry in bewilderment. “This is underwear!”
Harry laughed. “No, they’re shorts. Muggle short trousers. You wear them in the summer, when it’s hot. They’ve got to better than those heavy robes you lot wear.”
Draco looked at him suspiciously, as if he thought Harry was tricking him. He seemed to accept it, but gave the shorts a narrow-eyed glare. “They’re red,” he pointed out.
“Is there something wrong with red?” Harry asked pointedly.
“I’m not a bloody Gryffindor,” he snarled.
“Very true. You’re still going to wear those.”
Draco gave him a look, but seemed to decide that the colour of his clothes wasn’t worth challenging him over. He was probably saving all that angry energy for a more opportune time. The blond’s shoulders relaxed a bit and he reached for the waistband of his grey bottoms.
Then he stopped. “Turn around!” Draco snapped, waving a hand. Harry considered refusing; Draco looked good shirtless, regardless of his recent experiences, and after all the blond could hardly force him to turn. But Harry was recovering from his irritation, and Draco was rather cute with all his blustering and confusion; if Harry made him really furious he’d be far less entertaining. Harry smirked, dragging his green gaze slowly down the length of Draco’s body. The other boy shifted uncomfortably under his eyes. Then Harry smiled, and turned around.
He heard the rustle of cloth as Draco dropped his grey bottoms and got into the briefs and shorts. Harry turned back to face Draco as the blond asked, “what about shoes?”
Truthfully, Harry had completely forgotten about shoes – except for the black high heels on their way from Eros, but he was hardly going to admit that. Admitting a mistake at this point, while Draco was still defying him at every turn, could well prove fatal.
“Well?” Draco demanded.
“And why would you need shoes, pet? You don’t go outside unless I say you can, and I don’t. So you can just stay barefoot.”
Draco gave him a look as foul as any Harry had ever seen. “Oh, I see. This is another of your twisted little power games, isn’t it? Keep me barefoot, so I look like a slave. Stop me going out, so I’m trapped. You think I don’t know what you’re doing? I’m Lucius Malfoy’s son, I know all about looking powerful..”
Harry was left a little off balance. That hadn’t been what he’d intended at all – the lack of shoes was due to forgetfulness, not cunning – but hey, if Draco thought he was that scheming, it could only be a good thing.
“And,” Draco continued, “you’re going to have to give in. Or are you going to ban me from the sodding gardens?”
Harry frowned. “It depends on whether you’re good.” Draco opened his mouth and Harry kept talking, cutting him off. “Anyway you’re dressed well enough for breakfast. Follow me.”
Draco scowled but couldn’t ignore a direct order. The two of them left the bare room and made their way along corridors towards the large main dining room. It was really too big for the two of them; it had probably been used for dinner parties in Draco’s childhood, meeting old Death Eater chums and schmoozing politicians. Still, Harry was going to use it. He owned this place now, and he was going to make himself comfortable with living this way.
Draco looked around as they went, seeing the damage done by the Aurors. Anything remotely dark or suspicious had been confiscated, meaning that little objects Draco never would have noticed until their absence were gone. A little end table had been taken because the Aurors had been mistrustful of the nature of the Thestrals carved on its sides. Draco missed the vase of white flowers that had always been there; Narcissus, because his father insisted that they always be growing in the gardens.
The portraits were gone too, at Harry’s request. It wasn’t just the loss of various things; the house itself had been hurt by the careless Aurors. The wood panelling was scraped, the floors scratched and scuffed. Draco swallowed. His mother would have been so upset; she’d always hated the raids, because they hurt the house itself as much as for the invasion of privacy.
Harry watched Draco’s reactions to the changes, and felt a guilty pang. He’d risked Death Eater discovery to visit Godric’s Hollow nearly a year ago; he understood about family homes. For Draco it must mean even more; he’d grown up here, generations of Malfoy history permeated its walls. For Ron, having what his family had passed down was a source of shame; for Draco it was clearly a matter of pride. The wounded grey eyes, for once guileless, showed the pain at the harmful indifference of those who’d invaded his home, who'd defiled something almost sacred.
Harry swallowed and told himself this was his home now. Besides, there were very good reasons for those confiscations.
Draco looked a little ill as he took in the changes to his family’s dining room. The furniture looked largely the same – the centre of the room was still the six-person, beautifully engraved mahogany table. Little side tables topped with expensive vases filled with flowers still stood against the wood-panelled walls. But the chairs that had lined the table had vanished, leaving just one, and every painting, no matter what it showed, had been removed.
He swallowed, obviously upset by the changes Harry had wrought. Or even, Harry thought, watching him out of the corner of his eye, that it’s still mostly the same, but it belongs to me now – and so does he.
Harry sat down in the single chair, which was at the head of the table, naturally. Draco stayed by the door, glaring as a lavish breakfast appeared in front of his master. “Where’s my food?” he demanded venomously. Harry heard the slight note of distress in his slave’s voice and wondered if he thought he’d have to stand and watch Harry eat, or even feed him himself.
Harry muttered a spell, jerking his wand. A low table appeared on the floor to its right, its mahogany and engravings matching the decor. On top of it was some buttered toast and water. Adequate, but nothing like the spread before Harry, and unlike Harry, Draco apparently did not merit the ancestral Malfoy crockery. That had to really burn. Harry had to hide a smirk before he turned to look at Draco. He was giving the table a narrow-eyed grey stare.
“You’ll kneel at my side and eat there,” Harry told him.
Draco’s head whipped round. “No way!” he retorted loudly. “If you think I’m kneeling next to you, eating off that thing like – ”
“It’s the only way you’re getting any food,” Harry said calmly. “I won’t order you, but you’re going to have to give in eventually.”
He turned back to his embossed, silver plate, and started covering the Malfoy crest in the centre with grilled pineapple, plain yoghurt and toast. There was a lovely selection laid out in front of him – toast, kippers and porridge; various kinds of jam and different fruits; tea, coffee and orange juice. Harry glanced over to see Draco glaring at his toast, arms folded in front of his chest and jaw clenched.
Harry nonchalantly munched a pineapple ring, watching Draco covertly. He could see the struggle between hunger and pride in his tense muscles, furrowed blond brows, shifting stance. Eventually he must have decided that he’d have to give in sooner or later, so why stay hungry: he sank to his knees at Harry’s feet and picked up some toast.
Harry smiled to himself.
Draco was obviously irritated that Harry was controlling him so effortlessly; he began tapping annoyedly at the surface of his table. Harry glanced down in irritation, but decided that he wasn’t going to be goaded into a reaction.
As this was Draco Malfoy, the decision was, naturally, futile.
“So what are you going to do today?” Draco asked after a bit, still tapping. He was barely eating, too busy trying to bother Harry. “Lock me up again and see if I die of boredom? Go and see the Mudblood and the Weasel?”
Harry’s hands clenched on his cutlery. He’d have train him not to say ‘mudblood’ any more, but he wasn’t going to let Draco see his fury. He owned the blond, he shouldn’t be able to manipulate Harry like this.
“Tell me, have they started making halfbreed babies yet?” Draco continued, sounding revolted. “A pureblood and a mudblood – it’s practically bestiality.”
Harry whipped his head round and glowered furiously down at Draco, only to be brought up short by his little smirk. He was looking up at Harry with amused grey eyes, daring Harry to punish him.
Right, Harry thought grimly. He is going to learn not to push me. I’m not going to back down, nor hurt him – I’m going to humiliate him. Forcing the proud blond to kneel at his feet had been its own kind of rush. Harry was quite willing to take this up another notch. “Slave,” he rapped out.
Draco glanced up, defiance sparking in his eyes again. They widened as he saw Harry’s wand pointed straight between his eyes. “Get up,” Harry said softly. “I’ve decided you’re going to sit on my lap.”
Draco blushed furiously – whether with anger or embarrassment, Harry wasn’t sure, but it amused him all the same. The slave would have to do this eventually – the collar would make sure of that – but it should be interesting to see how long he held out.
“I – ” Draco spluttered. Harry jerked his wand warningly just as the blond felt his collar begin to constrict. “Fine,” he muttered mutinously, levering himself up with a slight sigh of relief; the stone floor couldn’t be easy on his bare knees. Harry scooted his chair back to give him space and grinned, opening his arms in welcome and mockery. Draco looked a bit uncertain, and Harry guessed he didn’t know exactly what was expected.
“Come on, pet,” Harry said, still grinning. “Sit sideways, your legs should go over my left side.”
Draco sighed and obeyed. Harry smiled a little more gently as he felt the blond settle on to him, sitting stiffly with his hands in his lap. Harry wound his right arm around the blond’s waist and cuddled him, making Draco relax against him slightly.
Harry enjoyed the feeling of the warm, helpless weight atop him, the golden slave collar almost at his eye level. Draco sighed, apparently resigned to this (and maybe enjoying the contact a bit) and reached for some toast off Harry’s plate.
Harry instantly slapped his hand hard, making him withdraw it with an indignant cry. “Stop that!” Harry said sharply. Then he added more gently, “don’t take my food, pet. I’ll feed you.”
“I’m quite capable of feeding myself, Potter,” Draco said indignantly, cheeks flushing in affronted dignity once again.
This whole defiant thing isn’t as amusing as I thought. I may not want him really hurt, but I do want him scared. He’s rather cute now though, all helpless and flustered, and annoyed at me, biting his lip.
Harry decided to ignore what Draco had to say and just proceed with feeding him. He picked up a fragment of pineapple and dipped it in yoghurt. Then he lifted the fruit, offering it to the blond. Draco tried to take it in his hand, but Harry jerked it back, smiling wolfishly, and lifted it to Draco’s lips. The blond rolled his eyes and leaned forward to get the fruit into his mouth.
He swallowed quickly and immediately leaned back, sitting up poker-straight again. He’d no longer recovered some of his dignity when Harry said smoothly, “good, pet.”
Draco gave him a wary look, hearing the purr in his voice. His eyes widened anxiously at Harry’s lecherous expression. Harry smirked slowly, deliberately unsettling him and feeling Draco shift on his lap. Harry could see his blond wondering again if Harry would take him to bed. God, this game was exhilarating: keeping Draco off balance, not giving his pet a chance to claw back some of that icy composure. He doubted Snape would approve of this use of the psychology he’d taught him, but after all, Draco was his now; and even at school, he’d never missed a chance to mess with the Slytherin. It was just nice to know that this time he couldn’t lose.
Harry selected another piece of pineapple and held it out. Draco looked at it askance and Harry said warningly, “go on, pet.”
Draco scowled. “I’m not your pet.”
“Oh I disagree,” Harry murmured, as Draco ate the fruit.
He selected some toast for himself and munched on it, pondering how else to unsettle Draco. He was really enjoying this, even though some affection for the blond now shot through his very real lust. Why he should feel any affection for his bratty, prejudiced old enemy Harry had no idea; perhaps it was just his Gryffindorish tendencies coming out now he was faced with someone helpless. Having all this warm skin perched on his knee, Draco vulnerable in his shorts and T-shirt, was intoxicating.
“So what happened to you after Hogwarts?” Harry asked, as he finished his toast and handed Draco a slice, allowing him to hold it in his hands this time. Harry wiped his left hand and rested it on Draco’s right leg, just above the knee.
“I ran away with Snape,” Draco started. “He took me back – ” He stuttered to a stop, his grey eyes widening, his skin no doubt prickling. Harry’s thumb was rubbing over his pale skin. Draco turned to look at Harry. The ex-Gryffindor kept his green eyes neutral, but he never stopped rubbing at Draco’s skin.
Draco recovered his composure and began to talk again. “Snape Apparated me back to Riddle Manor. He took me to Voldemort. He was muttering to me as we went, telling me what to say, how to act, but...but I was too scared to listen to him.” Draco’s eyes met Harry’s defiantly, as though daring him to laugh. Harry saw nothing funny in a teenage boy’s terror of Voldemort – he’d been there himself, after all. He simply looked back calmly and nodded at him to go on.
“Anyway we went back, and...” he swallowed. “Voldemort wasn’t too happy. I faltered, but he’d meant Snape to do it in the end anyway, so he let me live. He told me a soft Death Eater was no use to him and tomorrow I’d have to kill Muggles. My – my mother killed herself the next morning.”
Harry stared, aghast, and pulled Draco closer. Harry held Draco against his body as he saw the grey eyes swimming with tears, arms around him protectively. He was improvising, wanting to discomfort Draco, and now he’d made him cry over his mother.
“She didn’t want to be used to force me into obeying,” Draco continued, sounding a bit choked, “and I think she lost hope that our family would have a happy ending after Dumbledore died.”
He shifted in Harry’s arms and added acerbically, “she was right, I daresay.”
Harry scowled. “Go on.” Draco nodded, seeming to have recovered some of his calm.
“After that I had no reason to stay – the Aurors were all guarding Azkaban like maniacs, so my father was safe, and anyway I knew my mum wanted me to get out. So I ran for it. I only had my wand, but I got to the Channel Islands and there’s a Malfoy cottage there. I used my blood to raise the wards as far as I could and waited it out.”
“So you just never came out?”
Draco shrugged. Harry’s arms loosened, his left hand slipping back to Draco’s leg. “The place had a house elf on retainer. She was crazy but she kept me fed. The place had a library and a Quidditch pitch – I survived. I was bored out of my mind but I was more scared of what would happen to me if I left than of tedium-induced insanity.”
“So what happened after?”
“One day the Prophet said you’d won. Considering the quality of its reporting, I waited a few days and it kept saying the same thing. So I Flooed home to try and find my dad.” Draco glanced down, eyebrows raised, as he felt Harry’s fingers start to stroke his skin again, but continued. “Unfortunately the Aurors were swarming everywhere by then and I appeared in the fireplace in the reception area. Instant capture.”
Harry nodded, and stealthily began teasing at the skin a little further up Draco’s thigh.
“They took me back to the Ministry. I got put in a holding cell because they weren’t quite sure whether I was a real criminal or not. After all, I’m a Malfoy, and I did something awful – but Snape said I was coerced and I was underage when it all happened.
“Anyway, the Wizengamot said I had to be tried. I used an Unforgivable, that’s what they were really pissed about. So they – ”
Draco suddenly stopped, inhaling sharply in a breathy squeak. Harry had been very gently moving his hand up Draco’s leg, stroking his fingertips in small circles. Draco had been almost unaware of the caresses that had startled him before, wrapped up in reliving his experiences. But he’d just felt Harry’s fingers slide under the hem of his shorts, and Draco’s fears about Harry’s power and preferences welled up again.
Harry gave him a carefully emotionless look, though he couldn’t quite stop one side of his mouth turning up in a smirk. “Go on,” Harry repeated, his tone making it a command. Draco swallowed, seeing how dilated Harry’s pupils were. “Pet, do as I say.”
Draco made a strangled noise. Pet? Just what am I to him? Harry’s hand squeezed his thigh at the delay, so Draco forced himself back on track.
“Right, the Wizengamot. They put me on trial. It lasted more than a week, and it had all these people coming up and saying stuff I’d said years ago. Snape spoke for me, and said Dumbledore had still tried to get me onside. But the court reckoned I’d probably not have taken his offer and I would have killed Dumbledore if Snape hadn’t got there first.” Draco scowled. Harry began sliding his hand a little further under Draco’s shorts, but carefully, and Draco talked fluently despite his master’s whims.
“But by this time you’d woken up and they bundled me off back to the holding cell. I was left there for ages. I think the Minister got me dumped there ’cause he’d already decided what to give you. I was left and they barely fed – ” Draco broke off, eyes wide. Harry’s hand had travelled worryingly. He was stroking at the soft skin and fiddling with the bottom hem of Draco’s briefs. If he moved his hand just a couple of inches, he’d reach his pet’s cock.
Harry smiled at Draco’s wide-eyed look of surprise. He kept touching, teasing at Draco’s skin. The blond squirmed in his lap, unable to contain his reaction. Harry met the anxious grey eyes, and saw Draco’s thoughts in them clearly.
What is he planning to do? Is all this just to torture me, or would he really rape me?
Harry grinned ferally and Draco swallowed. Harry decided to see if he could increase the slight arousal he could read in Draco’s squirming and quickened breaths, instead of the fear that ran alongside it. He moved his caressing hand just a fraction of an inch closer to Draco’s cock, and the blond snapped.
“Get OFF me, you PERVERT! Just leave me fucking alone!”
Harry glared and whipped his hands away. Draco gave a sigh of relief, which was quickly cut short as one hand buried painfully in his hair, pulling his head back harshly; the other lying against his collarbone, fingers resting warningly around the base of his throat.
“I warned you, pet. Behave well or you’ll regret it. You don’t want to test me, I promise you. Talk to me with respect, or you’ll be punished, and punished hard. Is that understood?”
Draco gasped. He wasn’t sure if he believed Harry capable of real harm – much as he was blatantly enjoying Draco’s helplessness, he doubted Harry would enjoy his pain – but the sudden shift from teasing to threatening had completely taken him by surprise. The fingers at his throat and in his hair tightened. “Is that understood?” Harry repeated, his voice a growl.
“Yes,” Draco forced out, breathing fast. “I understand, I do, just let go!” His voice rose in a pleading cry. “Master!”
Harry let go so quickly Draco nearly fell, but Harry caught him quickly. “There you go. Is calling me ‘master’ so hard?” He tried to sound insouciant, but Draco heard the unevenness in his tone.
“Pfft.” Realising Harry was no longer holding him into his lap, Draco quickly leapt away. “Don’t expect it to happen again any time soon. I’m really not the ‘master’ type.”
“What about Voldemort?” Harry pointed out as he stood up. Draco gave him a glare.
“That was a cheap shot. And it’s a completely different situation. You don’t have the ability – or the ruthlessness – to threaten my parents.”
Harry smiled wickedly, and came to stand behind Draco. He pressed his body against the other boy’s, one hand on the blond’s hip, the other going to caress at his stomach. “True,” he breathed in Draco’s ear. “But then I have lots of ways to control you that he never thought of.”
Draco struggled, and Harry let him go with a laugh. Draco turned to glare up at him. He looked slightly ruffled and very annoyed, but he couldn’t conceal the slight dilation of his pupils or his quickened breathing. “That was cheesy, Potter.”
Harry chose to ignore this. This one was a win for him, whatever the blond said now. “Come along, pet.”
*
Draco rolled his eyes as Harry unlocked the door with a tap of his wand. “You’re leaving me here again?”
“I’ll let you out again for lunch,” Harry retorted. “And you could do with a little more respect in your tone.”
Draco snorted. “I’m sure. What’s happening at lunch, anyway? You just bringing me out for a little recreational molesting then chucking me back in the cell? Or are you actually going to get past feeling me up?” Draco’s eyes were ever so slightly wild; Harry recognised the look the blond got when he was just letting rip, when he wouldn’t know when to stop. “Of course, I understand if you wouldn’t. I am a little too much man for you. Although if you can handle the Weaslette – I understand she’s one hell of a goer – ”
Harry slammed Draco against the wall. “Shut. Up,” he gritted. “Just stop talking. I am sick of your attempts to provoke me, and you talking about people I care about. I – am – your – master, and you should be cleverer than this. You’ll certainly have to keep your mouth shut at lunch. Ron’s coming over, and if he’d heard what you’d just said you’d be spitting teeth right now.”
Draco quailed a bit at that. Harry suspected he had good reason; Ron had been unremittingly cheerful about Draco’s servitude. But he raised his chin all the same. “How good of you, Potter. Having a soup kitchen for the poor and needy, are we?”
Harry’s hands tightened on Draco’s shoulders, and the blond winced. “You’d better keep the lid on any comments like that at lunch. My friend is joining us, and you’ll serve him like a good pet, won’t you?”
“I am not your pet!” Draco yelled at the top of his voice.
Harry smiled, and raised a hand to stroke Draco’s hair. “You were a good pet through most of breakfast, though. Cute, nice to stroke and eating out of the palm of my hand. You might have been a little wild at first, but I’ve got you very tame now, haven’t I, pet?” He recalled the feeling of Draco on his lap, eating only from his hand and helpless, and smiled.
Feeling Draco try to move, Harry pressed himself closer against the warm body. Draco squirmed against him, but Harry was bulkier and the wriggling did nothing but amuse his master. His hands were now firmly around Draco’s upper arms and the blond could do nothing to dislodge them. “I’m sure you’ll be a very good pet for Ron.” Harry eyed the pouting lips and couldn’t help himself. He swooped down, crushing Draco’s lips with his, claiming more than kissing him. Draco made an outraged noise against his mouth, and Harry laughed low in his throat before pulling away. “You’re mine.” He pressed his thumbs firmly into the flesh of Draco’s arms, holding him tight as the blond fought. Harry finally rolled his eyes and propelled Draco into his room.
“Be ready to serve us, pet.” He slammed the door, chest heaving.
And now for a nice relaxing wank.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2007-06-14 02:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-16 08:51 pm (UTC)Hang in there, darlin'. The comfort portion of the h/c is coming. You know, eventually.
I feel really bad now though. I adore you muchly and your reading and conscientious commenting, but with the current RL problems you should be reading nothing but fluff. Very fluffy fluff. Like being choked to death by candyfloss.
no subject
Date: 2007-06-15 02:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-16 08:54 pm (UTC)I love that I made you splutter.
no subject
Date: 2007-08-14 04:21 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 01:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-08-28 10:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-09-03 01:59 am (UTC)I love that you like the dynamic between the two, I always think that's so important in any fic.
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Date: 2007-11-23 09:23 pm (UTC)since June..
Apparently, you haven't...*goes off to sob enthusiastically*
PLEASE update whenever you are able, PLEASE don't leave us
like that!
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Date: 2007-11-26 06:51 pm (UTC)I WILL finish this - that much is certain. I'm also nearly finished with Chapter 4 and I'll have posted it fairly soon (two weeks or so.) I'm entering for the Arvon Award, you see, an original fiction competition, so I'm working on other things. But some exciting things happen in this next chapter and I'm now very motivated to get it posted!
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Date: 2008-06-30 10:39 pm (UTC)But I reaaaaaaaally wanna know what happens next, and this is awesome, and D: a year it's been.
There's some other incomplete series too, and I was wondering if you were going to finish these?
(I totally love all your works btw. <3)
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Date: 2008-07-02 01:47 pm (UTC)Oh you are very very wrong!! :dd But I'm very flattered!
I will definitely finish A Little Bonus. I'm not sure when, because I keep signing up for these intensely awesome fests and then the deadlines go '
I'll finish the Christmas series too, but around next Christmas!
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Date: 2008-07-03 06:43 am (UTC)D: Why not THIS Christmas?!no subject
Date: 2008-07-03 12:40 pm (UTC)And sorry, I meant this Christmas - just, you know, emphasis on 'not finishing it for six months because finishing an Xmas fluff series in July would be crazy.'
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Date: 2008-07-03 04:19 pm (UTC)But it would be different. :D It's not a bad thing~
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Date: 2008-07-04 12:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-07-27 08:27 pm (UTC)I like all the angst and the difference in their POV of the situation. Though it is fascinating to see mean!Harry, I actually cried for Draco when he saw how his house was practically raped by the Ministry.
It would be great if somehow Harry could see how much Draco has been destroyed emotionally, I really don't want feisty!Draco to be broken, but at the same time it would be a bit sickening if Harry changes his mean ways just because he falls in love.
It also seems as if Harry might attempt a bit of non-con, I was slightly disturbed that he was taking advantage of someone who can't defend themselves.
Anyway sorry for the ramble - please continue this soon.
...is it ok if I friend you?
Thanks
Date: 2008-10-18 05:19 pm (UTC)Re: Thanks
Date: 2008-10-26 10:10 pm (UTC)I'm incredibly busy right now, as is probably clear from how quiet I've been in the last month. However, I consider this a fic on hiatus, not one I've abandoned - I still want and intend to finish it. So don't lose hope. It's close to the top of the "fics I will write/update over Christmas" list.
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Date: 2008-12-21 06:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-03-03 04:45 am (UTC)A Little Bonus
Date: 2009-07-08 03:42 am (UTC)Re: A Little Bonus
Date: 2010-03-02 06:27 pm (UTC)