A Little Bonus (previously Golden Ring)
Apr. 21st, 2007 10:47 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lokifan_importPairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: I don't understand the American ratings system, it would be a '12' here
Warnings: some violence. Not dark!Harry, but certainly mean!Harry. This chapter involves a great deal of ignoring his conscience.
Prompt: H/D. The Ministry gives Harry Malfoy Manor. With it comes a full staff and Draco Malfoy as a slave.
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.
A/N: oh how long it's been. I have absolutely learnt my lesson about backing up fics instantly, instead of just saving them on STUPID MEMORY STICKS that STOP WORKING. Lots of thank yous to Lothy for the new, much better title.
Harry’s badge said Harry Potter, Enslaving. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he wasn’t going to complain overmuch. After all, the Ministry was giving him a very nice gift.
He got his wand registered by Eric, the security wizard, and then ducked away before he could get overly excited and announce to everyone else in the building that Harry Potter was here! Harry wasn’t entirely sure where to go from here. He was only vaguely aware of the Ministry’s seven departments and had no clue which one would take responsibility for tying an estate and its dependants to someone.
“Harry?” came a familiar voice. He turned to see Auror Woodrow.
“Hi!” Harry said. “Can you show me where I’m meant to be, please?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Woodrow replied. He led Harry into a crowded lift. As Harry fiddled with his fringe in an attempt to hide his scar, Woodrow explained in an undertone. “This stuff is all being dealt with by the Department of Magical Creatures – they have a room and personnel in place to deal with switching a house elf’s allegiance, and it’s being used to deal with Malfoy too. But naturally, my department’s got in on the act because it’s the Malfoy property and heir. Robards wasn’t able to wangle jurisdiction but there’ll be a bunch of Aurors around to keep an eye on it all.”
Harry nodded. They came out on the right level, and Woodrow led Harry to the Beasts, Beings and Spirits Division. There was a large room with cubicles filled with Ministry drones. Off on the right was a little door with ACCESS FOR TRAINED PERSONNEL ONLY on it. Standing outside was a nervous looking, balding wizard in purple robes. He smiled widely as Harry and Woodrow greeted him, and wrung Harry’s hand in his own slightly clammy one.
“Hello, hello, I’m Callum Kingfisher. I’m going to be doing the binding. This should be very interesting, a human-to-human binding’s not been done in my lifetime, even if it once was quite a common thing. Rather a coup. They’re getting the room ready now, we can’t go in yet,” he added quickly, noticing Harry looking pointedly at the door.
“So how’s this going to work?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling the distance between Hermione and him very strongly. She’d never have let him go into this without researching it exhaustively and telling him everything he needed to know.
“The spell to bind the house elves to you is fairly straightforward – I just take their bonds to Lucius Malfoy and transfer them to you. Before I do that, I’ll tie the Malfoy estate to you. That will give you control over the wards around the ancestral home, as well as a connection to its intrinsic magics and the family heirlooms. It’ll also mean your descendants inherit it, instead of Draco’s.
“The spell with Draco Malfoy is more complicated. It’s not as difficult as it might be, though – you’re becoming the master of the Malfoy line, and he’s the heir. That means he already has a connection to the Malfoy home, and an obligation to obey you, even if it’s not quite as strong as the house elf’s compulsion. But house elves are supposed to protect the house and its master, whereas the heir, naturally, is supposed to be protected by them instead. That protection will vanish, and he’ll lose his connection to the heirlooms. Draco will also lose the ability to do anything to harm you or escape. I’m fairly sure he will still have a connection to the house, but of a completely different kind.
“The spells for this were all in the archive, strangely enough.” Harry really didn’t see why he needed to know this, but it was fairly interesting and a way to pass the time. Besides, Kingfisher clearly loved it all, and Harry would feel terribly guilty if he cut him off. “In the Middle Ages, barons quite regularly besieged other people’s castles and manors. If they won, they’d transfer the magic to themselves, obviously. It was the usual practice to enslave the heir.”
“Why not kill them?”
Kingfisher looked pleased that Harry was taking an interest. “If you kill the heir the magic will transfer to the next person in line. There are a few documented cases of heirs escaping after their homes were taken over, and later re-taking them using their connection to the magics and wards. It’s a foolish risk to take.”
Harry nodded. Just then a short, skinny Indian woman appeared from the room they were going to be using. “We’re all set, Callum. Ready to go?”
“Absolutely, wonderful.” The three men filed in after the little witch.
Harry’s eyes went wide at the sight that met them.
The room was dark; none of the false windows that lined the Ministry were here, only torches. It was circular, and there was a sort of walkway around the walls; two feet in it became a slightly depressed round area something like an amphitheatre. The little witch was standing on the walkway, fiddling with something. In the middle of the mini amphitheatre was a lectern with a book on it. There was nothing else.
“Alright, Mr Potter,” Kingfisher said, hopping down into the depressed area and standing behind the lectern. “Come and stand in front of me and I’ll do the spells to make you master of Malfoy Manor. We can get it finished nice and quickly, I should think.”
Harry nodded and slipped the two feet or so onto slightly warm stone – he could feel it through his trainers. He stood before the lecturn while the wizard leafed through the pages of the book. He doubted he’d find it quickly – the tome was of a size that would have made Hermione proud.
“Ahh, here we go,” Kingfisher said, proving Harry wrong. “Now, hold still.” He held his wand out and began to speak.
It was Latin, but Harry managed to hazily discern only that much before the gold glow from the end of Kingfisher’s wand enveloped him. It called on his magic, his will, his soul, that same part that was almost healed from his battle with Voldemort. The spell called on nothing so sentimental as his ability to love, however – it called on his triumph at victory, his will to conquer and dominate... and then his feelings about home. The room seemed to go away, and an awareness rose inside Harry. Images flashed before his eyes, stone and grass whisked by under his hands, he heard the sounds of a home in action in his ears. Harry saw the foyer at Malfoy Manor again, the master bedroom, the ballroom, the kitchen... he saw the pines and the arbour and the great, rolling lawn. He felt the place’s magic well up in him and twin itself around his own, and suddenly knowledge of everything about the place burst inside him like fireworks. Harry knew the wards and the decorations and the darkness at the heart of all that magic. For an instant he felt like he was Malfoy Manor.
And then it faded. All that Harry was left with was a glorious aerial view of the place in his mind’s eye, and a sense that he was truly master of all he surveyed.
Harry blinked and the afterimage vanished, to be replaced by a lingering gold glow and Callum Kingfisher’s satisfied expression. “That seemed very successful. How are you feeling, Mr Potter? If you’re a little disorientated don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal.”
“I...I’m fine,” Harry said slowly. “I guess. Shall we do the house-elves next?”
“As you wish.” Kingfisher nodded at the witch, and she went around to a door Harry hadn’t noticed before, behind him and to his left. She went out briefly, and came back being tailed by the three house-elves from before. Harry smiled at them, frantically scrambling in his mind for their names.
Before he could recall it, the first one carefully lowered herself into the depression. At a gesture from Kingfisher, Harry backed off to the left of the lecturn, while the elf – Heggy, was it? – stood on the right of the amphitheatre, facing him.
Once again, Kingfisher spoke. This time the glow was a peculiar navy blue. Harry didn’t feel anything like the same emotions, although the elf seemed overcome by what was cast on her. All the spell was meant to do was tie the elf to him and make her obey him, though; Harry supposed it made sense that it would have little effect on his mind or feelings.
The spells were completed swiftly, and soon the elves were ordered back to Malfoy Manor to prepare for Harry’s return. Harry felt a leap of something in his stomach. Now what he was really interested in – the binding of Draco Malfoy to him.
The second door opened once again, and Draco entered between two Aurors. The difference from the last time couldn’t have been more marked. He was dressed in prison robes, not tattered robes of his own, and his overly-long hair had been roughly cut to its old length. Draco was silent now, walking quietly and not struggling, his head hanging. Harry felt a twist in his stomach at the idea that he was broken already. Surely he wouldn’t have given up so soon? That would be no fun at all. No fun playing with him that way, and no fun worrying about what had happened to make it so.
Then Kingfisher said, “bring the creature here, please,” pointing at the place on the right where Draco should stand. Draco’s head snapped up, fury blazing in resentful grey eyes, and he rose his chin proudly. Harry smiled a little as the blond went to his place with a defiant stride, daring them to consider him property.
Kingfisher looked at the spell, and then gestured at them both. “Come closer, this spell is rather different from the one used on house-elves. Right in front of the lectern.”
Draco didn’t move for a moment, and the Aurors jumped into the amphitheatre after him. The blond scowled as they gripped his upper arms and manoeuvred him into place; he wasn’t fighting, but he held his body stiff and unhelpful. He set out his chin mulishly as they forced him into standing next to Harry in front of the lectern, close enough to touch.
“Right, here we go. I’m going to ask you both some questions, and your response must be ‘I will’. Draco, that includes you, and if you don’t participate I’ll have to ask these nice gentleman to insist that you behave.”
Draco scowled at the delicate emphasis Kingfisher placed on ‘insist’. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not stupid. I’ll play along.”
“Good,” Kingfisher said, smiling. “Don’t worry too much about this; it’s not a binding magical contract, it’s just the ceremony to makeyou both master and slave. You’re neither of you held to the specifics.” The Ministry wizard waved his wand and the green glow started to thread its away around and between them.
“Harry Potter, will you keep Draco Malfoy with you, and let his life be part of yours?”
“I will.”
“Draco Malfoy, will you stay with Harry Potter, and let him direct your life?”
Draco’s expression was half anger, half apprehension. Then Harry guessed he’d remembered the words not a binding magical contract, because his tense shoulder muscles relaxed slightly and he replied, “I will.”
“Harry Potter, will you treat Draco Malfoy as yours, and protect him from others as is your responsibility?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “I will.” He hadn’t thought about that, but he supposed it made sense. Draco wouldn’t have a wand any more, and since he was a pureblood that would make him especially helpless. Harry had a responsibility to him now.
“Draco Malfoy, will you serve Harry Potter in all things, and obey him always as befits a slave?”
Draco glared. “I will,” he bit out.
“Harry Potter, will you take Draco Malfoy as your own, and acknowledge him as your true slave?”
“I will.”
“Draco Malfoy, will you accept that you belong to Harry Potter, and acknowledge him as your rightful master?”
There was a pause. Harry thought he saw a wetness in Draco’s eyes. Just before the Aurors moved, he shut his eyes and rasped out: “I will.”
Kingfisher waved his wand, and a gold collar appeared, spinning in the air. “Put it on him, Mr Potter,” Kingfisher said.
Harry grinned a bit. A collar?! Maybe I could get one of those rings to say ‘Property of Harry Potter’. He plucked the collar out of the air. It was in two half-rings, partially connected at the front, with a hook at the back.
“Turn around, Draco,” Harry ordered. Draco glowered, obviously not wanting to obey orders – and if he had any sense, his instincts were screaming at him not to present the back of his neck to Harry. He did it, though, even if it was slow. Harry reached round, under his chin, pulling the collar around the vulnerable neck. He hooked it round, and instantly the hook melded into the gold, leaving a perfectly smooth metal ring circumventing Draco’s neck, marking him as owned.
“This is yours.” One of the Aurors handed Harry a wand – Draco’s, presumably. The grey eyes were fixed on it. Harry smiled, watching Draco as he slowly caressed the length of the wood – and then snapped it in one movement.
Draco’s gasp was barely audible over the snap of wood breaking. His head snapped up, grey eyes glaring. Harry smirked at him. That was it – Draco’s last hope of escaping was gone.
“There you go then,” Kingfisher said gleefully, oblivious to the swirling emotions in the room. “All done and nice and quick. The collar will stop him going through the wards, and tighten if he tries to disobey your orders.” Draco gave a gasp of horror, but no one even glanced over. “Any time you want to go Mr Potter, you can.”
*
Potter looked at Draco, and smiled. He spun and walked out of the room, tossing over his shoulder, “come, Draco.”
Potter stayed where he was, arms crossed huffily. He was not going to follow just because Potter had told him to, that was for damn sure. Potter stopped a few metres from the door, looked at him, and smiled, tapping his foot. Draco looked at him, glowering sullenly. Potter just waited.
Draco tried not to give any indication of discomfort, but after less than half a minute he was fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot. Still he didn’t move though, and Potter watched as Draco felt his cheeks get redder and redder. Soon he was panting, shoulders moving, face pained, and Potter could actually see the collar tightening, cutting off his air. Draco still refused to follow, though, so Potter rapped out, “follow me. Now.”
One choked-off breath and Draco was running to get to his master. Potter laughed softly in amusement. Draco was bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Hearing Potter laugh, he managed to force himself into a standing position and gave a grey-eyed glower. Potter just ignored it, turning and walking towards the lifts.
His order was still in effect, and Draco had no choice but to follow him. He walked as slowly as the collar would let him get away with, though, so he was several feet behind Potter. Still, he couldn’t avoid the lift forever, and soon he and Potter were crowded close together in the confined space.
Oh, no. Draco suddenly registered what this meant. They were taking the Ministry route – they’d get out in the main foyer and go back to the manor by Floo, using one of the public fireplaces. Ministry workers, visiting foreigners, journalists would see him like this, with the bright gold of the slave collar glinting painfully obviously over his dreary Azkaban-grey robes.
“We’re going to the Department of Law Enforcement,” Potter told him in an undertone, “I need to see Gawain Robards.”
Draco swallowed. Aurors. That was just great, his humiliation was now complete. Besides, it wasn’t safe for him there – they all hated him, both for his crimes against Hogwarts and his surname. They’d no doubt be full of glee to see him enslaved. Still – he remembered what had happened back at the manor, when he’d been taken to be shown to Potter. He’d told off that Auror for hitting him. Maybe it would be OK.
The lift pinged and the two of them stepped out into a large room, divided up into cubicles where the Aurors worked. Plenty of them were empty, with their resident workers out on field assignments, but there were still more than enough Aurors around to make Draco feel anxious.
They started down the wide aisle, Potter seemingly completely unaware of the scrutiny they were under. Draco walked about seven feet behind him again, not wanting to show willing, or seem like he needed protection. But he swallowed under the gimlet stares.
The contempt emanating from the Aurors seemed to shift and change as he followed Potter towards Robards’ office. Draco realised what it was as the whispers increased, and derisive grins started to grow beneath the hard looks. They were registering his collar, recognising what had been done to him. Draco saw a brown-haired wizard whisper in the ear of a fellow Auror, both of them looking at him. They snickered and Draco blushed angrily.
Suddenly one of the Aurors banged into him, his shoulder impacting on Draco’s hard. Draco fell against the wall with a grunt of pain, unable to stay upright. He closed his eyes in humiliation, but forced himself straight again. Draco attempted to walk as though nothing had happened, but he could feel how pink his face was. He looked round at the Auror who’d shoved him. The man was walking on without looking back, his face blank. No doubt if Draco said anything, he’d just say it was an accident.
The Aurors were all softly snickering, and Draco raged inwardly. It wasn’t his fault, damn it! Draco had been feeling distinctly woozy ever since the ceremony. His stomach was tight and painful with stress, but the loss of his heir’s connection to the magics of his home had affected him far more. He felt as though part of his mind had been blanked out. The nausea of his lack of awareness rolled through Draco again and he swallowed.
Potter looked round, frowning, at the noise. He’d obviously registered the Aurors’ laughter. But Draco was walking calmly, his face blank. The Aurors, seeing Potter’s expression, quickly stopped watching, turning round and pretending to work, their faces as neutral as Draco’s. Potter frowned a little deeper for a moment and then turned around.
They reached the Head Auror’s office, and Potter directed Draco to one of the chairs outside it. Draco sat uncomfortably and kept his chin high, staring out of the window while he waited. Some of the nervous tension began to drain from his body as boredom set in.
Twenty minutes after he’d entered Potter stormed out of the office with a face like thunder. Every single muscle in Draco’s body tensed up again with a snap as Potter grabbed his arm and dragged him into a standing position. “Come on,” he snapped, green eyes flashing, and headed for the door.
Draco followed swiftly. Potter didn’t look back; his shoulders were tense and he didn’t seem to be thinking about Draco at all. The Aurors were watching again, even if it was now more discreet, and the whispers and laughs were still there. In an attempt to salvage his dignity, Draco raised his chin, attempting to ignore the hot flush he could feel on his cheeks. He was a Malfoy, no matter what had been taken from him. He outclassed these people by his birth alone. He was not going to be humiliated by what they thought of him. Draco kept his eyes and chin up proudly, attempting to reproduce his father’s most arrogant walk.
This probably made what happened next inevitable. Someone sent a furtive jinx, and Draco tripped, falling hard to his knees on the marble floor. Laughter broke out again and Draco coloured, humiliated. He pushed himself up, silently promising himself revenge.
Potter had turned once more, and he saw Draco rising. He obviously cottoned on to what had just happened; his face instantly flushed with possessive anger, annoyance that others had interfered with his slave. He looked around with an angry glare, but must have realised his chances of finding out which Auror had sent the trip jinx were nil.
Potter strode back to him and seized Draco’s upper arm, tugging him along. Draco struggled almost automatically, but Potter didn’t even look at him, just kept walking, dragging the blond in his wake.
Draco slowed, scowling. He was certain Potter was just taking his irritation out on him. “Hurry up,” Potter spat without looking back.
Draco sped up; he might not want to, but he wasn’t stupid enough to give Potter more reason to hurt him. They entered the lift, Potter keeping his grip on Draco’s arm tight. The blond glared but stayed still.
The lift doors opened once more, this time on the Ministry lobby. Draco swallowed, seeing the various workers and visitors out there. Potter gave him a swift glance then walked out, keeping his hold on Draco’s upper arm. At the blond’s resistance Potter tightened his grip harshly, his fingers digging painfully into the tender skin. Draco gave a small gasp and kept up.
The pair went and stood in a queue for one of the fireplaces kept blazing at all times for Floo travel. Draco was surprised for a moment at someone as famous as Potter doing the plebian thing instead of using his celebrity to travel from a private Floo. Draco could feel his body prickling with awareness of the stares. Whispers were coming from everyone else in the crowded lobby, making it sound like a breeze was running through it.
Potter seemed completely unaware of this. He just stood stolidly, his grip on Draco never wavering. At least the queue didn’t take long. Draco could tell the people ahead of them were excited at Potter’s presence, but his thousand-yard stare and angry body language unnerved them enough that they were also eager to escape it.
When it was their turn, Draco could feel Potter’s reluctance to let go of him to get the Floo powder from its jar. The brunet tossed some in, violently enough to make the green flames flare. Potter grinned maliciously at Draco as he intoned, “Malfoy Manor. Maybe I should change it to Potter Manor, what do you think?”
Draco glared spitefully in response, but he knew Potter could probably see his pain at the loss of his family home; for a moment the green eyes looked startled. Then he gripped the blond’s shoulder and directed them both into the Floo.
Ministry Floos were known for their slowness – in any London restaurant there was usually an aggrieved commuter complaining about it. This one went pretty quickly, though, and in no time the pair arrived in Malfoy Manor’s little entrance parlour for the Floo. Draco kept his balance with ease born of a childhood’s practice, but Potter stumbled a bit. He pushed down heavily on Draco’s shoulder trying to keep his balance, forcing the blond to bend as they emerged. Draco glared. He’d better not think he was getting away with that sort of shit all the time – this was Draco’s home.
Hmm. It occurred to Draco that possibly Potter had made a mistake bringing him here so soon. He hated being here like this – walking these halls, where his ancestors had strode so proudly, in a collar was not an experience he’d ever hoped to have. But this was Draco’s home turf. He knew the navigating system of the library, the temperaments of the house elves, the location of the secret passageways. Maybe continuing his everlasting battle against Potter would be easier than he’d thought; Draco never felt more secure than when he was somewhere familiar. His ‘master’ had just made this a home game.
*
Draco adjusted his dreary grey Azkaban robes, dusting them off and peering down at them to make sure they were presentable. Harry gave a soft, derisive laugh, shaking his head in mocking amusement. Draco looked up with a scowl at the sound. “What?”
“Ever the Malfoy, aren’t you,” Harry sneered. “Just look at you. Marked, orphaned, imprisoned, stripped of all possessions and enslaved – ” He watched Draco’s face throughout this cruel litany, seeing his face change from smouldering anger to pain to a careful blankness, and noting him barely conceal a flinch at the harsh words. “Yet you’re still fiddling with your pathetic prison robes to try and look your best.”
Draco’s grey eyes narrowed, boring into Harry. “Fuck you, Potter,” he spat.
Harry whipped out his wand and put the tip of it against the hollow of Draco’s throat, just below his shining collar. Draco’s grey eyes flared with nerves. He leaned back a bit, trying to avoid the touch of the wand, but otherwise didn’t move.
“I don’t want to damage you too badly, Draco,” Harry stated, his voice cold and hard as a marble statue. His green eyes had gone flat with menace. “But I own you and can do as I wish with you. Do not be foolish enough to tempt me to punish you. You will treat me with respect. Is that clear, slave?”
Draco swallowed, his expression showing just a hint of anxiousness. But then he seemed to recover, probably reminding himself that this was his home turf, and he wasn’t going to give ground to Harry Potter just yet. The blond arched an eyebrow. “So when you’re in a position of power your speech patterns echo Snape’s,” he drawled, his tone insolent because of its very lightness. “How interesting.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed at this, and his wand dug in painfully to the tender skin of Draco’s neck. “Don’t make the mistake of pushing me, slave. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Draco met his eyes. “Betraying one of your best friends’ primary ideals for one, clearly.”
Harry’s mouth tightened. Clearly a year hiding out alone had done nothing to dull Draco’s talent for finding everything you were sensitive about and poking at it. His superiority complex seemed pretty evident too, or he’d not have tried to provoke Harry by mentioning the rift between him and Hermione he’d somehow guessed at.
Well, that at least Harry could do something about. He was going to get rid of it, he was going to have Draco amenable and submissive and compliant, if it was the last thing he did.
Harry’s hand tightened on his wand, and for a second he considered hurting Draco. Even if he wasn’t quite ready for crucio, he could use a stinging hex or something, and it would be a nice shock to the system. But no... that could well just serve to prove to Draco that Harry wasn’t an effective master, if he couldn’t control his slave at all without the use of violence. And he did have the power here; he just had to remember that himself. Wasn’t that why he’d accepted all this in the first place? Because he loved the idea of this power over him?
He smiled wolfishly. “Quiet, slave.” This time he noticed Draco’s barely perceptible flinch at the word. “And I may not want to damage you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Besides, there are plenty of ways I can make you hurt without truly damaging you. I think I’ll enjoy them, too.” His malicious grin became a leer.
Draco’s cheeks flushed pink as he understood what Harry was hinting at. Harry stepped just a tiny bit closer and Draco flinched back, his eyes going wide with shock. The blood rushed from his face, leaving him looking paler than usual, and almost ill at the realisation. Astonishment was still written all over his face; it was clear he hadn’t expected his master to want anything sexual from him. He’d anticipated attempts to hurt and humiliate him, but not this. Still, what better way for Harry to do that than rape?
“And what do you mean by that?” he responded, finally getting a handle on the situation, chin rising in defiance. His grey eyes were narrowed, but Harry could clearly see the fear there behind the veneer of anger.
“Guess,” Harry drawled. He was rewarded with a flicker of satisfaction as Draco faltered, skin still noticeably pasty.
Harry was improvising here, barely knowing what he was going to say next. His only goal was to keep Draco unsettled, anxious – under control. He glanced down at the parchment with Malfoy’s vital statistics – age, measurements, qualifications – to give himself more time to think.
He decided to take Draco to his room – well, perhaps cell was a better description – and show him where he was going to sleep. “Follow me, slave,” Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes but followed quickly. In contrast to his dragging, reluctant gait before, the blond was now clearly making the effort to keep up with him. Apparently walking a few steps behind Harry didn’t sit well with him.
Harry watched Draco out of the corner of his eye as they went through the Manor towards the west wing, seeing his expression change as they walked. The Aurors had changed many things – paintings, vases, side tables were gone or half destroyed by spells designed to test them or provoke dark magic. The luxurious little touches that had populated the wide corridors of Draco’s home were almost entirely gone.
Draco’s expression of anxiety and anger at Harry when they’d left the room changed as the pair went, horror slowly seeping into his eyes, as well as the odd flash of indignation when he saw the absence of particular heirlooms. By the time they reached the main hall of the west wing, with the master bedroom at the end of it, Draco was breathing hard, his cheeks touched with pink and eyes steely grey with anger and the echo of pain at the loss of so many things. His head obviously full of these emotions, he made to automatically go down the hall towards his parents’ bedroom.
“Stop,” Harry rapped out. Draco did so, rolling his eyes and exhaling in irritation, it seemed, at Harry’s very existence. Harry glared. Draco was quite obviously preoccupied with the changes in his home and barely aware of Harry’s existence. His eyes were clouded with thought as he came back to Harry’s side.
Harry opened the door to his right, on to a small room which was once a pretty little parlour to take tea in. It was now almost empty, but there was a small, high bed against the window. “Get in,” Harry said shortly.
Draco looked in, then whipped his head round to stare at Harry furiously, realising what this meant. “No!”
Harry narrowed his eyes. His temper had been shortening all day and rather than wait for Draco’s collar to tighten, Harry grabbed his upper arm and dragged the blond in, taking him by surprise. Draco struggled, tugging at his arm, but Harry had the advantage after a year of war and held him tightly even after they were inside. Draco cursed and started to seriously fight, but Harry tightened his grip to the point of pain and reached for his wand with the other hand. At that Draco stilled, mouth tight.
“This is where you’ll sleep. Is that clear, slave?” Harry let go of Draco, standing back. He gave Draco a warning look, but the blond had never known when to stop when it came to Harry Potter. He gave the room a sneering look. “You’ve completely destroyed my mother’s tea room, Potter.”
Harry slapped him across the face so hard he nearly fell. “Call me ‘sir’. Or ‘master’ if you prefer,” he added with a small smirk.
Draco actually gasped. “I’ll never call you sir, you – ”
“Mr Potter, then.”
“NO!”
“I will give you time to think about it,” Harry said. “You’ll think more clearly when you’ve recovered from the bonding. Sleep. I’ll tell the elves to bring you lunch here, and dinner tonight.”
“Fuck you!”
Harry nearly hit him again, he was so overwrought. But that would prove Hermione right. He wasn’t going to abuse Draco like that; taunting Draco like he’d done Harry was much more what he’d intended. So he merely gave Draco an Avada Kedavra coloured glare and turned to go.
He opened the door, reaching for his wand to lock the blond in. Seeing what was about to happen, Draco ran for the door, his face pink with anger and rising distress. Harry slammed the door in his face and locked it.
The doorknob clattered as Draco pulled at it frantically, his yells distorted with anger. He screamed futile insults through the heavy wood, knowing he was trapped and imprisoned once more. Harry walked away, not knowing if he felt pleased or guilty – perhaps both, but pretending indifference.
*
He asked Heggy for lunch, and the elf joyfully obeyed, obviously happy to provide a service for her undemanding new master. She also agreed to make lunch and dinner for Draco, and bring them to him in his room. Harry was rather enjoying taunting Draco and flaunting his power over him, but he knew perfectly well that should he starve him, the small guilty voice at the back of his head (the one that sounded so much like Hermione on occasion) would bother him until he could no longer crush it with feelings of entitlement and savoured control.
The lunch was absolutely divine – naturally, these elves had had to live up to the standards of the famously vain and exacting Narcissa Malfoy. Harry wasn’t even sure what he was eating, but it involved wine and chicken and he hadn’t enjoyed a meal this much since Mrs Weasley’s last feast.
As he ate, he pondered what to do with his afternoon. It was weird how time seemed to stretch lately. He was finding his new time and relaxation wonderful, and he certainly deserved them after all he’d been through, but Harry just wasn’t used to it. His time had for a year been almost constantly taken up by research on Horcruxes, training in duelling and Occlumency, and the occasional life-threatening trip for a piece of Voldemort’s soul; and now that was done, this was the first time he’d not been kept busy by company and celebration. The idea that he had time all to himself was novel, but lovely.
It occurred to Harry that Draco had nothing – pretty much everything seemed to have been seized by the Ministry. This included clothing, and he could hardly go on wearing those tattered prison robes indefinitely.
That settled that, then. The afternoon would be spent on his first post-war trip to Diagon Alley.
Rating: I don't understand the American ratings system, it would be a '12' here
Warnings: some violence. Not dark!Harry, but certainly mean!Harry. This chapter involves a great deal of ignoring his conscience.
Prompt: H/D. The Ministry gives Harry Malfoy Manor. With it comes a full staff and Draco Malfoy as a slave.
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.
A/N: oh how long it's been. I have absolutely learnt my lesson about backing up fics instantly, instead of just saving them on STUPID MEMORY STICKS that STOP WORKING. Lots of thank yous to Lothy for the new, much better title.
Harry’s badge said Harry Potter, Enslaving. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that, but he wasn’t going to complain overmuch. After all, the Ministry was giving him a very nice gift.
He got his wand registered by Eric, the security wizard, and then ducked away before he could get overly excited and announce to everyone else in the building that Harry Potter was here! Harry wasn’t entirely sure where to go from here. He was only vaguely aware of the Ministry’s seven departments and had no clue which one would take responsibility for tying an estate and its dependants to someone.
“Harry?” came a familiar voice. He turned to see Auror Woodrow.
“Hi!” Harry said. “Can you show me where I’m meant to be, please?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Woodrow replied. He led Harry into a crowded lift. As Harry fiddled with his fringe in an attempt to hide his scar, Woodrow explained in an undertone. “This stuff is all being dealt with by the Department of Magical Creatures – they have a room and personnel in place to deal with switching a house elf’s allegiance, and it’s being used to deal with Malfoy too. But naturally, my department’s got in on the act because it’s the Malfoy property and heir. Robards wasn’t able to wangle jurisdiction but there’ll be a bunch of Aurors around to keep an eye on it all.”
Harry nodded. They came out on the right level, and Woodrow led Harry to the Beasts, Beings and Spirits Division. There was a large room with cubicles filled with Ministry drones. Off on the right was a little door with ACCESS FOR TRAINED PERSONNEL ONLY on it. Standing outside was a nervous looking, balding wizard in purple robes. He smiled widely as Harry and Woodrow greeted him, and wrung Harry’s hand in his own slightly clammy one.
“Hello, hello, I’m Callum Kingfisher. I’m going to be doing the binding. This should be very interesting, a human-to-human binding’s not been done in my lifetime, even if it once was quite a common thing. Rather a coup. They’re getting the room ready now, we can’t go in yet,” he added quickly, noticing Harry looking pointedly at the door.
“So how’s this going to work?” Harry asked, suddenly feeling the distance between Hermione and him very strongly. She’d never have let him go into this without researching it exhaustively and telling him everything he needed to know.
“The spell to bind the house elves to you is fairly straightforward – I just take their bonds to Lucius Malfoy and transfer them to you. Before I do that, I’ll tie the Malfoy estate to you. That will give you control over the wards around the ancestral home, as well as a connection to its intrinsic magics and the family heirlooms. It’ll also mean your descendants inherit it, instead of Draco’s.
“The spell with Draco Malfoy is more complicated. It’s not as difficult as it might be, though – you’re becoming the master of the Malfoy line, and he’s the heir. That means he already has a connection to the Malfoy home, and an obligation to obey you, even if it’s not quite as strong as the house elf’s compulsion. But house elves are supposed to protect the house and its master, whereas the heir, naturally, is supposed to be protected by them instead. That protection will vanish, and he’ll lose his connection to the heirlooms. Draco will also lose the ability to do anything to harm you or escape. I’m fairly sure he will still have a connection to the house, but of a completely different kind.
“The spells for this were all in the archive, strangely enough.” Harry really didn’t see why he needed to know this, but it was fairly interesting and a way to pass the time. Besides, Kingfisher clearly loved it all, and Harry would feel terribly guilty if he cut him off. “In the Middle Ages, barons quite regularly besieged other people’s castles and manors. If they won, they’d transfer the magic to themselves, obviously. It was the usual practice to enslave the heir.”
“Why not kill them?”
Kingfisher looked pleased that Harry was taking an interest. “If you kill the heir the magic will transfer to the next person in line. There are a few documented cases of heirs escaping after their homes were taken over, and later re-taking them using their connection to the magics and wards. It’s a foolish risk to take.”
Harry nodded. Just then a short, skinny Indian woman appeared from the room they were going to be using. “We’re all set, Callum. Ready to go?”
“Absolutely, wonderful.” The three men filed in after the little witch.
Harry’s eyes went wide at the sight that met them.
The room was dark; none of the false windows that lined the Ministry were here, only torches. It was circular, and there was a sort of walkway around the walls; two feet in it became a slightly depressed round area something like an amphitheatre. The little witch was standing on the walkway, fiddling with something. In the middle of the mini amphitheatre was a lectern with a book on it. There was nothing else.
“Alright, Mr Potter,” Kingfisher said, hopping down into the depressed area and standing behind the lectern. “Come and stand in front of me and I’ll do the spells to make you master of Malfoy Manor. We can get it finished nice and quickly, I should think.”
Harry nodded and slipped the two feet or so onto slightly warm stone – he could feel it through his trainers. He stood before the lecturn while the wizard leafed through the pages of the book. He doubted he’d find it quickly – the tome was of a size that would have made Hermione proud.
“Ahh, here we go,” Kingfisher said, proving Harry wrong. “Now, hold still.” He held his wand out and began to speak.
It was Latin, but Harry managed to hazily discern only that much before the gold glow from the end of Kingfisher’s wand enveloped him. It called on his magic, his will, his soul, that same part that was almost healed from his battle with Voldemort. The spell called on nothing so sentimental as his ability to love, however – it called on his triumph at victory, his will to conquer and dominate... and then his feelings about home. The room seemed to go away, and an awareness rose inside Harry. Images flashed before his eyes, stone and grass whisked by under his hands, he heard the sounds of a home in action in his ears. Harry saw the foyer at Malfoy Manor again, the master bedroom, the ballroom, the kitchen... he saw the pines and the arbour and the great, rolling lawn. He felt the place’s magic well up in him and twin itself around his own, and suddenly knowledge of everything about the place burst inside him like fireworks. Harry knew the wards and the decorations and the darkness at the heart of all that magic. For an instant he felt like he was Malfoy Manor.
And then it faded. All that Harry was left with was a glorious aerial view of the place in his mind’s eye, and a sense that he was truly master of all he surveyed.
Harry blinked and the afterimage vanished, to be replaced by a lingering gold glow and Callum Kingfisher’s satisfied expression. “That seemed very successful. How are you feeling, Mr Potter? If you’re a little disorientated don’t worry, that’s perfectly normal.”
“I...I’m fine,” Harry said slowly. “I guess. Shall we do the house-elves next?”
“As you wish.” Kingfisher nodded at the witch, and she went around to a door Harry hadn’t noticed before, behind him and to his left. She went out briefly, and came back being tailed by the three house-elves from before. Harry smiled at them, frantically scrambling in his mind for their names.
Before he could recall it, the first one carefully lowered herself into the depression. At a gesture from Kingfisher, Harry backed off to the left of the lecturn, while the elf – Heggy, was it? – stood on the right of the amphitheatre, facing him.
Once again, Kingfisher spoke. This time the glow was a peculiar navy blue. Harry didn’t feel anything like the same emotions, although the elf seemed overcome by what was cast on her. All the spell was meant to do was tie the elf to him and make her obey him, though; Harry supposed it made sense that it would have little effect on his mind or feelings.
The spells were completed swiftly, and soon the elves were ordered back to Malfoy Manor to prepare for Harry’s return. Harry felt a leap of something in his stomach. Now what he was really interested in – the binding of Draco Malfoy to him.
The second door opened once again, and Draco entered between two Aurors. The difference from the last time couldn’t have been more marked. He was dressed in prison robes, not tattered robes of his own, and his overly-long hair had been roughly cut to its old length. Draco was silent now, walking quietly and not struggling, his head hanging. Harry felt a twist in his stomach at the idea that he was broken already. Surely he wouldn’t have given up so soon? That would be no fun at all. No fun playing with him that way, and no fun worrying about what had happened to make it so.
Then Kingfisher said, “bring the creature here, please,” pointing at the place on the right where Draco should stand. Draco’s head snapped up, fury blazing in resentful grey eyes, and he rose his chin proudly. Harry smiled a little as the blond went to his place with a defiant stride, daring them to consider him property.
Kingfisher looked at the spell, and then gestured at them both. “Come closer, this spell is rather different from the one used on house-elves. Right in front of the lectern.”
Draco didn’t move for a moment, and the Aurors jumped into the amphitheatre after him. The blond scowled as they gripped his upper arms and manoeuvred him into place; he wasn’t fighting, but he held his body stiff and unhelpful. He set out his chin mulishly as they forced him into standing next to Harry in front of the lectern, close enough to touch.
“Right, here we go. I’m going to ask you both some questions, and your response must be ‘I will’. Draco, that includes you, and if you don’t participate I’ll have to ask these nice gentleman to insist that you behave.”
Draco scowled at the delicate emphasis Kingfisher placed on ‘insist’. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not stupid. I’ll play along.”
“Good,” Kingfisher said, smiling. “Don’t worry too much about this; it’s not a binding magical contract, it’s just the ceremony to makeyou both master and slave. You’re neither of you held to the specifics.” The Ministry wizard waved his wand and the green glow started to thread its away around and between them.
“Harry Potter, will you keep Draco Malfoy with you, and let his life be part of yours?”
“I will.”
“Draco Malfoy, will you stay with Harry Potter, and let him direct your life?”
Draco’s expression was half anger, half apprehension. Then Harry guessed he’d remembered the words not a binding magical contract, because his tense shoulder muscles relaxed slightly and he replied, “I will.”
“Harry Potter, will you treat Draco Malfoy as yours, and protect him from others as is your responsibility?”
Harry’s eyes widened. “I will.” He hadn’t thought about that, but he supposed it made sense. Draco wouldn’t have a wand any more, and since he was a pureblood that would make him especially helpless. Harry had a responsibility to him now.
“Draco Malfoy, will you serve Harry Potter in all things, and obey him always as befits a slave?”
Draco glared. “I will,” he bit out.
“Harry Potter, will you take Draco Malfoy as your own, and acknowledge him as your true slave?”
“I will.”
“Draco Malfoy, will you accept that you belong to Harry Potter, and acknowledge him as your rightful master?”
There was a pause. Harry thought he saw a wetness in Draco’s eyes. Just before the Aurors moved, he shut his eyes and rasped out: “I will.”
Kingfisher waved his wand, and a gold collar appeared, spinning in the air. “Put it on him, Mr Potter,” Kingfisher said.
Harry grinned a bit. A collar?! Maybe I could get one of those rings to say ‘Property of Harry Potter’. He plucked the collar out of the air. It was in two half-rings, partially connected at the front, with a hook at the back.
“Turn around, Draco,” Harry ordered. Draco glowered, obviously not wanting to obey orders – and if he had any sense, his instincts were screaming at him not to present the back of his neck to Harry. He did it, though, even if it was slow. Harry reached round, under his chin, pulling the collar around the vulnerable neck. He hooked it round, and instantly the hook melded into the gold, leaving a perfectly smooth metal ring circumventing Draco’s neck, marking him as owned.
“This is yours.” One of the Aurors handed Harry a wand – Draco’s, presumably. The grey eyes were fixed on it. Harry smiled, watching Draco as he slowly caressed the length of the wood – and then snapped it in one movement.
Draco’s gasp was barely audible over the snap of wood breaking. His head snapped up, grey eyes glaring. Harry smirked at him. That was it – Draco’s last hope of escaping was gone.
“There you go then,” Kingfisher said gleefully, oblivious to the swirling emotions in the room. “All done and nice and quick. The collar will stop him going through the wards, and tighten if he tries to disobey your orders.” Draco gave a gasp of horror, but no one even glanced over. “Any time you want to go Mr Potter, you can.”
*
Potter looked at Draco, and smiled. He spun and walked out of the room, tossing over his shoulder, “come, Draco.”
Potter stayed where he was, arms crossed huffily. He was not going to follow just because Potter had told him to, that was for damn sure. Potter stopped a few metres from the door, looked at him, and smiled, tapping his foot. Draco looked at him, glowering sullenly. Potter just waited.
Draco tried not to give any indication of discomfort, but after less than half a minute he was fidgeting, shifting from foot to foot. Still he didn’t move though, and Potter watched as Draco felt his cheeks get redder and redder. Soon he was panting, shoulders moving, face pained, and Potter could actually see the collar tightening, cutting off his air. Draco still refused to follow, though, so Potter rapped out, “follow me. Now.”
One choked-off breath and Draco was running to get to his master. Potter laughed softly in amusement. Draco was bent over with his hands on his knees, gasping for air. Hearing Potter laugh, he managed to force himself into a standing position and gave a grey-eyed glower. Potter just ignored it, turning and walking towards the lifts.
His order was still in effect, and Draco had no choice but to follow him. He walked as slowly as the collar would let him get away with, though, so he was several feet behind Potter. Still, he couldn’t avoid the lift forever, and soon he and Potter were crowded close together in the confined space.
Oh, no. Draco suddenly registered what this meant. They were taking the Ministry route – they’d get out in the main foyer and go back to the manor by Floo, using one of the public fireplaces. Ministry workers, visiting foreigners, journalists would see him like this, with the bright gold of the slave collar glinting painfully obviously over his dreary Azkaban-grey robes.
“We’re going to the Department of Law Enforcement,” Potter told him in an undertone, “I need to see Gawain Robards.”
Draco swallowed. Aurors. That was just great, his humiliation was now complete. Besides, it wasn’t safe for him there – they all hated him, both for his crimes against Hogwarts and his surname. They’d no doubt be full of glee to see him enslaved. Still – he remembered what had happened back at the manor, when he’d been taken to be shown to Potter. He’d told off that Auror for hitting him. Maybe it would be OK.
The lift pinged and the two of them stepped out into a large room, divided up into cubicles where the Aurors worked. Plenty of them were empty, with their resident workers out on field assignments, but there were still more than enough Aurors around to make Draco feel anxious.
They started down the wide aisle, Potter seemingly completely unaware of the scrutiny they were under. Draco walked about seven feet behind him again, not wanting to show willing, or seem like he needed protection. But he swallowed under the gimlet stares.
The contempt emanating from the Aurors seemed to shift and change as he followed Potter towards Robards’ office. Draco realised what it was as the whispers increased, and derisive grins started to grow beneath the hard looks. They were registering his collar, recognising what had been done to him. Draco saw a brown-haired wizard whisper in the ear of a fellow Auror, both of them looking at him. They snickered and Draco blushed angrily.
Suddenly one of the Aurors banged into him, his shoulder impacting on Draco’s hard. Draco fell against the wall with a grunt of pain, unable to stay upright. He closed his eyes in humiliation, but forced himself straight again. Draco attempted to walk as though nothing had happened, but he could feel how pink his face was. He looked round at the Auror who’d shoved him. The man was walking on without looking back, his face blank. No doubt if Draco said anything, he’d just say it was an accident.
The Aurors were all softly snickering, and Draco raged inwardly. It wasn’t his fault, damn it! Draco had been feeling distinctly woozy ever since the ceremony. His stomach was tight and painful with stress, but the loss of his heir’s connection to the magics of his home had affected him far more. He felt as though part of his mind had been blanked out. The nausea of his lack of awareness rolled through Draco again and he swallowed.
Potter looked round, frowning, at the noise. He’d obviously registered the Aurors’ laughter. But Draco was walking calmly, his face blank. The Aurors, seeing Potter’s expression, quickly stopped watching, turning round and pretending to work, their faces as neutral as Draco’s. Potter frowned a little deeper for a moment and then turned around.
They reached the Head Auror’s office, and Potter directed Draco to one of the chairs outside it. Draco sat uncomfortably and kept his chin high, staring out of the window while he waited. Some of the nervous tension began to drain from his body as boredom set in.
Twenty minutes after he’d entered Potter stormed out of the office with a face like thunder. Every single muscle in Draco’s body tensed up again with a snap as Potter grabbed his arm and dragged him into a standing position. “Come on,” he snapped, green eyes flashing, and headed for the door.
Draco followed swiftly. Potter didn’t look back; his shoulders were tense and he didn’t seem to be thinking about Draco at all. The Aurors were watching again, even if it was now more discreet, and the whispers and laughs were still there. In an attempt to salvage his dignity, Draco raised his chin, attempting to ignore the hot flush he could feel on his cheeks. He was a Malfoy, no matter what had been taken from him. He outclassed these people by his birth alone. He was not going to be humiliated by what they thought of him. Draco kept his eyes and chin up proudly, attempting to reproduce his father’s most arrogant walk.
This probably made what happened next inevitable. Someone sent a furtive jinx, and Draco tripped, falling hard to his knees on the marble floor. Laughter broke out again and Draco coloured, humiliated. He pushed himself up, silently promising himself revenge.
Potter had turned once more, and he saw Draco rising. He obviously cottoned on to what had just happened; his face instantly flushed with possessive anger, annoyance that others had interfered with his slave. He looked around with an angry glare, but must have realised his chances of finding out which Auror had sent the trip jinx were nil.
Potter strode back to him and seized Draco’s upper arm, tugging him along. Draco struggled almost automatically, but Potter didn’t even look at him, just kept walking, dragging the blond in his wake.
Draco slowed, scowling. He was certain Potter was just taking his irritation out on him. “Hurry up,” Potter spat without looking back.
Draco sped up; he might not want to, but he wasn’t stupid enough to give Potter more reason to hurt him. They entered the lift, Potter keeping his grip on Draco’s arm tight. The blond glared but stayed still.
The lift doors opened once more, this time on the Ministry lobby. Draco swallowed, seeing the various workers and visitors out there. Potter gave him a swift glance then walked out, keeping his hold on Draco’s upper arm. At the blond’s resistance Potter tightened his grip harshly, his fingers digging painfully into the tender skin. Draco gave a small gasp and kept up.
The pair went and stood in a queue for one of the fireplaces kept blazing at all times for Floo travel. Draco was surprised for a moment at someone as famous as Potter doing the plebian thing instead of using his celebrity to travel from a private Floo. Draco could feel his body prickling with awareness of the stares. Whispers were coming from everyone else in the crowded lobby, making it sound like a breeze was running through it.
Potter seemed completely unaware of this. He just stood stolidly, his grip on Draco never wavering. At least the queue didn’t take long. Draco could tell the people ahead of them were excited at Potter’s presence, but his thousand-yard stare and angry body language unnerved them enough that they were also eager to escape it.
When it was their turn, Draco could feel Potter’s reluctance to let go of him to get the Floo powder from its jar. The brunet tossed some in, violently enough to make the green flames flare. Potter grinned maliciously at Draco as he intoned, “Malfoy Manor. Maybe I should change it to Potter Manor, what do you think?”
Draco glared spitefully in response, but he knew Potter could probably see his pain at the loss of his family home; for a moment the green eyes looked startled. Then he gripped the blond’s shoulder and directed them both into the Floo.
Ministry Floos were known for their slowness – in any London restaurant there was usually an aggrieved commuter complaining about it. This one went pretty quickly, though, and in no time the pair arrived in Malfoy Manor’s little entrance parlour for the Floo. Draco kept his balance with ease born of a childhood’s practice, but Potter stumbled a bit. He pushed down heavily on Draco’s shoulder trying to keep his balance, forcing the blond to bend as they emerged. Draco glared. He’d better not think he was getting away with that sort of shit all the time – this was Draco’s home.
Hmm. It occurred to Draco that possibly Potter had made a mistake bringing him here so soon. He hated being here like this – walking these halls, where his ancestors had strode so proudly, in a collar was not an experience he’d ever hoped to have. But this was Draco’s home turf. He knew the navigating system of the library, the temperaments of the house elves, the location of the secret passageways. Maybe continuing his everlasting battle against Potter would be easier than he’d thought; Draco never felt more secure than when he was somewhere familiar. His ‘master’ had just made this a home game.
*
Draco adjusted his dreary grey Azkaban robes, dusting them off and peering down at them to make sure they were presentable. Harry gave a soft, derisive laugh, shaking his head in mocking amusement. Draco looked up with a scowl at the sound. “What?”
“Ever the Malfoy, aren’t you,” Harry sneered. “Just look at you. Marked, orphaned, imprisoned, stripped of all possessions and enslaved – ” He watched Draco’s face throughout this cruel litany, seeing his face change from smouldering anger to pain to a careful blankness, and noting him barely conceal a flinch at the harsh words. “Yet you’re still fiddling with your pathetic prison robes to try and look your best.”
Draco’s grey eyes narrowed, boring into Harry. “Fuck you, Potter,” he spat.
Harry whipped out his wand and put the tip of it against the hollow of Draco’s throat, just below his shining collar. Draco’s grey eyes flared with nerves. He leaned back a bit, trying to avoid the touch of the wand, but otherwise didn’t move.
“I don’t want to damage you too badly, Draco,” Harry stated, his voice cold and hard as a marble statue. His green eyes had gone flat with menace. “But I own you and can do as I wish with you. Do not be foolish enough to tempt me to punish you. You will treat me with respect. Is that clear, slave?”
Draco swallowed, his expression showing just a hint of anxiousness. But then he seemed to recover, probably reminding himself that this was his home turf, and he wasn’t going to give ground to Harry Potter just yet. The blond arched an eyebrow. “So when you’re in a position of power your speech patterns echo Snape’s,” he drawled, his tone insolent because of its very lightness. “How interesting.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed at this, and his wand dug in painfully to the tender skin of Draco’s neck. “Don’t make the mistake of pushing me, slave. You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Draco met his eyes. “Betraying one of your best friends’ primary ideals for one, clearly.”
Harry’s mouth tightened. Clearly a year hiding out alone had done nothing to dull Draco’s talent for finding everything you were sensitive about and poking at it. His superiority complex seemed pretty evident too, or he’d not have tried to provoke Harry by mentioning the rift between him and Hermione he’d somehow guessed at.
Well, that at least Harry could do something about. He was going to get rid of it, he was going to have Draco amenable and submissive and compliant, if it was the last thing he did.
Harry’s hand tightened on his wand, and for a second he considered hurting Draco. Even if he wasn’t quite ready for crucio, he could use a stinging hex or something, and it would be a nice shock to the system. But no... that could well just serve to prove to Draco that Harry wasn’t an effective master, if he couldn’t control his slave at all without the use of violence. And he did have the power here; he just had to remember that himself. Wasn’t that why he’d accepted all this in the first place? Because he loved the idea of this power over him?
He smiled wolfishly. “Quiet, slave.” This time he noticed Draco’s barely perceptible flinch at the word. “And I may not want to damage you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t. Besides, there are plenty of ways I can make you hurt without truly damaging you. I think I’ll enjoy them, too.” His malicious grin became a leer.
Draco’s cheeks flushed pink as he understood what Harry was hinting at. Harry stepped just a tiny bit closer and Draco flinched back, his eyes going wide with shock. The blood rushed from his face, leaving him looking paler than usual, and almost ill at the realisation. Astonishment was still written all over his face; it was clear he hadn’t expected his master to want anything sexual from him. He’d anticipated attempts to hurt and humiliate him, but not this. Still, what better way for Harry to do that than rape?
“And what do you mean by that?” he responded, finally getting a handle on the situation, chin rising in defiance. His grey eyes were narrowed, but Harry could clearly see the fear there behind the veneer of anger.
“Guess,” Harry drawled. He was rewarded with a flicker of satisfaction as Draco faltered, skin still noticeably pasty.
Harry was improvising here, barely knowing what he was going to say next. His only goal was to keep Draco unsettled, anxious – under control. He glanced down at the parchment with Malfoy’s vital statistics – age, measurements, qualifications – to give himself more time to think.
He decided to take Draco to his room – well, perhaps cell was a better description – and show him where he was going to sleep. “Follow me, slave,” Harry said. Draco rolled his eyes but followed quickly. In contrast to his dragging, reluctant gait before, the blond was now clearly making the effort to keep up with him. Apparently walking a few steps behind Harry didn’t sit well with him.
Harry watched Draco out of the corner of his eye as they went through the Manor towards the west wing, seeing his expression change as they walked. The Aurors had changed many things – paintings, vases, side tables were gone or half destroyed by spells designed to test them or provoke dark magic. The luxurious little touches that had populated the wide corridors of Draco’s home were almost entirely gone.
Draco’s expression of anxiety and anger at Harry when they’d left the room changed as the pair went, horror slowly seeping into his eyes, as well as the odd flash of indignation when he saw the absence of particular heirlooms. By the time they reached the main hall of the west wing, with the master bedroom at the end of it, Draco was breathing hard, his cheeks touched with pink and eyes steely grey with anger and the echo of pain at the loss of so many things. His head obviously full of these emotions, he made to automatically go down the hall towards his parents’ bedroom.
“Stop,” Harry rapped out. Draco did so, rolling his eyes and exhaling in irritation, it seemed, at Harry’s very existence. Harry glared. Draco was quite obviously preoccupied with the changes in his home and barely aware of Harry’s existence. His eyes were clouded with thought as he came back to Harry’s side.
Harry opened the door to his right, on to a small room which was once a pretty little parlour to take tea in. It was now almost empty, but there was a small, high bed against the window. “Get in,” Harry said shortly.
Draco looked in, then whipped his head round to stare at Harry furiously, realising what this meant. “No!”
Harry narrowed his eyes. His temper had been shortening all day and rather than wait for Draco’s collar to tighten, Harry grabbed his upper arm and dragged the blond in, taking him by surprise. Draco struggled, tugging at his arm, but Harry had the advantage after a year of war and held him tightly even after they were inside. Draco cursed and started to seriously fight, but Harry tightened his grip to the point of pain and reached for his wand with the other hand. At that Draco stilled, mouth tight.
“This is where you’ll sleep. Is that clear, slave?” Harry let go of Draco, standing back. He gave Draco a warning look, but the blond had never known when to stop when it came to Harry Potter. He gave the room a sneering look. “You’ve completely destroyed my mother’s tea room, Potter.”
Harry slapped him across the face so hard he nearly fell. “Call me ‘sir’. Or ‘master’ if you prefer,” he added with a small smirk.
Draco actually gasped. “I’ll never call you sir, you – ”
“Mr Potter, then.”
“NO!”
“I will give you time to think about it,” Harry said. “You’ll think more clearly when you’ve recovered from the bonding. Sleep. I’ll tell the elves to bring you lunch here, and dinner tonight.”
“Fuck you!”
Harry nearly hit him again, he was so overwrought. But that would prove Hermione right. He wasn’t going to abuse Draco like that; taunting Draco like he’d done Harry was much more what he’d intended. So he merely gave Draco an Avada Kedavra coloured glare and turned to go.
He opened the door, reaching for his wand to lock the blond in. Seeing what was about to happen, Draco ran for the door, his face pink with anger and rising distress. Harry slammed the door in his face and locked it.
The doorknob clattered as Draco pulled at it frantically, his yells distorted with anger. He screamed futile insults through the heavy wood, knowing he was trapped and imprisoned once more. Harry walked away, not knowing if he felt pleased or guilty – perhaps both, but pretending indifference.
*
He asked Heggy for lunch, and the elf joyfully obeyed, obviously happy to provide a service for her undemanding new master. She also agreed to make lunch and dinner for Draco, and bring them to him in his room. Harry was rather enjoying taunting Draco and flaunting his power over him, but he knew perfectly well that should he starve him, the small guilty voice at the back of his head (the one that sounded so much like Hermione on occasion) would bother him until he could no longer crush it with feelings of entitlement and savoured control.
The lunch was absolutely divine – naturally, these elves had had to live up to the standards of the famously vain and exacting Narcissa Malfoy. Harry wasn’t even sure what he was eating, but it involved wine and chicken and he hadn’t enjoyed a meal this much since Mrs Weasley’s last feast.
As he ate, he pondered what to do with his afternoon. It was weird how time seemed to stretch lately. He was finding his new time and relaxation wonderful, and he certainly deserved them after all he’d been through, but Harry just wasn’t used to it. His time had for a year been almost constantly taken up by research on Horcruxes, training in duelling and Occlumency, and the occasional life-threatening trip for a piece of Voldemort’s soul; and now that was done, this was the first time he’d not been kept busy by company and celebration. The idea that he had time all to himself was novel, but lovely.
It occurred to Harry that Draco had nothing – pretty much everything seemed to have been seized by the Ministry. This included clothing, and he could hardly go on wearing those tattered prison robes indefinitely.
That settled that, then. The afternoon would be spent on his first post-war trip to Diagon Alley.
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no subject
Date: 2007-04-22 08:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-04-24 03:48 pm (UTC)I really appreciate you reading, I know how busy you are at the mo and how the boys being mean to each other isn't your cup of tea. Lots and lots of virtual snuggles are being sent to you (also in penance for the late reply.)
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Date: 2007-08-14 03:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-05-18 09:28 pm (UTC)Ahem. I mean, love it so far. I love things that tear my heart out. Really.
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Date: 2007-06-10 12:12 pm (UTC)