Dream Lover

Thank you to knightmare for the lightning quick beta! *snuggles km* Thank you to everyone whose input went into this chapter and who held my hand through the author angst. Especially thank you to the readers, whose beautiful reviews feed my soul.

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Harry stumbled back from the lifeless body of Voldemort; whatever it was that had just hit him left him too tired to do anything other than remain on his feet. And then, even that ability left him as he collapsed in a heap, the wall behind him the only thing holding him in a sitting position. He watched through blurred eyes as the fighting in the hall came to a sudden stop.

‘Oh, great,’ he thought, ‘they’re all going to take aim at me now.’ He slowly turned his head to the side, eyes searching for Draco’s white blond head. Seeing the beautiful colour out of the corner of his vision, he rolled his head back around. Unfortunately, he was left staring, not at Draco, but at the only person besides Voldemort who had ever truly scared him: Lucius Malfoy.

He watched wearily as the man locked gazes with him, the silver of his eyes nothing but pure ice. In a detached sort of manner, he found himself marvelling at how the same colour in the man’s son reflected pure warmth and beauty. Footsteps broke through his daze and he focused enough to understand that several people had come to surround him, to offer him their support while he pulled himself together. They weren’t going to let the remaining Death Eaters hurt him while he was weak and unable to defend himself.

Someone was kneeling next to him and he flinched away from an arm bearing the Dark Mark, stopping only when a familiar voice growled harshly, “Potter, if I was going to hurt you, I would have done so a hundred times over by now.”

“S’rry, sir,” he whispered, amazed he could even get that much out, as tired as he was. “Dint know…” He gave his mind and body over to the darkness, hoping Snape would understand what he had been trying to say.

~*~

Harry opened his eyes, feeling disoriented and very strange. It felt like his blood was pulsing inside of him, rushing manically through his veins. Ignoring the sensation, he gingerly sat up and looked around him, taking in the ordered chaos surrounding him.

He was once again in the infirmary, recovering from the stress of killing Voldemort. With a hitching breath, he allowed himself to remember everything: the sounds of battle, the screams and pleas of the dying; the smell of the blood and gore that surrounded him; the sight of the wild, colourful flashes erupting from wand tips. But most of all, he remembered the way the dagger felt slipping so easily through Voldemort’s skin, the give of his flesh as Harry twisted the blade ever deeper, searching for the heart he would have sworn Voldemort didn’t have.

His gut twisting at the memory, Harry lifted his shaking hands to stare at them. They were surprisingly clean, not a drop of blood to be seen, considering they were the hands of a killer. No matter how evil Voldemort had been, Harry had used these hands to take his life. He was a murderer.

“Potter,” he heard, and twisted his head to see Snape seated next to his bed, exhaustion causing the older man to slump for the first time in Harry’s memory. “Stop doing that,” he said gruffly.

“Doing what, sir?” Harry asked, surprised at how hoarse his voice was.

“Stop blaming yourself. If you had not killed Voldemort, he would have destroyed us all. Loathe as I am to admit it, your actions saved us.”

Harry closed his eyes and relaxed back, feeling the burden of taking another’s life with his bare hands ease. Then he shot forward, eyes wide with panic. “Draco!”

“Is fine. He is sleeping now.” Snape gestured to the bed on the other side of where he was seated. He had positioned himself between Harry and Draco, to be there for whichever of them woke first. “The mediwizard in charge was finally able to get him to take a Dreamless Sleep Potion. He was drained from his adventures in Voldemort’s mind; going to battle before he was fully recovered was a severe setback for his physical and magical health. Add to that the amount of blood he lost, and it’s amazing he woke up as soon as he did. Of course, when he woke up he had to be restrained, as he kept trying to get to you. He was afraid we were all lying to him, and that you were dying. A few days of rest and recuperation, however, should have him back to his normal self. Which will hopefully mean he’ll remember he’s a Slytherin and not a Hufflepuff,” Snape said with the ghost of a smile.

Harry started to smile back, caught himself, and blinked worriedly at his Professor. The man never smiled. He was obviously far more ill than Harry had realised. “Sir, I think you might need to have Madam Pomfrey look you over,” Harry said hesitantly.

A pinched expression appeared on Snape’s face before he closed his eyes, exhaled, and said, “The mediwizard in charge has already performed his tests on me. They’ve given me several potions to take, but I will take them from my own stores so that the infirmary’s stores are available for someone else.”

Harry felt a cool touch of dread as he listened to Snape. This was not the first time he had alluded to someone other than Madam Pomfrey being in charge; Harry had simply assumed it was a mediwizard from St. Mungo’s the first time, but he knew Pomfrey would not allow anyone else to treat the faculty if she was capable of doing so herself.

Sucking in a deep breath to steady himself, he looked at Snape and said, “She’s dead, isn’t she? Madam Pomfrey, I mean. What happened?”

“The infirmary was attacked by a Death Eater shortly before Voldemort fell. Everyone inside died.”

Harry looked at the bed sheet pooled at his waist and quietly asked, “There were so many who died, too many. I saw so many bodies… Has a list of the dead been made? Tell me who else was killed.”

Snape looked at him a trifle oddly before rattling off a rather long list of names, too many of them students, including Hannah Abbot, Dean Thomas, Ginny Weasley, Parvati Patil, Zachary Taylor, Justin Finch-Fletchley, and Blaise Zabini. The list was given in a rather clipped voice, and Harry realised that Snape was as deeply affected by the deaths of these students as Harry was.

When he heard Ginny’s name, Harry closed his eyes and felt a wave of grief nearly overwhelm him. Regardless of her actions this year, she had always felt like a sister to him, was Ron’s sister, and her death struck a hard blow. What nearly finished him was the final name on the list of the dead, a name that caused Snape’s voice to crack slightly as he said, “And Remus Lupin. I watched him fall, and I couldn’t stop it.”

Harry brought his hands to his eyes, digging the heels into them, trying to fight off the grief, to reserve it for a time he could truly give into it. With a shuddering breath, he opened his eyes, hoping they did not give away the devastation he felt at losing the last remaining link to his parents.

Hearing Snape make a small noise, he looked at him and nearly fell out of his bed as he beheld two tears making tracks down the man’s weary face. Snape was staring off at nothing, eyes haunted, as he whispered, “The last of the Marauders.”

Swallowing past his own grief, Harry asked quietly, “Sir? Are you all right?”

“No, Potter, I don’t believe I am. But at least I have the opportunity now to become all right. And that is all that matters.”

Harry just looked at him, counting in the lines of the man’s face the many sacrifices he had made to ensure that this day would come.

“Thank you, sir. I couldn’t have made it this far without you. I don’t think I’ve told you that before now, and I’m ashamed of myself for overlooking it. If there is ever anything I can do for you, say the word and I will do it,” Harry said, conviction ringing in his tone.

Snape lifted a brow at him and looked at his arm, seeming to consider for a moment before he shook his head and grinned wryly at Harry. “I never have to spy again. That is more than I ever truly thought I would live to see.”

Harry nodded his head, understanding the nearly overwhelming feeling of having survived. “I know what you mean, sir. I thought, even if I were able to kill Voldemort, that I would not survive his death.” Harry touched his scar, remembering the many times he had suffered pain at Voldemort’s emotions. Thinking of the nights he had kept his dorm mates up with his screams, before he had mastered Occlumency, had him sitting up again, smacking himself. “Oh hell! Ron, is he okay? Hermione was with me, but I lost track of Ron…”

“They are both fine, Potter. Mr. Weasley’s brother, Bill, was injured trying to save Seamus Finnegan from Fenrir Greyback. Finnegan and Weasley have been isolated from the rest of the injured until it can be determined whether or not they have contracted lycanthropy. The entire Weasley clan is in with Bill now, though Mr. Weasley asked to be notified when you woke.”

“Ron’s dad wanted to be told when I woke, or Ron? There’s too many Mr. Weasley’s to call any of them that.”

Snape inclined his head at that statement and said, “Ron and Miss Granger wished to speak with you when you woke.”

Harry rolled his eyes and grinned. The man was stubborn as a mule. “We have names, Professor. You are allowed to use them.”

Snape shrugged, unconcerned. “It is not in my nature to call my students by their first names. Though, I will admit to difficulty with the multitude of Weasleys I’ve had pass through my classes in recent years.” He sat back in his chair and sighed, more tired than he could ever recall being.

Harry took a moment to analyse Snape. The man was relatively young still, but had been through so much during the last twenty years that he looked soul weary. “Sir, perhaps you should go take your potions and rest.”

“If that’s not an order, I would actually prefer to stay here until you decide on the judgements, Potter.”

Harry shook his head in confusion. It was as if they’d stepped out of one conversation and landed in the middle of a completely different one with no warning whatsoever. “Umm, what?”

Snape looked at him, brows furrowed slightly, as he quietly stated, “If you are ordering me to go rest, then of course I will, but if it is merely a suggestion, then I would rather know what your judgements will be, or, barring that, when they will be.”

Harry was really lost now. “Uh, sorry sir, but I’m not following. First, when did you start taking orders from me? Second, what judgements? What are you talking about?”

Snape went from slouching to stiff as a board, eyes flaring in shock. “You don’t know?! Merlin, how could someone have not told you before now? You should have been prepared!”

Harry felt dread sweep through him even as he sarcastically stated, “Oh, yeah, because everyone usually tells me what I need to know before everything goes to hell.”

Snape shook his head in disbelief and opened his mouth, then closed it, obviously at a loss for how to begin.

“Just tell me what I need to know, sir,” Harry prodded, feeling that something was slightly off with this scenario. Then it hit him: it was usually Dumbledore revealing everything to him too late to make a difference.

Snape blinked and focused on him, took a deep breath and said, “What do you know about the Dark Mark, Potter?”

Harry sat and thought about this for a moment. “Well, I know Voldemort marked all his followers. He used the Mark to call you to him for meetings and such, but other than that, I really don’t know anything.”

Snape nodded and closed his eyes, obviously ordering his mind for the task of illuminating Harry. “Voldemort’s followers, the Death Eaters, were bonded to him in a Feudal manner, with a formal servant bonding ceremony, which included Marking. The Mark is a visual representation of the servant’s bond to his Lord. Once the Marking ceremony was complete, a Death Eater owed total allegiance to Voldemort. They could not attack him, lie to him, or disobey an order from him without severe repercussions through the bond. You witnessed one such instance of a punishment for violating the bond.”

Harry nodded, remembering the scene here in the infirmary, when Voldemort had been torturing Snape through his Mark. “So that happened because of your bond with Voldemort. I thought he found out about bringing Draco back,” he said.

Snape grimaced a bit before saying, “Actually, Voldemort was the one who instigated the torture. In that instance, I was not lying directly to him, disobeying a direct order, or trying to attack him, so the bond would not have been activated on its own.”

Harry’s brow furrowed as a thought occurred to him. “But sir, if you couldn’t lie to him or disobey him, how were you able to spy for the Order?”

“By splitting hairs, Potter. Splitting them very finely. As long as Voldemort did not order me to silence on any given subject, I could speak of it to the Order. And Voldemort was foolishly convinced of his followers’ loyalty. There were a few times when Bellatrix almost blew my cover, but we had plans in place for such eventualities.”

Harry nodded, having been aware of a few times Order “secrets” had been revealed to protect Snape’s standing in the inner circle of Death Eaters.

Harry’s attention was shattered when a warm body launched itself on him. Kisses rained down on his face as Draco’s voice hoarsely whispered words of fear and love. Harry pulled him down, wrapping himself around Draco and simply revelling in the feeling of having him back in his arms.

“Gods, Harry, I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up,” Draco whispered into his ear, body shaking slightly in his overwhelming relief at having woken to see Harry sitting up, talking to Snape.

Harry laughed, not quite steady himself, as he peered over Draco’s shoulder at Snape. “Sorry, sir, but it looks like Draco will need to be resorted. Don’t worry, love,” he reassured Draco with a smile, “I’m sure you’ll look wonderful in yellow.”

Snape barked out a short laugh, the love and joy pouring from his two students a wonderful sight to behold. “I’ll let you boys have a few moments of privacy while I go collect my potions and inform Mr…Ron and Hermione that you are awake. I will be back momentarily, Potter, and would appreciate it if the both of you would remember to keep your clothing on,” he requested dryly, shaking his head as he realised neither of the boys was paying him the least bit of attention. He quietly cast concealing charms around them, allowing them a moment to reacquaint themselves with each other, out of the view of prying eyes.

Harry buried his face in Draco’s neck, inhaling the scent of him, swiping his tongue over the erratic pulse beating there, allowing his senses to frolic, reassuring himself that Draco was here, with him, and that they were both fine. Harry pushed Draco off him slightly, rolling to the side so he could see him better.

There were faint red lines running down Draco’s face, and Harry followed them with his fingers, opening Draco’s sleep shirt to see how far the injury went. As he trailed his fingers down Draco’s side, a small sound drew his gaze back up. Draco’s eyes were nearly liquid silver and his lips were parted, soft puffs of breath escaping him.

With a groan, Harry leaned forward and captured those lips with his own, eyes sliding closed as his tongue mated with Draco’s. He slid his arms around Draco, under his open shirt, allowing his hands to caress the lithe muscles that ran the length of his spine. Slipping his fingers under the drawstring waist of Draco’s sleep pants, Harry lightly traced the upper curves of his buttocks, drawing a moan from his lover.

Realising this was getting out of hand, and that they didn’t have long before they would be interrupted, Harry reluctantly broke their kiss, pulling Draco’s body flush against his own. “I love you, Draco,” he whispered against Draco’s ear, lips caressing the sensitive shell, causing Draco to shudder and rub against Harry desperately.

“Shh, love,” Harry said, gritting his teeth against the exquisite sensations Draco was dragging from him. “We can’t. Not right now. But I promise you, as soon as we’re out of here, we’re spending a solid week in bed. Killing Voldemort should afford me that, don’t you think?”

Draco opened his eyes and looked into Harry’s, willing his body to calm down. “How do you feel?” he asked, using the question as a way to distract himself from the fact that Harry’s body was touching him from his feet to his forehead.

“I’m fine. I actually feel like I have the energy of five two year olds right now. They must have given me some powerful potions to counteract whatever that was that hit me at the end.”

“’Whatever that was’? You mean, you don’t know what happened?” Draco asked, astonished.

“Err, no…I think Snape was trying to explain it to me when you…umm…interrupted,” Harry said, rolling his eyes with a grin.

“I heard them talking about it, right before they gave me the Dreamless Sleep Potion. When you killed Voldemort, you were touching him. His power, his energy, it shot out of his body and into you. A lot of people got hit with the backlash, some of them were knocked out from it. You have all his power inside you now, as well as all the power you had before. No one can touch you now, Harry.”

“Great,” Harry muttered, hiding his face in Draco’s chest. “Just what I always wanted, Voldemort’s power. Why couldn’t the man just die?!”

“He did die, Harry, you saw to that. Once again, you’re the hero of the wizarding world,” Draco said with a soft laugh, knowing how much Harry would hate this.

“I might have killed him, but his Death Eaters killed too many before I could. I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself for taking so long…”

Draco held him tighter, thinking of the students he would never see again. Hannah Abbot had been so friendly and unassuming, never an unkind word for anyone, even himself. He remembered her shy smile and quiet manner and felt the first tear fall. He went through the list, remembering their many virtues and times he’d spent either with them or being hexed by them, the Gryffindors especially.

He choked on a laugh as he remembered the bat bogey hex Ginny had hit him with on the train. She had been a fine witch, and now she was dead. Draco still had not been told of her role in the events leading up to this night.

The hardest death for him to accept was that of Blaise, his long time friend and dorm mate. He put that thought out of his mind, unwilling to dwell on it at this moment. He had shed enough tears today, and didn’t want to lose his composure completely, especially now, when Harry needed him.

“Gentlemen,” they heard, and turned their heads to see Dumbledore, the old man leaning heavily on a cane.

“Headmaster,” Draco acknowledged, nodding his head in greeting but not releasing his hold on Harry.

“Professor Dumbledore,” Harry said, sitting up and surreptitiously wiping a few tears from his cheeks. “You’re okay, then?” he asked.

“I’m as fine as frog hair, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his twinkle dimmed by recent events, but there nonetheless. “It seems, however, that I have once again been remiss in my duties. I have not fully prepared you for the aftermath of this particular battle, perhaps because I was hoping to find a way in which you would be spared the responsibility of defeating a wizard three times your age. Ah well, no matter. What’s done is done, and now all that is left is to answer your questions.”

Draco looked at Dumbledore, wondering if the man knew how flippant he sounded. “’Ah well, no matter’?” he asked, voice a touch sharp. “’What’s done is done?!’” He would have said much more, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm and a soft, “shhh.”

“This is the way it always is, Draco,” Harry said. “If I survive, I get the information.”

Draco looked at Harry like he’d lost his mind. Harry just smiled and kissed him softly before turning to Dumbledore and asking, “Why is Professor Snape obeying orders from me? Or, more to the point, why does he feel he has to?”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up at this question and he answered before Dumbledore could, “You keep what you kill, Harry. It’s the Death Eater way.”*

Harry blinked and turned to Draco. “What?”

Draco shrugged helplessly. “I thought you knew. When you killed Voldemort, you assumed the bond of Lord to the Death Eaters. Didn’t you notice? As soon as you killed him, everyone stopped fighting. They could not fight against you directly. Everyone who has a Dark Mark is…yours.”

“Mine? Mine how?”

Draco looked at Dumbledore, shocked that the old wizard would not have prepared Harry for this. Dumbledore obviously took that look as a plea for help, because it was he who answered Harry.

“You are their rightful Lord, Harry. It is very similar to the bond between a Vassal and a Lord from the old Feudal system. They owe allegiance to you now. They cannot lie to you, or—“

“Disobey a direct order, or attack me,” Harry finished, his voice showing only a hint of the panic he was feeling.

“Exactly,” Dumbledore said quietly. He watched Harry process this information for a few moments before continuing. “There are certain rights you have as their Lord in a Feudalistic bond. Your Vassals, whatever title you choose to give them, have to attend you when you call for them, provided that they are physically capable. They are bound to help you mete out justice, pay fees and taxes to you as their lord, provide for your lodging when you and any entourage you might have visit. And most import, to provide military service and servants when they are called to do so.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, head shaking in silent refusal of what he was hearing. He didn’t want the Death Eaters! Hell, he didn’t want Dobby, or house-elves in general, why would he want over a hundred murderous, prejudiced, dark wizards at his beck and call?

“I have taken action to ensure the bond is recognised as a formal bond in the eyes of the law, therefore, any punishment you mete out will be upheld by the full might of the Ministry. If you choose to send every Death Eater through the Veil, then you may do so, without fear of reprisal. However, if you choose not to cast judgement, the wizarding courts may sue you directly for remuneration. Or, you can have the Death Eaters bound over to a convening authority for trial, in this case, the Wizengamot.”

“Punishment?” Harry asked, his voice tight with anger. In his preoccupation with the conversation, he missed the lights flickering and the sounds of objects rattling throughout the room. “I killed Voldemort, and this is my reward?! I get to spend the rest of my life babysitting the Death Eaters?”

“As much time as I spent babysitting you the past seven years, I think you owe me, Potter,” Snape said, returning in time to hear the last bit of the conversation between Dumbledore and the two young men on the bed. “And you need to rein in your temper before you rattle this room off its foundation.”

Harry drew a deep breath and looked around him, seeing the beds vibrating up and down the room from the force of his anger. Closing his eyes, he nodded at Snape and concentrated on his breathing until all was calm once more.

“Harry, child, I’m sorry to have to put even more responsibility on your young shoulders,” Dumbledore said, pitching his voice low to calm and soothe Harry. “But you will have to cast judgement on the Death Eaters…and soon.”

TBC

*Totally borrowed from Chronicles of Riddick. (from the movie: “You keep what you kill. It is the Necromonger way.”) I may not give it back. :D The rest of the description of the bond between Lords and Vassals (or nobles) is straight from history. The idea of the Dark Mark being a Feudal bond came to me sometime around chapter three of this fic. Some of it has been slightly changed to reflect the magical coercion in the bond between Voldemort and the Death Eaters, but otherwise it is the same. I actually did *gasp* research!!