The Lion and the Serpent

Draco awoke in the infirmary. He didn't remember getting there.

Familiar sounds greeted him. The sound of Madame Pomfrey humming softly, and the sound of vials and test-tubes jingling and clanking. She was humming a song, while organizing her potions cabinet. Suddenly, Draco almost burst into tears from the simple sight of her severe profile, her tightly wound bun of hair, and her strict healer uniform. It's true that she despised him like everyone else, and it's true that she probably wouldn't mind it terribly if he died. But in spite of her personal feelings, month after month, she continued to heal him. And suddenly, Draco realized that it was the closest thing to friendship he had experienced in the last year and a half. And if that wasn't grounds to be on first-name basis, then what was?

“Hey, Poppy,” he said quietly.

She looked at him sternly, but didn't correct him.

“You will recover from your current injuries without incident, Mr. Malfoy,” she informed him curtly. “However, you personal schedule has notified that you have missed your Defence Against Dark Arts lecture and practice, as well as your Herbology mid-term exam.”

Draco groaned painfully. “I guess I should go.”

“You may go any time,” Madame Pomfrey said stiffly.

“Thanks,” he slid off the bed, and stretched, feeling slightly faint and nauseous, but definitely alive and mended. “Hey, Poppy.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy?” Her voice was cold with disapproval at his lack of formality.

“Do you think I'll make it? Honestly, between you and me?” he asked.

She gave him a measured look and then said bluntly, not mincing words:

“Mr. Malfoy, your hope for physical survival is modest, at best. Your hope for graduation, slim. Your hope for reclaiming your life, in any meaningful way, is virtually non-existent. But I think we both know that to be the case, do we not?”

Draco left in a hurry, without saying goodbye.

He walked through the halls of Hogwarts, feeling more and more queasy. Modest. Slim. Nonexistent. Those were the words Madame Pomfrey chose, and Draco felt that they were sinking deeper and deeper into his consciousness.

“Hey ferret!” he heard someone yell. “Why don't you go and die already?”

Draco felt a wave of nausea reach his throat, but he continued to walk. He didn't know why he wouldn't just go and die. It's not like the the thought never occurred to him. It's not like he thought there was hope for him. And it's not like he didn't deserve it. But still, stubbornly and defiantly, he endured, and kept going.

And then he found himself in front of the door. The damned, damned door, with the plaque that said,

“Harry Potter. Defence Against Dark Arts – Visiting Professor.”

Draco bit his lip, standing in front of the door silently. A year and a half ago, Draco would have died from humiliation if he knew that instead of graduating, he would be held back a year. He would have been mortified to know that Potter would graduate with Honors, start working on his Teaching Certification, just to be immediately invited back to Hogwarts as a Visiting Professor. After all, Potter's experiences and reputation spoke for themselves.

Now, Draco wasn't even particularly bothered by having to call Potter 'Sir', or by having to beg for his help to catch up on the missed material. He was actually looking forward to the brief intervals of time in Potter's office, where he was confident, he wasn't going to be beaten, maimed, or screamed at.

Draco lifted his hand and knocked.

“Enter,” he heard, and he complied quickly.

“Thank you, Sir,” Draco said respectfully. Potter was sitting at the desk, paging through what looked like an old textbook.

Draco sat down on a chair next to his desk, and glanced at him discretely (he hoped). Even though Potter was the same age as Draco, he somehow looked older. Fighting the Dark Lord must have its price, Draco thought with a shiver.

Still, he felt strangely reassured by Harry's presence. Harry, of all people, had more right than most to taunt him, or hurt him, and yet, he never did. He never even spoke to Draco until he returned to Hogwarts as a visiting professor, and then, all their interactions were strictly formal. Draco shuddered when he realized that he was staring at Harry, and Harry was returning his gaze.

“How can I help you?” Harry asked in a calm, neutral voice.

And suddenly, Draco found himself bursting into tears, and babbling incoherently.

“Harry – please, help me. I can't handle it anymore. I don't sleep nights. During the day I want to throw up all the time. Tired of running all the time, and running just makes it worse. Make it stop. Please. Make it stop.”

Harry's face stiffened into an impassive mask.

“You've got some nerve, asking me to help you with this,” Harry said bluntly, but Draco noted with relief that his voice was more curious than accusatory.

“Harry. I am sorry. It's not nerve. It's desperation. I can't go on like this. I need this to end, somehow. I don't care how. Help me. I have nobody else to ask.”

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring at Draco thoughtfully. Finally, he spoke,

“As a good Slytherin student , I am certain you will appreciate the following question: - What's in it for me?”

“What?” Draco asked with a start. “I don't know. Anything, really. Just tell me what to do, and I will do it.”

Harry chuckled, seemingly amused, his laughter sending a shiver down Draco's spine.

“I have money,” Draco mumbled “My fortune...”

Harry interrupted him impatiently.

“Your fortune is not nearly as spectacular since your parents died. I, on the other hand, have more money than I know what to do with. And to be honest, I am not particularly interested in money anyways. What else have you got?”

“Nothing, really,” Draco admitted reluctantly. “Except... I guess I could offer you a bond. Anything. Temporary, Conditional, Permanent... just name it.”

“Absolute,” Harry said flatly. “From you, I will accept no other. By all legal standards, you will cease being a person, and become my property. Your obedience will be guaranteed. And if I find that you are more trouble than you are worth, I will sell, or give away your bond to whoever I choose.”

Draco nodded mutely. So slavery would be the price to pay for Harry's protection, he thought. He remembered tasting his own blood earlier in the day, and nodded, more to himself than Harry.

“You don't need to decide now,” Harry said, his voice neutral and almost kind. “You can think about it for a bit.”

Draco shook his head. There was nothing to think about. Suddenly, a sense of relief flooded him, as the end to the abuse of the bullying mob was in sight.

“I accept,” Draco said firmly. “Just tell me what to do.”

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Note: I'm so grateful to everyone who drops a note to review... this is my first dark!harry slave-fic. :-)