The Lion and the Serpent

When the door shut behind Hermione, Harry looked at Draco sadly.



“How bad is it?” Harry asked. Draco shrugged indifferently, knowing what the question meant. Harry wanted to know how much punishment the bond demanded.



“I think it's the worst I've ever felt it,” Draco said reluctantly. “As far as the bond is concerned, this was its own Unforgivable... willfully disobeying and then assaulting my owner... Though mind you, you had it coming.”



“I wasn't going to harm her,” Harry said stiffly. “Just..”



“Break her,” Draco supplied the word defiantly. “Yeah, I know. You are very good at that, Potter.”



Harry glared at him. “Enough. Disrobe.”



Slowly, Draco removed his belt, and tossed it on the bed casually. He then pulled the shirt off, and finally, removed the trousers, and stood in stoic silence, wearing nothing but the collar around his neck.



Harry's hand's cupped Draco's buttocks and kneaded them firmly, and Draco groaned from both humiliation and pleasure, but still managed to dart one hostile look in Harry's direction. And then, quietly, gently, Harry pulled Draco into his lap, making him face him. Draco's legs almost involuntarily wrapped around Harry's waist, and Draco threw his arms around his owner. Draco's defiance melted away, and he pressed his lips against Harry's face. In spite of the recent healing spell, Harry winced slightly at Draco's touch.



“Sorry,” Draco mumbled contritely.



“Thank you,” Harry whispered in his ear, “for trying to save her from me.”



The rest was a waking dream.



Draco couldn't tell what tool Harry used on him this time. It could have been the belt, or a whip, or something else. The lash fell on his back and buttocks, wrapping around his sides, breaking his skin. Blood rushed to Draco's eyes, blinding him. Moving in unison with the lash, the serpent coiled around him, reveling in the agony. It was as if Draco was captured in a fiery storm that was tearing him apart, destroying him, and wrenching parts of him away. And in the midst of the fury, there was the eye of the hurricane, a center of absolute calm and peace that Harry's whispered words had created.



Eventually, the storm subsided. His entire body burning and throbbing, Draco lay quietly on the bed, feeling blood trickle down his back, mingling with sweat.



“Harry,” he called meekly. “If it's not too much trouble, could you heal me now?”.



“No trouble at all,” Harry said softly. His hands connected with Draco's back and as always, just one word later, the pain had vanished without a trace.



Still disrobed, lying face down, with hands by his sides, Draco heard Harry get up, and walk into the bathroom. He heard the water run, and then he heard gagging, retching sounds, muffled but unmistakable. Draco sat up, and watched, waiting. When Harry finally emerged, his face was flushed and wet. Harry wiped his mouth and looked at Draco painfully.



“Please, Draco - no more,” Harry begged shamelessly. “Just obey from now on. Please. I can't take much more of this.”



Draco stared at him, first alarmed, then terrified, by this display of frailty. He had seen his owner sad, angry, calm, cold, furious, gentle, open, humble... but never like this. Never broken. Harry walked unsteadily to the bed, and collapsed on it face down. Draco placed his hand on Harry's back, and Harry's entire body shuddered from the touch.



“Never again,” Draco said firmly, wrapping his arms around Harry. “I'll obey. I promise.”



“No matter what?” Harry pleaded. “Always?”



“No matter what,” Draco assured him, and held him. “Always. I swear.” Slowly, Harry's trembling subsided in Draco's embrace and he relaxed, stretching himself out wearily.



Quietly, Draco's hands reached to Harry's shirt, and tugged on it. Harry sighed sadly, and allowed Draco to disrobe him.



Draco lifted himself on the elbow, and slowly, deliberately, traced Harry's scarred back and buttocks, allowing his fingertips to connect with every faded injury.



“What are they, anyways?” Draco asked involuntarily, feeling the familiar wave of nausea again.



“The long ones are the cane. The shorter ones, the belt.. the buckle... the small round ones are cigarette burns,” Harry said apathetically. “If they bother you, I can put a concealing spell...”



Draco stopped him by pressing his finger against Harry's lips.



“When did it all happen?” he demanded.



“Started when I was six,” Harry said absently. “Went on until... well, until I turned sixteen. Then I started fighting back... and then, I came of age... and that was it.”



“Why did you stay there so long?” Draco asked, dumbfounded. “You could have gone someplace else...”



“Blood protection,” Harry said bitterly. “No other place in the world was safe enough. I just needed to survive long enough to get Voldemort. So I went back, at the end of every school year.”



The story of Harry's life lay before Draco, written in scars and marks that littered his body. That was all Harry ever knew, Draco thought achingly, hunting for hortcruxes, fulfilling prophecies, surrendering himself to torture, year after year, just so that he could eventually kill Voldemort...



“No,” Harry said suddenly in response to Draco's unspoken thoughts. He sat up on the bed, and looked at Draco with a smile. “There was so much more than that. Friendship. Adventure. Magic. Discovering a whole new world that I never imagined. Flying on Buckbeak's back, seeing the clouds and the mountains underneath his wings. Catching the golden snitch. Meeting Sirius. It was a good life, Draco.”



Draco's arms wrapped around Harry again, his chest coming in contact with Harry's arm. For the first time, their Marks touched, the lion and the serpent pressing against each other. Draco's Mark moved, coming alive agonizingly, burning with all-consuming, invisible fire. Harry must have felt something too – judging from the look of pure, unspeakable pleasure on his face.



Draco did not let go. He held on tightly, stubbornly, against the pain, for as long as he could.



“I love you,” Draco said impulsively.



“I know,” Harry said gently and kissed Draco on the lips, pulling him in. Draco yielded to his kiss, both reassured and shattered at once.



Being known, deeply and intimately, was reassuring, comforting. Yet, it was shattering to realize that the love he had just confessed, was unrequited.



He will always mean more to me, than I, to him, Draco thought again.



That was, after all, the meaning of slavery.



The agony of this realization throbbed and ran through him, encircling him, but, somehow, astonishingly, there was a pure note of beauty and pleasure emerging even from that. It was the pleasure of meaning less, being less than the one who owned him.



Cursing his Mark, Draco shut his eyes, submitting to the cruel wonder, as the beauty of the moment, pure and unadulterated, lonely and brilliant, danced between them.



The Dark was all around them, and with his entire being Draco could feel it, pouring in from their past, creeping in from the future, threatening to consume them all. Drifting off to sleep next to his Master, Draco quietly wondered if the single frail point of light could be enough to hold the darkness at bay, and then, in his mind, he already knew the answer to that.



-----------------to be continued ----