The Lion and the Serpent

After dismissing the students, Harry lingered in the classroom, collecting his things. Draco continued to stand as he was, not daring to move.



"Don't be an idiot, and pull your shirt down," Harry muttered. Draco complied instantly.



"You didn't go to your classes," Harry noted. "Why?"



"I passed out."



Harry nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose it was to be expected." He took Draco's chin in his hand, and pressed his thumb against Draco's swollen lip. "However, I predict that you will survive the current injury."



"Undoubtedly, Sir," Draco said with a wry smile, and then a single brutal thought crossed his mind: Survive: Ron Weasley didn't. From the dark look on Harry's face, Draco could tell that the same thought entered Harry's mind as well – but this time, Harry didn't lose his temper.



“Let's go,” Harry said, taking Draco's wrist in his hand. “We have company tonight.”



When the apparated to Harry's quarters, they saw a lonely figure sitting at the table.



“Hermione,” Harry said. “Welcome.”



She lifted her head and looked at them. Her eyes stopped at Draco's collar and she shook her head in disbelief.



“Harry, have you lost your mind completely?” she asked fiercely. “This is insane, and I won't be a part of this.”



“You will when I show you something,” Harry grinned. “Malfoy, strip. Now.”



Before Hermione could open her mouth in protest, Draco obediently removed his clothes, and stood in front of the two of them, his head bowed low. To his surprise, Draco found it less intimidating to be naked with Hermione around – maybe because Draco detected a note of sympathy in her voice.



“Harry, that's barbaric, inhumane – oh my God, is that what I think it is?” She stared at the image of the serpent, astonished.



“Yes,” Harry said. “The last living bearer of Voldemort's Dark Mark is standing in front of you.”



Hermione stared at the Mark again. “Voldemort will be sure to make use of this when he's ready to come back,” she finally conceded. “I will admit, this just may be the break that we need. And the design – it's very unique.” She traced Draco's mark with her fingertips. “You don't know what it means, do you, Draco? No, of course not. Judging from the looks of it, it was probably given to you when you were quite young. I'd guess 10 or 11 years old? I'll have to do some research on the meaning of it.”



Harry's grin widened. “Always the scientist, my Hermione. I knew I could count on you. There was something else I wanted to show you, too.” Harry's placed his hand on Draco's wrist, and instantly, Draco's cock twitched, and became fully erect. Draco froze, blinking furiously, trying to fight back the tears.



Harry laughed.



Hermione's face grew a dark shade of pink, and she almost shook with fury. Firmly, she took Harry's hand in hers, and pried his fingers away from Draco's wrist. When she finally spoke, her anger was almost palpable.



“You do realize why it's happening, Harry, don't you?”



“Of course. He gets this way whenever he's naked and I touch him. It's the bond,” Harry said with a smile.



“There is more to it than that. You are the owner. The bond responds to your wishes. Which means that subconsciously you want him to react this way.”



“And why would I ...– come on, Hermione, that's not funny.”



“One obvious possibility is that you fancy him, and want him to be attracted to you.”



“Not likely,” Harry spat. “Even a pile of troll crap is more appealing.”



“Another possibility, which I personally find even more distressing, is that you want him to have... this reaction... in order to humiliate him, and for no other reason.”



Harry shrugged indifferently. “And if I do? Come on, Hermione – this is not some cute innocent house elf that you are trying to set free. It's Malfoy we are talking about here.”



Hermione sighed deeply. She took Draco's face in her hands. Her fingers touched his swollen lip.



“Did Harry hit you?” She asked.



Draco turned his head to Harry.



“You may answer her,” Harry said. “Truthfully.”



“Yes,” Draco said.



“Can you tell me what happened?” Hermione probed gently.



“He asked me how it felt to be a murderer. My answer made him angry.”



Hermione nodded. She produced her wand, and pointed it at Draco's lip, pronouncing a healing spell. Slowly, gradually, the pain and swelling subsided.



“Get dressed, Draco, and go to the bedroom,” Hermione said.



Draco looked to Harry for permission.



“Do as she says!” Harry growled, and Draco snapped into action. He got dressed as quickly as he could, and almost ran into the bedroom, closing the door behind him. When he finally was there, he sat on the floor, hugging his knees, leaning against the wall. He could still hear their voices clearly, and he listened to their conversation.



“Harry, I am worried about you,” Hermione spoke. “You are changing. No, you have changed.”



“Of course I have changed!” Harry's voice thundered. “And in case you haven't noticed, the entire world has changed, after what I did in the last battle.”



“It's not like you had too many choices,” Hermione retorted. “You can't blame yourself. Ah but wait, Harry Potter's law number 1: An Auror shall never forgive himself for any action that results in undesirable consequences.”



“That's right,” Harry said stiffly.



“You are a pompous idiot, you know that?” Hermione said, sounding amused and annoyed at the same time.



Draco heard Harry snicker, and then laugh out loud, and this time there was no malice or anger in his laughter. Harry was laughing like he used to a long time ago, with genuine self-abandon. Then his laughter came in broken rasps, and Draco realized that Harry was sobbing. Eventually his sobbing subsided, and there was quiet in the living room.



“Harry, let me ask you something,” Draco heard Hermione's voice break the silence. “How long since you've slept? Not used restoration spells, but actually slept, in your bed, with your eyes closed?”



“Not sure. Months. Close to a year,” Harry muttered.



“How long since you've eaten? Once again, I am not talking about sustenance spells, or nutri-potions. I mean, real food. How long?”



“A few months,” Harry confessed, reluctance in his voice.



“And how long since you held real coffee beans in your hands, inhaling the smell, feeling each bean on your palm, pouring them into a real grinder?”



“That's a stupid question,” Harry snapped.



“How long?”



“One year, seven months, and 3 days.”



Another pause ensued, and finally Hermione spoke again, her voice ringing with kindness and sadness:



“It bothers me that you are degrading him and hitting him, but it doesn't surprise me in the least. It's easy to dehumanize others when your own life is becoming less and less human.”



A loud banging sound from the living room made Draco shudder. Harry had slammed his fists against the table.



“Hermione, do you want to know why I hit him?” Harry hissed. “He told me what it felt like. I knew exactly what he meant. How you don't sleep, because you don't want to forget what had happened, and then be forced to recall. How you don't eat, because there's a void inside you, and you are afraid that if you eat, you'll fill it. And you know what? He doesn't deserve to have those feelings.”



Hermione didn't seem to know what to say to that, and there was silence in Harry's quarters again.



Draco pressed his face into his knees, once again wishing he could disappear.



------------------------------To be continued ------------



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