Gone

DISCLAIMER: Not mine, no harm intended, no profit made.


Gone


The war had been raging for a year and a half without much success on either side when Harry Potter and Voldemort made their agreement. It wasn’t a treaty, as such. Neither side had won, but it definitely meant the Light’s odds of winning had taken a turn for the worse.

I walked into the room where Harry, Voldemort, my father, and six other Death Eaters were standing, and my eyes immediately locked onto Harry, though he never even glanced my way. I was struck by how much he’d changed since I’d last seen him at the graduation ceremonies that had taken place right before the war had started. No one would have ever mistaken him for nineteen. The weight in his eyes, combined with the shadows in his face, made him appear at least twice that.

And yet, despite the weariness that hung about him, his entire body radiated a dangerous power. Voldemort, sensing this power, was filled with elation, but the others were far more wary. Looking at him now, it was as if the Boy Who Lived had died and been resurrected a hundred times, each time returning more powerful, but a little less human, until there was almost nothing of Harry left.

A lot had happened to him in those few months, I knew that much. Granger had literally lost an arm and a leg. The Weasel and Harry had fallen out and were barely speaking to each other, causing much dissention in the ranks of Light. Half the Gryffindor population from our seventh year was dead, and many thousands of others beside. Dumbledore had finally been eliminated and Lupin, of all people, was leading their little army. Or at least he was the official head, but the entire wizarding world looked towards Harry first, despite the Weasel’s strategic successes. I didn’t know if it was out of instinct, or habit, or just because no one could help being drawn towards Harry, but he was their guiding star.

And their star’s light had just gone out.

“Ah, young Malfoy,” Voldemort said, motioning me to his side, “thank you for joining us.”

Trying to remain impassive as my insides began to revolt, I walked over and stood next to my Lord. As usual, my very skin tried to pull itself off of my body in an attempt to get away from him. Being in Voldemort’s presence was something I’d never adjusted to no matter how often I was forced to stand near him. The waves of burning madness, the cloud of darkness surrounding him, the bone-penetrating sickness of his mind all made my stomach churn and it was rare that I didn’t escape only to empty my latest meal into the nearest corner.

He placed a hand on my shoulder, and it took all of my concentration to keep me from flinching. “Reveal your Mark,” he commanded.

Not understanding the purpose of this order, my eyes flickered over to my father as I bared my arm, but Lucius’s face was stony. Still, I knew my father well enough to know by the tight lines of his lips that he was not pleased. Voldemort took me by the wrist, a single finger resting on the burn he’d placed on my arm two years ago. He then looked up at Harry.

“This completes our bargain, Mr. Potter. You stay out of our way, we’ll stay out of yours. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Voldemort nodded, then whispered something over my arm and from the slithering of the words across my ears, I recognized the language to be Parseltongue. The Mark began to burn through several layers of skin and muscle and into my veins. I gasped and fell to my knees as the heat of Voldemort’s will spread throughout my body, threatening to evaporate all that was me. He then removed his finger and looked to Harry.

“Now.”

Harry stepped forward and placed his hand over the Mark, speaking with hissing words I didn’t understand. I gritted my teeth to keep from crying out at the sudden new pain, trying desperately to meet Harry’s eyes to understand what was going on, but he refused to look at me.

Releasing my arm, he stepped back, and I was so relieved at the sudden removal of pain that, for a moment, nothing else registered. Then I realized something had changed. Staring down at my Mark, I saw that the snake that wove in and around the skull was now colored in gold and red stripes. My eyes shot up to find Harry was watching me, no emotion in his face, but his emerald gaze in turmoil.

“It is done!” Voldemort said, nearly dancing with glee. “On your feet, young Malfoy. You now belong to Harry Potter. Mr. Potter, I hope to never see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Harry snarled, grabbing me by the arm, and the room, Voldemort, his cronies, and my father all vanished with a loud pop.



After this bizarre ritual was completed, Harry immediately removed us from the wizarding world. We disappeared into Muggle London, and then across the sea to a small cabin in Colorado. We were completely isolated from all events magical, and even contact with Muggles was limited. We saw them only when we needed supplies, but otherwise, we only saw each other.

For the first few weeks, we barely spoke. I, for one, refused to speak to him. I was too busy feeling betrayed and horrified that I’d been sold--SOLD!--to my arch nemesis in exchange for his abdication from the world of magic. I couldn’t understand it. How could Potter just abandon the Light like that? And why me? Why turn his back on everything and everyone he’d come to know and love, and take me with him?

Even if I’d wanted to object, it wouldn’t have mattered. Thanks to the little hissing match between him and Voldemort, I was definitely Harry’s. His will was imbued in the Mark on my arm, and if I tried to disobey him, a searing pain would send me to my knees.

A person can handle only so much pain before they finally give in and agree to wash the dishes.

That’s all Harry ever asked of me--my continuous presence and my cooperation in doing the chores. He didn’t even seem to care if we spoke, and in the beginning, that was perfectly fine with me. I was still fuming, though irritatingly amused that even if he was able to live with stealing my freedom, he was still too much of a Gryffindor to fuck me against my will.

For those first few months, Harry was content to read, spend hours walking through the woods, sleep--though no matter how many hours he spent sleeping, the weariness around him never seemed to ease--and study his magic. He may have given up participating in the magical world, but he continued to practice it, most likely for our own safety rather than anything else. After all, the wizards of Light probably weren’t too thrilled about his renunciation, and the wizards of Dark, well, they simply weren’t to be trusted, no matter what kind of deal he’d made with Voldemort. Therefore, the cabin had so many wards around it even the ants couldn’t get in, and the area surrounding us was just as carefully guarded.

Unfortunately for me, Harry’s self-absorption meant I had plenty of time on my own, time I really didn’t know what to do with. I was nineteen years old, locked away in the woods in the middle of nowhere, with a wizard prone to silence as my only companion.

I was bored beyond belief.

Finally, I started talking to him, or rather, at him, trying to understand why he’d done this. He refused to answer, but I knew Harry. Those years spent studying him in hatred had trained me to understand the meaning behind the tiniest tic in his cheek, or the change in his breathing, or the clenching of his fists. Even after he’d learned to control his reactions around me, it was too late--he was already so thoroughly entrenched in my system that now, despite the many changes in him, I could read the emotions floating across those green eyes better than I could read my own. In response to my pestering, I saw shame, and guilt, and longing. That was how I discovered the truth, how I learned the reason he’d sought me as his companion in his self-exile.

Whoever would have guessed that one warm spring night two years ago would change the course of history?

It had been the night before I’d received my Mark.

Though I’d gone on and on to my fellow Slytherins about what an honor it was and how I couldn’t wait to graduate and join the ranks of Voldemort’s favored lackeys--though I may not have used that specific word--the reality of the coming event had made something in my soul cringe. Not wanting to risk revealing my secret to my comrades, I abandoned the stifling air of the Dungeons for the solitude of the gardens above.

I sat on a bench and stared at the stars, wondering what tasks would be required of me, if I could go through with them. So lost was I in my thoughts that I never even heard him approach. He was simply a sudden voice from behind my shoulder, if anything about Harry could ever be considered simple.

“You’re really going to go through with it?”

“Go away, Potter.”

“You don’t have to, you know.”

I turned around to look at him, a classic sneer on my face. “Even if I didn’t have to, what makes you think I don’t want to?”

His eyes darkened, and staring into the emerald green irises shining luminous in the pale moonlight, I felt a familiar jolt in my veins. I could have attributed it to pre-ceremony jitters, but the jolt was so well known to me by now, there was no point in denying it.

“You’re the most insufferable, arrogant, egotistical, horrible excuse for a human being I’ve ever known,” he spat, voice filled with loathing, “but even I can’t believe you’d want the Mark. Don’t do it, Malfoy.”

I heaved an annoyed sigh, more annoyed at myself for finding him beautiful than at him calling me names. “What do you care, Potter? We already know I’m evil. This just confirms it.”

“You’re not all evil.”

“You’re so naïve,” I said, shaking my head piteously.

“We can protect you.”

“Protect me?” I asked, arching an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you mean ‘save me’? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m not a charity project, Potter. I’m capable of making my own decisions, and I choose this.”

“Even though your heart is screaming for you not to?”

“You know nothing of my heart!” I snapped. Jumping to my feet, I grabbed him by the robes, pulling him close. I wanted to punch him for seeing the wavering loyalty I didn’t want to face, but I wasn’t going to risk being confined to the castle with the ceremony the next night. “If you did, you’d know I haven’t got one.”

“You’ve got one, Malfoy, try as you might to deny it,” he growled, standing his ground, “and it’s telling you to run.”

“The emptiness where my heart should be is telling me to choose the winning side, and I choose them.”

“Then you’re a fool. Voldemort won’t win.”

“But he will, and deep down, you know it.”

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, and even if he believed that good would triumph in the end, there was still enough doubt in him to make him afraid. Those rare times when I’d seen Harry terrified had been some of the few joys of my years in Hogwarts. It was a sign of his weakness, a sign that he wasn’t perfect, no matter what the rest of the world might think. In that moment, however, I didn’t want him to be weak, and I didn’t want him to be afraid. In that moment, looking into the man’s face belonging to the Boy Who Lived, I wanted him, and I wanted him to want me.

Pulling him even closer, I kissed him,

Harry was so stunned that he stood there, not moving, not even breathing, just letting my lips ravage his. Then he pushed me away.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snarled, face flushed and filled with bewilderment.

“Shut up, Potter,” I said with a roll of my eyes and kissed him again. This time he did put up a struggle, but admittedly not much of one as I had him on the ground and pinned beneath me within seconds. I continued to kiss him, determined to keep going until I got a reaction from him, and it wasn’t long before I realized that I had already gotten one.

Lifting my head, I arched an eyebrow while sneering at him. “Why Potter, I never knew.”

“Fuck you!” He tried to throw me off, but all the wriggling simply emphasized just how much we were both enjoying this. “Get the hell off me, Malfoy!”

“Kiss me, and I will.”

“Did you miss what just happened?”

“No. That was me kissing you. You have to kiss me.”

“Never,” he growled, and I shrugged.

“Your choice,” I smirked and began kissing him again, rubbing our bodies together until I felt the resistance slowly fade from him and his lips began to move against mine. I groaned softly at Harry’s tentative touches, which grew firmer and more demanding as he gained confidence at my reaction.

Deepening his kiss, his tongue begged entrance into my mouth, entrance I willingly granted. I rather liked the way he sought me out, his curious meanderings hiding a passion he didn’t know how to accept. It was endearing, and maddening, all at the same time.

Good thing one of us knew what we were doing.

Before long, we were writhing against each other, hands and mouths taking everything the other had to give. The pace of my hips against his grew even more frantic, the friction between us more desperate, right up to the moment we both shouted out our release.

Still reeling from the surprising strength of my orgasm, I rolled off of him, but was strangely reluctant to let go. I rested my head against his shoulder while keeping one arm around his waist and one leg crossed over his. It was comfortable holding him beneath the pale moonlight, knowing this was the only place the two of us should be allowed such an embrace. I’d tasted his beauty and in those stolen minutes, knew it was destined for me. I then cursed fate for tempting me with something I could never have.

Not trying to move, his breathing slowly grew steady, and I sensed our time was coming to an end.

“Don’t go,” was all he said.

Needless to say, I went, and didn’t see him again until the day he came to take me away.

Imagine spending two years obsessing about a kiss, letting it dominate your thoughts until you reached the point where you’d give up everything--your friends, your beliefs, your life--to make that kiss yours forever.

I couldn’t help but wonder what else he’d obsessed about.

Once I realized Harry was as much mine as I was his, things grew increasingly less dull. I was able to reclaim my destiny in him, the one I’d seen hinted at those many months ago but never thought I’d reach. I made him cower with my kisses, weep with wonder at my touch, push beyond the pain to a pleasure he’d never known existed. I marked him with my fingers and teeth as surely as he had marked me, and if I could have found a way to mark him permanently, I would have. In those seconds before the sun broke across the mountaintops, when the sweat was finally allowed to cool on our bodies, only then would he see what I’d done to him and marvel at his shame. But when the rays of light hit the wall across from us, his shame would pass and he’d sigh, curling against me as he drifted off to sleep.

We stayed in Colorado for six months, testing our boundaries, exploring each other. We may have seemed like equals, or partners at the very least, but while his body was mine to command, I was still his slave. He would only let me go so far without him, only let me out of his sight for so long, and underneath our seeming peace, I was itching for my freedom. One day, I forced the edge of the invisible wall he’d created with his Mark, not really wanting to escape but needing to know I had that choice. Of course, there was no choice, and after tramping through the woods for an hour trying to find a crack through which I could escape, I let defeat take me. When I didn’t return to the cabin, he came looking for me. The Mark told him exactly where I was, and at seeing me sitting unmoving on the forest floor, he didn’t reprimand me, but held me until I was ready to go.

He understood everything and still refused to set me free.

I understood nothing about him.

Harry answered only the questions he wanted to answer, which meant he refused to talk about anything of any importance. He closed himself off from me and nothing I said or did would get him to open up. But then, I was just the one who spent every hour of every day with him. Why should he treat me any differently from the way he treated rest of the world?

After Colorado, we picked up and moved to New York. We stayed there for two and a half months, enjoying the energy of the city. Or at least I did, and I think Harry fed off my enjoyment. During that time, we’d taken to spending our evenings in clubs, and while I made a stir with my charm and good looks, it was always Harry they were drawn to. And why shouldn’t they be? His fragile beauty had broken me, why not the rest of the world?

But the world couldn’t have him. I wouldn’t let them.

Yet despite my desire to possess Harry, I continued to resent him. I found myself wanting more than his body--I needed to know I was in his mind and his heart as much as he was in mine, so in New York, I tested my boundaries in another way. I would bring a particularly appealing morsel back from the club to the loft we were occupying and have my wicked way with him. However, these pretty strangers were never allowed to touch Harry, and Harry was never allowed to touch them. Harry could only watch as I fucked the evening’s choice through the mattress, green eyes always locked onto mine. Once the strangers had been sent on their way, Harry would take me, often forcefully, viciously, cruelly, letting me know how he hated my games, but that no matter who I fucked, I was still his.

It wasn’t much, but this little bit of vivid domination was better than nothing. Parts of me vanished as I grew to accept this, and once that happened, once acceptance had set in, I only ever went home with Harry.

After New York, we spent a month in Alaska. Harry got to see the Aurora Borealis; I nearly froze my cock off. We spent the next year on Maui--it took nearly all that time to defrost after Alaska, though the pure, perfect awe on Harry’s face as he had watched the lights moving across the sky had been worth it.

We went on safari in Africa, walkabout in Australia, bungee-jumping in New Zealand, spent a month in a Buddhist monastery in China, backpacked across the Alps. We saw all the wonders of the Muggle world, but had no contact with the one we’d left behind. We didn’t know who was winning the war, or if there was even still a war at all. We’d hear about random deaths of Muggles and the question would appear in our eyes, but when weren’t there random Muggles dying? They died as a result of an act of nature, or their machines colliding, or from wars of their own. There was nothing to suggest that witches and wizards and a madman with red eyes had been the cause of any of it.

Finally weary of travel, Harry decided it was time to go home, but only as far as Muggle England. We settled in London and Harry decreased the little freedom I was allowed. If it hadn’t been such a relief to be home, I might have protested at how close the wall had gotten, at how protective he’d become. He tried to make it up for me by taking me around the city and exploring the countryside, but on the days when he didn’t feel like leaving the flat, I was forced to just sit there with him, waiting until he was in the mood to leave again.

Needless to say, there was no sex to be had on those days. If I wasn’t happy, I was going to be damn sure he wasn’t happy.

We spent two months in London waiting for the moment when we were discovered, but the moment never came. After the third month, we stopped jumping at odd sounds. After the fifth, we stopped expecting someone to appear in the fireplace. After the seventh, we stopped thinking about the wizarding world at all. Well, I would occasionally ponder the fate of my parents, of Hogwarts, of the students I’d grown up with. Harry, on the other hand, never seemed to care.

When it became apparent that no one was going to come looking for us, Harry increased my boundaries once more and I was able to wander off on my own again. I never even felt the presence of the invisible barrier anymore, and I was tempted to press the issue to see just how far I could go before Harry’s Mark called me back, but I never did. Even if I had the freedom to leave, I knew I never would. I was Harry’s, with or without the Mark, and I’d learned to stop questioning it.

One morning as the sun was just about to peer over the horizon, Harry shook my shoulder, forcing me to wake.

“Draco!” he whispered urgently and I groaned, rolling over till my back was to him.

“Go to sleep, Potter,” I grumbled, burying my head in my pillow. These days, I only called him ‘Potter’ when I was truly annoyed with him.

“Draco!” he persisted, continuing to shake my shoulder, and I sighed.

“What is it, Potter?”

“Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

“Bloody hell, Harry!” I rolled over to glare at him. “That’s what you wanted? Couldn’t this have waited till morning?”

“It is morning,” he said matter-of-factly. “Do you love me?”

“Yes!” I snarled, flopping back onto my pillow and clenching my eyes shut, determined to ignore him if he continued, but he didn’t. “Yes, Harry, I love you.”

“I guess it was all worth it then,” he said softly, and then he added, almost as if it were an afterthought, “I love you, too.”

When the sun broke over the horizon, he curled his body into mine and fell back asleep, but I was afraid to close my eyes.

As his words of love faded from my ears, I knew he’d seen her too, the woman with the red hair and the terrible recognition in her eyes, the witch who had stared at us yesterday with unconstrained hatred before vanishing into thin air. It was then I realized we’d never live to see another dawn, and while I wouldn’t be able to save him, I would at least die trying.


[Completed June 20, 2004]