Captivitas

Title: Captivitas
Author: Ravenna C. Tan

Word Count: 3064
Pairing: Draco/Harry

Warnings: Half-Blood Prince Spoilers. Takes place toward the end of that book. Harry and Draco are both 16 at the time.

A/N: Written for rubymiene who requested "obliviated!draco"


Captivitas
by Ravenna C. Tan

Though my entire life has been shaped by prophecy, by Destiny, and though luck has played such a major part in the episodes of my success, I've still never gotten used to it. Perhaps its because luck, or Fate, or whatever you want to call it, can't be predicted. If everything always went as one expects, Fortune would never seem to fortuitous. So it was that my entire life changed on the night Albus Dumbledore died, when I did something--several somethings--that went against all rational sense. The first was that I pursued Snape and Malfoy.

I caught them mere hours after their flight from Hogwarts. With Dumbledore gone, I knew my task was to be chasing Horcruxes, but I felt compelled to chase them, so I did. I know now it wasn't a rational--nor wise--decision. Which is why I told no one that I was going to, once I decided to.

And no, I didn't just go crashing about the countryside trying to find them. Still half-mad from grief over Dumbledore, I'd gone to his office to... I don't know. To dwell on his absence, maybe.

I hadn't known that his portrait would be there, already, and seeing it for that first time was like a blow to the chest, even though he greeted me cheerily and introduced me to some of the other Headmasters and Headmistresses who had never spoken with me before. I was probably very curt with them. It's hard to be polite when revenge is eating your mind.

But I ended up talking with Dumbledore's portrait--so like the conversations we'd had at the end of every school year, it seems, after whatever crisis had passed. The conversations in which he would always tell me a little bit more about myself, or Voldemort, or something like that. This time, he was just a portrait, a facsimile of the living, breathing man that had sat in this office for so long. And I realized that the time had come for me to answer the questions I had about myself.

As we talked, though, there were other questions in my mind. How had he known about the cave? About the potion? About the locket? What was his source of information and could I use that same source now to start the search for the other Horcruxes? And how had he found out about all that, and yet not known that someone before us had stolen the locket? The portrait couldn't tell me everything, or at least not in a way I could understand. The one thing I did grasp though, was something that Dumbledore had apparently intended to tell me upon our return from the cave. Something he would have shown me if the Death Eater attack had not waylaid us.

The portrait pointed it out, sitting on his desk. The object looked rather like a pocket watch, a circular silver thing on a chain, the surface inlaid with swirling designs. In fact, when I opened the catch, I still thought it was a watch, as under the crystal there stood what looked like two arrow-shaped hands, one of which was rotating slowly. But there were no numbers.

Dumbledore's voice was flat, because it was only his portrait's voice, and not his, I suppose. But he explained: "It is a very powerful Locator, though not so powerful as to defeat all charms of concealment. The long hand points towards what you seek, the short hand rotates faster the further it is away. It has been of limited use in finding the Horcruxes, however, because one needs to have a very clear picture in mind of what one is trying to find."

"I see." I had a very clear picture in my mind, of Snape's retreating back, pulling Malfoy along by the hand toward the gates of Hogwarts as they had fled. The short hand was still turning slowly and I held the device so that the portraits could not see that. I thanked the Dumbledore portrait, assured him the Locator would come in handy in the search as soon as we found out more, and then I left as quickly as I could.

I stared at the face of the Locator as I made my way through the castle. If the hand was turning slowly, they couldn't be very far away, could they? I would have expected them to Apparate halfway across the Continent. But maybe Snape didn't know I really wanted to kill him. Or maybe he didn't care. Those were the type of thoughts I had at the time. If I had been rational, or if I had paused to ask Hermione about it, I would have no doubt worried that Snape had gone straight to Voldemort. Rushing off alone with nothing but an Invisibility Cloak and a wand was rash.

I didn't care. The long hand was pointed in the direction of Hogsmeade. I put the cloak on and started walking. The night was as it had been before, starry and... actually, who am I kidding? I don't really remember what the sky was like. I had other things on my mind.

At the center of town, as I made my way past Honeyduke's, the distance hand had slowed even more, and the direction hand angled to the west. I almost laughed aloud, but didn't, as I realized where the Locator must be leading me. The Shrieking Shack.

I approached cautiously, the pre-dawn glow in the sky at my back. The windows were dark and I could hear nothing. But as I neared the door the rotating hand nearly came to a stop. I slung the silver chain over my head and tucked the Locator inside my shirt. Then I noticed something dark on the ground--an area of dirt that was darker than the rest... I reached down to touch it and my fingers came away damp. I lit the tip of my wand and found they were red with blood.

Someone had been bleeding heavily when they arrived here. The trail of spatters moved from that spot toward the door, as if someone had Apparated here and then stumbled inside. The doorknob, too, was crusted with dried blood.

My heart had begun to race. Had I actually hit Snape with one of those hexes he seemed to deflect so easily? If he was injured, that would explain why he didn't flee further. Or maybe it was Malfoy who had been hit. The door was not even locked and I eased it open silently, dousing the light of my wand and casting a Silencing Charm on my trainers just in case.

I needn't have worried--they were in a back room, arguing in whispers but intensely enough that they might not have heard. As I slipped down the corridor, I could see the slight glow of wandlight coming from the doorway. Pressed against the wall, I listened.

It sounded like Malfoy had been crying. "I can't do it," he choked out.

"You have no choice," Snape hissed in answer. "That or you leave me no choice."

"I thought you swore a vow..."

"Foolish boy. The terms of that vow have now been fulfilled, now that I have dirtied my hands on your behalf."

Malfoy sobbed and I waited for them to say more. But then there was silence, as the sobs were suddenly cut off.

What just happened? Wand out, I burst into the room to find out, and the crack of Disapparition was loud in my ears like a gunshot.

Snape was gone, and Malfoy lay crumpled in a heap in the middle of the floor.

I leaped on him, shaking him. "Where is he? Where did he go?"

He blinked at me with huge eyes, his mouth working but no sound coming out. I slapped him and repeated my question, only to have Malfoy dissolve into tears. I stood and let him fall to the floor, enraged that Snape had escaped. I thought hard about him, his hooked nose, his voice taunting me as he had flicked away my attacks, and pulled out the Locator. The distance hand was spinning so quickly, I could hardly see it in the light of my wand. He could be at Durmstrang by now, for all I knew.

And I couldn't very well leave Malfoy here. I looked at him and he had his hand pressed against his cheek where I had struck him.

"You hit me!" he said, his voice full of outrage as he struggled to his feet.

"Take our your wand, Malfoy, and I'll do a lot worse." My wand shook in my hand I was so angry.

"My what?"

"Don't play dumb. Or are you afraid you'll end up the way you did the last time we dueled--cut and bleeding?" That time I had been sorry I had sliced him open, but that was before he had been responsible for Dumbledore's death.

His hand slid from his cheek down to his chest. Now that he was standing up I could see the gap in his robes where he had been hit by some kind of slashing hex, the bloodstain on his shirt, and he pressed his fingers over the bare skin I could see. "Did you do this?" His eyes were wide with fear.

"No," I said, unable to think of anything else to say to that.

He took a deep breath and tried to stand taller. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"C'mon, Malfoy..." He hadn't gone for his wand, which was surely hidden in his robes, and it was hard to maintain my rage at a fever pitch. I wanted to fight him. "Or is what you did so horrible that it's affected your mind?" I grabbed him by the robes again. "You deserve to be punished for what you did."

He started to tremble, which goaded me on. I tore his outer robe off and what was left of his shirt, and he struggled with me. I had one moment, as I stripped his shirt away, to appreciate the fact that his forearms were pristine. So, he had not been Marked after all. That didn't change anything for me. It wasn't long before I had his upper body bare, one arm bent behind his back, and his face and chest pressed up against the wall . "I've been following you around all year. I've never been able to catch you. Until now."

"What are you going to do to me?" he choked out, his eyes closed.

At that moment I didn't have an answer. I let my anger and grief drive me. I wanted to hurt him, for him to feel some of the pain that I was feeling at that time. Pressed up against him like that, pinned to the wall, the obvious thing to do was bite him. I sank my teeth into the tender spot where his neck met his shoulder.

I expected him to scream. He didn't. He gasped and arched back against me, his hair tickling my face as he thrashed his head a little from side to side. I put a hand in that hair and pushed his head against the wall again, and his hips bucked back against me. I put the next bite toward the center of his back, above his shoulder blade, and the push of his buttocks against me became more insistent.

And he moaned. The sound went straight to my cock, or maybe I was already hard and it was the sound of his voice that made me realize it. I thrust my erection against him and my mouth was back at his neck, as if I were trying to devour him now with my lips and tongue.

He panted and pressed his free and against the wall, as well. "Please..." he begged, head thrown back and eyes still closed. "Please tell me your name."

That was an exceedingly odd thing to say, I thought, but no odder than the thoughts I was having about what I wanted to do to him next. "It's Potter," I reminded him with another thrust. "Harry Potter. What would your little Slytherin friends say now if they could see Draco Malfoy being humped by The Boy Who Lived?"

The question was rhetorical and he answered it with a groan. I reached in front of him to undo his belt and trousers and he didn't fight it. They dropped to his ankles and I tugged his underwear down to mid-thigh. I hadn't expected his buttcheeks to be dusted with fine golden hairs. Funny the details that stay with you.

I ran my hand over that pale skin, and he quivered with anticipation. "You... you said you were going to punish me...?"

"Yes," I breathed in his ear, and brought my hand down on his bare buttocks with a loud smack. The little wail that came out of him was intensely satisfying and I wanted to hear it again. So I spanked him again.

And again. I spanked him until my hand was getting almost as red and sore as his arse, as I barely noticed that he now had both of his hands on the wall and that my other hand was firm against the back of his neck. You'd think it would have been he that couldn't stand it any longer, but it was I who lost patience and threw him to the floor, as I shucked my own trousers.

I pressed my cock against his thigh and he hissed like I had burned him with a hot poker. He was on his back, and I pressed upwards until my cock was sliding in the hollow his leg made against his body, my hipbone grinding against his erection at the same time.

"You've always been a spoiled brat," I said into his ear.

"Have I?" He was breathless.

"Yes. And if I'd known this was what it would take to beat you, I would have...." I broke off, not entirely sure where that line of logic was going. I didn't get much time to think about it as the next thing that happened was his hands slid around my waist and his body surged up until his lips met mine.

His mouth was sweet, or maybe it was the hunger he displayed through the kiss that was sweet. Although it was he who kissed me, I took control of it, trying to crush him with that kiss. His struggle was momentary as I felt him surrender under me, thrusting and pulling me into him at the same time, moaning into my mouth and giving himself to me. And that was the way it was for the next while, though our positions and our forms of intimacy shifted. It didn't matter if my cock was in his mouth or in his arse, or if my tongue was in his mouth or leaving trails of saliva over his nipples--he was mine.

He spoke after I had been fucking him for what seemed like a long time, taking him from behind, my hands hooked on his hips and yanking him back into me with each thrust. What he said was: "Please tell me this isn't the only time."

I was practically chewing on the damp hair at the nape of his neck as I answered. "What are you talking about?"

"Have we done this before? Or, perhaps more important, will we again?" He craned his neck, trying to make eye contact with me.

"What are you on about?" I asked again, without allowing my rhythm to break.

"Because I think I love you," he managed to say before he cried out, coming hard and reaching back with both hands as if he could push me in deeper. I thrust as deeply as I could, unprepared for the spasms that his orgasm sent rippling through him, and me, making me come, too.

I might have blacked out, or maybe it just took a while to realize that my cock had finally slipped free of his semen-soaked hole, but I was still lying atop him.

I rolled off, not quite trusting my legs to hold me up at that moment. He curled against me, his head on my shoulder. "What did you say?" I asked, now that the haze of lust and rage was lifting.

"I said, 'I think I love you,'" he repeated. "I can't remember anything, not who we are nor where we are. But I assume if I just keep playing along I'll figure it out. And I know how you make me feel."

I closed my eyes. The sun had risen while we had been fucking, and I realized what a long night it had been. "This is some Slytherin trick, isn't it, Malfoy?"

"Slithering?" he asked in a voice that was pure innocence. It hardly sounded like him.

I dug my wand out of the heap that my clothes had become, and did the only sensible thing--perhaps the first sensible thing I'd done all night--and said "Legilimens!"

As you all know quite well by now, he was telling the truth. Snape had Obliviated him just before Disapparating. But you can imagine what a shock it was to me.

And how helpless it left him. I saw then that my rough treatment of him had caused the slash on his chest to seep a bit, and that the blood was crusting the wound. I ran my fingers along the edge. "Come on, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey. Maybe... maybe a solution of dittany will keep that from scarring."

He looked up at me with wide--innocent--eyes and squeezed my hand in his. Expectant. Waiting.

"And no, we hadn't done that before." I watched him nod cautiously. "But, yes, I expect we will again."

He threw his arms around my neck and held me tight. And as you know, we've been together ever since.

-end-


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