Chains

Chains.

Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.

I tell thee I am damn’d and now in hell.

Draco shifted his weight carefully, trying to ease the
chafing around his neck. The fingers in his hair tightened painfully, informing
Draco that his master did not approve of the movement. Draco submitted
instantly, trying to ignore the pull of the iron collar around his neck. He
could feel eyes upon him, mostly disgust, though some gloated in his public
shaming. Only one gaze filled with pity. That damn Granger girl. The part of
Draco that remembered Malfoy pride resented this – how dare a Mudblood feel
pity for him? – but the rest of him had to hold back tears at how far he had
fallen. His father had always insisted on Draco learning the correct way for a
Malfoy to behave in public, and crying was expressly forbidden. No weaknesses.
At least his father could not see him now, was not subjected to seeing Draco’s
very public hell…

***

For Draco, the nightmare had begun in that last battle,
watching his regal father topple to the ground as Snape, the traitor, stood
victorious over him. Draco had raced to his father’s side but Lucius was gone,
leaving only a noble husk. He had been vaguely aware of Snape kneeling beside
him, but Draco had no anger left for Snape’s betrayal. Somewhere in his mind, a
numb voice noted that at least his father had died in battle, at the hand of
someone he respected, and that Snape seemed as grief-stricken as Draco. He was
rewarded with a brief epiphany into the relationship between his father and
Snape, but it had seemed irrelevant next to the crushing weight of his grief.

Wrapped up in his private world of mourning, he was
oblivious to the monumental events occurring around him. The death of Dumbledore
and Harry Potter’s final, fierce duel with Lord Voldemort passed him by, as did
the jubilation when the Boy Who Lived became the Man Who Killed Voldemort. It
was only when Draco was dragged from the body of his father to be flung at
Potter’s feet that the reality had come crashing in. He had stared into his
nemesis’ emerald eyes and felt the beginnings of terror.

“Well, well…Draco Malfoy.” Potter had said with a cruel
smirk far removed from his usual Golden Griffindor grin. “No…he’ll not go to
Azkaban with the others. Keep him in Grimmuald Place for now.”

Three months he had been locked in that dark house, his
wand burnt to ashes, kept far away from any contact with living beings. His fear
had bred in that darkness and begun to swamp him as he had contemplated what his
fate might be. Despite the collapse of his future, he did not want to die;
neither did he want to be imprisoned for the rest of his days. The solitary
confinement to the house was driving him out of his mind; he dared not think
what a cell would do to him. The Dementors might be long since destroyed but
there were other kinds of guards, other kinds of torture…Draco had refused to
cry, even at the loneliest and most terrifying hours of the night. He was all
that was left of the Malfoy’s – he had to carry on with dignity.

When they finally led him blinking into sunlsunlight, it
was to find that the whole world had been turned upside down. They say the road
to hell is paved with good intentions. This one was paved with the very best.

After the carnage of the Second War had been cleared up, a
kind of peace had settled over the wizarding world. However, most of the
Ministry had been killed or imprisoned – Potter was taking no chances with the
few remaining Death eaters – and those left in authority were leaderless and
afraid. Tentatively, they had asked Potter for help, and he had responded with
suggestions and recommendations that his close associates – namely the Order
members – be placed in positions of power. All very sensible; these were the
most trustworthy and reliable people in this new age, so Hogwarts was given to
Hermione Granger and the Minister of Magic position was conferred on Ron
Weasley. Naturally, these two consulted Harry every time there was a decision to
be made. Potter grew to enjoy power, as so many had before him, and slowly his
suggestions became commands, and almost without anyone noticing, Potter took
control of the entire wizarding community. The other wizarding nations
automatically deferred to him and so the Boy Who Lived progressed from the Man
Who Killed Voldemort to the Lord Who Ruled All.

Draco had collapsed in hysterics when this was explained to
him. It was too bloody ironic.

They had taken him to a great mansion, Potter’s personal
residence, where his council sat and his will was made real. Escorted into an
enormous hall, he had seen the long table -–reminiscient of Hogwarts in a sick
way – then lifted his eyes to the raised dais, and the black marble throne that
sat above all else. His knees had shook at the sight of Potter, imposing in
black robes, sitting regally on that throne, his only symbol of power the wand
in his lap. His guards had had to half-drag, half-carry him the length of the
hall, and thrown him before the dais, leaving him to a private judgement. It had
been him and potter, and Draco had not been able to look up.

“Scared, Malfoy?” laughed the new Dark Lord.

An old memory of a student duel floated through Draco’s
mind. So long ago now…

“At least you have the sense to kneel before me.” Continued
the voice, much deeper than his predecessors, yet just as cold. “I am almost
expected defiance…but you are too afraid to even look at me.”

That stung through his fear and Draco lifted his head
angrily, poised to lash out in scorn. The expression on Potter’s face turned the
words to dust in his mouth.

Hunger.

“You look good on your knees, Malfoy.”

Sweet Merlin, no. Oh, please, no.

“But then…you’ve always looked good. For all those years in
school you looked good…you were always tempting me…” Potter was watching him
closely, watching the colour drain Draco’s face and the fear creep across his
features as he began to understand. “And now you’re in my power. Now, you belong
to me.”

Potter was rising, stepping down and…no, hell no,
Draco could see his erection through his robes…he blinked fiercely, driving back
tears, this could not be happening…

“Never, Potter.” Draco rasped, overcoming his fear as
Potter closed the distance between them. Draco was not averse to having a male
lover, had done so frequently in the past, and was even prepared to admit that
once or twice he had thought of Potter and wondered…but this was no proposition.
Draco would be no man’s sex toy. Ever. “You’ll have to kill me. I’d rather die
than belong to you.” He spat, trying to put conviction into the words.

Potter grinned, resembling a particularly bloodthirsty
shark, and raised his wand.

“Crucio!”

Draco screamed, writhing in agony, back arching as he
scrabbled at the air. The pain was too intense, sweet Lord it hurt and he
was going to die, he had to be dying…I don’t to want to die, I want to live,
oh, please, I want to live…abruptly it was over and Draco lay panting on the
floor.

“You’re lying, Malfoy.” Potter’s face was too close, too
damned close. “You don’t want to die. You want to live. You’d do anything to
live.”

Draco stared in those mocking eyes and could not lie.

“I…I don’t want to die.” He admitted brokenly.

“So, you have a choice.” Potter’s pupils dilated, the black
swamping the green. Slytherin green. Why had Draco never thought of that? “You
can submit yourself to me…or I can kill you. And we both know you don’t wan
d
die. So it’s a yes or no answer, Malfoy. Do you belong to”

“Yes.” Draco whispered miserably, hating his fear of dying,
dreading what this would mean.

“Good boy.” Potter drawled, raising his wand again. Draco
tensed but the spell was unfamiliar and washed over him without pain. He
shivered suddenly, feeling a cold breeze moving over bare skin. Bare skin? He
looked down, then back to Potter in disbelief. Potter had dressed him like a
cheap whore; nothing but skin tight leather trousers, which sat too low on his
hips for Draco’s liking. The rest of him was deliberately on display - even his
feet were bare. Anger rolled over him as he pictured how sluttish he must look.

“What the hell - ” he began furiously but was cut off by
another spasm of pure agony.

“You will address me as ‘Master’.” Potter said curtly,
stepping over the prone Draco to retrieve something from his throne. Something
that clanked.

Draco had shuddered as the cold metal had been clamped
around his neck and magically sealed. Only Potter could release him, and from
the spark in his eyes and the possessive way he murmured ‘Mine’, Draco had known
that he would wear the collar for a very long time. He had naively thought it a
mere symbol, until he tried to crawl away Potter and felt the tug at his neck. A
heavy chain connected his collar to the arm of the throne, allowing him only to
move to the edge of the dais. He had stood, frozen in shock, as Potter returned
to his throne and tugged the chain sharply.

“Heel, Malfoy.”

Draco had not responded, too caught up in the shame that he
had submitted and that he was going to live like this – a prisoner again! – and
had been subjected to another bout of pain. Shaking, he had obeyed the command,
kneeling by the throne. Potter had patted him on the head like an obedient dog
and then summoned his council. Draco had tasted bile as he had realised that he
was not only going to be Potter’s private slave, but also his very public pet.
Shame had filled him and he had bowed his head before them.

***

Months later and Draco no longer rebelled against commands.
He had felt enough pain to last a lifetime and the mere raising of Potter’s wand
was enough to cow him into submission. It had not been technically rape but it
was sure as hell not Draco’s will, and potter had used his body mercilessly,
laughing at Draco’s rage and disgust. Draco’s defiance had not lasted, even when
commanded to pleasure his Lord, and he now obeyed, if not willingly, with all
his skill and experience. Potter seemed almost disappointed in Draco’s
submission and recently had tried a new tactic – one that was proving much more
effective in breaking Draco’s spirit.

The first Potter had reached for Draco’s cock, he had
yelped in surprise and frozen completely, allowing Potter precious time to
arouse his treacherous body. Much as Draco resisted, Potter knew what he was
doing and Draco had climaxed filled with self-loathing. It had taken a swift
curse to force Draco back to submission and he had bent his head, unable to bear
the self-satisfied smirk on Potter’s face.

Since then, Potter had take care to always take his own
pleasure before turning his attention to Draco. However, the bastard was an
incredible lover and Draco hated himself for how good it felt and how much he
enjoyed it.

He hated himself more when he realised he craved Potter’s
touch. That he missed the sex if Potter went away. That he needed Potter.

***

Draco heard his master sign impatiently as he ran fingers
through ice-blond hair. Despite his mind’s protest, Draco’s body thrilled –
Potter was growing weary of endless talk and that meant he wanted a diversion.
Inevitably, a Draco-shaped diversion. A few barked commands and the Council were
evicted; Draco obediently uncoiled himself and knelt between his master’s legs,
awaiting instructions. Potter seemed in a strange mood, as he kept stroking
Draco’s hair idly, instead of swiftly ordering his pet to whatever form of
pleasure he so desired. Hesitantly, Draco leant forwards and began to remove
Potter’s robes, the usual start to the proceedings, but Potter remained silent
and still, running fingers through the white strands and across Draco’s pale
face. Draco had never done anything of his own initiative before, but fearing
reprisals if he did nothing, he exposed Potter’s chest, criss-crossed with scars
and took one firm nipple into his mouth. He knew that Potter particularly
enjoyed this and was rewarded with a soft moan as he grazed the hard nub with
his teeth. Draco could feel Potter’s cock beginning to stir but ignored it,
concentrating on the firm chest.

Potter’s hands finally left his hair and were roaming
across Draco’s chest and back, teasing hard nipples but not settling. Draco
shivered slightly and pressed himself more firmly against Harry – unaware of the
fatal shift in his mind as lust rose within him – hands reaching for his
master’s flies. Harry moaned again, much louder, as Draco eased the throbbing
erection out from the constrains of his trousers and lightly ran slender hands
up and down the shaft. Harry squeezed Draco’s shoulders tightly; Draco responded
by trailing down Harry’s chest until his hot mouth found the pulsing cock and he
flicked his tongue over the head, tasting the precome. Harry gasped and his hips
bucked; the dark man looked down with smouldering eyes to meet Draco’s silver
gaze, releasing Draco’s shoulders to fumble at Draco’s flies.

Draco backed off quickly, standing and walking to the edge
of the dais, chain stretched taut. Slowly, eyes fixed on Harry, he undressed
himself and stepped out of the leather trousers. He wrapped his hand around his
own rising erection and began to slide it up and down until it was as hard and
aching as Harry’s. Harry licked his lips but remained silent.

Draco was slightly puzzled; Harry had never been silent
before. Devoid of commands, he stood still for a few moments before his own lust
spoke, driving backback to between Harry’s legs. Before he could kneel, Harry
reached for him and pulled him forcefully into his lap. Theirs cocks thrust
against each other and they both gasped at the thrill. This was unprecedented –
sitting on his lap? – but Draco was too far gone in lust to consider anything
but his desperate need. He heard harry mutter a spell, then felt a cool,
lubricated finger entering him. Shuddering, he pushed himself against it,
unaware that he had begun to beg.

“More…please, more…sweet…more…” he gasped, feeling a second
and third finger enter, widening and preparing him. “You…please, you, want…ohhh…”
Draco’s eyes fluttered as Harry obliged, easing himself into Draco until he was
fully sheathed in Draco’s tight flesh. Harry stilled, allowing Draco to adjust
to the penetration. Their brewas was ragged and Draco opened his eyes to revel
in Harry’s face, flushed with desire. He gripped Harry’s shoulders and began
mo
move, gasping at the sensation of Harry sliding in and out of him.

Draco ground his hips against Harry harder and faster as
the pleasure began to build, all pride and dignity lost in lust. His world
shrank to this chair, to the feel of Harry beneath him – completely new, Harry
had never allowed Draco to be above him – and the fire in his blood as he
rode Harry, watching his master losing control as he thrust frantically.
Abruptly, he became conscious of Harry’s moaning – it couldn’t be –

“Draco…ohh, harder, Draco, yes…”

Draco? He had not heard his name in half a year and
now Harry was gasping it, as if he and Draco were lovers, not master and
slave…even as this registered, Harry gripped Draco’s neglected cock and began to
pump him hard, in time with Harry’s frenzied stinsting. It was…oh, it was…he was
going to…Draco could feel himself getting closer…their faces were inches apart
as never before…Harry was leaning forward…

Hot lips met Draco’s and an eager tongue sought entry to
his mouth.

Draco had not been kissed for years.

It was good.

Draco had felt Harry’s skilful hands on him before, had
reached dizzying heights of pleasure, then crashed to depths of self-loathing
once he was spent. But this kiss – this kiss captured his soul. He kissed back
passionately, plundering Harry’s mouth, feeling more connected to Harry than
ever before.

Abruptly, Harry broke the kiss as he shuddered to
completion, his seed filling Draco as he cried his name. Draco followed,
plunging into his climax, oblivious to the fact that was screaming his master’s
name over and over.

Draco slumped against Harry, heart beating frantically. He
couldn’t summon the energy to tense as Harry wrapped his arms around him,
burying his face in his neck. He’s hugging me? A small voice screamed at
him that he was betraying everything, he was betraying his father and his Malfoy
name; how could he want or need the man who had humiliated him, hurt him and
enslaved him; but the voice was easily squashed as Draco relished the warmth and
feel of Harry’s body.

Draco felt Harry’s breath against his neck before his mind
registered the word.

“Alohomorap>
p>

The collar clicked and slid from Draco’s neck, hitting the
floor with a dull clang. Draco straightened slowly and carefully climbed down
from Harry’s lap, avoiding eyes contact. He turned and walked away, finally
stepping down the dais.

For thest tst time in months, he stood proudly, like a true
Malfoy. He was free.

Behinm, Hm, Harry said softly but clearly:

“Goodbye, Draco.”

Draco turned to stare at the man who had held him as a
slave. Harry was smiling sadly, clothes still in disarray, flushed and
dishevelled. Draco stared at the body he knew so intimately, at the face of the
most powerful Lord the world had ever seen.

At the lips of the man he couldn’t live without.

Freely, willing, Draco approached the throne and knelt
between Harry’s legs, resting his head in his master’s lap.

“Harry.” He whispered as familiar fingers began to stroke
his hair. Draco closed his eyes, smiling, and did not see the light of triumph
in Lord Potter’s eyes.

Some chains are forged far stronger than iron.

Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips,

And all is dross that is not Harry.

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