3. LICK MY SHOES
Lick my shoes. Lick my shoes. The words still resounded in Harry's head whenever he looked at Draco, shuddered through his body when Draco touched him. Lick my shoes. Those words set the course for Harry's next week. He was humiliated, he was punished, he was abused, and he could do nothing against it; the few times he had rebelled it only had made it worse.
Outside of their rooms, Draco acted like the perfect gentleman: he was gentle and respectful in the way he addressed Harry and soon even his father's suspicion seemed to evaporate. Whenever Harry was scared of something, the blond would take him in his arms and Harry was the only one who noticed that his hands were bruising and punishing him for the disturbance. Whenever someone looked at them suspiciously, Draco would smile at Harry in blatant adoration until they were pacified. Whenever someone tried to get near to Harry, the Slytherin pretended to be jealous and they were soon left alone.
But as soon as they were back in Harry's prison, because not even the homey atmosphere that had first drawn him to his rooms could cover the horrors he had to face there, Malfoy wanted to be addressed as Master. After he had punished Harry for the troubles he had caused during the day, he would come up with countless new ways to torture and degrade the small Gryffindor.
At first it had been petty things: licking his boots and declaring his absolute authority, acting like a monkey for the blond's amusement, serving him hand to foot, but soon his orders had become more and more vicious as he obviously warmed up to his new task. Soon, Harry wasn't allowed to stand anymore, then he wasn't allowed to wear clothes either and whenever his wings came out to hide his nudity, Draco would hit him with curses, both verbal and magical until he was a whimpering pile and wouldn't even have protested if Draco allowed it.
From time to time, there was another, gentler, almost loving Draco, who took him in his arms, pulled a blanket over him and rocked him carefully, crooning in his ear. Harry didn't know if he liked this Draco better, since he never stayed long, and afterwards Draco was even more violent, as if to make up for his earlier gentleness, but whenever Draco touched him with such care it felt like something inside was mending again, smoothing over the edges Draco's usual words and actions had left on his soul.
He wanted to hate Draco, wanted to hurt and humiliate him as he did to Harry. He wanted to show him that he wasn't weak or pathetic, that he deserved something better than satisfying Draco's sick desires, but a part of him wouldn't allow it. He wasn't allowed to have negative feelings towards a dominant and so it was only his mind that feebly tried to protect his sanity.
Lick my shoes.
"Harry, my dear boy." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in greeting as he stopped them in the corridors. "How have you been doing? Is everything all right?"
"Yes." Harry nodded lifelessly, Draco's hand resting on his bruised stomach, telling him exactly what would happen should he choose to give another answer. "I'm fine."
"Ah, I see, I'm glad you're adjusting so well." The Headmaster smiled at him, and Harry wished he could smile back with more honesty than he did. "Do you feel up to seeing your friends? Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley asked to be allowed to visit you today."
"Yes," Harry shouted immediately, before Draco could make another decision for him, and the hold on him tightened.
"I'll send them by." Dumbledore chuckled. "Maybe you could help your godfather in the meantime, Mr. Malfoy. I think I remember him complaining about the huge amount of potions he is to brew for the infirmary... but on the other hand, that's nothing new, is it? Why don't I accompany you to your rooms and wait with Harry until his friends arrive? This way you can enjoy a bit of carefree time..."
"That's not a problem, Headmaster." Draco smiled politely. "Harry is very good company. It doesn't bother me at all."
"Not so modest, my dear boy," Dumbledore stated cheerfully. "It must be hard to put all your differences aside, you deserve a break. And who knows when the next chance will arise."
"Tell him that you want to spend more time with me," Draco whispered harshly in Harry's ear, making a shiver run down his spine and his wings tremble under the surface.
He took a deep breath; this could be the only chance he had. Hermione would catch on, and then she could tell someone who could really do something about it. Even if it was merely one afternoon without Draco, he was sure it would be enough to prevent his spirit from cracking for a while longer.
"I want to spend more time with me," Harry whispered. "It'd be nice to live my own life again."
Dumbledore happily clapped his hands, though if either of the boys had bothered to look closer, they would have seen suspicion flare in his wise eyes. But as it was Harry was staring at the floor and his shoes and was trying to hold back his whimpers because his Master would be even angrier if he whimpered now, and maybe Draco would manage to convince Dumbledore Harry had said this, because he didn't want to be a burden to Draco.
But before Draco could protest, Dumbledore pushed the blond boy towards the staircase with finality. "I'll take good care of your Harry, don't worry, Mr. Malfoy."
Harry could feel Malfoy's cold eyes boring into the back of his skull, could feel his overbearing presence, the presence of an enraged dominant, all the way to his prison. Not even after Dumbledore had closed the door after them could he get rid of his fear. This was where Draco's treatment was worst. How could he relax, even though his Master wasn't there? He was alone, without a dominant creature, how could he be safe?
"No need to be so nervous, my dear boy," Dumbledore said jovially. "Your friends should be here any minute now - Ah, right on cue," he continued happily as Ron stepped through the fire, almost immediately followed by Hermione. "I'll leave you three alone, I'm sure you have much to discuss. Just remember, Harry, you can always come to me if something is bothering you."
"Thank you, Sir," Harry mumbled, though he knew that it wasn't an option; Draco had strictly forbidden him to tell anyone.
Dumbledore either didn't seem to notice or wasn't prepared to accept the possibility that one of his plans hadn't worked out, and twinkled at the three of them before leaving the once cozy rooms.
"Hey, mate, sucks to be you, doesn't it?" Ron, if possible had grown another three inches, making him look even more gangly; he smiled at the much smaller Gryffindor before pulling him to his chest and ruffling his hair affectionately. "What is Dumbledore thinking, having you live with Malfoy? The bastard treats you right, doesn't he? I swear if he doesn't I will..."
"Oh, honestly, Ron," Hermione interrupted him with her best authoritative voice. "You should be mature enough to overcome your childish grudge. Dumbledore surely has his reasons, and Harry needs someone to take care of him, don't you, Harry?" She also hugged the small elf, kissing his cheek lightly, which made Harry blush.
"Yes, I need someone to take care of me," he said softly, and he could see Hermione drawing her eyebrows together.
"Doesn't he treat you right, Harry?" she asked suspiciously. "I read veelas are very passionate and loving creatures. Is he putting pressure on you? Is he moving too fast for your liking?"
"Everything just happened kind of overnight, Mione," Harry murmured lowly, trying to somehow make her see that he wasn't treated okay, that Draco was an outright bastard, that he was close to breaking. "Help me, Mione." He looked up pleadingly at her. "Help me, make some tea, please?"
Hermione's brow furrowed even further, and Ron seemed to be a bit suspicious as they followed Harry into the small kitchen, where he was already busy setting the kettle on the plate.
"Harry, you can tell us if something is wrong." Ron carefully approached the silent boy. "And something is wrong, isn't it? What aren't you telling us?"
Harry kept silent; he wasn't allowed to tell them.
"Can you write it down, Harry?" Hermione offered, already shuffling through her robe pocket.
"There is nothing to write down," Harry said softly, clenching his hands into fists; Master had barred that escape as well. "Help me with the tea, please?"
"Damnit, Harry, you can't be serious!" Ron exclaimed. "We aren't blind. There is something wrong!"
"Stop shouting, Ron," Hermione admonished him, motioning to Harry. "You aren't making this easier on Harry."
"But, Mione..."
Hermione ignored him and turned to the slender elf. "Harry, I'm going to make some wild guesses now, and you give us a sign if I hit the nail on the head, okay?" Harry nodded almost imperceptibly.
"You would rather someone else would take care of you." Harry slammed one of the cups down on the counter.
"Malfoy forbid you to tell us what is wrong." A second cup followed.
"The Malfoys are still Death Eaters," Ron concluded, but Harry kept perfectly still.
"So it's only Draco," Hermione said after a while, and the last cup shattered on the floor. "Merlin, Harry what is he doing to you?"
It was now or never. Harry reached for the kettle with the boiling hot water and turned around to face them before he deliberately poured the scalding hot water over his left hand. "Help me," he whispered. "Help me, please."
He dropped to the floor beside the broken cup and started to mop up the water.
"Stop this, Harry, you are hurting yourself," Ron said authoritatively, gathering his trembling best friend in his arms. "We will get you out of here, I promise, okay?"
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," a cold voice interrupted. "Potter, if either of them says anything to Dumbledore, one of the professors or my parents, you will kill yourself, is that understood?"
"Yes, Master." Harry whimpered, making himself as small as possible.
"Good little slut," Malfoy mocked him. "Come here."
Harry scrambled to obey, crawling towards his Master as tears cascaded down his cheeks. He sobbed loudly as Ron tried to stop him.
"Now, Weasel, Mudblood, let me make something clear to you," the veela continued in a sickly sweet voice, pressing his manicured fingernails into Harry's burnt hand. "If you should be so foolish as to tell someone about this little incident, Potter will pay for it. If you so much as glare at me, Potter will pay for it. If I get injured in any shape or form, Potter will pay for it. And if you make the same mistake as Potter and try to hint at what happened, Potter will pay for it. And now go, Potter still needs to be punished for his insolence today. Don't you, bitch?"
"Yes, Master." Harry shook with suppressed sobs.
He had disobeyed and displeased the dominant - he needed to be punished. He didn't deserve to live because he had caused his Master so many problems.
Ron's face had turned an angry red, and he was ready to retort, but Hermione clasped her hand around his and dragged him towards the door. "You will not get through with this," she spat, drawing her wand in the same second, intent on cursing the blond into the next century and from there straight to the depths of hell.
What she hadn't counted on though were Draco's veela senses and so the blond was the first to say his spell.
"Obliviate!" he whispered, two times in quick succession, while at the same time forcing his face into a gentle smile. "It is a pity that you already have to go, Hermione, Ronald. I hope you will be able to visit Harry soon. You'd like that, wouldn't you, honey?"
The bruising grip Malfoy maintained on his hand told Harry exactly what answer was expected. "Yes, I'd like that. Thanks for your visit, you two. Is everything alright, you seem a bit confused?"
"Yes, yes, Harry, we are fine." Hermione absentmindedly pocketed her wand. "Are you? You look a bit teary-eyed..."
"Hermione, you were there when Harry dropped that cup and got a bit hysterical." Malfoy seemed to lovingly rubbed Harry's shoulder. "Don't you remember? Maybe you should see Madam Pomfrey about this."
"Oh, no, it's fine," the bushy-haired girl muttered. "I guess I've been studying a bit too much. I can't get those potion's ingredients out of my head."
Ron chuckled at this, and Harry gave a short laugh after a prompting slap to his buttocks. On the inside he wanted to cry as his two best friends took their leave with promises to visit again soon. Draco was manipulating them with his veela charms, and Hermione stared at him in blatant adoration. Even Ron seemed a bit dazed as he closed the door behind him and Hermione.
"You little shit," his Master growled at him, and Harry made a futile attempt to cover his head as Draco began to kick him mercilessly.
But he deserved it, didn't he? And Draco was right. He was a useless burden and contaminated everyone. Of course he needed to be punished. And he was ugly and dirty and filthy and a freak and good-for-nothing. He had caused his Master trouble, it was right that he should pay for his abnormal nature. Hermione and Ron didn't really care for him, Remus didn't either or he would have come to visit him. He was just a tool, a handy little weapon, a slut, a whore. He deserved to lie bleeding on the floor, he deserved to have his wings broken. He shouldn't have let them come out to protect him because he deserved every kick and punch and he shouldn't make it more difficult for his Master to discipline him.
His stomach rebelled as Draco once again administered a vicious kick to his abdomen, and he could feel the bile rising in his throat. This was not right! Lucius had said that Draco should protect him, treat him with care, cherish him even! The darkness surrounded the veela like a thick cloak. No, it was not darkness, Lucius was dark, Snape was dark, Remus was dark, Draco was evil.
Harry tried to block out all the things Draco told him, tried to focus on the pain instead. He would not give Malfoy the satisfaction to break him. Hermione and Ron and Remus cared about him. It was not their fault they couldn't help him. Maybe it was his fault because he was so weak and scared and couldn't fight back, but it was not their fault.
He whimpered softly as his Master made his clothes disappear. He hated to be naked. Malfoy made him do vile things when he was naked, things he didn't even want to think about doing, things that threatened to drown him in shame, things that Draco had no right to demand from him.
Draco didn't seem to mind the puddle of blood that surrounded Harry as he began to undress with every intention to get something good out of his mission. The delicate, shivering body lying to his feet was delicious and everything in him, both his human and his veela side, urged him to take the pale beauty, to claim him, tarnish him, fuck him raw. He took a small step forward, stepping out of his pants, just as his mark flared up. He heard the small painful gasp from the elfish creature beneath him and cursed his Lord for his timing. That could have been fun.
"It's time you meet your mate, Potter," the blond purred sardonically, dragging Harry up from the floor. "My Lord has been really eager to meet you. Oh, did I forget to mention that I would present you to him soon? Go, get dressed and wash off that blood. You have ten minutes."
Harry crawled to the bathroom, not able to make his legs work and not sure if it would anger his Master if he stood up. He tried to wash off the blood from his face and hands, and he scrubbed over the rest of his body with a wet washcloth, but soon had to realise that it was no use and that the wounds began oozing blood again as soon as he moved on. So he slipped into his widest and softest pair of trousers and one of Dudley's big sweat-shirts.
As the bathroom door was pushed open without warning and Draco strode in, Harry swivelled around, staring up with big green eyes. The blond veela paused briefly, before he pulled Harry close to his chest and slid his hands over the elf's body to make sure that all wounds were covered.
"A pity to waste such beauty," he murmured and pressed a kiss to Harry's neck. "My beautiful little sub, how good you do smell. Do you love me, Harry, say that you love me?"
"I love you, Master," Harry whispered, relaxing around this gentle Draco; he was at point where he was grateful for even the smallest reprieve.
"Shh, none of that. I'm Draco. Let me hear you say it, Harry." Draco kissed his neck again. "Say 'Draco'."
"Draco," Harry whispered, and the veela moaned in bliss, nibbling on Harry's ear before lifting him in his arms.
The sudden movement forced a small cry from Harry's throat as his wounds and bruises were squeezed painfully, and Draco drew back in concern.
"Harry, sweetheart, what is it? Are you hurt?"
"My belly hurts a little," Harry murmured when it became clear that Draco really expected an answer and wasn't only mocking him.
Draco's brow furrowed, and Harry began to shake, fearing the dominant's anger. "I'm sorry, sorry, sorry..."
"Shush, that stupid stomach ache should feel sorry, not someone as beautiful as you." Draco pecked his nose, smiling charmingly. "And I know just the thing to make you feel better: a nice, warm cup of chamomile tea with honey and a hot-water bottle. How does that sound?"
"Nice?" Harry answered uncertainly, and Draco chuckled, pecking his nose once more before turning away.
"I'll make you tea, then. Why don't you wait for me in the living room?" Draco suggested, and Harry nodded hastily, breathing a sigh of relief when Draco left.
He knew what would happen next. An enraged shout moments later told him that the gentle Draco was gone again, and his Master returned, enraged and furious.
"Thought you could bewitch me, did you?" he demanded, shaking Harry. "If you hadn't already made us late, you'd get your punishment now, but it will have to wait. But don't worry, it will be a pleasure deferred. My and my Lord's pleasure. Come!"
Draco spoke a quick glamour charm over Harry's face and then jerked him from the room.
Harry followed him mutely, trying to keep up with the blond's longer strides and not to shy away from his mere presence. So this was the end of his life? Voldemort's whore? He hadn't expected that, but at least he wouldn't have to kill anyone. If he was lucky Voldemort would soon grow careless and he would be able to die. He reprimanded himself for giving up so soon, but knew in his heart he couldn't do anything anymore, that his luck had finally run out. He was a submissive elf, he was scared, and he was alone. It didn't matter anymore that he was a Gryffindor at heart because although he would like to fight Draco, he couldn't disobey a dominant, he just couldn't.
"Draco, where do you think you are going?" a silky voice stopped them mere metres away from the great double doors that would ultimately lead Harry away from the scarce safety Hogwarts provided, and a tiny little flame of hope flared in Harry's chest.
"Harry and I wanted to go for a walk, father," Draco lied smoothly. "Right, honey?"
"Yes," Harry replied shakily, trying desperately to push the glamour charm off with his magic.
"I would like to have a word with Harry, if you please, Draco," Lucius' voice sounded hard and authoritative, and Harry wished desperately that it would have the same effect on his Master that it had on him.
Draco hissed warningly at Lucius in a convincing show of possessiveness and tightened his hold on Harry. "Anything you have to say to Harry you can say in front of me."
The two blonds exchanged heated glares before Lucius suddenly turned his silver eyes to Harry. "Are you okay, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry whispered brokenly, hope leaving him once again.
"Harry, tell me the truth," Lucius demanded, catching onto the fact that Harry's immaculate face didn't match his crumbled clothes or the way he was holding himself as if something was weighing him down.
Once brilliant green looked up at him, now dulled with pain, and a flicker of magic went over Harry's face, revealing for a split second all the bruises and cuts that had been hidden by the glamour. Harry's broken wings ripped through the tender skin of his back, and Harry let out a piercing scream, then passed out, the matted feathery appendages surrounding him limply.
Lucius let out a furious scream at seeing the submissive hurt in such a way, and he pointed his wand at his only son, throwing him against the nearest wall as Draco made to grab the hurt elf. The younger blond's wand clattered to the floor, and a small trail of blood formed at the corner of his mouth as he slipped to the stones, unconscious. Satisfied, Lucius crouched down next to the small creature, gathering him in his arms as the scent of blood and desperation hit his heightened senses. He stood up with the utmost care, trying not to jostle Harry too much. A soft whimper reached his ears, nonetheless, and he silently apologised to the little sub.
He turned towards where he had thrown his son, without a hint of remorse, but with every intent of binding his traitor of a heir to deal with later. His eyes widened briefly as they landed on the bare piece of wall, the younger veela nowhere in sight. He should have anticipated this, he reprimanded himself, and probably should be thankful Draco hadn't attacked them when his attention was focused on Harry.
Lucius was never a man to dwell too much on past mistakes. What was done, was done and no amount of self-pity and reproach would change that, and so he turned back to the matter at hand, noting that Harry was still unconscious and that blood was seeping through his clothes. He cursed softly and hastily walked towards the infirmary.