For the thousandth time, Draco wrenched at the shackles pinning his
And for the thousandth time, remained quite securely fixed to the
He cursed. Vehemently and creatively. Cursed Voldemort for existing,
cursed his father for not being able to do enough, cursed himself for
seventeen years of naivete.
And cursed just how bloody freezing it was in this prison without
He'd thought he'd known just how it all was laid out and had been
from the beginning. Simple inertia was carrying him along in the plans
his father had for him, and he had had no reason to fight it. He was a
Malfoy, after all; if his father would have him become a Death Eater he
It was as much of a surprise to his father as it had been to him.
Voldemort didn't want him to become a Death Eater.
Voldemort wanted a new form to inhabit. A seventeen-year-old,
physically fit, blond form.
At least his father had tried to plead a case. It was something.
Draco could only hope that the reason Lucius Malfoy had ceased his
protests in the face of the Dark Lord's anger was that he was waiting
until the time was right to act. Try something that would get him the
fuck out of here. His father was good at subtlety.
What he was not good at was compromising his instinct for
Draco pressed his face against his bicep and groaned. He was as good
as dead. The round room didn't even have a door, much less a window.
One of those protected locations that could only be apparated to, and
then you had to know the interior to be able to get to it at all.
Voldemort was evil, but
not always clever, but this time he'd obviously listened to somebody;
that pissant Pettigrew.
The pillar he was chained to was at the center of a pentagram, whose
rust-brown color suggested that it had been painted in blood. Very
archaic. Unfortunately, so were dark magic rituals like these.
Draco didn't know what Voldemort was waiting for-- the dark of the
moon, a configuration of the planets, whatever hoary bullshit some
ancestorial evil wizard had woven into his invented spell, all those
years ago, when he
discovered that he hated being decrepit and reeking and impotent, and
that the cute boytoy inhabiting his bed out of sheer terror would look
on him than on him. But clearly it wouldn't be long. No one had
to bring him food or water, and his arms, shackled above his head in
manacles, had gone beyond painfully numb to dead weights, and he was
to be losing some toes soon, it was so cold in here. Unless
wanted to spend the next fifty years maimed, it would be soon.
Would he know when it happened? Would Voldemort have to come there
the ritual, or would it happen from without? Would there be any
when Voldemort's mind pushed out his own, and he was dying?
Would it hurt?
He could barely feel the wound anymore, the symbol Voldemort had cut
into his chest before imprisoning him here. Draco still couldn't tell
what it was; if it was supposed to be a weird scrolly V, or the
initials TMR imposed over each other, or some hieroglyphic meaning Oh
I'm Just So Evil or
whatever. But Voldemort had collected the blood that had poured from
flesh and transformed it into a red crystal pendant that clearly was
just meant to be a trinket for his curio cabinet.
At least his father hadn't been one of the Death Eaters holding him
down during that.
And Voldemort had hung the pendant around his own neck, murmuring
something about Very soon..., and in short order Draco had
found himself here.
Desperate for something as vast as rescue and as mundane as a pair
And suddenly... he got both of those things.
Well... his rescuer was wearing socks, at any rate.
There was no doubt, despite the absurdity of it, that that was who
was. His rescuer.
His rescuer was incongruously wearing a sword but dressed in jeans,
was no older than he was, and was still wearing those bloody eyeglasses
that he refused to abandon for a Viginti et Viginti charm.
And was undeniably the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen in his
"Potter?" he choked.
Harry was blinking, adjusting to the torchlight, but clearly Draco's
pale body and silver-blond hair didn't need much highlighting. His face
broke into a relieved grin. "Well, that's the first part out of the
way. I could have appeared right in the middle of the pillar and then
we'd both be fucked. Son of a bitch, it's cold in here."
"Are-- you came alone?"
Harry lifted his eyebrows, looked left and looked right, and then
shrugged. "Looks that way."
"Draco, if I do this right, one's all that's needed. Oh, your father
Draco felt something lurch in his chest. "He-- sent you?"
Another shrug. "Let's just say we had the same agenda. Well-- not
same, that would get really weird, given what-- fuck, I'm not
this right. Look, Draco, we don't have much time." He stepped closer,
Draco saw Harry's eyes fall to his chest, seeing the crusted carving in
skin. "Fucking bastard. Draco, there's a lot of binding magic
I have to sever. Do you trust me?"
"Do you trust me?"
Draco screwed up his face at the familiarity of the exchange. "Who
are you supposed to be, Aladdin?"
"No, I'm a lot cuter. Please, Draco, just answer me."
"Wh-- yes, you moron, I trust you a lot farther than I trust
Voldemort! What's my alternative if I don't?"
"Point." He stepped directly in front of Draco. "But it's kind of
Harry leaned forward and kissed him.
Of all the bizarre events that had happened to him in the past
sequence of hours, this one was not the least of them.
It was not a gentle kiss, either; Harry took possession of his mouth
like a debt that was owed him, opening Draco's lips with his tongue,
sliding his hand to the back of his head and into those brittle strands
of ice blond, moaning audibly as though he'd hoped Draco would taste
delicious and finding the reality surpassing his expectations
Draco could not have resisted if he'd believed Harry was trying to
suck his soul out of his body.
Shock had completely sapped his ability to struggle, or even
was happening. The Boy Who Lived was kissing him. Though Draco hadn't
about him with that particular title for a long time; it was more like boy
who grew up to be a very hot piece of arse even if he still is a
do-gooder who isn't going to look at any member of House Slytherin even
I did turn out a pretty nice package as well if I do say so myself
for him to be gay as well is just too much of a coincidence to be
and I may as well not even think about ever telling him that I want
more than to shag him senseless in the Quidditch locker room with about
gallons of chocolate sauce and a dozen studded-for-his-pleasure condoms.
Harry had his other hand on Draco's hip now, and he broke the kiss
against the side of Draco's mouth, "You're so cold." He pressed his
into Draco's as the hand on his hip clutched tighter.
"Is that all you can say?" Draco said, breathless, still not quite
able to process all that was happening.
Harry shook his head. "No, I suppose right now it would be best to
ask if you still trust me."
Draco pulled his head back just far enough so that he could meet
Harry's eyes with his. "Is 'right now, I don't care,' enough of an
Harry grinned. He had developed rather a wicked grin over the past
few years, and it looked frighteningly good on him. "I suppose it is.
I'm just sorry that we never did this earlier. How come you never told
"Me?!" Indignation made his eyes widen almost painfully.
"All right, you're right, this isn't the time. I'm going to
in advance, once, and that's it."
"For what?" Draco was finding it really annoying that he was
almost exclusively in questions.
"This." Harry slid to his knees and took the length of Draco's
chilled cock into his mouth.
Draco opened his mouth to say Apology not necessary, but the
feeling of Harry's warm mouth surrounding that part of him, let alone
the sight of him on his knees with his mouth full of Draco, turned what
he was going to say into a blert of nonsense noise, as his limbs all
tensed like harpstrings and the constricted purse that was his balls
decided that maybe it wasn't all that cold in here after all.
Harry made another moaning noise much like his first, as if Draco
were some tasty discovery, and Draco found himself responding to that
as well, pushing himself into the recesses of Harry's mouth, his cock
stirring, tentatively at first, unsurprising given that the
circumstances and the cold had had him about as far from a hard-on as
he could possibly imagine, and there was another one of those pleased
sighs from Harry, thrumming through his cock and stiffening him like it
had been audible starch, and Draco echoed Harry's groans with one of
his own as his head sank back against the pillar, wondering if
Voldemort could really be all that evil if his plans had caused the
universe to respond with something like this.
Now Harry was licking up the underside of his cock, swirling his
tongue over the head in broad, friendly swipes, until suddenly he
pulled away, looking at Draco's erection almost critically but not
without satisfaction, saying, "Good. Lack of cooperation isn't going to
be the rate-limiting step here, I'd say." He mouthed the head for a
moment more, as Draco squeaked, a sound he was not used to making, and
then Harry pulled away once again, settling back on his haunches as he
slid two straps off his shoulders which Draco
hadn't noticed before.
"Potter..." Draco said, voice cracking slightly, "...you're carrying
"Yes, well, given that there's a book in it, I'd say it's
not as absurd as you're making it sound."
He was settling the bag in his lap and pulling the book in question
from it. The thing was one of those cracked, ancient tomes, probably
bound in baby's skin or something equally gruesome, still dusty and
with parchment pages so brittle they could slice your finger off, and
probably impregnated with arsenic in case you were so unwise as to lick
your fingertips as you turned them.
Harry opened it on his lap and threw back a few pages, searching
through it for...whatever he was searching for. He glanced up once at
Draco's erection before returning his attention to the book. "Still
with me, Draco?"
"Exactly which one of us are you talking to, Potter?" Damn. He was
still talking in questions.
Harry snorted and kept searching. "I didn't know you both had the
same name. Ah, here we go..."
He laid the tome open on the floor. Draco saw a pentagram drawn on
the left page, rather impressively illuminated in red and gold. The
rest was all text.
"An incantation?" Dammit, he was going to have to stop that.
"God, no. It's all in some High Ancient Greco-Latin-y tongue that
no hope of pronouncing, much less translating. But your father and
Dumbledore told me this was it."
The image of his father and Dumbledore cooperating on anything was
almost too weird for Draco. But then Harry had leaned forward and
licked the tip of his erection again, and that image fled very quickly,
so he didn't have to worry himself with it any more.
Harry settled in, that was the only way to describe it, with his
hands on Draco's hips, the book open between his spread knees, and his
mouth hovering just in front of Draco's now rather eager cock. "It'll
help if you give me some warning when you're about ready to come,
And as Harry enveloped him with his mouth again, Draco managed, "I
that I'll have much else on my mind at that m-moment-- oh, God,
He let his head sink back against the pillar again. Whatever this
was, ritual or mad game or incredibly elaborate prank that Harry was
orchestrating (granted it was neither April First nor anywhere near his
birthday, so presumably that last was out), Draco didn't seem to be
able to do anything other than react in the way that Harry wanted him
to react, astounded at the skill of Harry's tongue (the son of a bitch had
to be experienced, and that
meant with someone else, and it hadn't been him, the unfair
little bastard! How had he not known?) and still not completely
this whole thing wasn't a dream, prompted by booze and fear and queasy
anticipation, the combination he'd been swimming in last night when he
thought he was
facing his Death Eater initiation today.
And then Harry grazed the corona of his cockhead with his teeth, and
Draco gave a strangled inhale, which Harry took to mean Nice,
because he did it again, a little less gently, and Draco whined and bit
his lip as
he thrust his hips forward, astounded that the fiend in front of him,
talented mouth full of Draco's cock, and the Gryffindor boy hero who
had his own shrine in the wizarding world, were one and the same. For a
moment he found himself double-checking his own suspicions: yes, there
that thin line of scar on his forehead, outlined by two unruly locks of
That led him to fix on the look in Harry's eyes, which held a touch
of concentration, no surprise, but was overwhelmingly dominated by a
kind of lazy fondness for the task engaging him, and Draco saw it quite
clearly, no mistaking it, as those eyes flicked up to meet his,
affection and question and a lightly wicked delight seizing and holding
At that moment Harry did something with his tongue that would have
clinched it, but it was the look in his eyes, really, that pushed him
to the edge, and surely Harry felt it as his hips arched further, as
those numb arms of his still managed to contract and pull against the
shackles above his head, as his toes (yes, they were still there--
amazing how even they felt warmer now) clutched at the stones in the
floor as he spread his legs, but he managed to remember Harry's
request, even in the middle of all that, and moaned
"Harry-- I, oh, god, I'm--" and Harry made a sound like "Hmm--", as if
had just told him it might rain today, and kept his mouth enclosed over
the very end of Draco's cock, still working him with his tongue, and,
an intense near-sob of "Harry...", Draco came, gasping and
and electrified from his cock to his brain with a current that exploded
into the periphery of his body that he felt all the way up to the tips
his numb fingers.
Harry kept his mouth on Draco until the twitching in his
hyperstimulated organ ceased entirely, and then, as Draco watched
through that sluggish haze of bliss, Harry withdrew his mouth, lips
closed, and bent down to the tome in front of him and spat the mouthful
of come onto the illuminated pentagram on the page.
As Draco was absurdly thinking How rude, Harry wiped his
with the back of his hand and glanced up at Draco, smiling. "No
You taste wonderful."
The red and gold ink of the illumination began to fizzle, little
sparks like miniature fireworks racing around the border of the
pentagram, shifting through a spectrum of colors until finally the red
remained but all the gold on the page was replaced by silver, pulsing
with an iridescence that you
could only see if you didn't look directly at it. Draco murmured, "We
had a class on that."
"Would have been very popular. Okay, that's step one." He closed the
book with a thud, making Draco blink at the abrupt dismissiveness of a
truly amazing blowjob. What on earth did he have planned as a
As if he'd spoken, Harry said, "I hope it's okay if I admit I'm
really going to like this next part."
Draco looked at him as he stood, still a little dazed. "Let me
You get to slug me really hard."
Harry stood up, leaned in. "Wrong verb." He kissed Draco on the
and Draco could taste himself, flavor altered on Harry's lips like salt
something bland, enhanced and suddenly interesting.
Harry stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. It was
hadn't seen before-- hadn't leered at surreptitiously before, for that
but having it right in front of him, all but offered to him, all
muscles and wine-colored nipples and light dusting of hair and gently
abdominals, and Draco with his wrists still shackled and unable to
it was enough to drive him blind with frustrated desire. He moaned,
his mouth was slightly open.
Harry's hand went to a cord that crossed his throat. "Wh-- oh, got
turned around. Thank god." He tugged at the cord, and a red crystal
pendant was pulled from behind his neck to fall against his breastbone.
This one was about
the size of the one Voldemort had created from Draco's own blood, but
one had been faceted. This one was teardrop-shaped and had no edges.
Harry lifted the cord over his head, leaned forward and slipped it
over Draco's. The pendant rested in the center of his sternum, warm
from where it had been kept against Harry's skin.
"Keep that right there," Harry said.
"No, I was planning to take it off and hock it the first chance I
get. I get the idea, Potter."
Harry didn't rise to the gibe, only smiled faintly and stepped back
and started opening his trousers. Again, it wasn't anything Draco
hadn't seen before, locker rooms being what they were, but he suspected
he knew where this was headed, and he made himself shut his mouth
before he started to drool. God, that entire gorgeous length of him.
Draco could feel his own cock
stirring again as he stared.
The sword in its scabbard was laid down carefully; shoes, socks, and
boxer shorts, Harry let fall where they would. But he held onto the
trousers for a moment, rummaging in a pocket and pulling out a tube of
something before he discarded the pants as well.
"Is that what I think it is?" Draco asked, a little breathlessly.
"Well, it's one of the few things I brought that isn't a spell
component. What did you have in mind?"
"You're a fucking tease, you know that?"
"No, I'd be a tease if this wasn't what you thought it was."
Harry opened the tube and squeezed colorless gel onto his fingers. "Get
your legs apart, lovely."
Draco shuddered. It took him a moment to be able do as Harry
commanded, during which time his cock rose another fraction.
He swallowed as Harry crouched slightly, reaching underneath Draco's
swelling genitals, and placed his gel-covered fingers at the cleft of
his arse, smearing cold thick lubricant into the cleft and seeking out
his opening with one finger, probing gently at first but then pushing
inside without any warning, invading him with a completeness that he
welcomed, that made him cry out at
how satisfying it was, and then that was overtaken when Harry did the
thing with two fingers, and Draco could hear Harry's breathing quicken
he spread him open, his other arm around Draco's waist, pulling him
forward against his own body. Draco could feel that now-hard cock
pressing against his own, and he knew Harry's face must be a mirror of
his own, all traces of mockery gone now, brows drawn in as if tasting
pain somewhere, lips parted and panting slightly. Draco spread his legs
wider as if it would help to accommodate
the two-- no, three, now, fingers opening him as he pressed his
blades against the pillar, bracing himself for the continued siege,
his groin against Harry's in the hope that he could get him to make
of the same noises he was making.
God, the pressure, filling him-- it was torture and he didn't care.
"Yes," he hissed, afraid that if he didn't, Harry might stop, might
prolong it needlessly.
Harry buried his fingers deep inside Draco and moaned. "Oh, God,
Draco... I need to be inside you, right now..."
Draco considered a number of things to say, from I can hardly
you to Shut up and fuck me to Hold me closer, Tiny
Dancer, and fortunately found it wasn't necessary to say anything;
Harry had slid his fingers free (which made Draco's eyes roll up in his
head with the exquisite agony of that) and had his hands cupping
Draco's arse, pulling him forward, nestling the head of his cock
between his arsecheeks and starting to push.
Somehow Draco knew it was going to be easier if he let gravity help,
and he lifted one foot and wrapped that leg around Harry's hip, and
then, making sure Harry was braced and knew what was coming, he did the
same with his other leg, settling his weight directly onto Harry's
cock, the abundance of
lubricant reducing what could have been utter hell to delicious
screams to needy whimpers, and Harry sought his mouth with his own as
took Draco's weight on his cock and his thighs, holding him up,
Draco would not have to suffer his weight on his trapped wrists,
with open-mouthed greed, tongues twining, moaning into each other's
throats as Harry penetrated Draco until he was buried root-deep in him.
Draco felt the hardness of his own cock pressed against the warm
surface of Harry's stomach and tried to push harder against him. But
Harry was controlling it now, lifting Draco off him just far enough to
enjoy the sensation of gravity pulling him back down when Harry
released him, sliding down that greased
length of hard flesh again, seeming to split him open, the sweetest
rending he could imagine. "Harry..." he moaned, wanting to beg
to thrust into him, go deeper, but unable to form the words.
Harry clearly didn't need to hear them. What Draco wanted, he
obviously wanted as well, and no wonder. He pushed hard against Draco,
driving him back against the pillar, and every one of Draco's whines
was a plea as he wrapped his legs about the black-haired boy, one about
his waist and the other
lower, just about his thighs, as if trying to contact as much of his
as possible, straining uselessly against the wrist shackles as Harry
him deep and kissed him hard, biting and pulling at his lower lip,
at his tongue, Draco surrendering to it as if they were trapped in this
and had decided on a very directed method of cannibalism to survive.
Harry pulled his mouth away and pressed his face to the side of
Draco's head, growling, "Draco...", nuzzling into that fine
hair and his
ear and the curve of his neck, and Draco arched his neck in return and
turned so that he could bite at the side of Harry's face and his hair
well. He could feel the tension building in Harry's thighs, in his
every part of him as he pushed into Draco as violently as if he were a
and not a lover, and Draco embraced that violence, embraced being a
Part of him was thinking that it was better to be Harry's victim than
Voldemort's; the rest of him wasn't thinking at all and just exalted in
the deep satisfaction of being fucked by the boy he'd been craving for
Harry bit at Draco's hair again and this time held on, each of his
thrusts matched by a exhalation, each exhalation a groan rising from
deep in his chest. Draco felt him push in hard and clutch at his hips
as if Draco might vaporize if he didn't hold on, and Draco said, so
strangled and urgent and close to Harry's ear: "Yes, that's it, go on,
I want you to, want to feel you, please...", as if he were afraid Harry
might not believe that he wanted this just as much.
And he cried out almost as loudly as Harry did when he felt him
him, Harry's hands backing away from their death grip in that moment as
he knew that to hold any tighter would be to break bones, shaking on
skin as he poured himself into him, into Draco's thirsting flesh as
almost yipped, "OhmygodHarry..." as if the orgasm had been his, and
pressed his face against Draco's neck, muffling the wail that did not
to want to stop as he convulsed over and over, pressed so deep it felt
though it would take surgical removal to separate the two of them.
Concurrent with that image, Harry suddenly tore his mouth away from
Draco's neck, and his hands were gripping just below his armpits,
pushing him back, his eyes fixed at the level of his breastbone. Draco
looked down to the point he was looking at and saw what had his
attention: the red teardrop crystal was no longer there. The cord was
empty, and a great drop of dark blood
was just beginning to ooze down the center of his chest.
Harry gulped and gasped, trying to get his breathing under control
secured his focus on that bloody clot. "Draco...don't move," he said,
hands on Draco's arse, starting to let him fall back, slowly, his
attention still on that drop of blood, clearly afraid it would spill
down Draco's chest too rapidly. Draco tried to comply, forcing himself
to be still even as
Harry slowly pulled out of him, let his legs down, even though all he
to do was throw his head back and thrash and curse under the ache of
withdrawal, not to mention the longing in his own stiff cock, still
Harry bent down and took up the scabbarded sword from where he'd
Draco could see that the thing had jewels in the hilt, and when Harry
it, some engraving just below the hilt caught the light. Draco thought
saw two words, both starting with G, and realized just what sword Harry
holding. Ha. No surprise there.
And suddenly Harry was aiming the tip of the sword at Draco's
throat-- no, not his throat; the point dipped down to his chest and
caught that drop of blood on the very end of it; some of it spilled
down his chest anyway but that didn't seem to matter. Harry pulled the
sword away, lifted it, keeping it at an angle so that the bloody point
neither spilled down nor off the sword, and stepped away, all the way
to one of the lines of the pentagon that
formed the base for the pentagram's star, and in one quick move he
brought the sword down and scraped the point across the line, the stone
screeching as the metal raked it and sparks flew up, too many to be the
result of mere metal on stone, and the floor smoked when it was done, a
black gap smouldering in the center of the blood-rust line.
With a minimum of movement-- Seeker's reflexes showing themselves--
Harry repeated the process four times, so that the surrounding pentagon
was broken on all sides of them. Yet he made no move to cross outside
when he was done, the points of the star and the circle that lay just
within the periphery of the round room remaining intact.
"Would that thing happen to work on these shackles?" Draco asked,
voice noticeably thick with arousal. Harry wielding a sword with that
kind of concentration was unbearably sexy.
Harry shook his head. "Nope. But we're getting there." He took the
few steps back to the pillar, wiped the blade on his discarded shirt,
and resheathed it. At the same time, he turned the sheath over to
reveal a small compartment built into the back of the scabbard, near
the hilt, and from this drew out a tiny package wrapped in black cloth
that looked like silk. Unwrapping it, another crystal, black, was
But when Harry held it up it wasn't black after all, nor clear
be a mere crystal; Draco thought that any sapphire that large had to
have some kind of curse on it; it was inevitable. Harry stepped closer,
the gem on his palm, meeting Draco's eyes with an _expression that had
completely lost any air of playfulness.
It made him nervous.
"What?...Is that it?"
Harry gave a little shake of his head, still looking at Draco. "It
needs to be primed first. I need one thing more from you."
Draco's lips parted, understanding. "Blood."
Again, a headshake no. "Tears. Yours, freely given."
It took a second to process that. "Um, I'm not used to crying on
The corner of Harry's mouth pulled in, but it was definitely not a
smile. "I know."
Closing his left fist around the sapphire, he stepped back and bent down to the bag again. Draco was suddenly so nervous that even the sight of the muscles flexing in Harry's thigh and hip didn't hold his attention.
There was no mistaking what he pulled from the bag. Coiled upon
itself, black as sin and dangling heavily from Harry's hand as if it
had a metal core, the surface of the whip caught the torchlight as if
Draco stared as Harry brought it closer. It wasn't braided. It
it had been formed from one continuous piece of leather, like the tail
some predatory animal. Or a snake, and wasn't that image
Harry lifted the coiled thing in front of Draco's face. "Kiss it and
say that you consent to this."
Draco looked at Harry's eyes, not the whip. "There are...probably
faster ways of getting me to shed tears, you know."
"I know. I'm choosing one that I can bear. That doesn't mean it's
going to be kind."
Draco wasn't sure what he saw in Harry's eyes. There was distaste
there, certainly, but the kind that said he didn't like doing this
circumstances. Well. At least this would be more interesting than a
in the groin, or having his thumb broken.
He leaned forward and pressed his lips to the leather surface. "I
Letting the thing uncoil, Harry stepped back and didn't hesitate: he
struck Draco across the chest with the whip. There was no audible
crack, but the tip of it landed, whether coincidentally or
intentionally, nearly upon his right nipple. "OW! Fuck!" he
yelled, yanking against the shackles. The thing hurt like a son of a
bitch, and Harry hadn't even put all his strength behind it.
"I'm sorry," Harry said, even as he pulled his arm back.
"I thought you were only going to apologize the once," Draco said,
looking down at the red welt just above his nipple, amazed something
could hurt that much and not make him bleed.
"Yeah, well, I'm sorry I lied about that too."
Harry hit him across the chest, the stomach, and the hips, three
blows in rapid succession, each one making him yell, the last so low he
could feel the wind of it across his erection. It made him lose that
partway, as well; the pain flagging him so that what he sported was now
than a semi-erection.
What came to him, oddly, was that if he'd started from a completely
unaroused state, he suspected that would be his reaction now as well:
not exactly rock-hard, but not completely uninterested either.
The next one hit across his hips as well. Definitely harder than the
last time. Draco wrenched at his wrists and bit his lips hard, wheezing
out a pain-filled sound despite himself, his eyes starting to water.
Another across the belly. "AH! You fucker!" he exploded,
squeezing his eyes shut and feeling the water spill over.
He heard the whip hit the floor, followed a moment later by Harry's
knees. Draco opened his eyes to see Harry kneeling in front of him,
reaching up to gather the tear that had made it down to his chin,
opening his fist to display the gemstone and carefully transferring the
tear on the tip of his finger to the sapphire's surface.
The jewel began to glow. Cupped in Harry's hands, illuminating them
blue, the sapphire's light intensified until at last it shone steadily,
and Harry took it into his mouth like it was a neon Sucret, mouthing it
momentarily and then spitting it back into his palm.
The sapphire was no longer glowing. But it seemed as though the
been transferred to Harry's mouth. He stretched up and laid his lips
the knife cuts on Draco's chest, his tongue snaking out to lick at the
wounds, the blue light following, swirling over the cuts in little
cerulean showers, and Draco could see, feel the cuts healing, his flesh
them without so much as a scar to show where they'd been.
"This one's amazingly fucking complicated, Harry," he said,
breathless. "Wouldn't it have been easier just to use the sapphire on
"Don't be--mmm-- thick," Harry said, licking over the center of the
sigil, erasing it like it had never been. "This is fucking sex magick,
if you hadn't been paying attention. It's always like this."
In short order, every trace of Voldemort's grisly mark on his flesh
was gone. But Harry wasn't done; he moved his mouth to the welt just
above Draco's nipple, tonguing it until that too disappeared, and moved
to do the same to the five other whip marks. Draco almost stopped him,
wanting to tell him not to bother, that it wasn't necessary, but he
understood why Harry felt he had to, and so let him.
As his tongue traced over the last of the welts, Harry murmured,
"I'll never do that to you again. I promise. I'm sorry, Draco." He
swallowed once, hard, and Draco saw the glow fade entirely. Harry
didn't get up just yet. He looked up, and Draco could see the unspoken
plea for forgiveness there.
Well. "Oh, and what if I asked you to?"
He had the pleasure of watching Harry's eyes widen slightly, then
narrow with that same look of mischief he'd had earlier. Keeping his
eyes on Draco's, Harry kissed his stomach lasciviously and said, "If I
ever do that to you again, then, it'll be because you want it and there
will be a safeword, one that I will obey, I swear."
The arousal that had been building again as Harry was speaking
suddenly ran up against something in Draco's brain. "Wh-- Potter, you
fucker, you're tossing around the word safeword and you're a
fucking expert with a six-foot whip, who the hell have you been
with, you son of a bitch? Dammit, tell me!"
Harry's eyes widened again, and he slid his arms around Draco's
waist, holding him tightly. "Draco, listen to me, nobody but you,
I swear it. For god's sake, don't you see what's happening here?"
"Oh, so Mr. do-you-trust-me has suddenly decided to turn
into Exposition Boy! Why, no, o mighty hero, why don't you spell it out
for me?" Draco spat.
"Draco, you prat, you don't just break binding magic. You have to
transfer it. You're no longer bound to Voldemort... you're bound to me."
"Yeah, well, I might have guessed that. Bound how? I mean, I'm
beautiful and all, but I don't think you were planning to transfer into
my body, were you?"
"Only in the way that I want you to have me under your skin now and
always, lovely. No, this isn't the same ritual Voldemort was using, or
hadn't you noticed?"
"I noticed. Answer the question!"
"Well..." Harry settled back on his haunches, drawing the sword back
to him and replacing the jewel in the small compartment. "It required
the ancient Text of Flesh and Fire...
"Okayyy..." said Draco.
"...and the blood crystal that I just conjured today..."
"...and the sword of Godric Gryffindor which I borrowed from
"--that you borrowed-- Oh, my GOD--!"
"...and the Sapphire of Marbodius."
"'Something bl--' You BASTARD! I don't believe it!"
"Yeah, well," Harry said, breaking into a grin, "I never knew where
the tradition came from before today, either. And see-- the last part
of it's a ring."
Draco stared at the circle of sigil-encrusted silver that Harry was
"Um, Harry..." he said, choking slightly, "That's way too big for my
"And a good thing, that, too." He leaned forward.
"Oh, my-- GOD...!"
Draco gave another incoherent cry as the ring shrank around the base
of his cock until it was just one shade shy of snug-- comfortable,
actually, to be fair about it--
--and the shackles about his wrists cracked like hot glass on an icy
surface, and the suddenness of having his arms free and falling to his
sides dragged Draco down, first to his knees, where Harry caught him,
and then almost to the floor, still supported by Harry's arms.
"All right, don't go all swoony on me yet, Draco--" Harry said,
laughing, "--you get to do the same thing to me before it's complete."
He held up an identical ring. "Can you move your arms?"
Draco looked at the ring. "I'll put it on with my teeth if I have
Give me that." He swiped at it with one hand, racked by
but apparently still functioning.
Harry leaned back to let him, snorting, "Oh, don't sound so
vindicated. Neither one's permanent; we can take them off as soon as
we're out of here."
Draco stopped. "Is that what you're planning?"
Harry's smile wasn't a grin, but it looked deliciously lewd. "Well,
thinking it'd be less embarrassing for everyone else if we swapped them
the kind that really do go on your finger."
"Since when--" he pushed the silver circle over the length of
watched in satisfaction as it tightened to fit around the base-- "have
ever worried about embarrassing others?"
A sizzle made him look up. All around the margin of the room, the
outer circle of the pentagram, as well as the five blood-drawn points
of the star, were smoking and hissing into non-existence.
"And we are out of here!" Harry yelled like an obnoxiously
enthusiastic newscaster. Rapidly he stuffed the tome, whip, and his
discarded clothing into the bag. "What do you think, should I leave one
sock behind for Voldemort to find and drive him crazy? I'm thinking
that could be my trademark."
Clutching the strap of the bag and the sword in one hand, he
Draco to him with the other.
"Don't tell me--" Draco laughed, "--that now you've got to carry me
over the threshold?"
Harry pushed his face against the side of Draco's, nuzzling. "No,
not a bad idea. As soon as we figure out where we're going to live. Apparate!"
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