Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Shards Of His Beloved	By : EvilConcubine Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 18387 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I don't make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 2
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- 4
To HeartStar: Thanks so much. Enjoy the next one, please! :)

To lynx: Glad you liked. Thank you!

To Makoslits: Thank you very much for your review! The next one is already here ;).

To Nubia: Glad you like this story, too! Yes, there's more angst here and it's quite different from my previous one, but I hope you're still going to enjoy it. Thank you!

To Zenith-Kaitou: Thanks! Good to know ;)

Please, enjoy!

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3. The Price of Your Soul

"Mister Malfoy. Mister Malfoy, are you asleep?" Draco heard through his slumber, which was hiding him so well from the reality in its warm embrace, like a safe haven. Whoever was trying to tear him away from this embrace wasn't going to give up. All the feeling of safety was suddenly gone and Draco woke up with a start, but it took him time to open his eyes with eyelids slightly swollen from weeping. He winced at the ache and discomfort that had spread through his violated body. His muscles were aching from all the tension they'd endured last night. But the real ache was the most intense in the certain places, where he had been grabbed, where he'd been penetrated. His head hurt, his mind was numb, probably protecting itself, and he knew it was for the best. There was only emptiness he felt.

"Give me a moment..." he croaked, as he'd realised that the voices belonged to his lawyers.

"Of course," Prospero Atrax replied. Draco carefully pulled up his trousers and buttoned them under the blanket. He nearly gasped as he sat up slowly, feeling sore. He got up carefully and, trying to ignore the dizziness, came closer to the door.

"Mister Malfoy, are you all right? You look... You..." Atrax mumbled, looking at his client carefully, paying attention to his constrained movements and other odd details. Draco knew he looked terrible, but he immensely hated to be scrutinised now.

"I didn't sleep well and my leg's gone numb," he said quietly. He was a good liar, especially when he lied automatically just like he did now.

"We're sorry for waking you up then, but we have some news for you, and, I'm afraid, they're not good," the man warned softly.

"Scorpius?" Draco gasped quietly. It was the first real emotion he showed during this conversation.

"No," the lawyer assured him immediately. The little boy still hadn't been found. But Atrax's news had nothing to do with it...

     Almost coldly Draco listened to how his fate had been decided behind his back. He'd read papers whilst hiding with his parents, so even being far away from this decaying society he knew about the 'community service'. He was going to become a slave; broken with some special curse and sold... Maybe he should find a way to end his life now, while his soul was still free and unaffected by that foul curse? He thought about it while his lawyers were mumbling their sympathies and how sorry they were that they'd failed to prevent it from happening. He didn't reply, his eyes were empty. It was over, he was doomed... Two men promised him to be there for him during the auction to make sure everything would go within the law. What an irony... Human slavery within the law. Atrax said that he would've bought him to make sure he was treated well, but lawyers, just like family members or any relatives or friends and co-workers (all the well-wishers, in other words), couldn't buy the person. Failing to get his response or any reaction at all, both men left, eventually.

     His life was over...

     Two days passed as if covered in fog. He couldn't even look at any food. He was once allowed to use the shower (which he was usually allowed once in three days). He could have sworn he'd seen a small smirk on the face of the guard that escorted him to the shower room. Draco's dim, abnormally calm mind concluded that it was probably the guard that had been paid two Galleons for 'not hearing' Draco's screams. Perhaps, it was one of the reasons why the entire hour spent under the streams of water hadn't made the blond feel clean.

     In the morning he nibbled a little bit of something that his breakfast suggested, hardly tasting it in his mouth. Today he was going to be turned into a slave... He didn't even try to imagine how it was going to be and how it was going to end. Instead, he lay down on his bed and covered himself with blanket to get some warmth.

     He knew almost nothing about that curse, but decided that if his soul would be affected, because the soul of a slave was literally bought by his or her owner, he would somehow stop being himself; he'd probably change so much that he'd stop recognising himself. Would he still love his child? Would he be able to remember what it felt like to hold the small, warm and dear body against his heart? Would Draco still be a human being or he'd be something like an inferius, only with pulse and breathing? Would he be mentally disfigured to the point of not remembering his own name? He fell into a dreamless sleep, hoping to never wake up again.

     The slap across his face woke him up, nevertheless. It was the deafening sound of it that startled Draco more than the fact that he'd been hit. He came to his senses and only then felt the way his cheek stung. He rubbed it slightly.

"Are you deaf? I said it's time to go, sleeping beauty," the auror grumbled, looking down on him with irritation, as if the task of escorting Draco had distracted him from something very important. "You've got ten minutes," the man said with disdain, leaving the cell. Ignoring him, the blond got up unhurriedly and sleeked his hair a little, out of habit. He quickly rinsed his mouth and washed his face with cold water. The small, dirty mirror on the wall above the sink showed the tired face with slight shadows under the dull eyes. His normally hollow cheeks that made his face look chiselled and aristocratic were unhealthily sunken. He'd really lost weight after a month and a half of hardly eating anything. It reminded him his sixth year in Hogwarts. How sad that the mirror was unbreakable...

     He changed into the fresh set of his formal robe to make himself feel just a little better. He'd been saving it for his trial, which would never take place now. The attire was clean and perfectly ironed. Sadly, it looked a bit loose on him, but still he felt more like himself, wearing it. The auror returned and without warning spelled the heavy shackles on his wrists and ankles. The man was about to grab his shoulder to lead him, but the blond prisoner recoiled.

"Don't fucking touch me," he whispered, almost hissed. The auror smirked and lifted his hands in mock surrender. He moved away and with mock gallantry motioned for his prisoner to move out of the cell. Draco ignored him and just walked out slowly.

     Harry and Hermione entered the rather large circular room that in some way resembled both courtroom and a small arena with tiered seating. In the centre of it (which was the lowest point of the room) was the small space with the heavy looking gothic chair. Harry wondered if it was meant for the future slave to feel even lower below all the other people. At the same time, it resembled him the Courtroom Ten with its 'accusation chair' in the centre. This one here, too, had chains with shackles attached to it. He remembered the uneasiness that he'd felt during his disciplinary hearing for performing the underage magic.

     There were eight other people in the room, except for the guards near the massive double-wing door. Most people in the room were, most likely, the potential buyers. Harry deliberately sat down far away from the centre of the room. Hermione excused herself and promised to come back in ten minutes. Nervously Harry was tapping his knee with his fingertips. Soon he was approached by the brown-haired woman in dark-red dress robes. She smiled at him and gave him the clipboard, made of dark wood, with several pieces of parchment. He also received the quill and the inkwell with some special ink. When he asked why he would need all of it, she explained him that such kind of biddings were silent. All he had to do was write down his bid. The bids of the other participants would automatically appear on his parchment by themselves written with red ink (his own was black). He nodded, as he'd understood how it worked, and the woman left him alone.

     'What am I doing here?..' he sighed to himself. He just couldn't easily accept the fact that a living human being could be put under the hammer. He dreaded the moment he'd see his school rival again and waited for it, at the same time. He hadn't even slept last night, feeling too troubled to just close his eyes and relax. What example was he giving to his children? What example was he giving to the entire society that had already started accepting slavery as it was? Now that people would find out that their hero... No, he was afraid to even think about it.

     Deep in his thoughts he nearly missed the moment someone else came near him. When he turned his face, he saw the tall man with thin greying hair and small amber eyes. Harry couldn't help but notice that the man's dark-blue robes looked very expensive.

"Mister Potter, good afternoon. My name is Maximilian Dubois. I'd love to offer you a deal," he said almost straight away, albeit politely.

"Umm... What kind of a deal?" Harry asked a bit confused.

"I understand you have your own reasons to be here. As far as I know, Draco Malfoy was your classmate, and you weren't friendly with each other, to say the least," the man drawled with a very small, empty smile.

"You're very well informed," Harry smiled, but the smile didn't have a hint of friendliness. There was something dangerous about this person. Harry had been a licensed auror for only a little over one year (actually, he was one of the youngest aurors ever), but he possessed a good intuition that right now warned him against trusting this stranger.

"I want to purchase that boy," the man continued. "His father was among those who destroyed one of my houses and people who were hiding there. Those people were close to me."

"And?" Harry quirked his eyebrow. "You want to buy Draco Malfoy to satisfy your thirst for revenge? You're going to torment him, imagining that it's his father, not Draco, you're hurting? You're pathetic," he said almost calmly, despite the anger he felt. As he was speaking, he wasn't afraid to look into the man's amber eyes that immediately lost all their fake warmth. "You won't get him, so I suggest you to get out. In case you don't know, you're talking to the auror, and you've just openly confessed that you have an intention to harm or even kill the other person."

"You could, at least, hear my offer," Dubois tried again, although less enthusiastically.

"Not interested. Better spend your money on a good mental healer, because you definitely need one," Harry frowned slightly, making it clear that the conversation was over. Furious man stormed out of the room. Only then Harry noticed that two other potential buyers were already gone, probably accepting Dubois' offer before he'd made one to Harry. Well, that certainly was for the best.

     Soon the auctioneer, a rather full, grey man, entered the room and sat down at his desk. His assistant, the woman that had approached Harry before, sat down as well. Some more people joined, about fifteen of them, but Harry somehow decided that the majority of them were just gawkers; there were probably a couple of reporters among them. Hermione returned and sat down next to Harry, who was feeling more and more nervous and restless with each passing moment. Hermione squeezed his hand firmly in attempt to ease the tension. 'Of course, she's not the one who's going to buy a human.' All right, that wasn't fair; Hermione had a slave, the woman, whose name was Babette, and Hermione had saved her from some sadistic bastard who'd owned her before.

     And finally the heavy doors opened once again, and Draco Malfoy entered the room. Harry stopped breathing for he didn't know how long.

     Draco didn't look around. He tried his best to keep his back straight, but his eyes were looking down stubbornly. The auror and Draco's two lawyers followed him, though he paid them absolutely no attention. He refused to look at anyone in the room. The reason for him to be here was already humiliating enough in itself, so he didn't want to see their faces, didn't want to know if their looks were appraising or gloating. He sat down on the chair in the centre of the room without waiting for the stupid auror guard to make him do it. His shackles disappeared and the other ones, attached to the chair, captured his thin wrists and ankles so suddenly and with such sharp and loud clank that he flinched violently. He hoped that no one had heard his gasp and did his best to restore his outward composure, and stop breathing this evidently nervously. His eyes never looked up. He almost relaxed when the auctioneer had given the signal to start bidding. Yes, Draco almost relaxed, because no matter how it ended, it wouldn't end well for him, anyway. He could hear the scratching of quills against the parchment, he could feel some of them watching him, but for the sake of his sanity decided not to focus on anything or anyone in this room. Fuck them all.

     Harry crossed out the bids of the other participants and wrote down his own price offers just below; someone crossed them out and wrote their own below his. And so on. There was no rush, because they all had forty minutes in general or it would last until there was only one participant left. No one levelled up their bids abruptly, which probably meant that they weren't really ready to part with large sums of money. On the other hand, Harry, too, wasn't trying to create a buying fever, or whatever it was appropriate to call it in this situation, by provoking anyone to raise their prices too fast. He had absolutely no experience in bidding, so he just did what others did, because they looked like they knew how it worked. Since Hermione was silent, sitting close to him and looking at his parchment, she apparently approved his tactic.

     Soon he noticed that some people started to put their quills and clipboards aside, which meant they weren't taking part in the auction any longer. Judging by the handwritings, in the end, only three bidders remained, including him. But, in fact, there was only one person in this room that really had Harry's attention. Draco hadn't changed much, looking a lot like a tired, malnourished, due to the stress, and very pale boy that Harry had seen by the end of their sixth year in school. Later he'd seen him in Malfoy Manor and then in school once again, looking just as ill; and finally Malfoys had left the battlefield, and Harry hadn't seen Draco since then. But, of course, he couldn't have been like this all these years, could he? Most likely, the recent events had exhausted him this much, which was hardly surprising.

      Harry was watching him carefully, never forgetting about bidding, though. The nervousness and fear, which Draco had unwillingly showed when he'd been escorted into the room and had sat down on the chair, seemed to have calmed. His eyes had almost stopped roaming about the floor nervously, his shoulders had almost relaxed and stopped rising and falling so abruptly with his anxious breathing; the outward tension had almost gone. All the remaining signs of apprehension were, most likely, unconscious. He never looked up, but often made himself hold his head upright, as if reminding himself that he was a proud aristocrat (or had been, anyway). Leisurely and absentmindedly his hands were slightly trifling with the thick chain attached to the manacle that firmly held his right wrist. The chain was resting on his thighs and in his hands like some tame animal. Although there were some small signs of uneasiness, the blond, in the first place, looked resigned and really downcast. It seemed that not a trace remained of his former sneer and arrogance; right now 'broken' seemed to be an appropriate word to describe Draco.

     More bids were being done. Another participant had decided not to bid any further. So now it was just Harry and some old man that was unreadable to Harry. But later Harry saw him writing down his price offers more and more tentatively. And when there were only two minutes left until the end of the auction, the old man put his quill down. Harry knew that things would have been much harder if that idiot Maximilian Dubois had taken part in it. Before Harry knew it, the enchanted hammer hit the auctioneer's desk three times, startling almost everyone in the room, including the half-dozing auctioneer, who immediately started looking through the pieces of parchment on his desk. He cleared his throat and announced:

"In order to serve the punishment, prescribed by the Wizengamot, Draco Lucius Malfoy is sold for seventy eight Galleons and twelve Sickles. The buyer is Harry James Potter. Mister Potter comes into possession of Draco Malfoy from this moment on, and is considered the rightful owner for the next fifteen years." The hammer hit the desk once more with a note of finality. Harry swallowed hard and closed his eyes for several moments to collect himself and try to comprehend the words he'd just heard. He'd heard right, hadn't he?..

     Draco was stunned and shocked. He refused to believe it. When he'd heard Potter's name he was almost sure and tried to convince himself that his ears were playing tricks on him. All the ordeals had driven him mad, obviously, so he was just hearing things. It couldn't be real. And yet, he couldn't force himself to lift up his eyes and look around to see the one who had just purchased him... It wasn't real, it just couldn't be real. It was simply impossible. Draco wished the earth could swallow him up right now.

     All the participants and gawkers left the room soon, but Harry only got up when Hermione squeezed his hand again. They descended to the centre of the room where the blond was sitting. Draco's face was pink and flushed, his head was still dropped, his hands were holding the chain firmly, and he wasn't moving. Harry didn't know if he should say something, but wisely decided not to. And then the dim grey eyes met the brilliant green tentatively. Draco didn't really look much older than the last time Harry had seen him years ago. Just as Harry, he was only twenty one now, almost twenty two. But his eyes... They looked like they belonged to a person that had seen everything; and that everything hadn't been pleasant. Harry couldn't help but think that he was looking into two abysses of hopelessness.

"When you look into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you," he whispered hardly audible when said abysses had turned away. "Can't remember who said that..."

"Friedrich Nietzsche," Hermione whispered. "Why?"

"Never mind..." Harry sighed, still quietly enough, and kept looking at the blond almost covertly. The small and bitter smirk appeared on Draco's face, and there was some display of betrayal and disappointment in his eyes, but all in all he didn't seem surprised. Harry felt uneasy, assuming what things Draco must have had in his foolish blond head right now. He could swear Draco was sure that Harry had bought him to take vengeance for everything they'd had at school, to humiliate him. And, if Draco had had any faith in humankind before (let's, at least, pretend that he'd had it), he'd lost it now completely, since even 'Saint Potter' had bought a slave. Harry was somehow sure that exactly these thoughts crossed the blonde's mind. And he felt terribly ashamed. He'd just bought a human being, like a thing, like an animal. And not just some stranger, but the person he'd somehow been caring for since their sixth year at school. It didn't matter if he cared for Draco or just pitied him. He just had... something that would have never let him allow Draco to be bought by someone who could, and, most certainly, would, hurt him. But the look on the blonde's face made Harry feel mortified; even if he was saving Draco from worse fate, he felt dirty. How the fuck people who allowed such things to happen could sleep at nights?

     Seventy eight Galleons and twelve Sickles... A couple of years ago for Hermione's birthday Harry had bought her the book, which had cost him ninety two Galleons, sixteen Sickles and several Knuts. It was a rare, old book on politics of the wizarding world, written by one of the ancient rulers. There were only several copies of the book in the entire world. It had a leather cover with gold lettering. Rare and old, but still just a book. Ginny's wedding dress had cost almost one hundred and ten Galleons (because she'd wanted a better wedding dress than Fleur had had on her wedding day). Several days ago, whilst going for a walk with his children in the park, Harry had accidentally heard one woman boasting to the other one that her husband had bought her boots, made of skin of some magical beast, that cost more than eighty Galleons, which he found absolutely bizarre. And Draco's life, freedom, will and soul cost less than those things! A decent broom for a professional quidditch player cost like several Dracos, according to the result of this ridiculous auction. The realisation of it was simply appalling for Harry. He felt too ashamed to look into Draco's eyes again.

     Soon the Ministry official, the auburn-haired man, who was about thirty years old, entered the room and greeted Harry and Hermione, introducing himself as 'Charon Fender, the Enchanter'. Harry wondered what that really meant, since he'd always believed that every witch or wizard could be called the 'enchanter' and other words that described person with magical abilities. But it was just a job position title, so he just shrugged to himself. The enchanter was probably a name for those who performed certain rituals.

     Fender asked them to follow him. He also gave a nod to the auror. The shackles let go of Draco's wrists and ankles, and fell down on the floor near the chair where they usually were.

"Get up," the auror said, and Draco complied. The man spelled his own restrains on the prisoner again.

"Is this necessary?" Harry asked quietly. It wasn't like Draco would try to escape without magic and with people around him.

"We have the rules," the guard shrugged.

     They all followed Fender, who led them somewhere to perform the spell that would be the final phase in making Harry Draco's owner, the owner of his very soul... There was the lump in Draco's throat, because he still didn't know and kept wondering if he was going to be himself after it or not, if he was still going to have his thoughts and feelings or they'd be replaced with something else. But he would have rather died than asked any of them about it. The embarrassment was too much. When he'd thought that it just couldn't have got any worse... Potter. Draco was trying to keep up the pace with the others, which wasn't easy with his shackles, but he tried not to lag behind to avoid the auror to slightly push him forward, to avoid any touching at all. Thankfully, the moron wasn't even trying to do it after what had happened back in the cell today. And, fortunately, everyone was walking quite slowly. Draco's lawyers were still there for him, walking right behind him, but saying nothing at all. Not that Draco wanted them to.

     The wizard from the Ministry brought them to some office. The enchanter himself sat down at the desk and told Harry and Draco to sit down across from him. Everyone else kept away.

"I'm going to read the incantation and then Mister Malfoy will take the potion to consolidate the effect of the spell," Fender explained.

"Is it going to hurt?" Harry asked carefully. It was enough that Draco's soul was going to be attached and submitted to him, so he hoped that, at least, it wouldn't be painful for the blond.

"This might hurt, just a little, but no severe pains, I promise, Draco," Hermione said quietly, looking at the blond, since it was he who had the possibility of being 'hurt just a little'. He had the right to know, didn't he? She was almost taken aback by the look he gave her. She couldn't even tell that it was full of hatred; there were many emotions in it and, at the same time, no emotions at all. Mostly, it just told her to get away from him.

"It doesn't hurt those who have resigned to their situation," Charon Fender corrected. Harry wondered what Malfoy thought about it, but the blond was looking down with unreadable expression on his pale face. He looked pretty resigned, and Harry wasn't sure he liked it at all, but it was probably better this way, because it would save Draco from additional sufferings. God, it was still unbelievable! Draco Malfoy was sitting next to Harry after all these years... and belonged to him. Officially.

"Ready to begin, Mister Potter?" Fender asked. Of course, no one asked Draco. Harry frowned at that a little, but nodded tentatively. The enchanter extracted the book with dark-brown cover out of his leather briefcase, and opened it where the red bookmark was placed. He stood up, cleared his throat, pointed his wand at Draco and started to read the long incantation very quietly. It was probably a secret spell that only the professionals, trusted by the Ministry, should know and use.

     Draco was impassively looking at the tip of the man's wand, even though he was numb with fear and morally prepared himself that he would probably soon be as good as dead. But, perhaps, it wasn't so bad, because he'd stop suffering... It only took a minute for him to feel his eyelids heavy and sore. It felt like the spell was hypnotising him. His body was gradually relaxing in the chair, but his mind was almost clear. It seemed as if he was looking inside himself, but there mostly was darkness. Half-conscious, he faintly felt himself being filling up with magic that wasn't his own. It was going through his bones, slightly vibrating and causing pain, especially to his joints. It wasn't unbearable, but it hurt. He wondered, why. He wasn't resisting this magic. He was resigned, wasn't he? He had nothing left to lose. He was submissive. But, at the same time, he was inwardly in panic that his will and his thoughts were going to stop existing. 'Please, gods, I only want a happy life for my little boy. I want him to have a better life than my own was. It's all I want; it's all I ask for... while I still can ask...'

     Harry frowned as he heard Draco's whimper. The blond looked like he was suffering, but he didn't look like he was fully conscious; he looked like he was half-immersed in a state of hypnosis or something like that. Harry looked at Hermione with eyes demanding explanation, and he wanted to stop Fender. Seeing it in his eyes, Hermione shook her head and mouthed: "No". The spell casting was dangerous to interrupt. Harry closed his eyes for several moments, trying to stop seething from anger. It was just wrong. All of it was so very wrong. He then looked at Draco again; at his closed eyes. He could see the small teardrop at the outer corner of the blonde's left eye, like a clear brilliant bead, strung on one or two pale eyelashes; but it didn't fall.

     '...My little heart... Papa loves you. My Scorpius... If I forget you, it won't be me anymore. My dear baby...' Draco tried his best to hold on to the thoughts and memories of his little boy, even though it hurt him terribly to think about something that had been lost in such a cruel way. He remembered the warm feeling of holding his child in his arms; he remembered the smile full of love and trust that his boy had been giving him since he'd been a tiny baby... Draco was holding on to it, thinking that even the memories of it were going to be taken away from him. His feverish thoughts were interrupted, as he suddenly felt the invasive magic going through the heart of his own magic. The location of it was nowhere in particular, but he felt it now conquered and restrained before he stopped consciously feeling it, as before.

     When Harry started to wonder if he was going to feel any effect of the curse at all, since he just had to feel something, too, he felt himself relaxing. His eyes rolled back in his head before closing, and for several brief moments he felt himself losing consciousness, however, he was still aware of the gentle flow of magic entering his chest; and he just knew instinctively that it was Draco he felt.

     And suddenly it was over. Fender took out the small vial from his briefcase. He opened it and, apologising for all the discomfort, asked Harry to give three drops of his blood. Still a bit disoriented Harry only nodded before the tip of his index finger was pricked with needle. A bit overwhelmed with everything that was happening, he hardly felt it. Three drops of his blood slowly fell into the transparent, slightly greenish liquid. Fender corked up and shook the vial before uncorking it again. He approached still hardly conscious Draco, whose head was thrown back. The enchanter slowly poured the potion between the parted lips and cast the spell to make the younger wizard swallow before he had a chance to choke on the liquid. It was then that Draco started to regain consciousness, feeling himself swallowing some liquid that mostly had the taste of herbs. It was sweet, but it was not quite a pleasant sweetness, and it left the sickly-sweet herbal aftertaste in his mouth. He also knew that it contained Potter's blood: he'd heard the enchanter asking Potter for three drops of it.

     Knowing that it was finally over, Draco tried to fight the strong, but slowly fading feeling of disorientation. Something had changed, but he couldn't understand what exactly. He was still the same person, but wasn't sure if it wasn't the curse that made him feel this way. No... His thoughts and memories were still his. It meant he'd been wrong, and the curse wasn't supposed to turn the person into a mindless, drooling idiot. He could still hate Potter, Granger and the entire world. He still loved his child and hurt over him like only a parent could. He wondered what had changed then.

     Harry was looking at the blond carefully, and his green eyes were full of concern. He wanted to make sure Draco wasn't in pain any longer, but the blond just looked tired and sleepy. Meanwhile, Fender started to explain the changes that had happened due to the curse. He said that Draco wouldn't be able to harm his owner or owner's family (or anyone else, actually), - the curse would stop him. It would punish Draco for any disobedience; the punishment was some severe pain. The blond would not be able to end his life by his own hand. He would have to make a certain amount of work about the house every day. In case the minimal amount wasn't made, a slave would feel restless and would hardly be able to sleep, until the curse was satisfied. But, at the same time, the amount of work wasn't limited with that minimum; it was the owner's decision to make. If a slave was ill or injured, his or her owner could let him or her rest for several days, but normally even an owner couldn't allow a slave to just stop working. The curse would punish a slave for any harm to his or her owners or their property in case he or she managed to do it at all, which was highly unlikely. Verbal confrontations were often punishable, as well. Officially, Draco belonged to Harry, but any member of Harry's family could make orders.

     Draco wasn't allowed to use magic any longer, at least, for the next fifteen years. When Draco raised his face a little, he saw the familiar item in the enchanter's hands. It was Draco's wand. It had been his mother's before. At first it hadn't worked properly for Draco, it hadn't felt right in his hand, but then it had gradually recognised Draco as its master while both Narcissa and Lucius had managed to get themselves the other wands before they all had fled... His thoughts were interrupted as Fender had started to bend the wand until it broke in half. The harsh sound of it made Draco flinch. It had been his mother's... Since the blond had had no trial at all, where his wand would have been broken in the end, the enchanter was authorised to do it in addition to his official duties.

     After that Fender gave Harry the roll of several sheets of parchment. Harry unrolled it and barely managed to suppress the new wave of anger. 'Oh, for fuck's sake! I just can't fucking believe it!' It was the manual! It was called 'recommendations', but, in fact, it was the manual on how to 'properly' treat a slave! There was the description on what exactly was considered as a minimal amount of work and how to calculate it; there were different varieties to make it easier to calculate. There were some spells that were meant to punish a slave (in addition to punishments that the curse itself caused when it found it necessary) and descriptions on how they worked. There were even spells that allowed influencing slave's feelings, in some way, if an owner felt that a slave's demeanour wasn't satisfying. He could severely suppress Draco's will and every single thing he disliked in him. He could even take away the blonde's voice if he wanted a silent slave. Draco had no rights and could be used in any way, even for some dangerous work that posed a potential threat to his health or even life (it wasn't written openly, but it seemed to be a given). Harry could practically hurt Draco in any way he wanted and it would go unpunished.

     Harry wasn't sure he wanted to stay in the wizarding world any longer. He wanted to pack his things and take his family away from this madness. It was unthinkable!

     Fender said that Harry would be able to come back for Draco in two days, once all the papers were ready and signed. Draco, tired and crestfallen, was escorted away by the guard, and Harry was very silent when he and Hermione had left the building to have some fresh air, which he desperately needed.

     Once again he thought about the situation, and once again he was terrified, wondering how things could have come down to this. Now he was officially a slaveholder! He'd been completely sure that he would have never treated anyone the way Dursleys had treated him, but in Draco's case it was much worse. The most frightening thing was that he owned Draco's soul. He could severely punish him with a couple of words. He could torture him if he was like that maniac - Maximilian Dubois, who'd desperately wanted to become Draco's owner. Harry could even kill the blond and, most likely, no one would make him really pay for that. He could affect Draco's emotions, violating his mind with some foul spells, if he wanted to, to correct his demeanour! No one should have such power over the other human being. He was sure that most people would be too tempted to abuse that power, and he hoped he wasn't one of them. He already felt too guilty.

"Harry? Are you all right?" Hermione asked carefully, following him.

"No... I need some time alone," he replied.

"Harry, I'm so sorry. I know how you feel. But you know you've done the right thing. Think about it." She stopped and let him walk away.

     Sitting almost motionlessly in his dark cell, Draco was thinking, even though he was tired and wanted to have some sleep. He couldn't decide if Potter had bought him to take revenge or just out of pity. The latter seemed more believable, but he wasn't sure.

     Draco knew that even if Potter was a mumbling idiot at times, he was a very powerful wizard and a very strong person. Draco had never been ready to admit it openly, but he knew it. Since his first year in Hogwarts Potter had started to face and overcome the gravely dangerous ordeals every year, as far as Draco knew, anyway, though he knew he didn't know everything. Potter had only been fourteen when he'd taken part in the Triwizard Tournament, and his ways to overcome the trials had often made Draco watch him with bated breath. Potter had destroyed the Dark Lord, after all! He had been a hero, a do-gooder and so on... But that didn't make him trustworthy now, and whatever had induced him to buy Draco didn't matter, because it was terribly humiliating for the blond, at any rate. After all, the years had passed, so Potter had probably changed, since he was all right with buying a slave. And, who would have thought it, Draco had once wanted him when he was younger, had secretly dreamed about him... Due to the current circumstances all of it seemed even more stupid and ridiculous than before. Now he was especially ashamed of himself for that part of his life, for that unforgivable weakness that he'd allowed himself to feel. He'd been just an idiot, in any case, even if he had never really tried to act on that shameful weakness. 'Pathetic idiot...'

     It appeared that for Draco the world hadn't become any better with the death of the Dark Lord, even though it was certainly a good thing that the madman was gone. But Draco didn't care any longer... He'd lost everything he'd ever had and now he was going to get straight into the nest of the gloating ex-Gryffindors...

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The Shards Of His Beloved