Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Freedom Bound in Chains	By : TaintedSensibly Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 58477 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 13
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Harry Potter characters. I did not make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 89
- 90
- 91
Call of Battle
Harry and Ron once again spent most of the night exploring. This time Harry couldn’t sleep, either. Hagrid casually confessing that he’d told a stranger in a pub about Fluffy’s weakness made him too anxious to sleep.
So, for the third night in a row, the two First-year boys climbed through the portrait hole around four in the morning and crashed on the common room couch in front of the fire. They were woken around eight by Ron’s brothers for breakfast.
“Is something wrong with your dorm room?” Percy demanded.
He’d asked in much subtler ways on the walk over, but Ron had put him off and Harry had remained silent. Percy wouldn’t be put off this time. They were sitting together at the end of Gryffindor table, Ron’s elbow propped up next to his plate with his hand holding his head up. He was shoveling some food half-heartedly into his mouth.
“Just too excited to sleep,” Ron denied quickly, straightening and trying to look more alert. No way was he going to confess that he got scared at night. His brothers would just tease him and make him feel stupid! “We’ve already found four secret passages!” His expression turned smug as he shot the twins a look. “And we’re not going to tell you where they are.”
Percy narrowed his eyes first at Ron and then at Harry, but Harry was too practiced at masking his expression. He stared innocently back at Percy, meeting his eyes with apparent calm. “You’re sleeping in your beds tonight and I’m going to stay with you.”
Ron’s cheeks flushed with anger, but Percy cut him off.
“You’re going to get sick at this rate. Look in the mirror before you complain. You both need a good night’s rest.” Percy was not taking no for an answer and glared his brother into silence.
“Little Ronikins need a nap,” Fred sing-songed with a grin.
“Shut up! I don’t need a babysitter!” Ron exploded. He stood up so fast that the table jerked as his thighs hit the underside. “Why don’t you mind your own bloody business for once, Mr. Perfect Percy!” he spat with vicious disdain.
Harry stared wide-eyed as Ron stormed away.
Percy shot the twins a heated glare, red eyebrows lowered ominously. “Was that necessary?”
Fred shifted, staring at his food with a sulky frown. “I was just teasing.”
“Trying to make it seem like it’s not a big deal by joking about it,” George added in defense of his twin.
“You failed,” Percy said coldly. “Try and remember it’s your little brother you’re tormenting and, whether you mean to or not, you can actually hurt him.”
“He’s being a baby!” Fred snapped back. He stood and George followed his lead. They left without saying anything else.
Percy sighed and glanced over at Harry, who had watched all the drama silently. “Finish breakfast, Harry. I know you want to see Draco. Doing your healing thing takes energy, so you’re going to need the fuel.”
Harry ducked his head and obediently finished his meal.
…
Harry spent the day in the infirmary with Remus. Remus had managed to talk Madam Pomfrey into allowing a little table with some padded chairs. Remus had brought some books that would further his research and Harry had an elf bring him his notes and textbooks. They worked in companionable silence, Remus occasionally helping Harry understand something he was studying. Harry would have stayed all night, but Remus insisted on walking him to dinner.
The Great Hall was still decorated with trees and wreaths and fairy lights, but Harry was too tired to really appreciate it. Ron and Percy were at the table, but Fred and George were nowhere to be seen. Harry hesitated until Ron gestured at the spot next to him and he gladly sat down. There wasn’t much conversation though. At least, not until the owl arrived.
It was brown and somehow sleeker than other owls. It landed in front of Dumbledore. Dumbledore set the letter it carried aside as if to read it later, but the owl flapped its wings threateningly. The boys watched as the aged Headmaster frowned over the note before quickly excusing himself. Harry shot Remus a look, but the man shook his head. McGonagall had been sitting between Remus and Dumbledore, so he’d been unable to see what the note had said.
“Wonder what that’s all about,” Ron muttered.
“Looked like a Ministry owl,” Percy said, pushing his glasses up higher on his nose.
Ron remembered that he was mad at Percy and glared at his brother before going back to ignoring him completely.
Harry sighed.
…
Percy sat against the headboard reading a thick textbook, the comforter pulled over his lap. He acted like he was alone in the room and completely ignored Ron and Harry. Ron stomped around as he got ready for bed. Percy wasn’t giving him much to work with, however, so it was hard to stay mad. He was so bloody tired!
Ron crawled under the covers and lay with his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. Harry was already under the covers of the far bed, his back to them. Percy’s lamp was the only light in the room and every few minutes Ron could hear the sound of his brother turning the pages of his book. It was soothing somehow. Ron almost felt like he could fall asleep, but every time his eyes fluttered closed alarm jangled through his nerves and sent his heart beating fast in his chest. He’d look around for something, something that terrified him, but nothing was there.
“Go to sleep, Ron,” Percy said gently, hardly above a whisper. “I’ll keep watch.”
Ron rolled so he was facing his brother. His vision was blurry with exhaustion, but still he couldn’t sleep. He stared dully at his brother’s bed, listening as the pages turned. He had no idea how long he’d laid there when Harry suddenly sat bolt upright with a gasp.
Ron felt like his brain was made of cotton. He stared uncomprehending as Harry flew out of bed and began to get dressed at a furious pace. Percy mirrored him. Harry was already running out the door when Percy turned to him, expression urgent, hands tight on Ron’s shoulders.
“Get Remus! Bring him to the third-floor corridor.”
Ron’s heart suddenly kicked into overdrive. He jumped out of bed and bolted down the stairs. The thief was going after the Stone!
…
Harry stood in front of Fluffy’s door, his heart thundering and his lungs laboring. He had on a pair of Draco’s Converse sneakers, black jeans, black t-shirt and Draco’s black sweater. On his back, he wore a backpack prepared with things he thought he might need, including the invisibility cloak. He was ready to do battle.
Percy caught up to him. His dark eyes were wide behind his glasses. “We need to wait for Remus!” he hissed in an urgent whisper.
“He’ll catch up,” Harry snapped back, breathing hard from his run. “We can’t get too far behind.”
The coin necklace that Hermione had charmed was still hot against his skin. Quirrell wasn’t far ahead of them. Harry was determined to keep it that way. Without waiting for the redhead’s response, Harry grabbed the door handle and turned it. The door wasn’t locked. It swung open easily.
The soft sounds of a harp drifted out to him, almost masked by their heavy breathing. Wiping sweat from his face, Harry moved into the dark room. The air felt heavy, the scent of dog was overwhelming. Percy cast lumos and they saw the trapdoor open between a sleeping Fluffy’s paws.
“I’ll go first,” Percy whispered firmly, grabbing Harry by the shoulder. He jumped through the hole before Harry could argue.
Harry was about to jump in after him when something wet hit his shoulder. He flinched sideways, head snapping back to look up. The harp had stopped playing and three massive heads towered over him. Three mouths full of sharp teeth were bared in a snarl.
One head began to bark, the sound deafening and rattling Harry to his bones. The other two lunged down at him, mouths gaping open to bite him in half. Harry dove head first through the trapdoor. Pain screamed up his leg as one of the heads managed to bite his ankle. His foot slipped through the dog’s teeth before it could snap closed. It was just a graze, but it still hurt like the blazes! His shoe began to feel wet; he was bleeding. Damn, it hurt!
Harry didn’t have time to see how bad it was. He’d landed on a pile of thick vines half as wide as his waist. They began to move around him, undulating and beginning to coil around his legs. Devil’s Snare! Just as Ron had predicted! Gasping in pain, Harry flung his wand out and cast, “Lumos Solem!”
Sunlight streamed from his wand, forcing the vines to flinch away. With a startled yell, Harry found himself falling through them. There was a short drop and Harry hit a stone floor hard, yelping as his leg screamed in pain.
“Harry!”
Percy quickly knelt by the younger boy, his curly red hair falling into his eyes and sticking to his forehead. A quick lumos revealed Harry’s pant leg was torn and soaked with blood, as was his shoe. Instead of black with white lettering, the Converse was now black with red lettering. A Severing Charm cut the material of Harry’s jeans off at the knee. A bleeding gash ran from the boy’s ankle to halfway up his calf.
“Tell me you packed medical supplies,” Percy demanded hotly.
Harry nodded and dug through the backpack.
“What happened?” Percy demanded, voice hushed, as he used the disinfectant ointment and skin-seal that Harry handed him.
“Harp stopped playing,” Harry explained. He grimaced as white bandages were wrapped around his leg from ankle to knee. The cut from the dog’s tooth burned and throbbed, but he was determined to ignore it. “I’m okay,” he said softly. His ankle hurt, but it wasn’t broken. He could walk and got to his feet to prove it. A quick Cleaning Charm from Percy mostly fixed his shoe so he didn’t squish as he walked. “What’s that sound?”
They were in a nearly pitch-black room. Percy’s wand-light barely touched the shadows, but Harry could make out stone walls close around them. The Devil’s Snare acted like a living roof over their heads. There was a door cracked open in front of them. The soft buzzing hum was coming from the next room.
“We’re waiting for Remus,” Percy said firmly, grabbing Harry’s wrist. “You’re already hurt. This isn’t a game, Harry!”
Harry’s head whipped around. “Does it look like I’m playing a game?” he spat furiously. “Let me go. Now.”
Percy’s fingers went loose with shock at Harry’s ferocious tone and the smaller boy managed to yank his arm away.
“I almost hope Quirrell kills me,” Percy muttered as he followed Harry into the next room. “Because if he doesn’t, Draco most certainly will.”
The second room was much larger and taller than the one under the Devil’s Snare, but with columns standing a foot away from the walls and range support beams branched out in weird and random patterns from dozens of arches along the tall ceiling, it somehow felt more crowded. At least there were windows high above them that let in moonlight. It was bright enough for them to see by without Percy’s wand and he canceled his Light spell.
In the moonlight, they could easily make out the source of the humming. Filling all that empty space above them, a hundred flying things dipped and swayed languidly in graceful patterns. Their wings looked like snitch wings, humming as they beat like a dragon-fly’s. Percy and Harry stood tensed for an attack, but the flying things didn’t react to their presence at all.
“Broom,” Percy said tightly, gesturing with his wand. It floated at waist height as if waiting for them.
Harry nodded. He’d seen it. He’d also seen the doorway across from them.
Whatever the flying things had been about, the thief had already solved it. The doorknob turned under Harry’s hand, telling them that it was unlocked. Before Harry could open it, however, Percy tried again to get him to see reason.
“We’ve come far enough. Please, Harry. Let’s wait for Remus.”
“I’ll just take a look,” Harry insisted and pulled the door open a crack.
Almost immediately the flying things came to life. The boys quickly realized they were flying keys as the sharp metal teeth cut into the skin of their cheeks and necks and hands as they were swarmed. Percy shoved Harry through the door and dove in after him, slamming it shut behind them.
“Quirrell must have used the broom to capture the key that unlocked the door. Wonder how he knew which one it was,” Percy grumbled as he got up off his hands and knees.
The smell hit him first. It was worse than dog. It smelled sour, almost like the locker room after a week of hard practices. It was rancid. Percy straightened his glasses and actually took in the room. It was round and windowless, but it was well lit by torches. In the center, sprawled a dead troll.
Its filthy body was sprawled on its back almost thicker than they were tall. It’s skin was a yellowish-green. It had a loin cloth, but that didn’t hide much. It was fat and muscular at the same time and stunk so bad they had to breathe through their mouths or risk getting sick. It wasn’t moving, but that was because its head was severed from its shoulders. Black blood oozed across the floor, looking disturbingly like black ink. Percy shuddered as two dead eyes stared straight through him from the decapitated head three feet away.
Desperate to look at anything else, Percy turned his attention to Harry. The boy’s sweater and jeans had dozens of little tears from the keys. Blood coated Harry’s cheek, painting it a bright red. He looked a mess. Percy didn’t look much better. He wiped at the blood on his face and neck as he followed Harry across the room. They were almost there when they heard it. A huge crash of stone crumbling.
For a split second, Percy felt terror scream along his nerves. The roof was coming down on them! They’d be crushed! But reason kicked in and he realized the noise was too contained for the room to be collapsing. It must be Quirrell!
Percy’s grabbed Harry by the upper arm. “Get the cloak on! Hurry,” he hissed.
Harry’s heart pounded in his chest. He could feel it in his throat, beating against the leather of his collar. He took his bag off and pulled out the invisibility cloak as quietly as he could. Putting his backpack back on, he slipped the cloak on over his body, bag and all, and pulled up the hood.
Percy was already crouched down at the door, peering through the crack. Harry didn’t bother crouching since he was invisible. He stared into the room, squinting, but he couldn’t see much. There was rubble up ahead and stone statues. He could hear Quirrell talking. There was the grating sound of stone against stone and then another crash. Harry wanted to sneak in to see what was happening, but Percy blocked the cracked doorway with his body and Harry knew the redhead absolutely would not let him enter with Quirrell still in the room.
They stood there for what felt like hours. Harry was about to force his way past Percy when there was a final explosion and then a metal clang. Then silence. Holding their breath, they could just make out the sound of a door opening and closing.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed Harry’s shoulder from behind! Harry spun, a scream trapped in his throat, but it was just Remus. The man’s eyes were completely gold. The scars on his face stood out starkly in the flickering light.
Harry pulled down his hood so that his head could be seen. His heart beat furiously from the scare. “How’d you know where I was?”
“Smelled you,” Remus answered shortly. “You’re bleeding.”
“I’m fine,” Harry insisted. He met Remus’s eyes head on and dared him to try and stop him from doing this. It was harder than you’d think. Remus’s expression was dangerous; he didn't look at all like himself. Sweat rolled down Harry’s face, but he refused to blink.
Percy was oblivious to the tense standoff between them. His hands shook and his knees felt weak with relief, so he sat carefully on the floor next to the door and leaned against the wall for support. “Ron?”
Without blinking or looking away from Harry, Remus answered, “I had to Stupify him.”
Percy winced. Ron would be furious in the morning, but Percy was really glad his little brother would be safe.
“Let me go first,” Remus said lowly. It was a compromise. Harry could stay, but he had to stay as far out of danger as possible.
Harry reluctantly stepped aside and pulled his hood back in place.
Remus slunk into the room on the balls of his feet, his movements fluid and his body tensed and ready. He was hyperaware of the two boys following in his wake.
The room was large and lit by magical light streaming from the ceiling. The statues turned out to be chess pieces. The crashes they’d heard had been the pieces destroying each other. Even as they watched the broken rubble began to repair itself along the side of the room. Remus moved quickly to the door on the opposite wall and found it unlocked. It wouldn’t stay that way, though. Once the board reset, the door would lock once again.
They didn’t have time to play through a game, so with a quick movement, Remus cracked the door just enough to slip inside. He pressed his back firmly against the wall and froze, waiting to find out if he’d been seen, and held an open hand in the doorway, signaling the boys to wait.
The room was shaped like a large octagon and well lit by torches. Purple and white tiles created an intricate spiral on the floor. Set in the center was some type of table or altar. Remus couldn’t see it too well because the cloaked form of Quirrell blocked his view. The cloaked man was slightly hunched over and there was the whispered sound of muttering. Across the chamber, an open doorway loomed. Remus had no idea why the man didn’t just cross and go through it, but he found out a moment later.
Quirrell must have touched something because suddenly fire exploded into life in both doorways. Remus flinched back, crouching low to the floor, trying to stay in the shadows as the door began to burn with a hungry roar. The heat was incredible! Remus was instantly drenched in sweat. At least Harry was now trapped on the other side and unable to move forward. His cub was safe.
Remus breathed fast and soft through his mouth, trying to stay silent and invisible. There was nothing to really hide behind except the two pillars half as wide as he was on either side of the door. If Quirrell looked his way, he’d know someone was there.
Fortunately, whatever was on table had Quirrell’s complete attention. Remus could no longer hear him over the roar of the flames, but the man seemed agitated, his arms pointing and jerking, his head tossing at intervals. After about fifteen minutes by Remus’s guess, the man lifted something to his mouth and tipped his head back, drinking. Then he strode quickly toward the flames in the opposite doorway, walking boldly through the raging fire.
Remus gave it a minute, but when the flames didn’t die away and Quirrell didn’t reappear, he moved carefully forward toward the table. He could see that it had seven potion vials arranged in a row, all different shapes, colors, and sizes. Now that he was away from the flames, the smell of rotting flesh and garlic hit his nose. It was so putrid that tears burned his eyes. He quickly breathed through his mouth to spare himself the worst of it.
Remus bumped into something right in front of the table and the scent of fresh clean blood lifted up to him. “Harry?” he gasped, surprised.
Harry’s head was revealed as the boy took down his hood. He stared at Remus with defiance.
Remus was speechless. The boy must of crawled under his hand through the doorway before the fire erupted! He had no idea what was pushing Harry so hard or why he was being so reckless. Did he not realize if something happened to him Draco would be utterly destroyed? Frustrated fury bubbled up from his center and he had to hold himself perfectly still for fear of slapping Harry across his obstinate face.
“It’s a puzzle,” Harry explained, oblivious to Remus’s anger. He picked up a letter that Quirrell had discarded on the floor and proceeded to read a long poem about the potions.
“Harry… Harry, stop.”
Remus knelt and gently rested his hands on Harry’s small shoulders. They were about eye to eye in this position. Harry was dirty, sweaty, and dried blood coated one side of his face from his misadventure with the keys. He was a child, eleven years old! He couldn’t be here!
“Harry…” It was hard to speak calmly when all Remus wanted to do was scream and shake him. “I know you want to help. That Draco’s counting on us to prevent the Dark Lord from getting the Stone. But you can’t put yourself at risk, Harry. A lot is lost if the Dark Lord comes back to power, but all is lost if you are. Don’t you understand that, Harry? That if you die, Draco would be destroyed as well? Quirrell is dangerous, Harry! He could kill you.”
Harry’s expression twisted, revealing an ocean of frustration as tears filled his crystalline eyes. “I know that, Remus! But I… I’m have to help! I have to make sure it’s done right! I… I have to fight, okay?”
He didn’t know how to explain that it felt like if he didn’t do this he’d never get better. He’d always be this weak thing huddled at Draco’s feet. He didn’t want that! He wanted to be the fierce force he saw in the mirror, a power that Draco could wield and be proud of. A power that would protect Draco and not just be protected by him.
“I’m going,” he insisted, wiping his tears and staring Remus down. “You can’t stop me.”
Remus literally growled. It was a deep sound that resonated through the man’s entire chest and sent Harry’s heart stuttering with instinctual fear. The golden eyes of a wolf bore into him.
“I could, actually,” Remus whispered, low and dangerous.
Harry knew instantly that he couldn’t beat Remus, and if that were true, then what chance did he have against Quirrell? Despair swamped Harry completely, so much so that his knees gave out and he sank to the floor. What was he thinking? He would just get in the way. The vision in the mirror darkened in his mind. There was no way that could ever be the future. It had been beyond stupid to think it could be possible.
Remus was startled by the sudden and complete change in Harry’s demeanor. He stared wide-eyed at the child who now sat defeated, head bowed forward, tears silently wetting his cheeks as if the strings that had been holding him up had been cut. He hadn’t meant to hurt Harry, but he couldn’t let Harry get hurt, either!
Frustrated, hating himself for breaking the boy, Remus climbed to his feet and held out his hand. “Let me see the letter,” he said softly, voice tight.
Harry obediently lifted the letter, his arm heavy, his hand limp.
Remus winced and took it from him. He could hardly focus on it. The broken form of his cub on the floor kept pulling his attention. Remus growled again, this time at himself, and forced himself to focus. “One among us seven will let you move ahead. Another will transport the drinker back instead,” he read out loud. “Then there are two nettle-wines and three poisons that will kill me instantly. Just great,” he muttered, but there must be a way to figure out the answer because Quirrell had passed safety through the fire ahead.
Remus sniffed at the potions, but they all smelled the same. Severus really was a genius. Okay, the poem gave him four clues. He read them out loud. “First, however slyly the poison tries to hide, you will always find some on nettle-wine’s left side. Second, different are those who stand at either end, but if you would move onward, neither is your friend. Third as you see clearly, all are different size. Neither dwarf nor giant hold death in their insides. Fourth, the second left and the second on the right, are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.”
Worry about Harry faded into the background as Remus grew more involved with the seemingly impossible puzzle. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, one arm across his chest bracing his elbow. “Every bottle of nettle wine will have poison to its left. Now, this doesn't necessarily mean that every bottle of poison will have nettle wine to its right since there are three bottles of poison and only two of nettle wine. That means there will be two pairings of nettle wine-plus-poison with the wine on the right and the poison on the left. There will be one poison left over as well as the forward potion and backward potion.
“We know the potions on either end of the row are different from one another and secondly that the move forward potion is not on either end. Because the nettle wine always has to have poison to its left, the far left potion cannot be nettle wine. It could be poison or the move backward potion, though. If the far left one is poison, the far right one has to be either nettle wine or the move backward potion. If the far left one is the move backward potion, the far right one has to be either nettle wine or poison.
“But! The potions next to the outside potions are identical. Neither of those can be the move forward or move back potion because there are only one of each. So in the end, we're left with eight possible arrangements of the seven potions. In all of the arrangements, the move forward potion is in position three, four, or five.”
The answer was evident now. The largest bottle was in position two, the smallest was in position three. That meant that the move forward potion was in the smallest bottle and the biggest bottle was wine. The move back potion was in the far right potion. He was definitely sure about that one. He could be wrong about the move forward potion. It could be the fourth bottle not the third, so either he moved ahead or he drank poison. Fifty-fifty.
Remus glanced down at Harry. “I think I figured it out. This far right potion will take you back to Percy. You should both get ready. If I can’t get the Stone, then you and Percy will need to try and stall Quirrell as long as possible. I sent word to Dumbledore, but it will take time for him to get it and return from London. All the other teachers were put to sleep. I couldn’t wake them.”
Harry nodded his head wordlessly.
“I think the correct potion is in the smallest bottle, but it could also be poison,” Remus continued through gritted teeth. Damn it, what in the bloody hell was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let Harry kill himself, but all the light had gone from Harry’s eyes, and there was no time to try and fix it! Quirrell had gone on at least fifteen minutes ago. Anything could be happening in there.
Without another word, Remus lifted the smallest bottle and took a mouthful. He waited, but he didn’t feel sick, so he flashed Harry an empty smile and made his way through the flames ahead of them.
Harry watched him go, eyes dull and uncaring. A black hole had opened in his gut. What was the point of any of this? Draco would keep getting hurt, fighting against this evil. Harry would keep weighing everyone down. It was a horrible cycle that Harry saw no hope of escaping. It made him want to scream and end it all! It was so tempting to drink the poison sitting only a foot away from him on the table, but his hand unconsciously cupped his side where the dragon was tattooed on his skin.
Draco owned him, body and soul. Draco had made it clear that Harry’s life was his. Harry wasn’t allowed to take it. Cut off from all sides, Harry had nothing left at all. He was crying hard now, hardly able to see. He took his glasses off his face and wiped at his eyes, but it didn’t help. Something warm and hard shoved at his forehead.
Startled, Harry pulled his hand back. The head of the white dragon had lifted off the skin on the back of his hand! Harry stared, shocked. This had never happened before! He quickly shoved his glasses back on his face so he could see it clearly.
Draco had created the tattoo for one purpose. To tell the world Harry was his… including Harry himself. Draco had inked the dragon into Harry’s skin after Harry had tried to kill himself. Its purpose was to remind Harry and comfort him, but it was also designed to ensure Harry’s internal darkness was kept in check if Draco wasn’t there to do it himself. In the three years Harry had worn it, it had never become physical like this before!
The dragon’s head was sleek and beautiful and powerful. The dark green of the dragon’s slitted eyes shone with a power that was all too familiar to Harry. Draco! It opened its mouth and the head lashed downward, its needle-sharp teeth closing around Harry’s thumb. The bite stung painfully. A tiny trickle of blood snaked down his hand and over his wrist.
Harry gasped at the pain. Suddenly, the image he’d seen in the mirror appeared in his mind’s eye as vivid as before. It could come true! It could! He was Draco’s! He was a part of something amazing and powerful! Draco may work with others, like Remus, but they weren’t Draco’s the way Harry was. Harry wasn’t on the bottom of some totem pole, answering to everyone else. Harry answered to no one but Draco! And Draco had entrusted Harry with his mission, not Remus!
Heart beating with new life, Harry looked to see the dragon had returned to its place underneath his skin. However, its head stayed on the back of his hand, watching. Its powerful neck disappeared under the sleeve of Harry’s sweater. If Harry were to look, he knew the rest of its powerful body would be inked into his forearm. Harry’s thumb still oozed blood from the warning bite and Harry sucked it clean reverently.
“Yours,” he whispered to the dragon and, through it, to Draco. “No one else’s.” Harry climbed to his feet and locked his knees. Chin set in defiance, he took up the smallest bottle and drank it. Then, flinging his hood back on, he ran straight through the flames.
xXx
Panther-like body covered in ink-black scales, poisonous green eyes slitted like a snake’s, whip-cord tail, jaws of a wolf, claws of a cat… Healthy, he was sleek and dangerous, but also beautiful with a sinuous grace. Now… Draco looked like a beast from hell.
Standing against the wall. Hands braced in front of him, they trembled no matter how hard he pressed them flat. The paddle hit his ass again and again with the full force of a full grown man behind it. The sound of wood impacting flesh melded with his grunts and gaps and sobs. The CRACK hit his ears as screaming pain tore along his nerves. Each blow lifted him up onto his toes. Battered - in so much goddamn pain - teeth bared and drenched in sweat - the Master laughing…
Voldemort had tried to twist his wordless cries of pain into promises of being good. Tried to make Draco believe he should submit to someone stronger than him. Draco tore the corruption free of the memory with an ice cold wind, shredding pieces of the real memory with it.
Draco’s body was skeletal, chunks of flesh missing revealing bloody muscle. The scales of his jaw had been melted away by the poison, revealing blood-smeared bone. He was caked in mud and filth from his battles with his own corrupted mind. Still, he never hesitated. Not once. He flung himself deep into the jungle of his mind again and again and rooted out all of the thorns that had spread since Voldemort had entered his mind.
Swaying slightly, queasy with pain, body nearly broken beyond repair. Half of his torso was black with overlapping bruises and hot. It felt like a knife was sawing at his ribs with every breath. Holding his torso straight as he could, Draco stared at the cargo through animalistic eyes.
They were no longer bleating and crying. They were silent. Deathly silent. The scent of illness, vomit and sweet-smelling sweat, filled the room like a cloying fog. The children lay like discarded dolls across the Hold.
One was having seizures even as Draco watched. Another stared at him, dark eyes glassy and vacant, drool and bile oozing from the corners of her mouth. The rest were still. All of them. Draco stared at them, chest on fire with agony and waited. Waited for the contamination to crawl over him and invade his body. Waited to die.
Mouth stretching, Draco smiled as he heard the one seizing breathe out in a long sigh and go still. The boy didn’t breathe in again. One down, he thought, demented smile stretching wide in a death-head grin.
The corruption tried to twist his morbid laughter into joy at the death of the child, tried to make him want more of it, but Draco didn’t get off on the kid dying. No. He was laughing because the Bastard had just lost one of his precious slaves. Anything that hurt that motherfucker put a smile on Draco’s battered face. He hoped all the kids died! Better dead than in the hands of monsters like the Master.
Draco relived the horrors of his past, erasing the subtle changes Voldemort had wrought and losing bits of himself along the way. Slowly, he sank deeper and deeper. If it weren’t for the memories, he’d have forgotten what it was like to have two legs and soft, human skin. The jungle, the past, it was all there was.
Standing on a stage, wrists bound in cold chains, lifted nearly off his feet, shoulders screaming in agony, a whip slicing his back open… It was all background noise. It didn’t matter. His screams were reflexive. His attention was across the room. Riveted on the horrific scene playing out in front of him.
Harry… the small boy who had somehow stitched together the last of Draco’s humanity… who had given Draco love and safety and purpose… was folded over a padded bench. Small, thin legs dangled nowhere near touching the ground. A man almost twice as wide as the little boy stepped up to the boy’s terror-struck face. The sounds of that little boy crying and shaking in fear tore deeper than the whip cracking across his back could ever reach.
As that bastard took his fucking dick out and pressed it into Harry’s mouth, something crazy burned to life in Draco’s chest, raw and ravenous. He knew with absolutely certainty that he would kill them all. No one who laid a hand on Harry would survive…
The fucker choked the small boy. Shoved right into Harry’s throat. Draco was close enough to see it; the man’s dick stretching the slender throat, in and out in a brutal push-pull that kept the boy from breathing, strangling him from the inside out. Harry’s green eyes were wild with panic.
Seeing Harry brutalized that way felt like someone had torn Draco’s heart in half and set it on fire, but that wasn't even the worst! No, it was the dark, fat dick spreading Harry open. The motherfucker thrust with short stabs as he punched deeper and deeper into Harry’s fragile body. The red of blood smeared across that fucker’s cock as he rutted fully into Harry’s small body made Draco howl with rage.
But instead of breaking free and tearing those bastards apart, Voldemort had tried to twist it so that Draco had never escaped… Twisted it so that Harry was fucked brutally for hours - mouth and ass. That in the end the little boy who so precious to Draco was nothing more than an unconscious, limp sleeve to be used. That Harry - sweet and shy with a soft, breathy laugh - was left gaping open on the bench, hanging like discarded laundry, cum and blood spilling from both ends. Voldemort wanted Draco to believe he was a failure. That Draco was unable to save Harry or himself.
Draco tore through Voldemort’s lies with reckless abandon, scouring his mind clean of the taint. Reveled in the sharp mind-numbing agony of shredded skin and dislocated thumbs. He screamed in joy at the feel of the whip in his hand and not in the hand of his tormentor. Howled with laughter as the monsters who’d touched Harry died in agony!
Purgatory… Hell… There was no leaving this place… These memories… And yet the brutality revisited on his mind only made him more determined to push forward. Made it impossible for him to submit, yield, give in. Made him a snarling ball of rage and fury.
A cold, cleansing wind wound around him. Draco lifted his head to the jungle canopy above him, eyes closed in pleasure as it cooled the fire of his hate enough that he could think clearly again. His heartbeat slowed. His breath came in steady pulls. His muscles uncoiled one by one.
“You have been Cleansed.” A voice that resonated deeper than the ocean vibrated through the core of Draco’s being. “You are ready, Hunter.”
Draco lowered his head and slowly opened his eyes, looking fearlessly into the starry expanse of the god’s eyes.
The god gave a smile, revealing blood-stained teeth in the face of an ancient, wrinkled face. Tangled long white hair fluttered in a breeze that Draco could not feel. Knotted and age spotted hands lifted and caressed Draco along the head, curled around his jaw.
“Your Prey awaits.” Sharp, thick nails pierced through Draco’s scales and drew hot blood to the surface. “Let us see who will stand Victorious.”
Suddenly Draco could hear the ringing of small bells calling him. The bond opened with a flood of Harry’s emotions - urgency determination submission love self-sacrifice -
Draco’s eyes slammed opened in his human face. They glittered silver as he took in the empty hospital beds around him. His hand immediately went to his neck, but the charmed coin wasn’t there.
Draco’s empty hand clenched into a fist as it fell to his side. With terrifying calmness, he pulled the blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Then he was off and running, deadly intent singing in his veins. Unknown to him, he was grinning madly and the floor under his bare feet frosted over wherever he stepped.
Chapter end.
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Freedom Bound in Chains