Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy There is also an unrequited Tom Riddle/Harry Potter But this story is about Draco and Harry first and foremost. There is some violence in future chapters Tragic Romance Teen Romance Alternate Universe - Slavery Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins Physical Abuse Angst Slash Brothels Forced Prostitution Domestic Violence Dark Fairy Tale Elements Hurt/Comfort Sexual Slavery

A/N: This is a 5-part story I'll be posting up every few days if people like it. I wrote it a long time ago and rewrote it not too long ago and haven't had time to work on anything recent so I thought I'd post this up for now.

5 June, 1998

As eve approached, the sound of splashing water filled the opulent, candlelit chamber. The room was hidden from sunlight, and only the wealthiest and most influential of wizards could hope to enter. The flooring of warmed mosaic tiles of iridescent glass reflected the flicker of flame, casting shadow of a feminine form across the deep, burgundy flocked wallpaper.

"Oh, and did you hear about Professor McGonagall?"

Nestled behind curtains of filmy tulle, delicately embroidered with tiny gems, a nearly eighteen year old boy sat in quiet contemplation while resting in a claw-footed bathtub. The water within was tinted in a light shade of pink, with crushed rose petals floating along the surface. A smallish girl, with skin the shade of warm cocoa and bouncy ringlets of doll-brown hair, knelt to the side, tending to his needs.

"No, how could I?" he voiced, reclining against the slanted back of the tub. It was difficult to put a face to the name. He had not laid eyes on Minerva McGonagall since his second year at Hogwarts. He remembered her to be strict and fair, soft behind the tight bun and squared glasses perched on her nose, but her face…her face was a blur. Shifting his weight, he looked back at the girl. "Is she dead?"

"Yes, it was a public execution."

…death is but the next great adventure.

"How did you find out?" he asked. "Did someone here tell you?"

She ran a sponge over the boy's shoulder, squeezing water and suds along his collarbone, wetting his golden skin. She was always careful to avoid the puncture mark on his arm, the result from the bite of a basilisk that nearly killed him over six years back. "No, no one here tells me anything anymore. Ron Weasley came with a delivery again last night. He told me about how they said she was too old to teach, but that he believes it had more to do with what subject she was teaching certain students after lights out. There were rumours."

"So it couldn't be a lie, right?"

"Course not, Ron wouldn't lie. Never speak a word of it. Promise me."

"I promise."

A door appeared in the centre of the eastern wall, sending a pulse of electricity through the room. Hermione Granger stood and dropped the loofah sponge into the tub. She ran her sodden fingers over the folds of her layered skirt as the door swung open and a tall, dark haired woman entered the room. The woman leaned against the frame, fanning her fingernails in the air. Her beautiful face scrunched in a sneer. "There you are, child. Go make yourself pretty, there are guests in the parlour."

Hermione scurried off without a word, brushing past the woman as she left.

Bellatrix Lestrange lit a cigarette and made her way through the filmy enclosure, all the while shaking her head at the pretty boy she was to keep in pristine condition for her master's younger self. "You're going to wrinkle if you stay in there much longer. I doubt anyone would find that attractive."

She held out a hand to the boy, helping his balance as he stepped from the tub. Smirking, her eyes took in his perfect form. He was nearly as tall as she was now, long and lean. Every bone in his body had been shattered and sculpted to enhance and retain his stunning features. She cupped his face, turning it to and fro to check for any imperfections. He had grown into this body; he was youthful, fresh-faced, but no longer child-like. He looked upon her with owlish ingenuousness, and she smiled, pleased. "You're perfect, Harry."

"Thank you, Mistress Bella."

"Fully grown at last. This is where he should stop your ageing, with you looking just like this."

Harry Potter pulled a dressing gown over his head and tied the sash around his waist while Bellatrix pulled his magically flattened hair back and draped it over his shoulder. It was waist-long, black as coal and shined like glass, just like his mistress' beautiful locks. "Will I have company tonight?" he asked, leaning over the tub to retrieve his glasses.

Bellatrix poured copious amounts of scented rose oil in her palm. "Doubtful, it's late in the evening," she said, raising Harry's dressing gown over his hip to perfume his skin. Although the parlour had just filled with a group of young gentlemen, none of them had the clout to get into the boy's chambers.

"And I'm not expecting your master until next Friday." She reached out, taking the boy by the chin and looked at him through the mirror adorning the wall in front of them. "Forget what she told you about that old teacher."

Harry's mouth opened to speak.

Bellatrix she cupped his chin to close it. "I'm not an idiot, Harry. If you bring this up to Tom and I find out…you can be sure that that tiny little Mudblood will be punished for wagging her tongue about what's going on out there. The master was very specific about keeping your life nice and simple. Nice…and simple. You need not worry yourself about the bad people on the outside. We don't want him taking you away from me, do we? Promise me."

"I promise, Mistress Bella, I won't mention it."

And he wouldn't. The matron of the parlour of ill repute could always count on the boy to keep his word. Harry knew others would suffer in order to keep him compliant. He did not wish anyone to suffer on his behalf, never again.

Bellatrix cackled uncharacteristically and patted the boy's backside. "That's my boy. Now assume the position. Even though he says he won't be expected until Friday, you and I both know he could drop by at any time, and we must not disappoint him."

Harry set his glasses back down, spread his legs, and leaned over the edge of the basin while his mistress coated his creamy flesh with the oil, something she was made to do each and every night. Her firm hands traced the inner portion of his thighs, danced along the cleft of his bum, and slipped around his hips.

His hair came forward like a shroud to cover his face, hiding his disappointment. There would be no more word of the fate of Professor McGonagall that eve, as Bellatrix forbade any talk of the outside world from reaching his ears. Only Hermione dared to disobey that direct order, and only she was intelligent enough to get away with it.

The drone in the waiting parlour erupted with anxious chatter and dramatic gasps. Filled with students from the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the soon-to-be graduating boys from House Slytherin waited with baited breath as a door appeared and opened on the inner wall. The room was lit by bluebell flame, its blossom enhancing the sweet emergence of each young woman as they stepped into the room in a line for display.

Draco Malfoy fell back against an antique settee in a fit of nervous tittering. Today was his eighteenth birthday. His schoolmates had dragged him around from pub to pub throughout the evening. Now, tipsy on fire whiskey, he found himself surrounded by a myriad of beautiful girls, each of them vying for his attention. It was something he would not have chosen in sobriety. He found himself thinking of their blood status as he looked them over, and had to remind himself that he was not there to breed.

"Oh, Merlin, I want that one!"

Looking like living versions of mannequins, the eight impure witches and one wizard stood soundless before them. Draco's wavering glances over them centred repeatedly on the one girl in the room who was not flashing him her cleavage or batting her eyelashes; Hermione Granger. He knew her, he remembered her face. She had last been at school with him in their second year. As pretty as she looked, standing bashful in her empire-waist dress and baby-doll hair, it was not her that kept popping up in his mind. She had been friends with…

"Do you have any idea how much pull you need for that? Get back to the parlour, boy, or I'll toss you and your friends out on your ear!"

Vincent Crabbe lumbered back to the parlour, sulking. He plopped down on the settee next to Draco, nearly collapsing the ancient frame. "Unfortunately, my father does not have the status to get us into the back rooms," he mocked, glaring at Alecto Carrow out of the corner of his eye. "Whatever, bint's a pain in the arse anyway. Just pick one of these ugly tarts and have one off with them, Draco."

"What's in the back rooms?" Draco asked, curious. A few of the girls had pulled their skirts up to show off their knickers. Again, Draco felt the rising flush of awkwardness warm his cheeks. Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott and Gregory Goyle were on their knees with their tongues hanging out like dogs at the girls' feet. Inebriation swirled Draco's brain with fuzziness. His attention moved between Granger and the uncomfortable-looking Mudblood boy. His jaw hardened, his eyes narrowed as they came to a stop on Granger. On the tip of his tongue were the words of choosing. If he could not have what he truly wanted, he would have her. His mind went to a dark place. He would show her what it was like to be bested by a pure-blooded wizard, and probably never be allowed back.

"Oh, that's where they house the courtesans. The ones only the most privileged are allowed to visit, it seems. I hear they keep a Metamorphmagus and a part-Veela back there," Crabbe muttered under his breath, having finally taken his attention away from the whores to answer his friend's question.

Draco's eyebrows shot up with interest. A Veela would make the evening a bit more interesting, and he might even enjoy it. "You don't say."

Blaise looked over his shoulder, wagging his eyebrows. "Don't forget about Ginny Weasley, she's a pure-blood!"

"Liar," Crabbe hissed, waving him off. "There are no pure-bloods here."

"Nah, it's true," Goyle injected. "I heard Diggory telling Davies about coming here on his eighteenth birthday a while back at the World Cup, and they had a choice of a pure-blood girl, namely Weasley, the morphing one, the part Veela or if you like em male, um…what was that bloke's name again? The one with the scar, the boy who almost died in the Chamber of Secrets before the Dark Lord's boy saved his life."

With a look of surprise, Draco sat forward on the edge of his seat. "Do you mean Harry Potter?"

Glancing upward, he watched Hermione's expression defy her. Her mouth dropped open in shock, and she began to pant. The sleeping butterflies awoke in his stomach and his heart began to thud against his ribcage. His obsession was here, in this very building. "He's here too? You can't be serious, Goyle."

"That's what he told him." Goyle shrugged, and returned his attention back on the girls. "Harry Potter: the boy whose name you've moaned in your sleep more than once!"

Draco snapped his lips shut. How could he been so careless to let something that private slip out for others to hear…He swallowed back his embarrassment and peeked once more at Granger.

Hermione was now looking at him as if he were on fire.

Draco turned a brilliant shade of red. He elbowed Greg. "That's ridiculous. I've never moaned anyone's name in my sleep. Maybe I was thinking about beating him up."

Beat him up, pummel his face into a pulp, taunt him into tears, suck his tongue into his mouth - meh, it was all the same thing. Draco Malfoy loved to hate Harry Potter. It was a passion of his. And it was taken away from him far too early in life, the boy plucked from his grasp by a one-sided war.

Harry, to Draco, was a legend, a myth, the cocky boy was now an image he used to masturbate to, a mystery that should have never invaded his reality…or left it unfinished. Harry was a foul-mouthed nemesis who always bested him at anything he tried. He had been dragged out of Hogwarts by Death Eaters on the orders of that living memory of the Dark Lord, along with the impure ones and blood-traitors, four years back, killed or sold off to who knows, and should have never been seen from again.

"Yeah, he's the Dark Lord's boy's personal fuck-toy, but he's also forced to work here, so I've heard," Teddy added bluntly, as if everyone in the world knew of Harry Potter's business. "Said he was a pretty thing, kept all dolled up and secluded to preserve his innocence or something stupid. It was a weird conversation to eaves drop in on."

"Why didn't either of you tell me about this before?" Draco asked them under his breath, in hopes that the judging busybody burning holes into him with her eyes could not hear him.

The other boys shrugged. "I didn't even know what the word 'whore' meant at the time!" Teddy replied.

"Well," Draco snapped, standing up. It could not be possible, but if it were true he had to find out. He turned his nose up at the display line of second-rate pickings, eager to try and weasel his way into the back rooms. "I see nothing here worth wasting my time on. I want…er…the Veela."

"Oh yeah, good luck with that, Draco, they'll never let you in back there," Crabbe teased, watching him saunter away. He dropped down on his knees beside Goyle, rolling his eyes. "If I couldn't get in, what makes him think that he will?"

Alecto Carrow tapped the tip of her quill on the table with irritation. She inclined her head, gaping at the tall, white-haired boy standing over her. "Are you quite finished with your little tantrum? I told you already, we do not let first time patrons into the backrooms no matter who their father is. If you insist on carrying out your threats I will have to ask you never to return."

"Is he back there or not?" Draco stamped his foot on the wooden boards of the floor. He rasped for breath, unable to hold in the frustration of not getting his way.

With a frown, and against her better judgement, Alecto gave him a simple nod.

Draco's stomach flip-flopped. The rival from school, his obsession, he was here. "My aunt could talk to my father. He could get me permission," he blurted with excitement. "Tell my Aunt Bellatrix I'm here and I want in."

Looking back into the parlour, he had hoped no one had heard his outburst. Spending your evening with a bloke, even if it was Harry Potter, might not go over very well with them. They could never understand the true desire of conquering and besting someone who had always come out on top. This was his opportunity to do something for himself. It was his day after all.

Pulling herself from her chair, Alecto threw a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. "Bella dear, your nephew wishes to visit with Harry Potter. I've told him several times about our rules, but he insists that I speak with you." Her words are flat, as if she had spoken them over a thousand times. "He asks that you contact his father for permission and the money."

After a nail-biting moment of silence, Draco began to fret. How could she deny him this prospect?

Alecto yanked her head back, sighing. She stood up and turned to the boy, gesturing for him to follow. "It seems your auntie has given you her consent." She stopped, putting her hand out. "There are rules you must follow, though. Firstly, surrender your wand."

Adrenaline exploded through Draco's veins. Without thinking, he dug into his pocket and gave her the wand. It was happening. He was going to be face to face with Harry Potter within a minute, and he could do anything he wanted to him. "What rules?" he burbled, shaking in place. He was not sure he could stay standing. His knees knocked and his hands trembled. He leaned up against the wall for support, hoping the lump-of-a-woman staring him down did not notice.

"There are several, actually, so pay close attention. This consent is to be kept in the strictest of confidences. Harry Potter can not be visited by just anybody, you know. You have to be favoured by our Lord or carry some serious clout. Little Harry is sacred to the master's boy, and is only allowed to work here because Mistress Bellatrix takes such good care of him. He cannot be left alone or in some cell-ward; his master is a very busy man, Draco, always doing tasks for our Lord. Mr Potter must be catered to night and day."

"Sure," Draco said, half-listening. He grew anxious, desperate to finally get his hands on Potter after all this time. He sneered at Carrow, not understanding why they were still standing there. "Lead on, woman."

"Woman?" Alecto gripped the scruff of Draco's collar and yanked him down to her level. "You're lucky to even be speaking to me about this, boy. Now pay attention while I explain the rules to you or you can just leave right now." She pulled her hands away and gestured to the door. "Your choice, lad."

Draco paled. "No, I'll listen. Please, go on."

After a moment of silent contemplation with a well-placed sneer, Alecto continued.

"You will not tell anyone that you have been given permission to visit with him, or what goes on during this visit. He is not to be permanently marked in any way. Do not try and alter his brand, and do not attempt to remove his bracelet. You will not discuss any current events or history with him, tell him nothing of the outside world.

"If you wish to physically harm him; as in to beat him up, to rape him, to try to cause any sort of mental anguish or perform any other abnormal kink that might distress his demeanour or alter his beauty, the okay must be given by Bellatrix. Steps will be taken to ensure his overall safety, as none of these things can be permanent. And, if you do choose any of the above, you will be watched by our Lord's royal guard during your visit…meaning they'll be sitting in the room with you - watching you up close and personal with drawn wands.

"You will have three hours to play with him in any other manner, Mr Malfoy, but may I add that he is the sole and personal catamite of our Lord's returned memory of his younger self…A man who is pure evil, and much less forgiving than our blessed Lord. If his possession were to be harmed in the wrong way, the consequences would be immeasurable."

Still appearing a little too aloof for her liking, she said, "It doesn't matter who your father is in this instance, boy, he won't be able to save you. Don't push it." She closed her mouth and hardened her eyes, waiting on his okay, and added, "I speak of this last part in all seriousness as I have seen the aftermath of the last person that messed with the boy too roughly for our master's liking." She made popping noise with her mouth while she splayed her fingers open like a bomb exploded. "Potter is like a trophy of his, a physical prize for winning the war."

Draco was not sure what a catamite was, but it sounded important. He had no death wish either and had heard many times what an unforgiving psychopathic prick Tom Riddle was through the grapevine. Giving the woman his word and tossing his schoolmates a smug grin and a rude gesture, he followed her down the narrow, torch-lit passage in route to the back rooms.

Silver poppy lamps burned in each corner of the ornate bedroom chamber. They had appeared out of thin air only moments before, to Harry's surprise, signifying the impending arrival of a guest. Apparently, Bellatrix had been wrong, and the master had returned earlier than expected.

His eyes were painted with charcoal and his lips stained with cherries. He hid his glasses and pulled his legs into his chest, crossing them at the ankle as he rested against a mound of velveteen pillows adorning his bed. The sheets he was situated over were of the finest silk charmeuse, deep purple in shade, and highly annoying to sleep on. He drew the cord to the curtains, releasing them to veil the bed.

The powerful signature of magic pulsed through the air. The sound of light footfalls tapped against the glass tiles. The room, which was normally closed off and sealed like a tomb, opened up like a blooming rose, and Harry looked to his side, spotting the statuesque form of a young man staring openly at him between two life-sized bisque statues of cherubs hovering on each side of the doorway.

The celluloid vanity brush the catamite was taming his hair with slipped out of his hand and dropped onto the bed. This man was not Tom. "What the hell?".

The impish features of the white-haired boy brightened the instant his vision adjusted to the lamplight and found the object for which he was seeking. Despite being removed from their history books, the supposed mythical creature appeared before his eyes; so innocent, yet glowing with an aura of precociousness. "My God…Harry Potter, I can't believe it's really you."

"Malfoy?" Harry's mouth dropped open, and he heaved in a great breath. His recognition and disgust welled up inside him like an active volcano. Instinctive hands flew up, clutching his dressing gown together over his unclothed form. "You're not supposed to be here-get out!"

Leaning up against the doorway, with his arms crossed to conceal the jitters he was experiencing, Draco smirked at the other boy as he looked him over. "Make me, orphan," he replied vehemently. A surge of jealous rage and eerie passion soared through his veins. Even as a filthy slave and wanton tart, Potter was still an unbelievable git. "Haven't seen your ugly mug around in ages. How long has it been?"

"Not long enough," Harry muttered under his breath as he backed up into the depths of the monstrous-sized bed, disappearing into the diaphanous gauze draped all around the canopy. "This can't really be happening." The soft jingle of charms twinkled through the thick perfumed air.

Draco ran his fingers along a gilt bronze portrait frame, noting the quality and workmanship of the antique piece. Everything in the room was dressed in various shades of purple, with spun gold painted on every edge. It was immaculate and ornately designed, but stopped just short of being gaudy - minus the moving portrait of the Dark Lord sitting on a throne whilst hugging a gargantuan snake coiled around him, like his mother held her flat-faced dog. Both were hideously ugly. It stood alone inside as something that turned the young man's stomach.

Draco's eyes moved from it back to the silhouette of the slender boy hidden behind the tulle curtain, and three little words formed solidly in his mind. Humiliate, conquer, destroy. "So, do you live inside here? It's really nice."

Harry groaned. Malfoy was attempting to make idle chitchat with him. He had no use for this, he was not good with talking. He dug his fingernails into the filigree carvings on the bedstead out of frustration. "Yeah, it was nice till you arrived."

"Hey," Draco shot back, balling his hands into fists with an ephemeral surge of vexation. "I'm a guest here. You'd better start treating me with some respect."

Harry smirked at him. "I'm not going to cater your want to carry on a conversation. I don't have to respect you; I only have to pretend I do."

Draco's nostrils flared. "Yeah, that's the trick, ain't it? You may live like a prince in these surroundings, but you're a whore, Potter, try not to forget. Your job is to do whatever the hell I want."

He took a step closer, feeling the heat in the room steadily rising around him. Every little fantasy he had ever dreamed about involving this boy filled his head with nonsense. He had the upper hand, for once, for maybe the first time, and he intended on using that to his full advantage.

Watching Harry Potter squirm would be worth two-hundred Galleons, easy. Malfoy threw up a trademark sneer while he conjured up a nasty little image of what Harry represented to him for something to think about. Harry was a one-upper, a boy who always bested him at any competition they were up against. Not this time.

"I can understand you being intimidated by my presence…" Draco began to feed his ego with the worried look on Harry's painted visage. "But if you want to play hard-to-get, I'm not in the mood. I do recall seeing Hermione Granger out there on display in the lesser-whore lineup. She's not so bad to look at, maybe I should spend my evening with her instead. I have a particular fetish for small, dark and pretty Mudbloods." He punched his palm aggressively. "They're usually so helpless, unable to protect themselves when they're alone with me, and I'm in a foul mood and really need to take out this frustration on someone."

After a punctuated gasp as the blood drained out of his face, Harry snapped his lips shut through the next insult he had planned. He would not allow Hermione to suffer if he could help it. He could swallow his pride and do this. So he tipped his head, loosening his tense muscles and threw up a convincing seductive smile while he patted the bedding beside him. "No, Malfoy, that's not necessary. I'll show you a good time, love. Stay here."

"That's better." Draco moved toward the bed, letting his arms fall to his sides. The jitters vanished, and were quickly replaced with triumph. He scanned the room as he closed in on the bed, crinkling his nose. The veiling parted, and he slipped his head inside. "It looks like you live in a dollhouse, and you kind of look like one, too."

Although the image of Potter's face had become muddled over time, he hardly remembered him looking pretty. "I don't have any say in how this room looks, or how I look."

Draco's heart fluttered on the inside, watching the boy curl up into himself more. The closer he got to him, more he would tighten. It disturbed the Slytherin to see another human being react to his presence so negatively, but he remained steadfastly calm.

Harry, it appeared, was frightened of him.

Now, so close, he could taunt this lucky ex-Gryffindor as much as he wanted to over the next three hours. "Have you always been this girly?"

"Shut up, you git, I'm wearing loads of makeup. I was expecting my mast—I was expecting someone else, someone important," Harry retorted, inching his body farther away as Draco moved through the filmy curtains to rest down on the edge of the bed.

The charms hanging from Harry's anklet jingled as he backed away as far as he could without falling off the other side, drawing Draco's attention downward.

Always a Malfoy, Draco felt this powerful impulse that demanded he grab that limb and suck on every one of Harry's shapely toes. He needed to kiss and lick each sweet digit, run his tongue up along the fleshy inner part of the leg, tear his dressing gown to shreds and screw him senseless. It was his right, after all. He had gotten to this point with a surname and a bucket-load of money; he felt that he had really worked hard for this, and it was his birthday.

It was a vivid nightmare Harry could not wake up from. He rubbed his scar, taking his attention away from Draco's fumbling fingers on the button of his trousers. Over the last six or so years of slavery, nothing he could remember had felt as humiliating. Normally, he could cope with vile Death Eaters running their greasy hands all over his skin, lying on top of him with their fat hairy bodies, making him do unspeakable acts on their sweaty genitalia. But this…This was Malfoy, the stupid prick from Hogwarts who tried to make his life a living hell while he attended.

Harry was not to allowed fight him off, nor deny him access to his body, it was simply not allowed. The rules he was to follow clearly stated that if Malfoy paid his fare and was granted exclusive access to his chambers, Malfoy could have his way with him. But Harry would not give in; he would just lie there like the dead while Draco did his worst, and pray the offending images would disappear from his mind forever. Maybe Tom would wipe them away for him if he asked him nicely enough. He could do this, he would not fight back, for he was strong, rock hard like a diamond. "Don't touch me," he cried and flinched, feeling the a sag in the mattress as Draco inched in closer.

Draco's eyes lit up with mischief as he crawled along the bed. He tittered evilly. "You look tense, Potter. Where's that Gryffindor bravery now, hmm?" Oh, I will touch you.

Harry backed himself into the bedstead and curled up in a foetal ball. "I'm not afraid of you. You're pathetic and predictable. You're only here so you can have a good laugh with your disgusting friends afterword. But the joke's on you - I'll never have to see any of them, so it doesn't matter." His head shot up out of the ball. "Just get this over with and get out."

Draco's silky hair fell into his eyes. He was as pale as Harry remembered, but he had grown into manhood. Draco was tall, lean, and the definition of his musculature threatened to split the seams in his clothing through the strain as he scanned the room. Said clothing was crisp and neat, threaded in gold, looking terribly expensive. Malfoy was still and always would be a filthy rich piece of trash who always got what he wanted.

Just the way Draco turned so viciously on him told Harry that he would most likely be overpowered, and certainly raped if he did try to fight back. He bit his tongue as Malfoy's hand shot out, catching him by the ankle. "Oh Merlin, here we go…"

"Predictable?" Touching him now, so close, skin so soft, smells so good… "I just wanted to see you for myself. My friends don't know I'm in here."

Gaping at the white-knuckled fingers tugging his leg prone, Harry hardly believed him. "Course they don't, you're a bloody saint." He tried to pull away. And as Malfoy leaned closer, Harry baulked. "Let me go!"

"As you probably know," Draco scoffed, and yanked Harry closer so that he dropped flat on the mattress. He grabbed the boy's wrist to keep him in place in the centre of the bed, ignoring his mumbling pleas. "I did pay a lot of money to get in here. I'm still a little drunk and I am seriously horny." He tipped his head as he tossed up an evil grin. "And you are a dirty, filthy, fucking little whore whose sole task it is to please me, so you can see where this is heading…"

"Oh, but that's where you're wrong. Whores get paid, Malfoy. Some even have the luxury as to choose whether or not they want to sleep with a patron." Harry corrected him, and bitterly so. "My master chooses who I sleep with for me because I am a slave. I do not have those rights, you snobby prat…but you can call me whatever you want if it gets you out of my room faster. I'll play the part, just give me a minute."

"Yeah, you better play along, Potter. I want the whole shebang." Yet Draco paused his taunting to allow Harry to compose himself, out of pity or something…He wasn't exactly sure what slowed this vicious bullying he had been saving up six long years for, but it did not seem appropriate any longer.

Harry had no idea why he was so nervous. His heart pounded in his throat while Draco situated himself on top of him. He fisted the bedclothes and focused on the canopy above. He could feel the Slytherin's erection press down upon his pelvic bone, and felt disgust that the other boy could actually get it up after all that was being said. Fingers gripped his chin, swaying his attention away from the shiny, purple haze to look upon his tormentor. "Ugh…"

Draco exhaled slowly. Every nerve in his body reacted to the sweet feeling of having Harry Potter trapped underneath him, at long last. It felt so wrong but so right to be there on top. He hovered over him blindly, pinning Harry's wrists to the mattress with his knees, relishing in the splendour of making a delusion become reality. Everything was perfect.

His eyes opened to look upon the beautiful face in his hands, his fantasy, his dream boy - and froze. Harry was lying there like a dead body, blinking occasionally only to keep his eyes from watering too much. Draco's posture sagged with disappointment. "Yeah, that's not working for me. Look at me, Potter."

"I am looking at you, Malfoy," Harry replied, still dead-eyed. He made a little face at the boy by crossing his eyes and sticking out his tongue for a moment before lazing back into a corpse-like status.

"No, don't do that - Pretend like you're alive at least, Potter," Draco ordered, ignoring the banter. "Like you want this. I want you begging for it like a dog. Beg me to take you."

"Yeah no," Harry mumbled under his breath as he went back to playing half-dead. "I'm not begging you for anything."

Draco caressed Harry's chin with the tips of his fingers, mesmerised with how delicate his features were up close. "You're really pretty, you know? I like your lips, they're all squishy and full," he murmured unconsciously, and then cringed. Squishy and full? He could have kicked himself.

Harry merely blinked in response.

Throwing that aside, Draco became entranced with the flawlessness of his bone structure. Surely the boy had been restructured to look more soft and attractive, as proprietors usually did to their slaves who were used for sex to make them more money. He ran the pad of his thumb across Harry's lips and purred. "And I like the way you're all painted up. You look really exotic."

Harry was trying to read Draco's behaviour. He was still distrustful, perched beneath him in such a way as to throw him off if Draco made any sudden moves he did not like. "Time's running out. You just want to have one off, right? And then you'll go?" he asked carefully as he tested the weight on top of him.

Draco's intense gaze contorted into a sneer as he snatched Harry's wrists and pinned them together. Now hunched over him, straddling the boy's hips, he was dominating this situation once and for all. "Not so fast, I've got three hours. You have to do what I say, right?"

With an eye roll, Harry nodded. "Yes, I suppose."

"That's what I thought." Draco was in heaven. He sat back on his heels with a smirk. "Now shut up and spread your legs."

"Right," Harry said through gritted teeth. Draco had him cupped under the bum and lifted his hips off the bed. The warm scent of bubbling poppies wafting through the air did little to lighten the trepidation of submitting to this former rival.

It was also terribly exciting, though, Harry had to admit. He had not spoken so nastily to anyone in nearly six years. It felt fantastic to let go and open up, even at the cost of being made to submit to Draco bloody Malfoy. He snickered triumphantly, feeling quite vain. "So, how do you want me, Malfoy? Should I pretend to want this, or should I act natural and vomit all over you?"

Draco thrust forward, forcing Harry deeper into the mattress in order to put a scare back into him. "Maybe I'd prefer you all tied up and gagged while I do my worst to you. How's that sound, prick?"

Harry went stiff, once again looking helpless and frightened, this time even more so than before. At some point in time in Draco's life that would have made him very happy - but not today. He learnt about this in class; about the slaves and the torture they endured, and how the younger generation should not beat their slaves lest they go bad or get broken. Harry was probably abused quite a bit, and threats would only serve to make him to curl up into himself more than he already was.

He tossed out empty threats often, but just now considered what it might feel like to be threatened if one had no means of fighting back. He only prayed that he hadn't ruined this opportunity, that Potter would give in to him easily to avoid being hurt. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I got carried away."

"It's alright," Harry said in a small voice, hardly believing himself. His hair had come loose and was fanned out around him, framing his face like a halo of darkness. His eyes were wide and mistrustful, locked onto him out of fear.

"No, it's not alright," Draco elaborated as he leaned back down, letting his own mane of baby-fine white hair tickle Harry's nose. He felt he needed to let him know that he meant what he said. "I promise you I will never hurt you."

After six years of captivity, Harry had only dreamed of someone saying something so sincerely to him that he could read the truthfulness in their words as it resonated through their eyes, like the Dark Lord and Tom could. And there it finally was, sitting right on top of him. He relaxed again, and even smiled. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't have to thank me…for scaring you." It had honestly never occurred to Draco before what servitude meant. He could not imagine himself in this predicament, forced to do who knows what to whoever someone else allowed to sleep with him, without any say. He leaned in even closer, so that his chest pressed down over Harry's. "I'll understand if you don't want this. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to. I'll go."

But Harry didn't want him to leave any more, not after watching Draco speak from his heart; to regret his words and now understand what Harry was going through. No one, outside of the other slaves who worked in the bordello, had ever bothered to even pretend to understand before. Something sparked a fire within him, and despite the threat of violence he now knew in his heart that Draco Malfoy would not hurt him. He sat up, lacing his fingers at the nape of the Slytherin's neck and held on. "I don't want you to go."

Desperate to keep that look of trust now shining bright on Harry's face, Draco reached out with a hand, and ran it through the boy's dark hair, marvelling at the strength and shine. "It used to be so messy," he murmured softly, twisting some lengthy strands of it between his fingers. Slowly, he moved on and began a journey, touching the boy's face, then along the line of his neck, tracing his collarbone before slipping the dressing gown off of one of his shoulders.

It was clear now that Draco was a lover, or would be later on in his adulthood. He had probably never been with a paid companion or slave before. Tom had never looked into his eyes this way, never stopped to touch his skin. Chills spread down the length of Harry's arms and legs. He closed his eyes, sighing while he relished in the attention.

Draco was so completely aroused. Every nerve in his body tingled at the thought of claiming this enigma trapped in his arms. Rolling his hips for more friction, and gently slipping a finger betweenthem, Harry emitted a sound that made every hair on Draco's body stand straight up. It was the sexiest thing he had ever heard; it was a vibrant hum of utter bliss that shocked even Harry.

Startled, the catamite's wide green eyes locked with Draco's. "What did you do?" he breathed, sliding his arm along the sheet to wrap it around Draco's neck. "It felt kinda good."

"Course it did. I'm quite skilled at the art of sex," Draco murmured, feeling quite smug. He wiggled against him some more so Harry would make that sound again. Suddenly, the idea of making Harry feel really good mattered a lot more than getting off on him. This was going to be fun. "I'm very good with my hands, Potter. I can make you feel like you're in heaven if you play your cards right and put a sock in it."

Harry began to pant, his arm tightened around Draco's neck. He hardly heard the Slytherin's encouragement for the blood thrumming loudly in his ears. "Oh gods, oh my gods…"

"Yeah, that's right, big boy." Draco pressed his lips to Harry's chin, smirking. "Still gonna vomit on me?"

"Ye—no," Harry grunted in response, meeting him strenuous voracity. His master was a generous man, he was kind, although he had never once given Harry such a jolt of immediate pleasure in all of their time spent together, not even once…But this was wrong. He was wrong for enjoying this, especially wrong for letting his guard slip so that Draco knew he was enjoying it. He gritted his teeth and gave Draco a shove upward. "Enough, get it over with already! You're wasting time!"

Being no amateur in the act of foreplay, Draco's head swayed to and fro as he paused to point at his watch. "We've got loads of that left, git, shut up." He held a sinister gleam in his grey eyes as he plucked Harry's legs up off the bed and tucked his knees into the crooks of his arms. Humiliated—yep. Conquered—mhmm. "Arch up, lift your arse up, prat," he ordered.

Harry dug his elbows into the bedding and slid forward to accommodate him. He was incensed with the Slytherin, in a way, but equally enthralled by the painstakingly knowledgeable manoeuvring Draco was using to bring him close to heaven. A warm hand flattened over his spine to hold him up. It wasn't horrible, nonetheless he braced for the oncoming assault of the rough sex that always followed. After all, men are slime.

"Gods, make that noise again, Potter," Draco whispered behind a veil of white hair. Anchoring Harry's legs in his arms, intent on pleasing him. Instantly, Harry flopped against the mattress with a moan.

Definitely conquered.

Slowly, the Slytherin stroked him. "Yeah, that's the sound. You like that, don't you?"

Teeth clattered from the shiver trickling down Harry's spine. No one had ever touched him in such a way, not like this. The pleasure, whether it was for Malfoy's amusement or he truly wanted Harry to feel good, was very welcome. Another quivering purr slipped past his lips.

Draco found himself in midst of moaning bliss himself. He opened his eyes, taking in the precious thing wrapped around his hips. He tugged Harry's dressing gown open and leaned in to inhale the inviting fragrance on his skin. "Do you like having sex? " he asked.

"Ng—it's all right," Harry groaned back, and wiggled against the throbbing passion jamming his insides together. "I don't mind it so much anymore."

"C'mon, that can't be right. You must like something about it…You like this, don't you?" He applied another transfer of smoldering need, and Harry surrendered his every part. He mewed and mewed, boneless, heaving hot breath through his parted lips. There was nothing between them now.

Harry screwed his eyes shut, losing himself in the moment. "Okay, yesyes, fancy that."

Draco shoved inward and dropped over Harry, landing on his hands. He wanted to kiss those squishy lips and feel his tongue move around inside Harry's mouth and make him kiss him back. With their noses touching, Draco nudged them to recapture his notice. "Put your arms around my neck and kiss me, Potter."

Bright green flooded Draco's vision. "Oh, but I don't normally kiss anyone…with my tongue?"

"Yes, with your bloody tongue, you nance, kiss me," Draco ordered.

"Fine." Harry moved up, encircling Draco's long neck. Wisps of silvery-white hair tickled his face as they leaned into the other, and pressed their lips together.

They felt exactly as Draco imagined. The soft, spongy resistance of Harry's mouth claimed every last bit of his desire. He could have stayed in that position all night, if not for the gnawing need to finish this dream. Slowly, he parted his lips, kissing Harry fully on the mouth. A gentle coax of his tongue, more pressure, and Harry's lips opened as his eyes fluttered closed.

Their tongues slid moistly along the other, twining and sweeping while their bodies melded as one. Harry's smooth skin was flush with arousal. His head tipped back, his arms fell apart as his body was yanked up off the bed, granting Draco access to his throat. "No, not horrible," he burbled out. He was thoroughly engrossed in the sucking and nibbling on the lobe of his ear, far too gone to feel anything else.

Draco was a lover, pure and simple. He was doing things to Harry that no one had ever done to him before. "I fancy loads of things. You could do whatever you want to do to me." It would not matter what happened between them, he would never have to see him again or hear the smattering of gossip that will no doubt spread quickly through the wizarding world, for Harry was a slave, a catamite, and he would never be returning to that life ever again.

"I could do anything?"

"Anything," Harry promised, hoping he might do something daring. "Anything you want."

Draco pulled his tongue back into his mouth, letting the prospect of another visit flit through his mind. He was so close to coming as it was, any sudden movement would set him off. "I could spank you? Tie you up?"

Harry nodded through his euphoria. "Uh huh, I'd love it so much if you did."

"Force you to do whatever I wanted?" On the edge of oblivion, toying with the cusp, so bleeding close…What was that last part?

"Mon Dieu," Harry whimpered. His fingers curled around Draco's.

Everything grew small and dark. The room blurred, the temperature blazed. Nothing had ever felt so perfectly timed. Draco was coming at the exact same moment as Harry. From deep within, warmth, like no other, forced its way throughout his body. A dizzying storm of gratification soared through his veins. Harry writhed beneath him with convulsions, looking as beautiful as any one thing Draco had ever laid eyes upon. This was meant to be.

This was fate.

Alecto tapped the face of her watch repeatedly as she cornered Bellatrix into a wall. "That Malfoy boy is still in there. What do you think will happen if You-Know-Who Jr shows up tonight? I'm not taking the fall for your nephew's presence!"

Pulling on a cigarette and dropping her head with a sneer, Bellatrix blew the white smoke in the stout woman's face. "I'll handle it," she hissed, and walked out of the office.

Slipping quietly into the chamber, Bellatrix waved her wand to disperse the lamps and dim the lighting. "Harry," she whispered, crossing the room. She parted the veil and gave the sleeping boy's shoulder a shake. "Harry, dear, wake up."

Harry opened his eyes. "Do I have company, Mistress Bella?"

"As a matter of fact you do, and he's sleeping right next to you!" she pointed out. "He has to go. What do you think would happen if Mr Riddle came to call and he was still here, hmm? His three hours had passed two hours ago."

"Oh!" Harry gasped; only just realising he was entangled in Draco Malfoy's endlessly long limbs. The socialite was snoring soundly beside him, locking their naked bodies together. Without disregard of waking him, Harry pulled himself free and sat up. "I'm so sorry, Mistress Bella. I must have fallen asleep."

"Really, it's all right, Harry. Get into the tub. I'll get rid of him and send one of the girls in to bathe you."

Watching the sleepy, half-blinded boy pad across the room, Bellatrix shook her head as she gripped Draco by the arm. "Wake up, you," her tone changed, sounding more like a tease than anything else. "Naughty birthday boy, did you like Auntie's present?"

Draco stretched along the silk sheets of the bed, feeling quite at home. A smile perked his drowsy visage as he looked up at the dark-haired woman. "Very much, you wicked, wicked woman…and I want more. When can I return?"

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his ear. Both sets of grey eyes centred on the boy bent over the bathtub as he prepared the ritual of bathing to his master's liking. "He didn't give you any trouble, did he? I'd hate to have to paddle that sweet little arse for disobeying his mistress. Or perhaps I could have you paddle him for me, if you can keep this arrangement hush-hush. Your daddy's Galleons are always welcome here, Draco."

"Lovely. When can I return?" he asked again.

Bellatrix smiled, sinisterly so. "His master visits with him on Fridays, although he has been known to get very busy and switch days up without notice. There's also another who comes round once a week, normally on Mondays. There are various others who drop by unannounced, but your money is just as good as theirs, and if you were to get here first, well…I would have to turn them away." Her eyes flashed with denominational interest, hoping she had snagged the boy with her web. "I'm quite certain he'll be free next Tuesday. Why not drop by then?"

Fully dressed, with his long hair slicked back against his scalp, Draco gave the woman a curt nod. "Tuesday it is. Well, I'm off."

He walked by the tub and stopped, smirking. "So, yeah, had some fun, might be back for more. Next time I won't go as easy."

"Whatever," Harry retorted, slipping under the bubbles filled to the lip of the tub. His legs fell apart, and his hand dipped under the water between them. "Your time is over. I'm washing you off of me now so I can feel clean again. Run along, Malfoy."

Taken aback, Draco leered at him. "Right. It's so fitting you've been put into bondage to serve the better folk of our world, the ones with a future. Least you're good for something, even if it is being a nasty whore."

Harry smirked as he shooed Draco away with a hand. "Piss off."

Draco left the room with debauchery filling his head and elation filling his heart. No longer would he have private affairs in Hogwarts. No more romps in broom cupboards or empty classrooms. The short list of men he filled his free time with would be tossed out the window. He did not care how much it cost. And he would not be bragging about this night to his friends. This was now the only thing that mattered. This rival, his obsession, was the only thing he ever wanted to sleep with anymore.