slave01

Disclaimer: Harry and Draco and anything you recognize are JK Rowling's. Anything you don't is probably mine.

This is the sequel to Master and Servant, if you haven't read that yet it might be helpful to do so although it probably isn't necessary.


He was walking down a dark corridor, it's stone walls arching high above him to become lost in an impenetrable gloom. It's end was also hidden to him; no matter how far he walked, his footsteps echoing dully in the stillness, he could never quite see what it led to; it just reached on and on and on into oblivion. And with every step he took his heart sank lower and became heavier within him until it was a leaden weight threatening to pull him down forever, never to rise again. Once he fell he would never be able to get up, not ever; he knew that he had to keep going.

But it was so hard.

And then he was suddenly in front of a door, not knowing how he had gotten there. He reached out a hand to open it when it suddenly dissolved, leaving only a black, gaping hole. Heart beating so painfully he thought it would burst, he stepped through and fell into - nothing.

But someone was there, with him in the nothingness.

A white-haired, silver-eyed someone, the sight of whom lifted his heart. He ran forward, stumbling slightly in his eagerness to reach him, one hand reaching out to touch his beautiful skin.



He turned around, silver eyes cold, looking at him without the faintest trace of recognition. Who are you?

A bolt of pain so intense it seemed to be killing him ran through his heart. He opened his mouth to speak when -

Harry woke up.

He sat up slowly, wincing as sharp pains shot through his back, no doubt brought on by the uncomfortable position in which he'd slept. The air was cool and smelled like it was early morning but he couldn't see any sign of the sun - the place where he was didn't really seem to have any sky for it to be in anyhow, just a gray emptiness stretching above him into some unguessable distance. And there was no other visible source of light, but it was there. And even more confusing, the air had the distinct tang that comes only when the world has just woken up - even though the mysterious glow was actually the soft suffusing radiance of dusk rather than that of dawn.

Interesting.

He looked around, wondering where he could possibly be. The last thing he remembered was stumbling blindly through the Carpathians, engulfed in mist, knowing only that something had happened to Draco and that he had to find him. Until at last he'd thrown himself to the rocky ground in utter exhaustion, not caring whether he lived or died or just slept through all eternity, never to be found by anyone...

It was becoming increasingly evident to him that no one would be finding him anyway. Purely and simply because he was no longer in his own world.

He wasn't sure what had firmly convinced him of that fact; it was probably all of the little things. That light for one thing. And then, although he was still up in high in some mountain range it was not the Carpathians that he had come to know so well - these were more gently formed and had a certain elegant beauty that the terrain he had come from lacked: wild flowers growing in the chinks of the rock, the gleams of waterfalls cascading over cliffs, soft green moss covering the dormant boulders. He might have supposed that he'd just been somehow transported to a more southerly range except that - the air felt different, somehow. Unfamiliar. It tasted like some substance not of his own world, haunting and elusive and full of a deep, primal magic that was beyond human understanding -

He was somewhere not in either the Muggle or magical worlds that he'd become so familiar with. He was - elsewhere.

Harry felt a deep shiver of apprehension run down his spine.

Which was only amplified to unbearable intensity when the air before him seemed to suddenly swirl in complex rings of light, as if something was disturbing it, then abruptly condensed into a solid form.

He wasn't quite sure what to call it. It was about as tall as a ten-year-old child and so thin that he could see sharp little bones sticking out prominently from it's shoulders and elbows, making it look like some kind of waif. But it's face, framed by an unruly shock of white hair was old beyond anything he could possibly imagine, a fine network of lines surrounding the eyes and mouth. And those eyes - over large in that narrow face, haunting and eerily soulful, holding echoes of a wisdom older than time and darker than evil - they seemed to capture your soul and lay it bare for everyone to see, exposing your deepest secrets and revealing your darkest fears. They hypnotized you, entrapped you. Harry took a deep, trembling breath and forced his gaze to the ground, not seeing but sensing the entity's smile of triumph at having broken his composure.

It's voice was like a whisper of wind on dry leaves, soft and yet so full of meaning. You have come a long way from your home, wizard of the mortal world.

Harry swallowed. He opened his mouth, closed it. Then opened it again.

What - who -

Laughter, soft and mocking. Don't know what I am, is that it? It moved closer, almost brushing against Harry, smiling a hidden smile. I'll tell you, Harry Potter, in token that I know so much about you. It's smile broadened. I am a zhirak, it said in the tone of someone imparting a very choice bit of information.

Harry blinked. A - a what?

A zhirak. It looked up at him expectantly. Harry's face was still blank.

It sighed in exasperation, as if Harry should've understood immediately. A zhirak - one of the second order of demons. There are nine, you know.

You're a - a demon, then?

It grinned impishly at him, making Harry edge away in a sudden fit of nervousness. Oh come. Surely you know about us - all you witches and wizards have at least some little bit of learning in our existence although you never bothered to figure out all there is to know - too wary in actually dealing with us, i suppose -

I know what demons are!

Well good. It leered irritatingly at him, then suddenly jumped up onto a boulder so that they were nose-to-nose. It lowered it's voice to scarcely more than a whisper and hissed, I know what you're looking for.

Harry felt his heart contract.

I know what you're looking for - or, rather, who you're looking for. And give up. It's hopeless.

A cold surge of anger ran through him. Oh really?

The zhirak smiled at him in it's most patronizing manner with the air of someone about to plunge a knife into an unsuspecting victim. It leaned in even closer and whispered confidentially, it's breath tickling his ear, He doesn't love you.

And then it was gone.


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