A/N: Harry removes his head from a dark and smelly place, one of the collar's functions is revealed, and Winky and Dobby have cameos. Plus, the formal uniform of the Potter house elves is finally revealed!
Disclaimer: nope, still don't own, still not making anything off of this.
BY MAGIC BOUND
or
Love Slaves of Diagon Alley
Chapter 3
Much later that evening, Harry Potter sat in his study at Number 12 Grimmauld Place. The transcript of Snape's testimony before the Wizengamot—some read in depth, the rest quickly skimmed—lay open on his desk.
Harry shook his head in exasperation at the stupidity, not to mention the perfidy, of the so-called leaders of the wizarding world. Despite the Veritiserum, Snape's testimony had been questioned, discounted, and generally ignored. More than one so-called 'expert' had ventured the opinion that, since Snape was a Potions Master, he must have found some way to counteract Veritiserum. This, despite the fact that no one could even begin to speculate as to what such a method might be. A potion, obviously…but this ignored the fact that illicit brewers had been looking for just such a formula for centuries, without success.
Of course, the first person that did invent such an elixir would immediately become fabulously rich just from the Ministry's purchases alone. After all, having the stuff around would be absolutely critical for developing a test for it, much less being able to provide it to the Unspeakables 'just in case'.
Harry carefully noted that no one had asked Snape about such a counter directly, while he was under the influence of the serum. Of course, that would have been either definitive proof or circular logic…or both. He shook his head…it was too late to be worrying about things like that. Questions like that were best put to Hermione…on the way out the door…with a running start.
Regardless, Harry was making the conscious decision to read the documents with as much of an open mind as possible. Viewed dispassionately (without actively loathing the person testifying), the information was shocking! Snape had 'told all', and if those fools in the Wizengamot had actually bothered to listen….
Harry sighed and rubbed his temples. It was clear to him that the Azkaban roster needed a through, impartial review, at the very least. Also, a few properly conducted trials…make that a few dozen…might not be amiss. And then…a careful review of the PACC program would need to be started under someone, NOT Dawlish.
And that brought Harry to a very uncomfortable place. If one assumed (and Harry was inclined to do so) that Snape had been telling the truth, Marcus Flint was just as much of a victim of the Dark Looser as Draco Malfoy.
Which meant that Marcus Flint deserved the same consideration that he, Harry Potter, had been all too willing to extend to Draco Malfoy.
Which meant that he, Harry Potter—in treating Flint worse than something he would scrape off his shoe—had behaved abominably towards the man. He had done things that, had he seen them being done to a house elf, would have driven him to flog the miscreant to within an inch of their misbegotten lives.
Which meant that he fully deserved the flogging that his conscience was now administering to him, in spades.
Merlin and the Founders Four, what had he done?
Screwed up in a 'heroically spectacular, only Harry Potter could possibly manage to screw up like this' way, a little voice piped up in his head. Only you, Potter, only you….
Harry spent several minutes wallowing in self-recrimination and angst. Then he straightened and called out.
"Dobby!"
He was a bit surprised when, instead of Dobby, Winky appeared.
"Can Winky be helping Master Harry Potter, sir?"
Harry smiled despite himself. Ignoring Hermione's strident objections, Harry had bonded Winky to him, at Winky's request, following a brief negotiation. Winky insisted on being bonded, but asked permission to have children with Dobby. Harry had readily agreed, but held firm on paying each of them two galleons a week (Winky had argued him down from five). They had been the first of a staff that now included over a dozen other elves ('orphaned' by the war and wasting away for lack of a Master), and assorted humans that managed his properties for him. The hardest part, Harry had come to realize, was in convincing them that providing them with uniforms (mostly to make them look presentable) was NOT the same as giving them clothes. Of course, he should have realized that house elves were color-blind and fashion-challenged before he allowed them to design said uniforms.
The bearskin hats he didn't mind…except that they were electric blue, and clashed with the lime green coats, yellow waistcoats and deep purple pants. Oh well, at least the gloves and shoes matched…pink, but they matched.
Fortunately, he had decided to make that the 'formal' uniform of Potter elves, and convinced his elves to wear something a bit more subdued for 'every day' outfits. A brief memory flitted through Harry's mind of his first, despised formal dinner after kitting the elves up in their new finery. The most enjoyable part of the evening had been watching his guests try not to stare at the proud elves in all of their glory. Now, though, Winky was wearing a tasteful dark green one-piece with gold piping.
"Oh, hello, Winky. Is Dobby alright?" Harry asked.
"Master Harry Potter sir is being too kind to ask, but Dobby-elf is fine, sir." Winky replied. "Tonight is being Dobby-elf's night for minding the elfettes while Winky is polishing the silver. Missy Grangy says that Dobby-elf must be doing his part with elfettes and not just leave it all to Winky." The tiny elf leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Winky and Dobby-elf is not having the heart to tell Missy Grangy that all elves is helping take care of the elfettes…we is thinking that it is just easier that way."
Harry smiled warmly. "That was very smart of you, Winky. I promise I won't tell Hermione."
Winky nodded solemnly. "Master Harry Potter sir is being a wise wizard. Now," she said, all business, "what can Winky be doing for Master Harry Potter sir?"
"Could you please have Marcus Flint come here? And then, fetch me some Scaradicate Salve from the first aid kit."
Winky nodded and disappeared with a pop. Harry couldn't help but think how much better she was now that she was bound to him. As far as he knew, she hadn't touched a drop of butterbeer in months, and was the model of efficiency when it came to managing Grimmauld Place, Dobby, the other four elves that lived at Grimmauld, and four tiny, hyperactive elfettes. Winky was the unquestioned Mistress of the household, and Harry knew just how lost he would have been without her. Of course, the fact that Master Harry Potter sir routinely tried to spoil her elfettes, sneaking them treats while their mother wasn't looking was something that she 'officially' had to object to…but Harry wasn't fool enough to think that he would have stood a chance against a seriously angry house elf.
Flint entered the study, his eyes downcast as was proper. Harry didn't have to see his face, however, to feel the tension radiating off of the man. Well, Harry couldn't really blame him for that, now could he? After all, how many times had Flint been summoned to a beating by one of Harry's elves? Most of the time, for no other reason than Harry Potter was in a bad mood and Marcus Flint was available.
All right, Harry thought. Enough beating myself up…time to start doing something useful for a change. Quietly, he spoke. "Take off your harness and lean against the wall, Flint…you know the position."
Wordlessly, Flint complied. He did indeed know the position all too well…it was one of Harry's favorite whipping positions, with him leaning forward, bracing his hands against the wall. Harry had remarked that it 'kept his worthless carcass relatively still', and the one time he had collapsed from the pain, Harry had just kicked him as he lay there before stalking off. The elves that had come in later had been quietly efficient but mute as they tended to him. Their binding enchantments prevented them from speaking or acting against their Master, but Flint had the impression that some of them found it…odd…that the same Master who was so unfailingly good and polite to them should treat him in such a fashion.
Winky followed Flint into the room with the requested jar of salve. Handing it to her Master, she paused in thought. Something was different this evening. Master Harry Potter sir had never tended to his slave, always letting his elves do that for him. Also, Winky thought that Master Harry Potter sir felt…sad? She knew that humans were far too…different…from house elves ('crazy' was not a word used for their masters by proper elves) to ever be fully understood, but still…something was different this night.
"Thank you Winky, that will be all. I'll call you if I need anything more."
Dismissed, Winky popped away. There was still more silver in need of a good polishing!
Harry Potter paused and looked…really looked, for the first time, at the man leaning against his study wall.
What he saw made his gorge rise.
Fighting it down, he walked over to Marcus Flint, conscious of just how vulnerable the man appeared. He winced when he reached out to the scarred back before him and the man flinched at his touch. How had he reached this point, he wondered?
Quietly, he opened the jar of salve and scooped some on his fingers. Looking at the wreckage of flesh in front of him he winced again, then steeled himself.
"Don't move." Harry said, more harshly than he intended.
"No, Master," Flint replied, bracing himself for the first blow. Despite this, he jerked as he felt the first cold touch against his skin.
"I'm sorry, Master," Flint began to apologize, not understanding what was happening.
"Easy, Flint…it's just Scaradicate, I'm not going to whip you…" Harry whispered. "I'm…sorry, Flint…I'm never…ever…going to hurt you again."
"Ma…Master?" Flint stammered, shocked. He remembered the events of earlier in the day, of course, but never expected this…whatever 'this' was.
"Hold still…this will take me a minute."
"Master?" Flint couldn't believe what was going on. Gentle fingers massaged the tingly salve into his savaged back. Not knowing when those fingers might choose to take up a whip or cane again, he stood shock still, barely daring to breathe, much less move.
Eventually, Harry had covered his slave's entire back with the lightly scented ointment. "Alright, Flint…straighten up. I'm going to do the back of your legs now, so you may need to shift a bit. Don't be afraid…it's just scar removal cream."
Dumbly, Flint nodded. He was still too uncertain, too afraid of what might happen if he spoke. Instead, he concentrated on being as still as possible while his Master worked.
Finally, Harry stood from where he had been kneeling behind his slave. Turning Flint with gentle pressure on his shoulders, he asked. "There…how does that feel?"
"Fine, Master..." Flint whispered.
"Tingles a bit, I'd wager," Harry said.
"Yes, Master."
Harry sighed. This was proving to be just a difficult as he had thought it might. Fortunately, he was almost finished with the salve. Of course, the fact that he was almost finished reflected his preference for only whipping Flint on his back and not both sides. Wincing at himself, but grateful for small favors at this point, he ordered Flint to hold out his arms.
"Yes, Master," was his quiet answer. Harry noted that Flint refused to meet his eyes. Oh well, something to work on after the scars were taken care of, one thing at a time.
"I think it'll be easy to finish your arms…but I'm afraid I'm about out of salve, and it's too late tonight to get any more. Why don't you go shower off, then come back here and we'll talk."
Unable to quite believe what was happening, Flint just nodded. His bare feet were soundless on the floor as he left the room, headed for the small servant's room he had literally been thrown into on arrival at Grimmauld Place. Quickly he stripped off his loincloth and washed off the congealing salve. When he exited the bath, he was surprised to find Winky there waiting.
"Master Harry Potter sir says for Winky to tell Flint to be dressing in this, then join him in his study," the little elf squeaked. Flint's eyes went wide as he saw the simple robe laid out for him. Hesitantly, he slipped the garment on, the feel of soft cloth odd on his skin after months of near-nakedness.
Not wanting to keep his Master waiting, Flint ran a brush through his still-damp hair and hurried to the study. He was only mildly surprised to see Harry sitting there, staring into a roaring fire.
Harry looked up when Flint entered. "Come, Flint…sit here." When Flint made to sit on the floor, Harry gently pulled him up. "No, not down there…here, on the couch with me."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand," Flint stammered. "Please, I don't want to displease you, Master," he began, only to be cut off by Harry's wave.
"Stop apologizing, Marcus. In fact, I'm the one who needs to apologize to you. I'm sorry…deeply sorry for the way I've treated…mistreated you these last few months." Ignoring his gobsmacked slave, Harry pressed on. "You've never given me any reason, other than breathing," he paused, grimaced, "any real reason to be so horrible to you."
Flint sat, immobile, his face expressionless as his Master took a deep breath and continued.
"The Twins were right today, about a number of things. I've read some of Snape's testimony, and you were right…all of you were right." Harry trailed off, looking down at his hands and shaking his head.
Marcus Flint waited a moment, then surprised himself by reaching out to gently cover Harry's hands with one of his.
"Master…" he started, then Harry interrupted, looking up.
"No. Harry…call me Harry."
"H…Harry?" Flint hesitated on the name, but let out the breath he didn't know he was holding when Harry gave him a weak smile.
"Yes, Harry…Marcus." Harry's smile faltered a bit. "While we're here, or somewhere else private, it's just Harry. We can't risk…I won't risk…anyone calling you on your behavior to try to get you whipped, so while we're in public…" he shrugged. "Well, you know the drill."
"Thank you, Harry," Marcus replied, nodding. He was still rattled by the sudden change in his Master.
"No, Marcus…don't thank me yet. I swear to you that you'll never be whipped again, no matter what it takes…but as long as those stupid laws are on the books, we'll have to pretend to play along. Hopefully, it won't be long." When he finished, Harry Potter's eyes were blazing, and Marcus Flint found himself leaning back. He was all too familiar with Harry's anger, but this was the first time he had seen his Master that intent on…what?
"I'm sorry, Ma…Harry," he stammered. "I don't understand, please…."
"No, Marcus, don't apologize to me, please…I don't think I could stand it," Harry said gently. "What I meant was, I'm going to do everything I can to get this idiotic PACC law—and all the other stupidity the Wizengamot's perpetrated since the end of the war—changed. That starts with me treating you decently, if you'll let me?"
At Flint's cautious nod, Harry smiled more warmly and went on. "I don't blame you for not believing me right now…Merlin knows I probably wouldn't, in your place…but tomorrow I'm taking you to St. Mungo's and you're going to be completely, fully healed of everything they possibly can manage…everything that I, or the Ministry, or the Dark Moron, or anyone else has done to you the last horrible years, I swear to you, if it can be undone, it will be!"
Shaken to his very core, Marcus could only nod his understanding.
"Then," Harry went on, "we're going to see about getting you something decent to wear, both around here and in public. I know that your 'outfits' aren't very comfortable…I noticed what Lucius did in the shop today, don't think I didn't…and I'll be doing the same things until we can buy some new ones. Like the whole 'submissive' act, we'll have to keep up appearances in public," Harry shrugged, and Marcus found himself grinning, "but here at home, we'll see about getting you some robes…and some underwear…and some trainers. I've seen quite enough of your ugly bum, thank you," Harry gave Flint a warm smile, and Marcus grinned even more. Maybe this was, at long last, the Harry Potter he had heard people rave about. Well, if his time as a slave had taught him anything, it was to enjoy anything good for as long as it lasted.
"Oh, another thing…I hereby order you to tell me when I'm being a prat, or a wanker, or anything like that, understand? Only in private, of course…" Harry finished slyly, with a wink that did more than anything else to reassure Flint.
"Yes, Master…I'm to tell you when you're being a prat." When Harry nodded, Flint threw caution to the winds. "So, H…Harry…now that you've given me a full-time job, do I get a raise?"
Harry started, then gave Marcus a stern look. "You, Mr. Marcus Flint, are going to fit in well…to well, I'm afraid. I think I may have created a monster…."
Flint, buoyed by a savage happiness, just grinned smugly at his Master. If this was truly the way things were going to be from now on, then perhaps Oliver Wood hadn't been lying to him after all.
That brought up something else. Flint had a strong suspicion about Harry, and he probably would never have a better chance to find out.
"Master…Harry…I thank you, truly…and if it matters, I forgive you." He smiled, hoping against hope that he would be believed.
Harry's eyes brightened with unshed tears. "No, Marcus…don't forgive me so easily, please…not yet. Just wait, please…I can't undo everything overnight, but with Lucius' help, and the Twins, and other people we can rely on…." He stopped when Flint put two fingers gently over his mouth.
"Harry." That one word was enough to quite his Master. "Believe it or not, I understand the desire for revenge. I won't lie to you…you were a horrible, awful master, but I knew why. I might not have agreed with you, but I understood the reasons why. I also know that you don't say things like you've just said to me without meaning them…all of them. If you say that you believe me, and Severus," and Harry nodded as Marcus used the Potion Master's given name, "then I believe that you believe me. I also believe that you mean it when you say you're going to try to set things right, as best as you can. But, I also know just how stupid and unfair life can be, and I won't blame you for failing…as long as you keep on being decent to me."
Harry grimaced at this last but nodded in understanding. He was more than a little shocked at how readily Flint had apparently forgiven him. Was it part of the magic imbedded in that damned collar? Something else he'd have to discuss with the Twins in the next few days….
Seeing that he wasn't being stopped, Marcus took another deep breath and calmly continued. "And…I'd like to show you how sincere I am, if you'll let me. I don't know what you like, my Lord," his voice quivered despite his best efforts. "But, if you will tell me how I can best satisfy you…I am yours to command." He shifted slightly, so that his robe fell open slightly, giving Harry a view of his nakedness under the garment.
Harry Potter looked down at the hands resting on his, and made no move to look anywhere else. "Flint…Marcus…I'm flattered, believe me, but…" he looked up, directly into Marcus' eyes. "You and Snape were more than just friends, weren't you?"
Marcus Flint whipped his head away from that penetrating gaze, blushing furiously. When Harry's fingers gently took his chin, he tried to resist them before finally giving in, letting Harry turn his head back to where they were again eye to eye.
"Yes," he whispered. How had Potter known? Then, in a flash, Marcus realized that Harry Potter had known since the day he bought Flint at auction. Before then, obviously. That explained so much…the lack of any sexual demands on him, the rare occasions when they had encountered Snape in Diagon Alley (oh, Marcus had hated those times, since they invariably led to a public caning). Of course, Flint had been aware that Potter had been using him, Marcus, to repay his former professor for the torments Snape had inflicted during Potter's Hogwarts years. He would have had to be several different kinds of dim not to realize that. Still, it explained why the pair had not seen Snape for several months…Snape had realized what was happening and taken steps to mitigate his torment at Potter's hands as much as possible! It all made a cruel, twisted sense, in hindsight.
Marcus Flint felt his anger rising. Potter, that complete bastard! Using him as a whipping boy, a surrogate for his hated professor. Potter couldn't have Snape beaten, so why not the next best thing? Have Snape's lover, who he had publicly snatched away from the man, beaten in his stead. Oh, that was truly a Slytherin thing to do, all right…a beautiful revenge, petty but beautiful, and all completely, totally, utterly legal and aboveboard! Why, if he could only….
A wave of lassitude and gentle feelings engulfed Flint, and he felt himself smiling gently. Of course, Potter had asked forgiveness, and promised to do better…wasn't that enough? He would believe in Harry, who had been so nice to him this evening…wait, Harry was just looking at him strangely….
"Marcus? I don't want to upset you, but I need for you to answer me truthfully. All right? Just tell me the truth, and I promise you that I won't be angry, or punish you in any way, understand?"
When Marcus nodded, Harry asked gently. "Just now…were you starting to feel angry at me, when you were thinking about Snape, and how I used to treat you?" Harry looked at him carefully.
Calmly, Marcus searched his feelings, then nodded.
"Shite! I should have known, it's got to be that bloody collar!" Harry surged off the couch, leaving a confused Flint seated. "It's got to be loaded with some twisted version of a cheering charm, and Merlin only knows what else." Spinning, he turned back to his slave.
"Marcus, I swear by all that's holy I will find a way to get that damned collar off of you! You ought to be hating me right now, but it won't even let you do that! Damned Ministry! Damned fools!" Harry Potter raged around the room, his magic making objects in the room dance. A pair of popping noises heralded the arrival of Winky and Dobby.
"Master Harry Potter sir! What is happening? The elves is feeling the house shaking, and Master Harry Potter sirs magic is all over the room! What can Dobby and Winky-elf do?" Dobby was shouting over the rumble of the house.
Almost immediately, Harry calmed. As he did, the house settled again and the room became still.
"I'm sorry, Dobby; sorry, Winky…I just got very angry, that's all. I'm alright now, I'll try to stay calm."
Winky nodded sagely, then squeaked. "Winky will go make tea for Master Harry Potter sir, while Dobby-elf stays here," and she popped away. Dobby just stood there, wringing his hands and looking at Harry anxiously.
Noticing the effect he was having on the elf, Harry gave a tight smile. "I'm all right Dobby, really. I was just angry at…at Marcus' collar, you see."
Dobby nodded. "Dobby understands, Master Harry Potter, sir…when a wizard as great and powerful as Master Harry Potter sir becomes angry, their magic gets loose and makes the house shake. Master Harry sir is a powerful wizard, his magic made the whole street shake with his anger."
Harry winced. "Was it that bad, Dobby?"
Dobby shook his head rapidly. "Oh yes, sir. Master Harry Potter's magic was felt all up and down the street just now! Master Harry sir must have been very, very angry!"
Still wincing at what he had done, Harry nodded his agreement with his elf. "I was indeed very angry, Dobby."
"Which is why Master Harry Potter sir should be sitting down and letting Winky be pouring him his tea," Winky said, popping back. The tea service floated itself gently to the table in front of the divan, and Winky stood there, hands on her hips. "Master Harry Potter sir is to be remembering that there is elfettes in the house, and that he should not be upsetting them by making the house shake," she said primly.
Sitting, Harry gave Winky a weak smile. "I know, Winky, I'm sorry, I'll try to do better…I seem to be saying that a lot tonight, for some reason."
"Hmph. Well, Master Harry Potter sir should be knowing better…he should call Winky and be asking for tea before he lets himself being so angry," she sniffed.
"As usual Winky, you're absolutely right. Thank you," Harry said, taking his cup. "Please, before you go, would you pour for Mr. Flint, as well? Thank you."
Seconds later, Harry and Marcus were alone again, both with steaming cups of tea. Harry noted that Winky, as always, had laid out biscuits, scones, bread and butter on the tray. Amused at the efficiency of the little elf, he waved Marcus toward the food.
"Again, Marcus, I'm sorry…have something, Winky gets upset if nothing's eaten…I suppose I should be glad for the chance to show you I'm serious while that collar is in place, but dammit!" He pounded his fist onto his knee, spilling his tea.
Without a word, Winky popped in, dabbed at the spill with a towel, refilled Harry's cup, draped a clean towel over his knee, gave Harry a repressive look, and popped out.
At the look Winky gave her Master, Flint giggled. Then, when Harry noticed that he was being giggled at, Harry started snickering. In a few minutes, both of the young men were laughing together. When both of them put their cups on the tray to keep from spilling them, they fell into each other laughing.
Presently, they calmed down enough to sit up again. Wiping his face, Harry handed Marcus his cup before retrieving his own.
"Well, I suppose we both needed that. Bless Winky, I don't know what I'd do without her."
Marcus could only nod his agreement, but then he had to ask the question that had been burning in his mind for several minutes. "Harry…that…thing with the shaking. That was you?"
Harry sighed, then nodded. "Afraid so. It hasn't happened in a while, but I just got so angry at the thought of what that collar was doing to you…." He shrugged as if to say 'what can I do?'
Marcus nodded. "But…my collar? Please, I know that you don't like it, but why? Just now, I mean. I've been wearing it for ages, and it never bothered you before."
"It never bothered me before because I was a stupid, awful git, that's why." Seeing that didn't satisfy his slave, he continued. "Marcus, you have every right to be absolutely furious at me, and hate me completely, for what I've done to you as well as to Snape, through and on you. Instead, I saw you start to have some real emotion…and then quicker than you can say 'finite', those emotions just drained away. It's not real, or natural to forgive me so quickly, but you did. Don't misunderstand, I'm grateful that you have—or at least, you think you have, because of that sodding collar—but I'm going to get if off of you, one way or another. In the meantime, though…I'm going to prove to you that I'm well and truly sorry for what I've done. And, I'm going to make amends as best as I possibly can."
"I believe you, Harry…and I think I'm glad, too. I like being with you like this. I just wish we could have been like this from the start." Marcus smiled. Even though a part of him knew it was artificial, part of his enslavement, he liked this Harry Potter very much. So much so that….
"I meant what I said, Harry. If you'll only tell me…or show me…how to please you, I'll do my best for you." Flint looked up hopefully.
"No, Marcus," Harry said gently. Then, when he saw the look of confusion and hurt on Flint's face, he hurriedly added, "I think…no, I know…that you and Snape care for each other?" Despite his words he made it into a question.
Marcus nodded minutely. "We did. It was so hard, with the other Death Eaters always around. It's funny" he mused, "when I was in school, I respected and admired Severus…only he was 'Professor Snape' then. It was only after I graduated that I had any idea that he…or rather, he and I," he stopped, blushing.
"It's alright," Harry soothed. "I know. Believe me, I know." He sighed.
"You and Draco?" Marcus dared to ask.
Harry looked up sharply, then relaxed. "Yeah. Was it that obvious?"
"Of course." He snorted. "Even a pair of Gryffindors noticed, it was that obvious."
"Huh," was all Harry said.
The two sat in silence for several minutes before Marcus spoke softly.
"So, Harry…you don't want me to…?"
"No, Marcus…although I appreciate the offer, it wouldn't be right."
"I…see, I think."
"Yeah."
"So…Draco?" Flint asked again.
Harry looked so absolutely miserable for a moment that Marcus nearly hugged him despite everything. "The Twins bought him…" he almost wailed.
"So…you're rich, they're your friends…buy him off them."
"I can't!" Harry shook his head. "No re-sales within the first twelve months, don't you remember? Stupid Ministry." He just sat there, looking into his teacup as if it would show him a happy future.
"Snape didn't wait twelve months before he tried to buy me, did he?"
Harry growled, then grimaced at his automatic reaction to the name. "No, he didn't…and when I reminded him of that particular part of the law he made several very unflattering comments about how he didn't think the law would apply to 'the Man-Who-Saved-All-Our-Arses'."
At this, Marcus began snickering and—just in case—set down his teacup. "He really didn't call you that, did he?"
"He did," Harry said with a sour look.
"Oh, Sweet Salazar, no wonder you two don't get along," Marcus dissolved in a fit of giggles.
"I'm glad someone finds it amusing," Harry griped. He looked to Marcus like he was trying to stifle a grin, however.
"Oh, yes, oh Master-Who-Saved-All-Our-Arses!" Flint was rocking back and forth, holding his sides.
"Prat," was all Harry said. Smiling at his slave's antics, he calmly drank his tea and waited for Marcus' laughter to abate.
Eventually, Marcus calmed enough to speak normally. "So, oh Savior-of-All-Our-Arses," he dodged the pillow Harry threw, "where do we go from here?"
"By rights I should do something nasty to you for that comment, but I think I've already been nasty enough to you for this lifetime," Harry said. When Marcus started to protest, Harry held up one hand. "No, please…that would just be the collar talking, not you. It's the truth, and I truly regret what I did, but now is neither the time nor place to go around and around about it. Someday soon, though…you'll have your chance to tell me what you really feel," he grimaced in anticipation. "And I won't stop you. Merlin knows, what I did to you…" he shook his head. "To start, we go to bed…separately…and get a good night's rest. I won't be taking any more advantage of you, in any way. You have my word on it." Harry held Marcus' eyes until Flint nodded in understanding.
"Then, first thing tomorrow…St. Mungo's for you, and the office for me. I need to make some calls and write some owls. And, have several copies of Snape's testimony run up. And then…."
"Then we go back to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes for a visit?" Marcus asked.
Harry's brow creased in thought. "Well, I need to speak with them, of course, but I was just planning on talking to them by floo…."
Marcus made a rude noise. "Harry…you told me to tell you when you were being a prat…this is one of those times. You need to go to the shop…to see Draco." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Oh." Harry said, blushing to the tips of his ears. "Well, I suppose…it would be easier, and more secure, to go there in person…."
"Harry! Go see your friends, and moon over the bloody boy while you're there, already! Now, before we get into an argument, can we go to bed? Please?"
"Alright, then! Winky! Dobby!" he called. Two pops later, Harry said, "Winky, Dobby, please tell all of the elves that Mister Flint is to be treated like a guest from now on…get him anything he wants or needs, alright?"
"Is…is Master Harry Potter sir being sure?" Dobby asked carefully. Winky just stood there, looking from Harry to Marcus and back again speculatively.
Harry smiled. "Yes, Dobby, I'm sure. I was very mean to Mr. Flint for far too long…I was just being stupid…but thankfully I'm better now. Please be careful, though…we can't let other people know that I'm not stupid anymore, or that Mr. Flint is now our friend and our guest, not a slave. Not for a while, anyway…but we only have to act like before when people are here, okay?"
"Winky is understanding, Harry Potter sir, and she and Dobby-elf will be explaining to all house elves about this secret," Winky said gravely. "Winky is being glad that Harry Potter sir has come to his senses," she sniffed in reproof.
"I'm glad, too, Winky…and I'm sorry that it took me so long. Can you help me make up for my stupidity with Mr. Flint? Maybe by being extra nice to him?"
Winky sniffed again, then grinned. "Yes sir, Harry Potter sir. Winky will be softening Mr. Flint's mattress and sheets and towels right now…and be making him some nice robes to be wearing…and a big breakfast every morning, and jam with his tea and biscuits in the afternoon…but he is not to be spoiling Winky's elfettes, or Winky will be getting very angry at him…and Harry Potter sir, too!" Tossing her head, she popped out, taking Dobby with her.
"Well, there you have it, Marcus. You can always get back at me by getting me in trouble with Winky."
Smiling together, Marcus addressed his Master…and hopefully, one day, friend. "Just remember that Harry, when I feed the elfettes my bacon in the morning."
"Oh, no you don't!"
"Watch me."
"Merlin help me."
Early the next morning, Harry Potter and his bond slave stepped into the floo room at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. A flick of his hand later, a now soot-free and immaculate Lord Potter strolled purposefully out of the room, trailed by his equally immaculate and perfectly behaved slave.
As they approached the Welcome Witch, it became obvious that it was just another boring day at St. Mungo's.
"Alright, I understand that your cousin was bitten by an acromantula, he'll be in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites. That's up the stairs, then follow the signs. Now," she said, turning to a wizard who was holding his left arm in his right hand. "Splinching accident? Fourth floor, on your left. Next?"
Marcus Flint smoothly stepped around one witch guiding another with a four-inch nose, ignoring the dark looks he received.
"My Master would like to see Healer Augustus Pye at once, please." He said confidently.
The Welcome Witch took one look at the skimpily (if impeccably) attired slave and sneered. "Oh, would he? Well, Healer Pye is an extremely busy man…I doubt he'll drop everything and run just because 'your master'," her lip curled in disdain, "snaps his fingers. Unlike some, Healer Pye is no man's slave."
Marcus' reply was cut off by the firm hand on his shoulder. "Marcus, is there a problem?" Harry asked clearly.
"No, Master," Marcus said, turning away from the Welcome Witch to face his master. "Apparently Healer Pye is too busy to see you today." Despite the humor dancing in his eyes, his face was a perfectly blank mask.
"Oh, he is, is he? Well, we shall have to see about that, now shan't we?" Harry purred. His own emerald eyes flashing, he twitched one eye at Marcus in the ghost of a wink and stepped up to the welcome desk.
"Good morning, madam." Harry said, then stood there in 'I'm much more important than you will ever be, now do what I want' mode. Not for nothing had he carefully studied Lucius Malfoy's mannerisms and methods of dealing with people.
"Yes, may I help…" the Welcome Witch began haughtily, the sputtered as Harry reached up and brushed his hair away from his scar in a casual gesture. "Oh, Merlin! L…Lord Potter! I'm sorry…I didn't recognize…"
Harry cut her off peremptorily. "Obviously. Now, as my man said, I'd like to see Healer Pye…immediately, if at all possible." He stood there, his own face masked, just looking at the flustered woman.
Nodding, the Welcome Witch pulled the cord behind her, ringing for an assistant. While they waited, Harry and Marcus stood off to one side. As always, Harry's name had drawn a crowd of admirers. However, this time Marcus was actively working to defend his master rather than being pushed into the background, which kept Harry from being crushed in the press. Fortunately for them, within a very few minutes a young witch was waving to them from the edge of the melee.
"Lord Potter! Over here!" she called.
Breaking free of his clamoring fans as gently as he could, Harry went over to her, Marcus trailing behind as rear guard.
"You called for me?" Harry asked, still in 'Lucius' mode.
"Yes, m'Lord. If you will follow me, I can take you to Healer Pye's office. He asked me to tell you that he will be along as soon as he possibly can."
Nodding his assent, Harry and Marcus followed the perky young witch to the fifth floor. Once in the healer's office, they only had moments to wait before the youngish man bustled in.
"Well, well, well, Lord Potter! What brings you here today?" he said, waving Harry to a seat in front of his desk.
"Hullo, Auggie…how have you been?" Harry sat, waving Marcus into the chair beside him. When Marcus went to sit on the floor instead, Harry caught his eye and nodded his head firmly at the chair. Somewhat anxiously, Marcus sat in the chair, carefully keeping his eyes downcast.
Augustus Pye narrowed his eyes at what he saw, thinking furiously. He and Harry had become close friends during the War, mainly as a result of Pye having to put the then-Mr. Potter back together again several times. After the war, Pye had been a direct beneficiary of Lord Potter's contributions to St. Mungo's, as Harry had specifically directed that Pye lead the effort to integrate more muggle techniques into the armamentarium available at St. Mungo's. Harry's money had bought suturing, casting, dressing and all manner of other supplies which were being adopted, albeit slowly, by healers other than Pye.
Now Healer Pye was seeing something different. He had been aware (but not terribly approving) of Harry's treatment of Marcus. Now, instead of treating the slave like something that he'd just as soon scrape off of his shoe, Harry was treating his chattel…well, like he'd treat anyone else. Certainly something had to have changed, but what?
"Harry, I must say that I didn't expect to see you today. Not that you're unwelcome, of course—far from it!—but still, it's not like you just to drop in. What can I do for you?" Leaning back and crossing his arms, he regarded his friend carefully.
"Auggie, I need a favor," Harry started, somewhat reluctantly.
"Name it," the healer immediately.
Harry looked down, swallowed, and then looked the healer in the eye. "Marcus here…I've treated him shabbily, as you know. It was wrong, and terrible of me, but there it is. I've just come to realize how wrong I was about…many things. Now, I'm trying to make amends." He stopped, marshalling his thoughts.
"I see." Pye sat there, waiting for Harry to continue.
"I want you to give Marcus here a complete examination, and heal everything you find," Harry said. "Everything, you understand?"
Augustus Pye nodded. "Very well. Should I notify you before beginning anything other than basic healing, or…" he trailed off suggestively.
"No." Harry shook his head. "Do whatever you think is necessary. I don't care about the expense, or who you have to get to help you do it…I want him to have the very best that you can do. And if you can't do what he needs here, find me someone who can…and get them on the way here." Harry's face was a study in grim determination.
"Of course. Now, it's going to be a few minutes before I can begin…I was in the middle of something, but when Harry Potter comes calling we normal mortals must put aside our petty concerns," he pointedly ignored Harry's snort, "but I can have him wait here until I'm done." Smiling genially, he turned to the other man. "Marcus Flint, isn't it? Well, then…is there anything you need in the next few minutes? Tea, perhaps?" Rising, Healer Pye came around the corner of his desk. "Harry, how about you?"
Harry Potter also rose, motioning for Marcus to stay seated. "No, Auggie, I've got to go to the office. I'm assuming that Marcus will be fine to stay here with you until I can come fetch him after you're done?"
"Certainly, certainly," Pye waved his hand. "He looks fit—despite how some people have treated him recently," he said, giving Harry a gimlet eye. Harry, in turn, had the grace to flush with embarrassment in return. "This shouldn't take more than an hour or so…if it does, I'll have someone floo you. You'll be at the office until then?"
"Yes, Auggie, at least that long. Just floo me and I'll come through. Just…please don't let him go anywhere alone," Harry said. At his friend's look, he quickly continued. "No, no, it's not like that…I just don't want him to have any trouble. If I'm with him, that won't be an issue." Harry's grim look told the healer that any troublemaker would have the troubles, not the slave. "And Auggie…"
"Yes, Harry?" the Healer asked as Harry headed for the healer's fireplace.
"Take good care of him, would you? He deserves it." With a whoosh and a shouted "Potter and Malfoy Investments, Limited", Harry Potter stepped into the flames and was gone.
Grinning, Healer Augustus Pye turned to the somewhat anxious young man sitting in his office chair. "Well, then, Mr. Flint. I can hardly do less than Lord Potter commands, now can I? If you'll wait here for a moment, I'll have some tea sent in, and I myself will return presently. Then, we can begin."
Still grinning, the healer left his office, closing the door behind him. Well, well, well…whatever has come over Harry now, he thought?
His day had suddenly become much more interesting.
A/N: So, do we all feel better about Harry now? Good. Seriously, did you honestly expect me (ME!) to not redeem him before the end of the story? Oh, and to the reviewer who called me a 'vicious woman'—you're half right. *snicker* Try again... *snicker*
Next Chapter: Just what will Harry do? How does Hermione fit into all this? How will the Ministry react? All this and more, coming in the final chapter. Well, the final chapter except for the Epilogue.