What good does it do to rule the world if you have no soul?
. . . . . . . . .
Draco watched Tom get dressed. Each limb slid into sleeves and trousers with sinuous grace in the dim light of his small room. He'd be left alone, and he wasn't sure if he were pleased by that, or not. It was a cruelty and after a night that proved Tom could wring him dry with kindness and care he thought he should hold on to that.
If he'd wanted kindness, he'd have stayed with Harry.
Self-knowledge is a dangerous thing, Tom had said once. He'd been right. Draco had liked it better when he'd thought he didn't want to be destroyed. It had been easier to tell himself he wasn't complicit, easier to pretend he wanted to be free. His days of lying to himself were over. Now he just wanted to shatter. To be shattered.
"I love you," Draco said. Hurt me, he meant.
Tom leaned down over the bed and brushed his lips across Draco's cheek. "You are beautiful," he said. "I had no idea you wanted to be my equal, but I shall endeavor to treat you as one who doesn't require permission going forward."
Draco wilted under that cool promise. "Will I see you tomorrow?"
"Do you wish to?"
Draco shuddered. The idle voice promised nothing, and that somehow was worse than threats. "If you'll have me," he said. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to beg. Leash me, he wanted to say. I'll do anything. He supposed the thing he had to do was endure kindness. He wanted to laugh at how hard that was going to be.
"I will try to find time to see you," Tom said. "If I come by and you are not here, however, I will leave a note. I know you are a busy man."
He let himself out and Draco grabbed at the whistle around his neck. It stayed cold all night.
. . . . . . . . . .
At the sound of the knock, Draco set the pen down and flexed his fingers. It felt like he'd been writing for hours and he was ready for a break. When Blaise pushed the door open and stuck his head in, he smiled until he heard Tom shift at his own desk. Then the smile vanished.
"Hullo," Blaise said. "We're going into town. You coming?"
Draco didn't dare look over at Tom. "I have a lot of work to do," he said. "I probably shouldn't."
Blaise shrugged but his eyes flickered across the room and Draco knew he wasn't fooled. "Well, if you change your mind, you know where we'll be," he said. "I know Hermione would really like to see you."
"I know," Draco said. He didn't want to think about her, or about any of them. He yearned toward one flame and one flame only, which made that he was the moth unfortunate. He just didn't care. He knew he'd be grateful to burn if the fire would deign to touch him. "Thank you for asking me."
The door had barely shut when Tom asked, all cool indifference, "You don't want to go have a drink with your friends, Draconius?"
Draco shook his head. "I'll finish up my work," he said. Not without permission, he meant. It had been a week and he hadn't known Tom could be so courteous. Every polite question sliced at his heart. He could bear anything, any pain, any restriction, but not this endlessly kind rejection. His chin dropped and he risked saying it out loud. "Not unless you say I can."
The laugh made him bleed. "Of course you can. You're not a child. You don't need to ask for permission to do anything."
A flare of rebellion burned bright for a moment, and Draco said, "I'm not doing anything without your permission."
"Then go."
He turned, tears in his eyes, supplications he didn't dare utter on his lips, and Tom saw it all. "I give you permission to go," he said very softly and Draco felt himself spring to sudden attention.
"Really?" he asked, hoping he understood correctly.
Tom waved a hand. "I'm too busy for you anyway," he said. "And you'll be too weak to do much tomorrow, so go and enjoy yourself."
Draco nodded. He wanted to drop to his knees and offer thanks, but he just fetched his coat and let himself out.
. . . . . . . . . .
Do you want me to tell you how Blaise kissed me under the moonlight until I could barely stand? Do you want me to tell you how I got drunk enough to tell him I sometimes wanted out and sometimes wanted to die? Do you want me to tell you how Hermione looked concerned and Harry made noises about things not being right and how Ginny had changed if she would put up with this.
Or do you want to hear how the thing I knew most that whole night was that my leash stayed cold? As Blaise bit at my mouth hard enough to hurt even one who had become innured to pain, the metal sat inert against my chest.
He wasn't thinking of me.
I once liked to tell myself he let me suffer in the cold because he enjoyed knowing I was out there, waiting for his touch like fire. That night, though, I realized he really wasn't thinking about me. I was a toy he liked to play with. He might have loved me the way a child loves his favorite broom, but he could put me on the shelf and go about his day without sparing me any more thought than the child would spare the broom when a lolly was pressed into his hands.
I will do anything for you if only you see me.
I cannot bear to be ignored.
I could not bear it.
I would not.