I also know what I can't have
Harry pov.
Draco. Draco Malfoy. My Draco. He knows, he knows even more of my secret than I thought. He knows my power; I can feel the fear of it around him. All I have to do is accept and Draco will be mine forever.
"Harry, let's go! Malfoy's just playing some stupid prank." I can feel Hermione frown, even with my back turned.
I can almost feel Ron breathing down my neck, " He just a slimy gi-"
"I accept your offer." I say quietly, reaching my hand down.
Hermione gasps and Ron chokes behind me and Draco's head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. He watches my eyes and I study his. I love his beautiful storm lit eyes, they are always the same color but they change feelings and emotions. When he's angry his eyes are filled with thunder. When he's happy or content, which isn't often, his eyes are like soft, fresh wool that still smells of the spring pasture. His eyes are, right now, spring showers and flowers in the rain.
I open my hand to him, to help him up. He takes it awkwardly and I pull him to his feet, he lets go as soon as he is upright.
He watches me and steps back a pace, bowing to me slightly, "Thank you…Master." He says quietly.
I step forward and pull him upright gently, "You don't have to bow and my name is Harry."
He takes a deep breath, averting his gaze to the floor, "You'll always be Master to me, from now on."
I smile, "Someday I won't. I can feel it."
Behind me Hermione steps back slightly, her postures changed as well and she has her wand out, aimed at my back.
"Who are you? Where is Harry?" She asks coldly, Ron standing beside her with wand dawn as well.
I face them, smiling, "What is it that you mean?" I ask.
"Don't play stupid!" Ron yells, the end of his wand shaking, "We both saw when you were helping Malfoy…. You flickered." He fumbled out, his vocabulary running short.
"You're wearing an illusion spell." Hermione stated what Ron had been unable to wrap his brain around.
"Hmmm." I muse, looking down at my hand, "I assume you mean that when I was in contact with him, my illusion broke. Interesting, but for now..." I look up at the two, my palm swinging outward, palm toward the ceiling. I beckon once with my fingers, their wands flying out of their hands and into mine, "I should take those before anyone gets hurt."
They watch me, their eyes filled with fear, darting around like cornered rabbits looking to escape. I can't help the smile; a sad smile. I know but they know so little. They watch me, not as often as they used to because they have each other now. They are distracted; they miss little things that they wouldn't have before. I don't really mind, I enjoy the tranquility. I want to be alone but I can't shake them, they continue. They still remain my friends even after I have closed myself off to them. They assume, they think that it's because of Voldemort. They think because of him and what he did to those people. The people he killed, Sirius, the innocents.
"Don't worry, Ron, Hermione, I won't hurt you. I just felt it would be highly, ineffective, to be bombarded with spells before I have ample chance to…explain."
Hermione scowls, "Just tell us what you've done to Harry."
"Yah!" Ron echoes, mindlessly.
Stupid Ron always following others and never taking anything forward on his own. I have for long assumed that inside Ron there was a brain, a strength inside. I have come to doubt this possibility. Ron may have hidden strengths but chances are that they will never surface and if they do, as in our first year, only temporarily. Ron is lost.
"Harry Potter is unfortunately right here." I say softly, "I have my own reasons for wearing a disguise spell, I have…changed over the summer and have my own reasons for choosing to remain as I am. Although in reality I probably don't need to wear the illusion any longer. It's painful…"
Hermione's eyes narrow, "If you were really Harry then you would never hide your appearance from us, Harry trusts us."
My eyes narrow and I can feel my muscles tighten. Anger wells throughout my being, "Do not presume my trust, I trust no one and have no reason to. You…. Never mind."
I touch the edges of the illusion spell, carefully unraveling the edges of the imbedded spell until it loosens, as a normal mortal spell might.
"Draco, come here." I order softly.
He steps up, his entire frame rigid. He hates me, even as he serves me, even as he knows his fate is tied, to mine. Such blind devotion, such potential power. To control people, I want, I like, need and will never have…unless, maybe.
"Please, give me your hand, Draco." I murmur, never taking my eyes off his own, watching them shut down, close off from the rest of the world.
He slowly raises his hand, palm up, the fingers slightly curled in hesitation.
"Don't be frightened, my dragon." I say taking his hand, unfurling his fingers gently and laying them flat, winding my fingers along the soft silky skin of his hands, along the thin layered webbing in-between his fingers. I tempt his inner power substance; test the wall of power that every person holds within them, that wall that separates them from true unadulterated power, my world, and my power. But he is the same; the wall is there, the wall…. Wait the wall has…weakness.
The wall in his soul is weak, a hole exists in the wall of his soul but it different, completely different from my own. Instead of spilling and leaking pure power with every pulsing moment it pulls and draws sucking magic into it without cause. This boy's very presence draws power into it. My opposite, my exact opposite just like he has always been. With care and teaching, dragon could become very powerful.
I look to his eyes, his head down turned, eyes turned away into the corner of the world. Look at me, I will him, sending the deeply imbedded thought into his mind, winding the thought with magic, forcing it to ford his mind, to absorb into that hole, that space in the wall of his soul.
His intake of breath catches the air, drawing it in. His eyes widen, pupils dilating; the muscles of his body contract and the most delicious feeling shoots through his mind and body but I can't place it. His head jerks up and his eyes lock with mine, he knows that what was done to him was my doing, although as of yet I am not exactly sure as to what I have done. Such care can be done here, such knowledge gathered. Moments have passed, seconds into minutes and I am losing myself again.
Now that I have his eyes and his attention I can speak, open my mind to the only person I have ever felt the…need for.
"Taste the edges, take the bait and draw it in, destroy the illusion now loosely surrounding my body, absorb it into yourself."
Anger and confusion reflect in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Master, I know not what you speak of."
I gently raise his hand up and brush his fingertips against my lips. He starts, blushing inadvertently, a scowl fighting its way onto his beautiful mouth.
"You hate me, of course." I smile, dropping his hand and the illusion surrounding my body. I hear them gasp, the violent intake of breath, a reaction of amazement or shock. I know that they see someone that they don't know and even though I'm Harry Potter, I'm not Harry Potter at all. Not any more.
Draco pov.
I hate myself for what I've done. Even kneeling to power, for my own safety, I hate what I've done. I hate him. I hated him all my life for being the wonder boy, the scar boy and now he's done the opposite, he's turned his face and revealed his power. I hate him for being what I cannot be, I hate him for what he was and what he is. I hate him from his strength and his power, I hate him for what he is doing to me now.
He accepted, my god!, I never thought he would accept. Then again that was playing off what I knew of the old Potter this, my Master, is wrong and different. His mind bends and shapes in impossible ways, he has twisted his image and what he is. He hasn't just thrown away the boy who lived image but simply built off of it, as if giving up trying to be something more. He has built off of that foundation and the result is twisted and lost, complex, beautiful and horrid at the same time and utterly filled with power.
He accepted my offer; he held out his hand to me and helped me to my feet. He was kind to me even as I swore loyalty and submission to him. He didn't laugh, mock or tease and in his eyes was the kindest look, it was all so wrong.
If I were in his place I would have spit on the one who knelt before me. I would have abused that power to the fullest. Hurt the creature, made it lick my boots, that's what I would have done. If it had been Potter at my feet, my enemy, I don't know as to what I would have done exactly but none of it would have been in anyway kind or even simply brutal. If our places were switched I probably would have killed him. Perhaps he will, given time but perhaps not, it all depends on how much remains of the old noble Potter, not much I'm willing to bet.
Then the Mudblood accused the Master of being not himself. I didn't understand exactly what the tragic couple was taking about, what flicker they talked about, as I had my eyes averted…in shame…when he helped me to my feet. Even so I knew as soon as I touched him he was wearing an illusion, I didn't even understand as to why I knew but I did. When his skin contacted my own it was almost as if I was floating, I couldn't think or concentrate. It was like my mind was gone until he released me.
He called their wands to him with the slightest thought. He never even tried. He just did. Then, he asked of me. He tested my obedience right there in that moment. I hated him, I hate him. I don't touch people and people don't touch me. He doesn't understand that, no one does I gave him my hand, struggling against my hatred and servitude. I gave him my hand, my uncaring flesh and mentally I hid from that terrifying creature that my Master was. He touched me, caressing my flesh like a lover would, revolting my mind and body. Just like he had done when he touched my cheek. It was like he already owned me then.
I'm not even sure what happened next. One minute he was touching me the next…there was something inside me, caressing me. I knew it had to be him, I didn't know what he was doing to me but it felt like he was both caressing my body and my mind, enveloping me. He violated me.
Oh, god then, then…I'm not even sure. It was only for a second, I barely felt it all. It was incredible, an explosion of fire seeping through my veins, making the world go away. For just a second my entire being was engulfed in such burning pleasure, to call it organismic would be demeaning of what it truly was. I would kill for such as one more taste of that, I would kill for him to do that again. If he knew, if he knew about this; I would never have even the freedom of my mind.
He spoke to me, I heard nothing but the final word from his mouth, 'yourself' I told him I didn't know what he spoke of and he touched me again, slipping his fingertips across my lips, I pulled away, hating him, that twisted creature. I hate him, I hate him even more than I hate myself, I hate him because he is everything I am not. After, his reply… 'you hate me, of course.' …of course, master, I shall always hate you, god's grace willing, if I believed in god of course.
He dropped the illusion, it shimmered and faded, leaving traces of magic in the air and a creature completely opposite of that Potter left behind last year.
This Potter was something beyond beauty or perfection, something lost and warped. His hair was the first thing I notice, it reaches to the middle of his back now. How such length was reached over a single summer I cannot fathom unless by magic. It seems different than before as well, the hair itself shimmers and gleams in the light like satin, not like the dull, blackened stuff from last year. The wildness of his hair remained though, even pulled back in a loose ponytail it escapes around his ears, pulling long strands down around his eyes and others forming wide loops to settle on his shoulders.
His eye was the next thing I noticed and as soon as I did it seemed impossible that I over looked it. A long ragged scar ran through his left eye, stopping before his nose and starting at just after his hair line, a stripe of white hair, shorter than the rest and curling down in front of the eye marked where the end of the scar is now hidden. His left eye itself no longer is the green of emeralds and forest evergreen but a soft milky white, blind.
He changed his glasses to compensate for the loss of the eye, instead of two lenses only one remains. The glass itself is smaller, oval and the no length of wire goes back to hook his ear, the glass perched precariously only on the nose. His skin, the same olive hue, bringing out his remaining emerald seems, more refined. I feel that if I were to touch it it would be softer than a baby's skin. He's taller and broader, stronger and colder. I can't help but catch my breath at the sight of him. He's changed so much but I know it's him because his eyes still carry the ghosts of those who died in front of him and the self loathing I have learned to see in him, now fully on display.
Power has revealed its face and I alone serve it completely.