Original chapter notes:
Yep, it's the Ministry ball :D - we finally get to see a bit more of other slaves in this world, and it's going to raise some difficult questions for both of our boys.
Warning - this chapter is where the new tags start coming into play, though they will be even more applicable to next chapter. Please read the more detailed warnings in the end notes carefully if you suspect you might be triggered - stay safe! Also, it's going to get darker from here, though most of that won't be between Harry and Tom, I promise. Not in the next couple of chapters, anyway. *evil laugh*
As always, enjoy the chapter and please tell me your thoughts :D
Note, the referenced tags are as follows:
Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault Erotic thoughts Implied/Referenced Abuse Implied/Referenced Torture Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con Implied/Referenced Mental Damage Rape/non-con not in main pairingTom yawned widely and stretched. Sitting in that library chair for hours was not good on his back or shoulders. Fortunately, all the work the healer had done to repair the damage of the curse a while back had been very professional – his back actually felt better than it had before the whole event. Tom hadn't realised how much sitting hunched over a desk as Lord Voldemort, planning the domination of the world, had created knots in his back muscles, but apparently it had.
Looking at the watch on his wrist that Harry had given him months ago, he saw that it was already past midnight. Deciding to call it a night, Tom packed his research away. With access to more books, it was proceeding much better than before, and Tom had hopes that he might make an important breakthrough in the next few nights if allowed to spend the time on it.
The enchantment was really complex, though. It wasn't outside Tom's capabilities to decode completely, at least he didn't think so, but it was definitely master-level work, and he wasn't certain he would have been able to create it from scratch, despite Arithmancy having been an interest of his even beyond school. He had never pursued a mastery in any subject, though he had studied some subjects enough to perhaps qualify for one – it simply hadn't fit in with his plans. Now…now he wondered whether maybe he should have.
What would have happened if he had decided to pursue a Ministry career? Done a Mastery first, maybe, to prove his superiority, then used his connections to enter into the Ministry at a decent level? Used that to advance to Minister, perhaps by the time he was thirty?
Well, he wouldn't be a slave; that was certain. He probably wouldn't have got to know Harry as much, either. Tom wondered why that thought filled him with some maudlin emotion. Why was he feeling like that? It would have been better all round – he would have been respected, admired, powerful. Harry would still have had his parents; he wouldn't have had to grow up with those muggles and Dumbledore's manipulations. Well, maybe still the latter unless Tom had managed to reduce his influence. He would have been a normal boy, nothing special. Nothing worthy of Minister Tom Riddle's attentions. Why did that thought fill him with a bit of revulsion?
Tom pushed his confusing emotions to one side. He was tired – that was no doubt why. He needed to get to bed.
Walking down the stairs, he saw light coming up from the first floor – the sitting room, no doubt. He hesitated for a moment. Go down or go to bed? In the end, his feet made the choice for him, stepping down the stairs. Sure enough, the light was coming from the sitting room. Tom looked in, expecting to see Harry at his desk, busily studying despite technically being on holiday for the week. Instead, it took him a moment to spot the other man – he was sitting in an armchair by the fire, swirling whisky in a crystal glass and staring broodingly into the fire.
"Master," started Tom, before being interrupted by another yawn. "It's late," he finished once his mouth cooperated with him again. "We've got the Ministry ball tomorrow – why don't you go to bed?" The other man didn't respond for a long moment, and Tom wondered if he should just go – leave Harry to his thoughts. Then he spoke.
"Do you ever think about what ifs?" he asked, a wistful note in his voice. Tom couldn't help snorting – apparently they were both being affected by a maudlin moment, it seemed. The sound made Harry twist around to look at him. Tom shrugged.
"Doesn't everyone?" he remarked flippantly. Harry turned back to look at the fire.
"I can't seem to stop myself. The day after tomorrow will be the start of a New Year – a new millennium – and I can't help thinking about the past. What if I'd made different choices, what if people had survived, what if things had been different…" He sounded lost, Tom thought. Maybe it was that vulnerable note in his voice that made Tom walk forward and kneel beside his master, deciding that looking into the fire alongside Harry would be better than being in front and forcing eye contact.
"If you'd made different choices, things would probably have been different," Tom told him. "But that doesn't mean they would have been better."
"How can you say that?" Harry asked, his voice sounded a bit choked. "If things had been different, you might not have been a slave! And I might not have been a master," he finished, his last statement a lot quieter than his previous. Tom wasn't sure what he heard in Harry's voice – longing, regret, desire… Whatever it was, it was complicated. "I would have thought you'd be happy with that," Harry continued, looking down at Tom.
Tom opened his mouth as if to speak, but paused. How in Merlin's name had they managed to both be thinking along similar lines that evening, he asked himself with some asperity? Because that question just brought up all the emotions he'd been pushing to one side.
"I need a moment to think, master," he said instead. Harry just nodded and looked back at the fire, sipping his whiskey. Tom took more than a moment to order his thoughts, but eventually, he felt that they were as clear as he could make them at that moment.
"I don't like being a slave, it's true," he started slowly. "I hate being out of control, I hate having to follow someone else's orders…but I've been thinking too. And I've come to some conclusions. The decisions we made…whether we think they were a good idea now with hindsight…they made us who we are. And I might hate being a slave…but I'm starting to not hate being your slave." Well, that was a lot more honest than he'd intended. Harry was silent for a moment, then, moving slowly, he started stroking Tom's hair. Tom half-closed his eyes in pleasure as the slight scratch of his scalp and the gentle tugging of his locks made him relax into the side of the chair. It felt better than he remembered and he wondered why he hadn't pursued his idea to experiment before now.
"Is it bad if I say that I'm starting to not hate being your master, too?" Harry asked finally, in a low voice. Tom didn't respond. He didn't know how to.
They stayed like that for a while longer, each with his own thoughts, but companionable nonetheless. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, Harry took his hand away from Tom's hair and they both stood, making their way to bed together in silence.
As he dropped off to sleep, Tom realised two things. First, moving to kneel by his master's side had been something he hadn't even thought about – and he didn't know how he felt about that. Second, unlike before when the scent of Harry's vulnerability had woken the predator within him, this time, it had made him feel…protective. And he didn't know how he felt about that, either.
XXX
Harry was waiting for Tom, feeling awkward at the thought of seeing his slave. The morning after Christmas Day had been just as awkward, Harry recalled as he checked his dress robes for the third time, wondering how he was going to face his companion as thoughts of the previous night echoed in his mind. After Christmas he'd thanked Tom for the knife, the man not meeting his eyes, probably the memory of how Harry had hugged him playing across his vision as much as it was for Harry. In the end, his slave had just shrugged, muttering something about always having a weapon handy. Perhaps he'd do the same here. Or maybe he'd ignore their little heart to heart completely. Maybe that would be best.
In the end, Harry had decided to take Tom's suggestion to heart, and was in fact carrying his knife now. He'd fashioned a way of fastening it to his calf: the sheath had proved to only release the knife within when he pulled it intentionally, so it was upside-down and easily accessible if he ever had a need. Because Tom had a point – most witches and wizards only ever thought of wands, and if Harry was going to be in the Aurors, it would probably be handy to have some means of escaping a situation, if he was ever disarmed. Maybe it would be a good idea for him to find someone to teach him how to use a knife, though.
The week of holiday between Christmas and New Year's had disappeared so quickly Harry wondered whether it had actually happened – he barely remembered anything that had happened, except for those times with Tom which still made him blush at the thought of them. And now they were here – the evening he'd been dreading since Robards had first told him about it, had arrived.
"Tom, are you ready yet?" he called up the stairs from where he was waiting in the sitting-room.
"Almost, master!" came the reply. Harry sighed. What was taking the man so long? He just had to put on his dress robes and put a comb through his hair, didn't he?
"What took you so long?" Harry asked snappily when his slave finally appeared.
"I had to take a shower, master," Tom replied neutrally. Eyeing his hair which did look a little damp, Harry decided that it would be unfair of him to take his nervousness out on his slave who had actually, for once, done nothing to deserve it. Especially after what they had shared together the previous night. Or at Christmas. And he wasn't thinking of either of those situations because they would probably put him even more off-balance.
"Fine." He took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself.
"Master?" Harry looked at Tom to see him lifting a hand, as if to reach it out. Momentarily curious as to whether he would do so or not, Harry wasn't sure if he felt disappointment when the man let it drop. "Just…be yourself. If you're trying to act relaxed, it will probably come off as awkward. Be friendly, smile, but don't try to pretend you love being there. Remember, they want you there, regardless of how you behave, because of what you symbolise." Strangely enough, those words did reassure Harry. Sure, normally he hated being treated differently because of his fame, but when he had to go to this thing because of it…well, it was reassuring to know that unless he behaved really badly, he'd probably be forgiven for most things simply because of who he was. Feeling like a slight weight had been lifted off his shoulders, Harry felt some concern rise in him for his companion.
"How are you feeling about it? It's not too late to change your mind and not come." Tom shook his head.
"I appreciate the offer, master, but I will be fine as long as people ignore me for the most part." A flash of panic flickered through his eyes as he flicked his gaze up to meet Harry's. "You're not intending on letting anyone else…touch me, are you?" Harry frowned, then his eyes went wide as Tom's meaning registered.
"No, of course not. You're my slave – not the plaything of anyone else." Harry wondered if the possessiveness he heard in his own voice was as clear to Tom as it was to him… He cleared his throat awkwardly. "OK, then. Come here," he instructed, holding out a hand that then touched Tom's collar as soon as he came close enough. Stepping into the green flames, he called out the name of that year's New Year's Ball venue.
Apparently the Greengrasses had offered their manor as accommodations this year. Harry had thought they were Voldemort supporters, but apparently not. To be fair, his supposition had been based on the fact that the eldest daughter of the family had been in Slytherin with Malfoy, rather than any actual knowledge of the people. He guessed, though, that he wasn't the only one who had made the connection, and that the Greengrasses were trying to distance themselves from people, who had perhaps been business partners at least before being enslaved, by clearly throwing their lot in with the Ministry.
Stepping out of the floo and using a quick spell to clean both himself and his slave off, Harry took a moment to admire Tom. In neat, but not ornate, charcoal robes with green trimming, he cut a dashing figure. The collar on his neck only managed to set off its graceful swan-like lines, and with his eyes trained on the floor, he looked the picture of a demure slave. Harry marvelled once again at his acting abilities – he had been a bit thrown off-balance when Tom had last brought out this persona, when the lawyers had visited. Now, he knew what to expect, but still couldn't help the impressed expression from lifting his eyebrows slightly.
Quickly looking away, he pretended it was from looking at the elegant receiving room. A lady with white-blonde hair came towards him, a polite smile on her face.
"Mr Potter," she said, holding out her hand. "I'm so glad you could make it." Closer, Harry realised he recognised her – he'd only gone to school with her for six years, after all.
"Miss Greengrass," he murmured, taking her hand and kissing the air above it. "Thank you for inviting me." They had, actually – Robards had given him the invitation once he had agreed to going. It was very tasteful, done in cream and gold with curling handwriting. Greengrass just tittered politely.
"Of course! We wouldn't dream of leaving out the Man-who-Conquered from our invitation list." Harry felt his smile become rather fixed. And this was why he hated these kinds of events. It was Slughorn's parties all over again, except worse. Greengrass continued. "Come, let's clear the area for other guests to arrive." Sure enough, the flames were turning green behind Harry and he quickly got out of the way before another couple were deposited in the receiving room, a man and a woman Harry didn't recognise this time.
Putting out his arm politely, Greengrass looped hers through and they walked out of the room. Harry was aware of Tom following by the slight movement in his peripheral vision; when he turned his head slightly, he saw the man following a step behind, his eyes downcast, his hands folded neatly in front of him. All in all, thought Harry as he turned his attention back to the path they were walking and small-talk with the woman on his arm, it was as far from Tom's normal demeanour as one could go. Strangely, Harry found he much preferred Tom's generally grumpy, sometimes border-line defiant behaviour – it was more honest than this pretence. Though, things had been changing recently in that respect…
His thoughts were interrupted by turning a corner to reveal the ballroom. About five times bigger than the one at Grimmauld Place, Harry was momentarily surprised by its sheer vastness. The ceiling stretched up at least two floors and one side of it was entirely covered in mirrors, giving the impression of even more space. The height was needed, however, because of the sheer mass of people milling around the floor. The only two areas that weren't packed were the dance floor which was in the middle – a large circle of space – and the tables which curved in a horseshoe shape around the edge of the room, backing onto the gardens beyond.
Greengrass led him past the tables first, taking him to the table in the middle of the horseshoe, the one with its back to the gardens. One pale arm elegantly indicating a specific seat, Harry spotted his name.
"As one of our guests of honour, you're here with the Minister and the current Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Madame Bullwark. Your slave can kneel behind you during the meal, but at other times, it's at your discretion whether you would like him to stay close to you or remain here." Harry was rather impressed how neither voice nor facial expression changed from its polite pleasantness when Tom was mentioned. Harry wasn't sure whether that was simply because she really didn't care, or whether she was just that good at hiding her true emotions. For now, though…
"He'll stay with me until dinner, at least," Harry decided. Frankly, in a situation like this, he'd rather keep Tom close where he could see what was happening. Besides, it might be useful to get the man's impression afterwards of what he thought of the people.
"Very well. Come, I'll introduce you to some people."
"Sure, just…Greengrass?"
"Daphne, please."
"OK, Daphne. I was wondering…why did you greet me? Did you choose to do it, or…?" Greengrass – Daphne – paused for a moment and there was a crack in her mask for only an instant before it became the same porcelain mask she had shown from the start.
"We thought it would be best to greet you with someone with whom you were already partially familiar, not to mention of a similar age." With that, she smiled once more, the expression as polite and empty as always. What a Slytherin answer, Harry decided privately as they walked towards the throng of people. It answered his question without actually answering it at all. Spotting people on the edge of the crowd already sending him glances while talking to their partners, Harry resigned himself to shaking hundreds of hands and repeating the same conversation over and over again. Be friendly, but be yourself, he reminded himself. You can do it.
XXX
Tom kept close to his master, though tried to avoid touching him as much as possible. It wasn't always possible – the area was completely packed with people. In a way, Tom wished his master had left him by the tables, but he'd probably be kneeling for a while anyway – no need to wish that to start sooner.
From what he could tell, it was a normal one of these socialising events – full of boring people who only had boring things to talk about with other, equally boring, people. He could hear the irritation and boredom in his master's voice as he repeated a conversation about how the Ministry was becoming much more stable for the nth time. Yes, the Ministry had everything in hand. Yes, they were working on stabilising things which had been upset by the war and they were making good progress. Yes, he would definitely be voting in Kingsley as Minister in January – he was doing such a good job as Interim Minister. No, there was nothing to be concerned about when it came to the former Death Eaters: the Ministry was definitely in control, here, look at how obedient his slave was. And so on. Not that he said the last part. Not out loud, anyway.
Tom wondered at one point whether his master's employer had taken him aside at some point to tell him which talk points the Ministry wanted to cover, or whether this was just all his own initiative. Tom suspected the former; if it was the latter, he would be impressed. There had been a few more…interesting…conversations. One of which had been with another slave-owner who had brought his own slave with him. He had shown off the woman like a prize horse, talking loudly about her attributes while running his hand suggestively down her side.
Her head had been down the entire time and when her master had touched her, she had shivered violently, clearly not daring to flinch, but fearful all the same. Tom's master had been clearly uncomfortable, replying politely, but distantly, and disengaging from the conversation as much as he could without being rude. Fortunately, he had also refused to 'show off' his own slave's features, though Tom had been aware of the other man's eyes raking him as if imagining him without his robes. The thought making him shiver, Tom was very glad when his master soon started a conversation with someone else.
After that encounter, Tom realised, darting looks around when he was sure he wouldn't be observed, that there were actually many slaves here. It seemed like every third person his master spoke to had a slave in tow. Some were clearly injured; others flinched every time their masters moved. Some seemed better off, but when their masters spoke of them, they were as casual and impersonal as if speaking of a dog. Of course, Tom's master did the same, on the rare occasion that he was forced into talking about his slave, but Tom knew it was an act. He supposed that it could be an act on the part of the other masters too, but somehow he doubted it in most cases.
He had actually recognised a fair number of the slaves. Not all of them, by any means, but there were a few marked Death Eaters in the crowd. He hadn't seen any of the…more volatile. Bellatrix, of course, was nowhere to be seen – he'd be very surprised if her master would let her out of his or her house anytime soon. The Carrows were also not in evidence, as far as he had seen. Rabastan was another one missing, though since he'd gone a bit insane with his brother's death – well, more insane than he had been after Azkaban – he was another one Tom was sure was chained up in his master's house. Lucius was one he was somewhat surprised not to see – his pale hair should make him stand out, but it wasn't in evidence. Tom would have thought that whoever his master was would have wanted to show him off, and he wouldn't have been one of the ones to defy the collar – the man had always been curbed by the threat of pain. Still, maybe his master wasn't present? Of the masters, he'd only recognised a few, and only by face.
He'd spotted Tiberius Nott, almost unrecognisable with his beard shaven and his hair cropped short, his head as bowed as any other's in the place. Tom reflected that he'd never seen the man look so old, not even when he'd been recovering from the Cruciatus Curse. He was following a woman Tom knew to be one of the Wizengamot members. Something or other Gamp, wasn't it?
Gregory Goyle Senior had been another, his arms mottled with bruises and dressed in rags. Never having been the most intelligent or enthusiastic of Lord Voldemort's Inner Circle, he'd nonetheless been loyal, and as the Dark Lord, Tom had forgiven him his drawbacks because of that. Something in Tom tugged at something in his chest to know how he had repaid that loyalty – leading the man down the path to enslavement. His master, Tom didn't recognise.
Alistair Jugson had been one who didn't look particularly badly off, but that impression was belied a moment later when he had accidently bumped into his master's shoulder. The man had whirled on him, his wand out, casting a spell which made him waver on his feet. Tom suspected that he would have been whimpering, but he clearly had a silencing curse on him, preventing any noise from escaping.
Another person approached Tom's master, another familiar face trailing behind his shoulder. Having seen the elder Nott earlier in the evening, it was almost a surprise to see his son here as well. The younger Nott – what was his name again? Tiberius? No, it wasn't the same as his father. He was pretty sure it started with a T, though – had never been marked. No, while he would have been marked had Lord Voldemort had a use for him, he had instead been proving his worth to the cause throughout his first year out of Hogwarts. He was the same age as Harry, wasn't he, Tom thought. Then, realising he'd slipped out of his persona, he quickly buried himself again, allowing his thoughts to continue behind the mask.
"Smith," Tom's master said, his voice tainted with a hint of dislike.
XXX
"Potter," Smith replied with a kind of false jocularity which immediately grated on his nerves, not that this particular person ever failed to do that. They'd never got on well at Hogwarts, and Harry was certain that trend was likely to continue. "I see you've got yourself a slave," he continued, nodding towards Tom. Harry found himself inexplicably bristling, much as he had when that odious Mr Dogbane had been eyeing up Tom like a piece of meat, even while he fondled his own, clearly abused, slave.
"I see you've got one too," he replied, a note of challenge as he nodded towards the figure at Smith's shoulder. He recognised the man as one of the Slytherins in his year at Hogwarts – Nott, he thought. What was his first name? Terry? No, Theodore, he realised, pulling the information from somewhere deep in his memory. He looked awful – pale and gaunt. And was that a bruise on his cheek? "What have you been doing to him – he looks terrible?" Harry asked, voicing his thoughts. He was careful to keep any note of concern out of his voice: while he didn't think he would be accused of being a Death Eater sympathiser, he'd rather not have the Ministry looking too deep into what he was doing with Tom – he didn't think they'd entirely approve, especially considering who Tom had been. Smith just waved a hand nonchalantly.
"Nothing he doesn't deserve, Death Eater scum that he is." Harry raised his eyebrows in mock-surprise.
"From what I recall of him, he was never one of those who ran with Malfoy's gang of baby Death Eaters; I hardly imagine him becoming some sort of monster in two years." Smith glared at him, the false-jocularity dropping completely.
"You can hardly talk, Potter. You're the one we have to thank for this, after all. Besides, since you've got one of your own, I hardly think you can preach from a pedestal." He sneered, his expression ugly. "I bet you're just jealous because I got one of the young ones. How much did your clapped-out old slave cost you? A hundred galleons?" Harry decided to ignore that with a great force of will – this was not the place to break out into a duel, no matter how much he wanted to call Smith out. He wasn't even sure if he was angrier about the insult to himself or to Tom, and didn't want to think about what that meant.
"My Tom is worth at least ten times whatever paltry sum you paid for Nott," Harry hissed quietly, his eyes narrowed. "And when he's released, I hope that he finds a way to pay you back for whatever you've been doing to him that's over and above what Death Eater scum like him deserve." There. That should communicate his anger clearly enough without inviting further scrutiny into his own situation. Smith stared at him, clearly taken aback by his fervent rebuttal. Even Nott had glanced up, his eyes wide, though he quickly dropped them as soon as he realised Harry had seen him looking, flinching in clear expectation of punishment. Harry pretended he hadn't seen anything.
"Well, Potter," Smith started, obviously not sure what to say. "I guess we'll find out." His comeback was weak, and he evidently realised it, making himself scarce shortly after.
When the gong rang for dinner a few moments later, Harry breathed a silent sigh of relief. His hand felt wrung dry after all the times it had been shaken by a variety of grips. Harry hoped never to have to experience quite so many hand-holds ever again – he wasn't sure which was worse: the damp ones that felt like limp fish; or the tight ones which seemed to be used by men trying to prove that they were stronger than the Man-who-Conquered. Fortunately, air-kissing the hands of the women had been a lot more bearable, though there had been a few women who had clearly preferred shaking hands to having them kissed. Harry couldn't care less if it was one way or the other – kissing hands was something he'd had to pick up fairly recently, anyway.
Every time someone had congratulated him on his defeat of You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, Harry had amused himself wondering what their reactions might have been if they'd known that the very man they were congratulating him for conquering was standing behind his shoulder. Other than that, though, amusement had been in short supply. Fortunately, he had been placed next to Kingsley. His other dinner partner was not so familiar, merely a face he remembered having seen in the Prophet a couple of times. Unfortunately, since they were on the top table, they had no one opposite and therefore were completely open to being stared at by anyone on the other tables.
Politely pulling the chair out for Madame Bullwark, Harry smiled at her while privately thinking that the name really didn't suit her – she was a petite woman with delicate limbs, rather than the Millicent Bulstrode kind of build he might have expected. Then again, before she smiled at and thanked him, her face had looked like it could weather a thousand storms, so perhaps it was appropriate… A slave settled on the floor behind her chair. Harry frowned – he was pretty sure the man looked familiar, but he couldn't place him. Putting it out of his mind, he seated himself, becoming aware of Tom settling down behind his own chair. Unsurprisingly, the place behind Kingsley was empty.
Once he was seated, the Minister leaned towards Harry so he could speak without shouting over the noise of people still finding their seats. Apparently, it was only the special guests on the top tables who had been shown their seats, though Harry suspected everyone had at least known the vague area in which to look – there wasn't enough crossing of the dance floor to indicate that it was completely unknown for everyone else.
"I'd like to thank you for what you've done here, Harry," Kingsley murmured to him. Harry turned and looked at him with some surprise.
"What do you mean?" The man gave him a knowing look.
"I mean reassuring people, supporting me as Minister, expressing your belief in the Ministry. That sort of thing."
"Oh," replied Harry, shrugging. "That was what you and Robards wanted me to do, wasn't it?" Kingsley raised an eyebrow.
"Well, yes, but…" he hesitated, looking a bit embarrassed. "We didn't think you'd be so…good at it." Harry gave him a wry grin.
"No, I bet you didn't. You just wanted me to come for the image, didn't you? Just the fact that the Man-who-Conquered was here at a Ministry sponsored ball, chatting convivially with the Minister would be enough to boost your ratings. You didn't realise I'd figure out your motives." Kingsley looked even more embarrassed.
"…perhaps." Well, at least he was honest about it. "How did you figure it out?" Harry raised both eyebrows, some of the jocularity slipping off his face, his eyes revealing his seriousness.
"Two things. First, I've been in the public eye for years – I know how important image is, even if I haven't always been very good at managing mine. Plus, I've experienced enough manipulation to know when someone's using it on me. Second," he gestured to his slave, "I talked to Tom. He was able to help me figure out the details."
"Huh," Kingsley replied, his eyes calculating. "It seems I underestimated you, Harry. I apologise for trying to manipulate you." Harry looked searchingly into his eyes. He seemed sincere.
"It's OK," he said finally. "Just, next time, be straight with me, OK?" Kingsley showed some surprise.
"You'd be willing to do more publicity later?" Harry nodded slowly.
"As long as I agree with the direction of the Ministry, I'm willing to help support it. I wasn't willing to be Scrimangeor's poster-boy because I deeply disagreed with some of his policies. So far, what I've seen of the outfit you're running and the direction you're going in…I approve overall. And if I've learnt anything over the last few years of going from public hero to Undesirable no.1, I've got to either direct the train of public opinion or just go along with it for a ride. And going along for the ride isn't as relaxing as it sounds!" Kingsley stared at him.
"You've put a lot of thought into this!" he said finally. Harry shrugged. It was true – after he'd discussed the whole situation with Tom, he'd ended up spending time thinking about maybe needing to be a bit more Slytherin about things. He didn't want to be a Slytherin, but he did feel like he'd been a bit too laissez-faire when it came to his public image, and if he was going to be using his public image to support the Ministry, he first wanted to be sure it was worth supporting, and then to know that he could support it.
"Mind you," Harry added hastily, "that doesn't mean I want to do this sort of thing on a regular basis!" Hearing the slight panic in his voice, Kingsley laughed out loud.
"No, I'd imagine not," he replied with amusement.
Further conversation was cut off as, with a chime of his glass that somehow managed to echo through the hall and silence all the conversations going on, the Greengrass patriarch rose to give a speech.
XXX0
Tom knelt behind his master's chair, one part of his mind tuning into the speech, another part staring at the slave beside him. He recognised him, oh he recognised him. Joseph Travers. One of the few followers who had been truly passionate about the pureblood cause: Lord Voldemort had seen him as a useful tool, a wind-up doll to stoke with speeches about the rights of purebloods to rule over all others due to their clear superiority, and then turn towards his enemies and watch him go.
Now, Tom felt little but pity for him. He'd already suffered fourteen years of Azkaban and dementors for his actions in the first war; now, if the collars counted years of imprisonment as being years of following him, as they seemed to, he could be looking at thirty or so more as a slave. He'd be an old, old man when he was released. And if what he was seeing was the result of just seven months of it, by the time he was released, there'd be nothing of the man left.
He was pale, emaciated. His limbs seemed to have a permanent tremor, whether it was from fear, pain, hunger or something else, Tom didn't know. He also had a few more scars than he'd had the last time Tom had seen him, in the bowels of the Ministry. He'd been one of those who'd turned on Tom once they'd realised what had happened. Still, Tom couldn't hold it against him, in a way – look at what had happened to him as a result of it.
As the meal progressed, the true depth of his subjugation became apparent. Every so often, his master would reach back with an item of food in her hand. Every time that happened, Travers would kiss her hand with a murmured 'thank you master' and then would take the food gently with his teeth, swallowing it quickly, desperately. Tom recognised that tone of voice. He'd heard it said after he'd tortured the man for a failure and then had generously said that he would give him another chance. A tone of voice which meant he was thankful that the punishment had finished and that he would be given a chance to redeem himself. To hear it now…well, that spoke of how much the woman he belonged to had broken him.
Fortunately, he'd been aware of the fact that he probably wouldn't have anything to eat at the dinner, so he'd eaten before. He was thankful for that fact as it spared him the humiliation of being hand-fed by his master. Though, given the desperation with which Travers was gulping the food he was being given intermittently by his master, Tom had to wonder when he had last eaten.
Finally, the meal finished and the dancing started. There were only a couple of hours until midnight, after which, hopefully they would be able to go. Before then, though, it was time to dance. Harry stayed for a moment after his companions had disappeared, Kingsley gallantly asking Madame Bullwark to waltz with him.
"How are you doing, Tom?" Harry asked in an undertone.
"I'm fine, master," Tom replied. Shaken slightly by what had become of his followers, but fine.
"You don't want anything to eat or drink?" Tom considered.
"A little water, please master," he decided. Harry passed him his glass which was filled with water. Tom was too grateful to not have been hand-fed to be concerned that Harry had drunk from the same glass.
"I'm going to go and mingle," his master said eventually, taking the glass from him. "Would you prefer to come with me or to stay here?" Tom considered it.
"I'd prefer to stay here, master," he replied eventually. Harry nodded.
"OK, but I'll keep an eye – make sure nothing happens. Just remember, you're mine, not anyone else's - if anyone tries anything, just avoid them and I'll sort it out later."
"Yes, master," Tom replied, bowing his head once more. He felt a gentle hand stroke through his hair once, and then it was gone. He supposed that if he could take anything home from this interminable evening, it was that he definitely preferred to have Harry as a master, rather than any of the people they'd seen so far.
XXX
After mingling for a while, glad-handing not a few people and dancing with a number of women, Harry spotted Hermione dancing with another man, not Ron. She didn't look particularly happy – he recognised that polite smile on her face. He walked over and interrupted the man's monotonic diatribe.
"May I cut in?" he asked. The man turned to him angrily, but the emotion was quickly replaced by surprise.
"Mr Potter! Uh, of course," he replied, passing Hermione over without a yea or nay from her. She rolled her eyes at his quickly disappearing back, placing her hands in Harry's and turning to him with a real smile.
"Thanks for 'rescuing' me," she told him, rolling her eyes again. "He was a real bore, and a chauvinist at that. If he wasn't one of the Ministry's biggest donors, I'd have dropped out within a few minutes. As it was, I was considering retiring to the ladies room to get rid of him."
"Where have you been all evening? I didn't see you at the head table." She raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not the 'Man-who-Conquered – I was at a table with a mixture of department heads and big donors." She sighed theatrically. "No rest for the wicked – I've been working all evening." Harry made a horrified face.
"The kind of working which doesn't involve books? Terrible." He grinned as she paused in the dance to smack him on the shoulder.
"Shush, you."
"Is Ron not with you?" Harry asked – he hadn't seen that shock of red hair all evening. Hermione shook her head.
"No, he hates these kinds of events. I didn't have the heart to put him through it when his family is having a New Year's party of their own." Harry nodded. Frankly, he'd rather be there too.
They danced for a moment in silence.
"Can you believe it's almost a new millennium?" Hermione asked him softly, her tone a mixture of sad, wistful and something else he couldn't name.
"Not really," Harry replied, his voice similarly quiet. "These last few years…they seemed like they'd never end at times." Hermione made a sound of agreement.
"Do you know the muggles are worried that when the clocks strike midnight, all the computers are going to crash? They're even worried about things like nuclear weapons being set off as a result." she asked a moment later with some amusement. Harry raised his eyebrows and smiled at her.
"No, I didn't know. Though, to be fair, I've barely touched a computer – Dudley had one, but the closest I got to it was dusting it." Hermione gave him the look of sadness and awkwardness which she always wore when he mentioned the Dursleys. It was one reason he didn't mention them much – no one ever knew what to say in response. Except Tom, he realised. Out of everyone, he would probably be the most likely to understand. Sure, he hadn't said much the last time they talked about it, but then Harry had shut the conversation down pretty quickly. At least he hadn't had the normal emotions of pity, sadness, awkwardness or disbelief which had generally characterised all the other people he had spoken to about it.
They continued dancing in silence. Harry hesitated to say something that had been on his mind for a while. Sure, they'd talked at the Weasleys – he'd asked how her post-NEWTs degree was going (well), how her job was (stressful, busy, but good in general), but he hadn't asked about her coming home crying. Not with all the Weasleys around. At the end of the piece of music, Harry pulled Hermione off to one side, deciding to ask, finally. They sat down at a random table, watching the rest of the people twirl in pairs, or chat to one side of the dance floor.
"Hermione…" Harry started, turning to look at her. "I wasn't trying to listen in, I promise, but Ron was on the floo with me when you came home a few weeks ago. You were crying… Is everything OK?" She was quiet for a few moments before sighing.
"Look around, Harry. Look at all the slaves here. Do you call that justice, what's happening to them?" Harry was silent this time, because he knew the answer, but he didn't like to admit it. Hermione looked at him, and could tell what he was thinking, even if he wouldn't say it. "Exactly. It's not justice; it's revenge, it's abuse."
"But Lady Magic is the one who started it again," objected Harry weakly, not disagreeing. Not able to disagree after what he'd seen that evening.
"I know. And we might not be able to set the slaves free, I accept that. What I don't accept is Kingsley saying that we can't change the way slavery is done." Harry frowned.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean putting more regulations in to clarify what is acceptable treatment and what isn't. I mean not just leaving almost five hundred people to become traumatised simply because the limit is on permanent physical injury, not mental. I mean that even if the Death Eaters did terrible things, we are no better if we allow this." Harry was taken aback by her fervour, though he really shouldn't have been – he'd seen this when they were at school with the house elves. But this time…this time he understood it on a deeper level.
"Is that why you were called a 'Death Eater sympathiser'? Because you said all that?" Hermione shrugged.
"That, and because I'm trying to bring the slaves under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." Harry was surprised.
"How does that work?" She shrugged again, this time half-smiling.
"Well, my argument is that since they're not considered human, but yet they are magical, they should fall under my department." Harry raised his eyebrows.
"How's that working out for you?" The half-smile dropped.
"Not well," she admitted. "Currently, they're under the Ministry Department for Corrections since they're considered to have committed at least the crime of conspiracy to commit terrorism, since they wouldn't have been enslaved if they hadn't supported Voldemort in some way. I've spoken to Kingsley about changing their overseeing department, but he's…well, he doesn't seem particularly motivated to help me."
"He did say in the hospital wing that he didn't want to waste effort on those who had tried to tear down our society," Harry remembered. Hermione nodded.
"And he's living up to that. He's said that if I can get the head of the Corrections department to agree. But…Dogbane's got a slave of his own, and I don't think he wants anything to change in the way he can treat her - I hear her whimpering when I walk past his office sometimes. He's the one that accused me of being a sympathiser."
"Dogbane," repeated Harry, the memory of meeting that odious man earlier that day resurfacing. "He's your counterpart?"
"Yes, do you know him?" She asked curiously. Harry shook his head.
"No, but I had the dubious pleasure of meeting him earlier." He grimaced. "I don't think you'll get very far with him – he looked Tom up and down like a piece of meat: something he could buy and take a chunk out of." Hermione frowned at him.
"Tom's here? Where is he?" Harry waved vaguely in the direction of where he'd been sitting at the head table.
"I thought he'd be better staying where he was, out of the way."
"Uh, Harry?" Hermione said, her voice concerned.
"What?"
"Look." Harry looked over and swore. There was a drunk-looking man heading directly towards where he'd left Tom. He quickly stood up and made his way over.
By the time he'd reached them, the man was slurring at Tom drunkenly, making a grab at his hair. Harry felt a hot pang of anger burn in his stomach at the sight. What did this idiot think he was doing with Harry's slave?
"Loo' at me, Deasss Eater," the man slurred. Tom hadn't reacted to his presence at all, except to shift his head slightly out the way every time the man tried to grab him.
"What do you think you're doing, touching my property?" Harry demanded, voice strident. He heard a disapproving 'Harry!' from behind him, but just shot Hermione a quick look saying 'don't interfere'. She subsided for now, trusting him. The man looked towards him, the movement in his inebriated state causing his whole body to lurch around. He had to put a hand out to a chair to stop himself from falling over. "Tom, come here," Harry ordered, keeping an eye on the stranger, and his hand prepared to withdraw his wand if necessary. His slave rose gracefully and hurried over to him, his head bowed.
"W'rs he gone?" the stranger asked, looking around his feet in overly exaggerated movements. "G'nna r'port him – din't obey commands." Seeing as they'd attracted a small audience of onlookers, Harry decided he needed to play the part.
"He was following commands," Harry snapped. "My commands, which are the only ones which matter to him. I told him not to respond to anyone but myself and not to allow anyone to touch him. You, sir, were out of line, touching another man's property without permission." There were a couple of mutters of 'well said' from the peanut gallery, so Harry felt satisfied that he'd played his part well enough. The man swayed on his feet, then lumbered off without another word. Nodding in relief that the situation had been defused well enough, Harry turned and led both Hermione and Tom away from the onlookers who had turned to chat amongst themselves.
When they were far enough away for them not to be able to be overheard, Harry turned to Tom.
"Are you OK?" he asked with concern.
"I'm fine, master," the man replied smoothly. Harry looked at him for a moment longer, but saw no signs that he wasn't actually fine. He shrugged.
"Looks like you'd better stay with me for the rest of the evening. Avoid any potential problems before they start." He looked up to see Hermione looking at him thoughtfully.
"Hermione?" he asked, half-dreading the answer. She just shook herself and then gave him a small smile.
"I'd better get back to work, Harry. My department won't gain donations by itself, you know…" so saying, she gave him a quick hug and disappeared before he knew what had happened. Harry turned to share an exasperated look with Tom but the man was looking at the ground playing the part of the perfect slave.
XXX
Finally, the time had arrived. Tom lingered on the edge of the dance floor as his master along with others celebrated the New Year with a countdown, indoor fireworks and then singing Auld Lang Syne, most people rather drunkenly. Since it was also a new millennium, not to mention the end of a war, the celebrations were all the more fervent. When his master came to him shortly after the jubilation had started to wind down, however, Tom was relieved to find out that they were going to soon take their leave.
"I need to just speak to Kingsley and our hosts, and then we can go," he said. Tom bowed his head in acknowledgement, and then stuck to his position just behind his master's shoulder as the man found the necessary people.
Finally, everyone had been spoken to and they were heading back towards the receiving room. Fortunately, Tom had taken note of the route they had taken, so when his master faltered at a couple of points, he was able to direct them. Flooing home, they both let out sighs of relief, Tom allowing himself to shed his persona completely for the first time all evening.
"It's good to be home, isn't it?" Harry asked, a note of pleasure in his voice as he stretched, his hands high in the air, lengthening his spine and stretching his muscles.
"It is, master," Tom agreed, surprised that actually yes, this place was 'home' now.
"You did really well," Harry said, his tone impressed. "I still can't believe you managed to not react when that Madame Bullwark started listing all the punishment methods she'd been using on her slave and giving me tips on how to make you submit completely." Tom grimaced. That conversation had been particularly hard to bear, especially when he'd had the evidence of Travers' complete submission to prove that her methods worked.
"What a way to spend a birthday, though," Tom remarked without thinking. Harry whirled around, his eyes wide.
"It's your birthday?!" he asked loudly. Tom looked at him and raised an eyebrow, confused at his fervour.
"Yes, master. Well, yesterday, really, since we've just crossed into the New Year."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Tom just shrugged. He really didn't understand why this seemed to be such a big deal for Harry.
"I didn't think it mattered," was his honest reply. There was a silence.
"Huh, I suppose you wouldn't," his master replied thoughtfully. There was another silence. "Well, we'll celebrate it tomorrow when you wake up. We could go out to a restaurant – I'd suggest the muggle world. Or we could go see something interesting, visit a museum or art gallery or something…" The confusion Tom was feeling must have been showing on his face. "Just think about it, OK? What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? Or later today, I suppose."
"Uh," Tom had rarely felt quite so inarticulate, but Harry's offer after the evening they had had, had set him completely off-balance. "Pancakes?" he half-asked, half-suggested. When Harry had made pancakes that time before, Tom had really enjoyed them, so it seemed like a safe bet. His master smiled at him.
"Pancakes it is. Just sleep until you want to wake up – they don't require much prep so I'll make them when you're ready." He hesitated. "I guess it's goodnight, then." Tom nodded, still confused about the whole situation.
"Goodnight, master," he replied. Harry nodded and then turned to leave. Pausing at the threshold of the room, he half-turned back.
"Just…Happy Birthday, Tom." Then, disappearing before Tom could reply, he left his slave standing in the living room, staring after him in even more confusion, and just a hint of a warm feeling.
XXX
The next morning both of them woke late. Harry quickly had a shower and got dressed in some reasonably casual clothes. He'd throw on a robe if Tom chose to go somewhere in the Wizarding world, but somehow he doubted that's what the man would decide. Harry didn't blame him either – who would want to be treated like a slave on their birthday?
Going downstairs, he started preparing the pancake batter. Fortunately, it was the sort of thing he could prepare for later, so since he didn't think Tom was awake yet, it would be able to wait for him – he'd actually cook the pancakes once the man arrived. Putting jam, sugar, butter and cheese on the table – since he'd noticed that last time, Tom had started with a few savoury pancakes before switching to sweet for the last one – Harry decided that breakfast was as ready as it could be. Next, he searched for a book he knew was somewhere.
"Aha!" he crowed, finding it about twenty minutes later, after ransacking the sitting room, his bedroom, the library and two other rooms he'd used when Ron and Hermione had been staying here.
"Found what you're looking for, master?" Tom's smooth voice inquired, with a hint of amusement. Harry jumped, hitting his head on the wall and making an inarticulate noise of surprise and pain which was muffled by the sofa. Yes, he was currently stuck upside-down between the back of the sofa and the wall in one of the smaller sitting rooms. It wasn't one that Harry used since he preferred the main room with its large desk in the corner and multiple arrangements of chairs near the fire, but he had used it with Ron and Hermione. He'd suddenly had a memory of flicking through the book while relaxing on this sofa and sure enough, it had clearly slipped down the back at some point. Unfortunately, summoning spells only worked if the caster either had a good idea of what the item looked like – and Harry had forgotten some of the important details of this item – or knew where it was.
Struggling to get out of his position, Harry ended up sitting on the couch, his hair in an absolute state, red in his cheeks. It didn't help his embarrassment that Tom looked as well-put-together as always. Harry cleared his throat and looked away, the red in his cheeks intensifying as his traitorous mind started imagining…things. Things like what those lips might feel like, or how those eyes might look in…No. Bad thoughts! Bad imagination! Not appropriate – stop it!
Feeling like he might have got a hold on himself – though he'd like to get a hold on…no! – Harry looked back at Tom and smiled, hoping it didn't look too false.
"Are you ready to have your pancakes?" The man raised an eyebrow, his supercilious look still annoyingly attractive.
"Of course, master. At your convenience," he replied. Harry rolled his eyes. When he wanted to, Tom had got passive-aggressive down to a fine art. He almost reconsidered offering the man a free pass for the day but…well, he'd had to spend his actual birthday evening playing the role of the perfect slave, something he'd chosen to do because it would benefit his master. Harry supposed that he could put up with arrogant Tom Riddle for a day in compensation.
Yes, he could make the argument that by the laws of the land and thanks to to Lady Magic Herself, Tom was his slave so if he wanted the man to behave like a perfect slave, he'd better do it or face the consequences, but…well, after seeing the previous night how so many people had used that thinking to justify outright abuse… Harry didn't want to be one of those people. And that started here. That started with appreciating that Tom had willingly helped him, and showing his appreciation.
Sure, if Tom tried to push it past the day, Harry would come down on him. He was still very aware that, even if not Voldemort anymore, Tom Riddle had an extremely manipulative side. And Harry was still unwilling to become victim to that. So, until he saw proper evidence that he could relax the rules a bit without having to constantly worry that Tom would take advantage of his leniency, he'd keep them in place. But this was a special occasion.
"Since it's your birthday," started Harry, standing up and brushing his hair into a vague kind of order, "I figure you can have a pass for today, like on Christmas Day. You don't have to call me master, and you don't have to kneel." He fixed Tom with a stern look. "But only for today, OK?"
"Thank you, Harry," Tom said, the superciliousness gone from his voice. "And…may I use my magic?" Harry considered it.
"Not today," he decided. He'd given Tom quite a bit of lenience with regards to magic recently, and he was nervous about it backfiring on him. The man carefully hid his disappointment, but Harry spotted its gleam in his eyes. He felt suddenly guilty for his decision. Too late now, he supposed. "Still, we'll be going out, so you probably wouldn't be able to use it much today, anyway."
"I see," Tom replied neutrally. "Where are we going mas-Harry?" Harry lifted the book in his hands and wiggled it in front of Tom.
"That's what this is for. It's your birthday celebration, so you get to choose where we go." Tom frowned in confusion.
"A guidebook to British landmarks?" he read when Harry had held the book still for long enough.
"Yep. Hermione got hold of this for our Horcrux Hunt. She thought you might have left horcruxes at significant monuments. You didn't of course, but we only realised that a while later – that's why this book ended up being left here. I figured you could look through and see whether there's anything that catches your interest." Passing the book over, Harry continued walking to the door. "I'll get started on the pancakes. Come whenever."
So saying, he disappeared into the passageway, heading for the kitchen.
XXX
Tom was left staring after him, the book dangling from his fingers. Leave it to his master to throw him for a loop. Tom hadn't woken up in a very good mood. Nightmares had disrupted his sleep; images of figures crying, writhing, reaching out. Sometimes it had even been him doing all that, reaching towards an unidentifiable figure who just laughed and pointed his own wand at him. Needless to say, he hadn't slept well. It was all due to that ball. That, and Tom suspected the strange feeling he'd been experiencing recently of guilt was also part of it.
So, when he'd seen his master, his first reaction had been to snipe. Then Harry had disarmed him by giving him a free pass for the day…Unfortunately, he had decided against giving Tom access to his wand, but Tom supposed he shouldn't have got his hopes up. He had to remind himself that had the situations been reversed, he wouldn't have treated Harry anywhere near as well as Harry had been treating him. And if last night had been any indicator, even among slavery as it was in reality, he was a lot better off than most.
He supposed he shouldn't have been so surprised to see so many other slaves there last night – it was, after all, only the crème de la crème of British Wizarding society who was invited to the Ministry New Year's ball, that is to say, only people with the money who could sponsor the Ministry projects. The governing body of the Wizarding world provided many services for low or no charge, for example sponsoring St Mungo's, running the Aurors and the Hitwizards, the Wizengamot and its other related judicial arms to name but a few. With taxes being at 20%, similar to their counterparts in the muggle world, but affecting a vastly smaller group of individuals, most of the Ministry's revenue came from wealthy donors – that was how Lucius had gained so much influence.
And of course, such donors, being the ones who had both the money, and the desire to show off, would choose to buy the hot, new commodity – slaves. And an event like that would be a chance to show off how well they had been subjugated, playing into the very anti-Death Eater atmosphere Tom had felt pervaded the conversations of the night. Essentially, the image he and Harry had been trying to create, but Tom had a feeling that while his and Harry's interactions had been at least partially staged, the other ones…hadn't.
But the feeling that he should be grateful to Harry for not abusing him…well, he was in two minds about it. There was the old part of him that bridled and sneered at the very implication that he should be grateful to anyone – what did anyone ever do for him that wasn't his right to receive anyway? But there was the much newer part of him that was slowly coming to realise that…that he'd been wrong. He'd been wrong in making horcruxes, and he'd been wrong in trying to bend the Wizarding world to his desires.
In his never-ending desire to take and control, he'd led witches and wizards to ruin. He'd led himself to ruin. He'd put himself in this position. And the only thing between him and those slaves he'd seen last night? Harry. Someone else he had hurt, and hurt deeply, with his actions. His master was the only thing that stopped him from being one of the barely-human creatures which had flinched at their masters' touches and whispered desperate thanks for not hurting them further. So yes, there was a part of him that felt grateful.
But the conflict in his own mind was difficult to manage and the constant back and forth irritated him at the best of times.
Sighing, he looked at the book dangling from his hand. He supposed he'd better choose a place to visit. Clearly, Harry wanted him to enjoy his birthday, and even if Tom would really rather spend the day at home, working on his research and relaxing, he supposed putting on a front to show his master that he appreciated Harry's efforts to make his (belated) birthday enjoyable was really the least he could do.
XXX
Harry flipped the final pancake onto the plate, two neat stacks sitting under warming charms. He frowned at the empty place at the table – Tom still hadn't come. Flicking his wand at the pan and other dishes in the sink, Harry slid into his chair, pulling one of the stacks over to him.
"Tom," he shouted. "Pancakes are done!"
"Coming, master," was the reply, muffled by the corners around which it had to travel. Harry shook his head, a faint smile at the corners of his lips. He wondered if Tom even realised he was so used to calling Harry 'master' that he did so even when he had permission not to? Something in Harry purred at the thought. He realised that the idea of Tom calling him 'master' without it being enforced by the collar was…appealing. If Tom called him 'master', because he trusted Harry to guide him, to lead him…ah, but there was no point thinking of such things. The only reason Tom hadn't killed him yet was because of that collar around his neck, Harry knew that. Any other hopes were just pointless daydreams.
Harry waited for Tom to arrive before he started tucking in. As the man entered, he slid the book back over to Harry. It was open to a page on the British History Museum.
"Is that where you want to go?" asked Harry, munching on a pancake liberally sprinkled with sugar. Tom nodded.
"I know there's a section which is only accessible by wizards. I've heard it's very good." Harry shrugged.
"Alright, your day, your choice. I suppose if you have a scarf on, there's no reason you have to act like a slave even if we meet magicals there." Tom smiled at him, though Harry could tell that it was pained for some reason.
"It's OK, master. I appreciate you trying to make this day as pleasant for me as possible, but I know I'm a slave. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble with the Ministry if someone recognised us and made a report about it." Harry stared at him. Was this actually Tom Riddle? The same Tom Riddle who'd once been Voldemort? The same Tom Riddle who had, not four months ago, spat the title 'master' only because the collar forced him? Now with the offer of pretending not to be a slave for a day, in as much as Harry could make it possible, he chose not to take it? In the end, he just had to shake his head in amazement, and not a little concern.
"It's up to you," he said finally. "After what I did for the Ministry last night, assuming Kingsley wins the election on Tuesday, I doubt they'll be too strict with us. Besides, we do have that report from their last visit – the Ministry representatives said that it would be valid for six months as a guarantee." Tom bowed his head for a moment.
"Thank you, then," he said, meeting eyes with Harry. The depth of emotion in them was…unsettling. Or at least, it was unsettling seeing it in Tom who was usually so carefully blank. Harry just shrugged again.
"How are the pancakes?" The corner of Tom's lips quirked slightly.
"Good, master. Harry," he corrected himself, looking dismayed. So he hadn't realised he'd been doing it.
"I see you prefer the savoury pancakes to start," Harry remarked. "Any reason why?" Tom shrugged elegantly.
"I've never had much of a sweet tooth," he admitted. "I always preferred the savoury options for breakfast at Hogwarts," he revealed. Harry raised his eyebrows. Would the wonders never end? Tom revealing information about himself without being prompted? Such things required a reward – quid pro quo.
"Me too," Harry replied. "The Dursleys always used to give me horribly sweet cereals for breakfast, because they were cheap, which did little to fill or sustain me through the day. When they let me have breakfast, that was," he added grimly. "At the same time, they would order me to cook them piles of eggs and bacon which they would rarely let me taste." OK, that was a bit more depressing than he had intended. "So, when I got to Hogwarts, I used to enjoy all the things I'd rarely ever been allowed," he added, forcing a more jovial note in his voice. It didn't seem to help. Tom was looking at him seriously. Harry hesitated to meet his gaze – if he saw the same pity or awkwardness that he usually saw…
He didn't. No, what he saw in Tom's eyes was anger…and understanding. And guilt. As strange as it was to see guilt in those red eyes, it was unmistakable.
"At the orphanage, we only ever had porridge for breakfast. Oats were cheap, and so was sugar, so we all added it to make the bland porridge more palatable. When I got to Hogwarts, I was shocked at the sheer range of food available. I think I made myself sick more than once that first week by eating too much. None of my housemates could understand why I tucked sausages into my napkin and carried them with me for a while." There was a bitter tone to his voice, a bitterness and an anger that were obviously well-worn.
And the shared story lifted a weight off Harry's shoulders. It was only when it was gone that Harry realised what the weight had been – shame. He had always been ashamed of talking about how the Dursleys had treated him. He knew with his head that he hadn't deserved what they'd done. He knew that it hadn't really even been about him specifically – if he'd been a normal, that is, non-magical boy, he would have probably still been treated as second-class compared to Dudley, but he likely wouldn't have been the dirt on the bottom of their shoes slash live-in servant.
But in his heart? In his heart, he was still that little boy who had seen that the way his family treated him was different to the way they treated Dudley, and he had been told that the reason for it was because there was something wrong with him. And he'd been ashamed of the treatment, because it just announced his freakishness to the world. No one understood that. But Tom did. Tom had clearly known the kind of hunger that made you think, the next time you got food, that maybe you should save a bit of it for later, because you never knew when you would get food again. He had learnt, as Harry had, that eating lots of food when you weren't used to it would soon see you in the bathroom, chucking your guts up.
So Harry just smiled at Tom and said a quiet 'thanks', an acknowledgement of their shared pain, their shared understanding, and their shared experience of how no one else understood. And Tom just nodded back and him and they went back to their pancakes without another word.
XXX
The British History Museum was actually really interesting, Harry realised. He'd never visited it before, of course. Little Whinging had been a bit too far from London for them to go as a school trip, and the Dursleys would never have dreamed of taking him there.
Tom had his scarf on again as they wandered through the exhibits. Harry had been particularly fascinated by the Egyptian one. Even better, Tom had kept up a running commentary – whenever they were far enough from the other people to not risk being over-heard – about how the magical world had intersected with the muggle.
"How do you know all this?" he asked at one point. Tom just raised an eyebrow, an amused tilt to his mouth.
"I read," was his only response. Harry rolled his eyes.
"I know that. Given that whenever you have free time, I'm almost guaranteed to find you with a book in your hands, that's been rather evident," he said dryly. "I meant what area of interest led you to find out so much about Egyptian wizards?" Tom shrugged.
"The Egyptians made huge breakthroughs in rituals – in fact, they pioneered the first staff-cast spells which took less than five minutes to cast."
"Five minutes?" Harry spluttered. Most spells took seconds now. Tom shrugged again, the movement so elegant on him.
"If anyone ever tells you that old and obsolete magic is better or more powerful, just remember this: it became obsolete for a reason, and usually that reason is because someone found out how to surpass it. The first ever recorded spell involved a half an hour chant, along with interpretive dance, and required beseeching a number of gods and eating some rather questionable berries. What did it do? It lit a fire."
"All that for a fire?"
"Yes. Suffice it to say that such spells didn't become popular until they'd been significantly more refined."
"I imagine not," agreed Harry. With all that kerfuffle, muggle methods would probably have been far quicker.
When they got to the wizard-only section, – which required touching the glass of an exhibit on Ancient Mesopotamian pottery with the tip of his wand and then being in contact with Tom while they walked through – Tom kept his scarf on but became rather…twitchy. Whenever someone was in sight, he seemed to have to fight against himself to not retreat behind Harry's shoulder, but to remain by the exhibit. He also developed a habit of fidgeting with his scarf, checking that it was completely covering the collar with almost obsessive attention. Harry watched in increasing concern as his face became lined with what looked like irritation but could also be upset. He tried to distract Tom with questions about what they were looking at, but generally he genuinely wanted to know the answers. It seemed to work, partially at least.
XXX
They left the museum in the evening, though they hadn't managed to see it all – the place was far too large to see in a single day. They'd had a quick lunch at the café, but both were rather peckish by the time they left.
"So, what do you feel like?" Harry asked, looking up and down the street. "There's a place down there – a pub, I think. Or we could wander around for a while and look for something else?" Tom thought about it for a while. A pub was not particularly appealing, but neither was wandering up and down London's streets in search of something else…
"Can we take a walk down the street for a while? If we don't see anything else within ten minutes or so, we could go to the pub."
"Sure," Harry replied happily. They set off, Tom having to fight his instinct to allow Harry to go first. They hadn't been out together much, but the times they had had been quite…impactful. If nothing else, today where his general restrictions on behaviour had been lifted, Tom had realised how much he had been conditioned by the collar already, without even knowing it. He had spent the day catching himself calling Harry 'master', despite not being obliged to do so. It just felt…natural by this point. And that scared him. Because he hadn't actually realised it had happened, and if he hadn't realised about that habit being conditioned into him, which other ones had he missed?
He suspected that kneeling was another one. Fortunately, he'd always had permission to eat at the table with his master, so lunch hadn't presented any problems. When Harry had occasionally taken a seat at a bench to give his feet a rest, however…. Tom's first instinct had been to kneel, and it had been quite difficult to force himself not to do so and to sit on the bench next to Harry. Throughout the time he'd spent on the bench, he'd felt edgy, like he was doing something wrong. There was a part of him that seemed to be anticipating a punishment, as he had experienced so many times before. Of course, it hadn't come – that his master condoned the situation was enough for the collar to be quiescent. But somehow, the lack of correction was not reassuring – it just left Tom feeling even more off-balance.
And even worse…there was a part of him that wished he could just go back to normal, to not having to check his impulse to call Harry 'master' out of pride, to be able to kneel when his instincts told him to do so, to not need to wonder who was around him or worry that they might see his collar beneath the scarf because he knew he was already behaving appropriately. It was a part of him that he hadn't realised existed before today, and one that he was desperately trying to supress.
Because honestly? What use would finding his freedom be if he could not appreciate it? What good was it him spending time to find a key when by the time he had found it, he would choose to willingly throw it away, his mind seduced into feeling like his slavery was only natural for him? Because yes, he was afraid of that. He had spent enough time being introspective recently to know that within the growing sense of guilt he felt, there was a very small hint of relief; relief that he no longer had to make the decisions which he'd messed up so badly before. He just had to obey his master, and that was it. And he had no need to feel guilt if he obeyed his master, because his master was making the decisions and owned the consequences of his actions. And the seduction of that thought was…terrifying.
He had to get free; he had to, before he was lost completely and utterly to the slavery.
XXX
In the end, they went back to the pub – they'd seen a few cafés which were still open, but they were going to close soon, and Tom hadn't liked the look of the couple of take-away places. Harry was slightly concerned about his companion – the man had been pretty quiet for the last couple of hours. Even Harry buying him a book he was interested in from the museum gift store as a birthday present hadn't done more than gain a quiet thank you and brief expression of pleasure. Once they were sitting down in the pub, having ordered their food, Harry decided to break the silence.
"Tom? Are you OK?" he asked tentatively. The man could be touchy, after all, and Harry didn't want to prod too much.
"I'm fine thank you, mas-" Harry's slave cut himself off, screwing his eyes tightly closed for a brief moment, before continuing. "I'm fine, thank you, Harry," he repeated, quieter and looking away. His finger-tips brushed the table-top in a seemingly random pattern.
"Ah," said Harry. He had an idea of the problem. He'd noticed how often Tom slipped and called him 'master'. He'd noticed how Tom had hovered next to him when he had sat down on a bench for a rest. He'd noticed how twitchy Tom had been when they were in the magical-only exhibit area and someone had been in sight. What he didn't know was whether he should broach it or not. But, once again, he'd chosen to be a Gryffindor instead of a Slytherin. "Is this about you calling me 'master' despite not having to?" he asked quietly. The way Tom's eyes flicked to him and then away again was a telling sign. Harry nodded. "Look, don't worry about it. It's just a habit, right?" Tom's lips pressed together into a thin line. For a long while, Harry thought he wasn't going to say anything, but then he spoke.
"Have you ever been worried about losing your mind? About losing who you are?" he asked finally, his voice tired and…defeated. Harry thought about it.
"Not as such," he said slowly, "but in my Fifth and Sixth year, there were times I thought I was losing my mind. That was mostly just being your horcrux, though, and feeling your emotions at the worst of times. Not to mention the visions." He shuddered in memory. "Seeing through Nagini's eyes when she bit Arthur Weasley was…" he shook himself, returning to the present. "Is that what you're feeling now?" Tom was silent for another long moment, before finally nodding.
"This collar…it's so insidious. I didn't realise how used I had become to calling you master, to kneeling in your presence until I had to stop myself from doing it." The food arrived – a steak and chips for Harry, a steak and kidney pie for Tom. Neither of them paid much attention to it except for Harry giving the waitress a quick smile in thanks.
"But that's just habit, right? It's not an indication that you're going insane." Harry had to take a moment just to marvel at the situation: who had ever thought this would be his life – counselling a former dark lord? Tom shrugged, the expression not the usual elegant lifting of shoulders. This one was limp, dejected. A curl of guilt squirmed in Harry's stomach – he'd intended this to be a nice day for Tom, a relief from normal. It sounded like he'd just made it more complicated.
"But when a part of me just wants to go back to normal? How can that be anything but me losing what makes me, me?" The words were barely more than a whisper. "When a part of me just wants to kneel next to you, damn the fact that we're in public? When the rest of me is screaming out in protest at the idea, but a small voice inside is remembering back to kneeling next to you after you'd punished me and how damn safe I felt there with your hands running through my hair. How it felt a few days ago when I took the same position again. How am I not losing my mind?!" His hands came up to grip at his hair, tugging harshly. Harry made an executive decision as he realised Tom was on the brink of a breakdown.
"Right," he said, calmly but firmly. "We're going home." So saying, he quickly flicked his wand in a privacy charm. They were in a cubby-hole booth, so the other pub denizens – not that there were many considering it was still fairly earl in the evening – would probably not notice much anyway. No, he might have to confound the waitress – make her think more time had passed. Or maybe not – she didn't look particularly attentive.
Hating the idea of wasting food, Harry conjured a couple of boxes, levitated their food into them and then put a stasis charm on the boxes, finally shrinking them and popping them in his pocket. Looking around, he nodded in satisfaction. He modified the privacy charm to end in ten minutes, and then standing, he pulled Tom gently out of the booth and apparated them home, relying on the charm to mask the noise.
As soon as they were home, he walked straight to the sitting room, going to one of the armchairs by the fire. Pulling a cushion off it, he popped it on the floor by the chair. Reaching up, he gripped Tom gently around the back of his neck, guiding him down to kneel on the cushion. Then, relaxing into the armchair, he smoothed his hands through Tom's hair. The man shook briefly, as if holding back some strong emotion, his hands lifting once more to grip at his hair.
"None of that," Harry told him firmly, brushing his hands away. "Grip your knees if you must." He saw Tom take his advice, gripping onto his knees with a white-knuckled grip. Harry stroked through Tom's hair a few more times before he let his hand slip lower onto the back of Tom's neck where he left it, a warm, heavy weight. "Now, what's going through your head? Why is this hitting you all of a sudden?"
Because honestly, Harry had thought he was doing fine. He'd seemed to be slowly settling into his new life well enough. Yes, they'd been some difficult patches, and he certainly hadn't taken it all in good grace, but frankly, Harry would have considered it concerning if he had. In fact, when Tom had been so…accepting that morning about being a slave, Harry had been concerned. Was this something to do with the Ministry ball? Had someone said something to Tom? He'd seemed to be fine before that, so surely that had to be the source? Or was it just that he was a very good actor and this was the breaking point? Harry didn't know the answer, but he would be patient until Tom gave it to him.
Tom jerked, almost violently, and gasped a short breath. His outbreath sounded like a sob, and when Harry leant over so he could see Tom's face, he realised that there was a glistening tear running down his porcelain cheek. Figuring that Tom would hate to have sweet nothings cooed at him, Harry chose to stay silent instead, stroking his hair once more, gentle strokes which ran through his silky locks, scratched at his scalp, and continued down his neck to his shoulder blades.
XXX
Tom felt like he was falling apart. He felt like something inside him had shattered and the only thing holding him together was the warm hand running through his hair, gripping the nape of his neck, and then smoothing over his shoulders.
It had just…it had just suddenly become all too much. He had been keeping himself going with the promise of freedom, with his assertions to himself that all the submission he gave his master was to the greater end of earning his trust so he could find a solution to his slavery. So to find out that while he had thought he was but donning the mask of slavery for his own ends, in reality he himself was being changed…it was a shock to him. It hadn't been like this on Christmas Day, but then he'd barely seen his master all day, so life was not much different from normal. He hadn't realised… The promise of freedom was still there, but he knew he was still at least four months away from being able to produce a potential counter-enchantment, maybe more. And if this was evidence of how much he had degenerated in just four months of real slavery? He had a real fear that by the time he actually found a solution, he would have lost the part of himself that wanted to be free.
The emotional shocks had just kept coming recently, and Tom was feeling emotionally bruised. He almost longed for the time when the only emotions he had felt were rage, hate, and greed. He'd been assailed by gratitude towards and from his master, by anger on behalf of his master, by empathy for his master and other slaves, and guilt. Oh, how he had been feeling guilt recently. Guilt about his actions from creating horcruxes in the first place to killing Harry's parents. From snaring witches and wizards in a web of words that painted a picture he'd never intended to come about, to killing so many for what seemed such petty aims to him now. He'd…he'd been coming to realise just how screwed up he had made things, and seeing the state of so many of the people who had followed him last night had been the final nail in the coffin of his ability to justify his actions to himself.
And a new aspect of guilt had made itself known – why should he be with a kind master when they were not? Sure, perhaps some of them were utterly horrible people; many of the Death Eaters may easily have ended up criminals regardless of what Tom had chosen to do. But what about Nott's son – a young man barely out of Hogwarts? What had he done to deserve being abused when Tom himself was having a practically cushy experience in comparison? Tom doubted he'd even killed anyone. Not like Tom, who had killed someone at sixteen, all to ensure his own immortality.
Throughout Tom's life he'd hurt others. Some of it was justifiable, maybe: they'd hurt him first. But much of it was not. The Cruciatus had been his favourite curse for a reason – watching the proud pure-blooded witches and wizards who believed they were so much better than a lowly half-blood writhing under his power was…addicting. He'd carried around so much pain and rage for so long now, even before he'd ever heard of Hogwarts. It was hard to admit that maybe he was wrong for using that as an excuse to hurt others, to hurt people who had never hurt him. That maybe, instead of the limit-surpassing genius he had always thought of himself, maybe he was just a coward, as much as any wizard who had hiddn in his own home while Lord Voldemort took over.
It had taken Harry, who really should have been feeling as much pain and rage towards him from what Voldemort had done to him, choosing not to take his revenge for Tom to see things in a different way. It had taken Harry giving him his magic as a Christmas present; doing his best to celebrate his birthday with him; defending him against people who sought to take advantage of his status; caring about his state of mind; and now, doing his best to help Tom find a way through this emotional morass. It had taken Harry showing him that there was another way to react to injury, rather than the revenge and retribution he had grown up learning was the only way to respond without showing weakness.
Harry could have locked him in the basement, chained him to the wall not just as a punishment for a recent misdemeanour of Tom's, but simply because of what Voldemort had done to him. He could have punished Tom every day for his actions. He didn't. He didn't even do what the masters Tom had seen at the ball had done – subjugated their slaves simply because they could. Tom thought back to Travers and shivered – that could have been him…that should have been him. But it wasn't, and that was thanks to Harry.
But the very fact that Tom was feeling all these things made a part of him gibber in terror. Because these were the thoughts of a slave, surely. These were not the way a free man thought, were they? And he was sure he wanted to be free, wasn't he? He was grateful to his master for not using his power, but in being grateful, surely that acknowledged that Harry had power over him in the first place? And to be thankful for Harry not treating how he deserved to be treated…that was acknowledging that someone else had moral authority to determine it. And that…that was a thought which was too new, too painful for Tom to properly grasp. He had never accepted that anyone had moral authority over him – orphanage workers, teachers, Ministry workers, employers…they had only had authority over him for a brief moment; and that only in a physical sense, and because Tom had allowed it, because he needed what they offered him at that time. As soon as their use was ended, so was any authority they had.
But Harry…Harry had the power to force him to do things, yes, but that wasn't the main reason for his authority. No, while it might have started out like that, Tom now realised that he actually valued Harry's words, valued the insight he gave and the scraps of information he let slip. Harry…understood him, in many ways. Not completely, but a lot better than most people did. Dumbledore had seen through his mask, but had never seen the boy deep inside. Thanks to his similar childhood experiences, something else Tom felt a wrenching sense of guilt about, Harry did. Harry saw his manipulative tendencies and accepted them, as much as he refused to let them take hold of him. He saw Tom as a person, something many people hadn't. So yes, Tom was slowly realising that he had given Harry authority over him for more than just Tom's immediate benefit. And that realisation was one of the most terrifying of all.
And so the conflict within him, the two opposing thought processes running through his mind tore him apart. He sobbed, once. Twice. The sounds escaped him without his permission, as did the single tear tracing its way from the corner of his eye down his cheek. The warm hand on the back of his head, on his neck, between his shoulders…it grounded him. But he couldn't relax into it, not the way a part of him wanted. He wouldn't, submit to that part of him, the part that longed to just lean against his master's legs like he had once before, let his master take the weight of his pain, the weight of his sins and do with them what he willed. He couldn't. And there was another part of him, an even newer part that said…he didn't deserve it.
XXX
Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that. Tom's neck and shoulder-blades were rigid and tense below his fingers, and no matter how long he spent trying to soothe the man, it wasn't improving. At least Tom's breathing had calmed down from its ragged gasps and occasional sobs. The man hadn't said a word, and somehow Harry knew he shouldn't push. Whatever was going through Tom's mind was evidently big. Harry even would venture to say that it scared the hell out of the man from what he had seen.
Sighing slightly after they'd been sitting for a while with no change, Harry took his hand away and got up. He looked down at his slave, who was still looking more dejected than he'd ever seen the man, and decided that maybe the best thing was to give him a bit of space.
"I'm going to eat dinner in the kitchen. If you want to have your dinner, come to the kitchen. I'll leave it under a stasis charm, so come whenever." There was no response except the barest inclination of his head. Sighing again, Harry left the room. As promised, he plated the food he'd taken away with him and then recast the stasis charm on Tom's plate. His own food was still as hot as when it had first arrived – the stasis charm did exactly that; held things in a particular state, so his chips were still crunchy, and his steak was still warm and juicy.
Harry ate in silence – Tom didn't come. His mind turned over the events of the day, trying to work out exactly why Tom had said he was 'losing' himself. So he was automatically calling Harry 'master' even when he didn't have to? Harry had continued calling Remus 'Professor Lupin' for years after the man had stopped being his teacher, despite the werewolf telling him to call him Remus. Habits were habits. They didn't necessarily mean anything, did they? Unless it was about the implication – perhaps Tom was worried that because he was calling Harry 'master' it meant he was actually coming to accept his position as a slave?
Well, that wasn't such a bad thing, was it? It would certainly make both their lives a lot easier if Tom wasn't fighting Harry all the way. Frankly, Harry had enjoyed the last few weeks where Tom hadn't been so irritating: it had certainly been more pleasant to come home to dinner on the table and a peaceful meal than other times in the past when the atmosphere around the table had been so full of resentment that the only thing stopping him from taking his meal to another room had been his pure stubbornness and refusal to be run out of his own kitchen.
Perhaps the man was worried that by losing that resentment, that anger, he would lose himself? Merlin knows Voldemort had been nothing more than a bundle of rage and violence. But Tom was more than that, and Harry hoped he'd realise it. Harry didn't want a broken slave as much as Tom didn't want to be one – Harry enjoyed their duels, their conversations, discovering more about each other, being able to reveal parts of himself that he usually kept hidden because he knew the man would understand… There was no reason Tom had to lose those parts of himself to the slavery. And frankly, if Tom did lose the arrogance and false self-confidence which had characterised those first few weeks together…well, Harry wouldn't mourn it.
XXX
"Potter," Harry's trainer called after him at the end of a session. "Memo for you." Harry went to the front to take the piece of parchment from him. Huh. Kingsley wanted to see him in his office.
"Thanks," he muttered to the hard-faced woman who was his battle-tactics trainer. The Auror nodded at him, her face as stern as always. Hurrying out, he took the elevator up to the Minister's floor. There, he had to wait for about ten minutes in the reception area, before the Minister's door opened, two people exiting after shaking hands with the Minister. Kingsley looked around and spotted Harry.
"Ah, Harry. Good. Come on in," he said with a note of warmth in his voice, beckoning Harry in. After sitting down at the desk, Harry looked at him warily.
"I suppose I should first say congratulations, Minister," Harry told him with a grin. The papers a week ago had confirmed that Kingsley had won the elections by a landslide. Voting in them had been interesting for Harry, since it was the first time he'd ever done it. He'd had to go along to a specific area in the Ministry where he'd been given a special piece of parchment and quill. He'd had to sign his name first, wait for it to flash green in confirmation that he was who he said he was, and that he was eligible to vote, then tick his choice for Minister for Magic. A moment later, the parchment had folded itself up and zipped into a box to one side of the room and that was it.
"Thanks," Kingsley replied, a satisfied smile on his face as he leant back in his chair. "Thanks for your help: I'm sure your clear support was very important." Harry shrugged.
"I'm not so sure about that – a war hero who's also a provably competent Minister? Who wouldn't vote for that?"
"The people who don't agree with the direction I'm taking in the Ministry, perhaps?" Kingsley asked rhetorically with a raised eyebrow. Harry shrugged again.
"I suppose, but I'm not sure how people can disagree with beefing up security, rebuilding what was damaged by the war, and reforming the out-dated practices which only benefit a minority." Then Harry realised what he had said and held up a hand, halting Kingsley's response. "Scratch that – yes, OK, I get it. Some people see their power disappearing and would prefer someone else in charge, someone who won't take it away from them." Kingsley nodded slowly.
"Well spotted, Harry. We'll make a politician of you yet." Harry shuddered at the thought.
"No thanks. I'm happy trying to become an Auror." Then, a thought occurred to him. "Though, I was speaking to Hermione at the ball."
"Oh yes?" Kingsley acknowledged, his tone casual but his eyes suddenly sharp.
"Yeah. She was talking about what she's trying to accomplish in bringing oversight of the slaves under her department." Kingsley made a note of acknowledgement, but didn't say anything further. Harry continued, his eyes on the man, watching his reactions carefully. "She said that she's having problems convincing her counterpart in the Ministry Department of Corrections to release control, and suspects it's due to a conflict of interest on the Head's part. Having met the illustrious Mr Dogbane, I would have to agree with her."
"What are you trying to say, Harry?" Harry narrowed his eyes at the man.
"I'm saying that it doesn't really sound like you to condone abuse, even if it's by inaction. And don't try to deny that we're talking about abuse. I'm sure you saw as well as I did what state most of those slaves are in. Yes, perhaps we could argue that Death Eaters like the Lestranges or the Carrows deserve anything they get after what they did to so many people, but I saw plenty of people there who I either recognised as being non-combatant supporters or people like Theodore Nott, a classmate of mine who can't have become a sadistic murderer and torturer in just a few months, surely. I can't see how they could have done anything to deserve what they're going through. So I really can't see why you're not giving Hermione more support in bringing them under her jurisdiction. You know she'll put the effort into improving their situations without needing much help from you." There was a long pause as Kingsley looked at him searchingly, seriously. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand across his face.
"It's not that simple," he admitted. "Being Minister…it's different from being a simple Auror, very different. As an Auror, it was my job to stand up for justice, and to disagree with the establishment if I saw justice being perverted. As Minister…I have to do my best to hold together the disparate elements of our society, if I don't want another dark lord to rise in the next generation. Our society is able to undergo a big change because of the events of the war, but not everyone is on-board with that. As we said earlier, there is a part of society that was very happy under the rules of the old Ministry, and are not keen to see it changed. Dogbane is not Head of Department because he's particularly exceptional in any sort of way; he's Head because of his influence. He got the position because he has a group of powerful friends and by putting him in a position of relative power, it curbs that group's desire to buck the trend."
"They're sacrificial pawns," Harry said, dawning horror in his voice as he realised. Kingsley looked at him and raised his eyebrows. Harry swallowed and then explained his thoughts. "You're using the slaves as sacrifices to their desire to dominate, to control. While they have the slaves at home to take their anger and their frustration at the way the system is changing, you don't have to worry about them banding together to create a more organised opposition." He looked at Kingsley in a new light – nothing he had seen of the man through all the time they'd worked together during the war had indicated him capable of this kind of ruthlessness. Suddenly, he wondered whether he'd backed the right horse in this race. Kingsley sighed again, his face suddenly looking very tired.
"Not a bad summation," he admitted, "but incomplete." Harry made a go-on gesture, crossing his arms as he frowned at the man. He'd earned the right to explain himself, if nothing else. "You're right about me using the slaves as a distraction to keep those elements from making too much trouble, but you're wrong if you think I ever intended this situation to go on for too long." He paused and eyed Harry. "Actually, that brings me on to what I wanted to talk to you about. I said I'd tell you the next time I wanted you to use your image for political aims, so…"
"Alright," Harry said, intrigued despite himself. He had to say he was relieved to know that Kingsley had had a plan to prevent the abuse from continuing, though was still a bit disturbed that it had been part of the Minister's intentions in the first place. "What's your plan?" Kingsley paused for a moment, then started speaking, his voice deep and slow.
"We've recently arrested a man on serious charges of illegal potions trafficking. He had been on the Auror's watch list before the war really started again, but it was only during the last year that he got sloppy enough to leave sufficient evidence to be brought against him. But now he's in the cells, awaiting trial. It's pretty likely he'll be convicted and sentenced to a good couple of decades in Azkaban, but even if not, he'll be in the cells for some time while the case is constructed – his charges and flight risk are serious enough to reject his request for bail. What that means is that the Ministry has had to confiscate his slave. Now, his slave is in a very bad condition and only has three months left of his sentence."
"Don't tell me you're thinking what I think you're thinking," Harry said, a note of apprehension in his voice. Kingsley just ignored him.
"So, what I was thinking was that it would be a good idea for the Man-who-Conquered, who already has a slave who is noticeably obedient without being abused, to take this slave on for the final months of his sentence. Then, suitably shocked by the condition which you find the slave in, you will do an interview with a sympathetic reporter. Done well, prepared sufficiently, maybe even with the slave in question featuring – before and after photos, perhaps – it could stoke a wave of anti-slavery sentiment which would then give me the freedom to pass the oversight of the current slaves over to someone who has a history of defending the vulnerable." Kingsley gave Harry a significant look. Harry took all that in. It sounded rather complex…
"…How long have you been planning this?" Kingsley shrugged.
"When I became aware of the extent to which the slaves were being abused, and then Hermione approached me, I started thinking of ways to help the situation. This event just seemed like a good opportunity to do something about it. So, will you do it?" Harry thought carefully about the situation. Part of him wanted to do it. He'd definitely been disturbed at the plight of so many of the slaves – if he could do something to help them…
But there was also Tom to think about. Grimmauld Place was Tom's home, and bringing in someone else could be problematic. Especially since the man wasn't doing very well at the moment. Since his breakdown on New Year's Day, he'd been snappish and angry, his tone and actions almost going back to what he'd been like when he had first arrived. Harry had tried to be understanding, but that didn't seem to be helping things and his patience was wearing thin – Grimmauld Place was also Harry's home.
In the end, though, what could he do? He understood where Kingsley was coming from, and admitted that the message coming from him would have a lot more impact than coming from someone else – both because he was the Man-who-Conquered, and because he had a slave himself. What other slave-owners would dismiss being said by someone without one, perhaps deciding they were ignorant or jealous, they couldn't dismiss from someone with one. That the slaves had to finish their sentences was not in question; that they might be able to do so without permanent mental scarring was.
"Fine." Harry agreed finally. "But if this starts causing problems with Tom, I'm going to have to hand him back," he warned. Kingsley shrugged.
"That's fair. I'll have him brought up now."
"Wait, now?!" Harry asked, alarmed. "I haven't prepared anything! I haven't warned Tom about it!" Kingsley paused in reaching for a piece of parchment.
"Harry, this slave has been in terrible conditions for months. If you want to leave him in the cells downstairs for a bit longer, fine, but I really think he should go home with you as soon as possible. Seriously." Harry stared at him a moment longer, then groaned.
"Fine. Bring him up. Who is it, anyway?"
"Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy!" Harry jumped to his feet. "You're not serious! He and I will probably kill each other before the end of the term! We almost did at school, for Merlin's sake!" Kingsley just looked at him, not a hint of humour on his face.
"I highly doubt that, Harry. You'll see why when he arrives." Groaning once more, Harry fell back heavily into his chair. He watched Kingsley through hooded eyes as the man sent off a memo and then prepared another document that Harry recognised as a certificate of ownership.
"How can you even do this, anyway?" Harry asked after a few minutes of silence. "Just take the slave away?"
"Technically, slaves aren't sold – they're leased," Kingsley answered without looking up from the document he was filling in. "It's almost like their punishment is being contracted out. The masters are expected to aim for both punishment and reformation in their methods – the problem at the moment being too much punishment and not enough reformation since there are rules about minimum punishment, but not about minimum reformative actions. If the Ministry is alerted that the master is not treating the slave in an appropriate manner, for example after a report that the slave has been behaving badly in public without chastisement, appropriate people are sent to investigate. Should it be discovered that the slave is not being treated in accordance with the Ministry guidance, the Ministry can terminate the lease contract and confiscate the slave for resale, or rather, re-leasing. Similarly, in this situation, the master is not able to provide appropriate care to the slave because he is detained within our holding cells. Should his detainment be proven unnecessary, which is unlikely, the Ministry would refund him the months of lease he paid for but was unable to take advantage of." Kingsley finished writing on the certificate of ownership and passed it over to Harry who quickly scanned through it.
It was basically the same as the certificate he'd received for Tom. The difference was that instead of 'in perpetuity', the end date was the 27th of April, 2000 and there was a requirement that he release the slave in acceptable physical condition. He signed at the bottom with a sigh. Another stray.
"What about with Tom," Harry asked curiously. "Since his collar won't respond to anyone else…" Kingsley tilted his head from side to side.
"That's a bit more complicated," he admitted. "Technically you're under the same rules as anyone else, and should you not treat your slave appropriately, he could be taken away. But…well, given that his collar won't respond to anyone else without your prior orders, we'd then be forced to take care of him ourselves using less effective methods. So, I'd say that as long as he's not obviously out of control, you should be fine." Harry nodded. He'd been having similar thoughts, but it was good to have them confirmed.
"So Malfoy, will he be with me for the rest of his sentence or do I need to bring him back by a certain day?" Kingsley shook his head.
"No, he's with you for the rest of his sentence, if you're OK with that. You need to bring him back on the last day of his sentence so he can be set free properly, but other than that…" he trailed off as a knock fell on the door. "Come in," he instructed, his voice brisk. The door opened and an Auror entered, a figure trailing behind him.
Unlike the last time a situation like this had occurred – meeting Tom for the first time – Malfoy was not restrained in any way, disregarding the leash attached to his collar. Clearly, he didn't need to be. Harry couldn't help from gasping at the first sight of his once-rival. He looked…bad. Seriously bad. While walking, his head was hunched down into his shoulders, his hair – longer than Harry had ever seen it – hiding his face completely. His movements were light, skittish, and he flinched as soon as the Auror stopped, almost backpedalling in his panic. Immediately, as if his strings were cut, he collapsed to his knees, lowering his head almost to the floor.
He was dressed in rags worse than the ragged tunic Tom had arrived with – perhaps this had once been the same garment, but it was so ripped and damaged that it was barely decent anymore. The skin was tight on his bones, once muscled arms and legs now little more than sticks. His once-pale skin was mottled with bruises and cuts. And was that a lash mark curling under his tunic? Harry looked up at Kingsley, and was sure his mouth was open in disbelief.
"I warned you it was bad," the man said grimly. "Thank you Auror Jones," he said to the accompanying Auror who nodded in deference, dropped the chain leash on the carpet, and then disappeared out of the office, closing the door. "Believe it or not, we've actually healed the worst wounds. Had we not done anything, he would have been at risk of a pulmonary infection from being half-drowned, and a couple of the deeper cuts were in the first stages of septicaemia. Not to mention his internal damage from being beaten, among other things." Harry swallowed, his decision to take Malfoy home firming up. If he could stop this from happening to others…no one deserved to be treated like this.
"OK, so what next? Do I just take him?" Kingsley nodded.
"Pretty much. Since you're doing this as a favour to the Ministry, we won't expect you to pay for the 'use' of the slave. I'll be in contact with you later apropos the interview – probably in a couple of weeks or so. It'll give both of you time to settle down." Harry nodded. "Draco, this is your new master," Kingsley addressed the man kneeling on the ground in a stern voice. Malfoy twitched, but didn't make any other sound. "Harry, give him an order, make sure the collar's switched as it should have."
"Malfoy, get up," Harry ordered neutrally. There was no reaction at first, then, a moment later, the figure twitched slightly before bolting to his feet.
"I'm sorry, master, I'm sorry!" Malfoy – Draco – gasped, his voice sounding absolutely terrified. Harry was rather discomforted – he had never heard the other man sound like that, not even in that bathroom with his blood pouring out of him.
"Easy," he found himself saying gently. "It's OK. Next time, you'll know, alright?" Not expecting an answer, he turned to Kingsley. "Can I use your floo to get home?"
"Sure," the man replied, gesturing towards the pot of floo powder on the hearth. Harry nodded in thanks and then turned to…his new slave.
"Come here, Malfoy," he said with the same gentle tone. The man obeyed, his trembling increasing the closer he got to his new master. Harry reached out slowly towards his collar, pausing when the man cringed away, but then immediately returned to his position, as if he had been punished before for trying to avoid his master's touch. He probably had, mused Harry darkly. Continuing his slow movement, he eventually gripped the leash near where it connected to his collar and moved towards the fireplace. As they got closer to the flames, Malfoy started begging, low at first, but then louder.
"Master, please, please no, please master! I'll be good, I'll be good!" Harry looked at Kingsley helplessly. The man just looked back at him, a dark look in his eyes.
"We didn't just find bruises, cuts and lash marks under his tunic – we also found burns," he warned. Harry just glared at him.
"Thanks for warning me," he snapped sarcastically. "Hush, Draco," he said absently. The man immediately shut up, only the increased trembling that Harry felt under his hand indicating his continued fear. "Anything else you'd like to tell me about?" he invited Kingsley, hoping the answer was 'no'. Instead, the Minister just looked thoughtful.
"I think you need to consider that whatever twisted tortures you can think of, if they don't immediately lead to permanent physical injury, your new slave has probably experienced them." Harry blanched. That was…that was more than he had expected. He looked at Draco with new eyes – even if Kingsley was exaggerating, they'd have one hell of a journey ahead of them.
Suddenly, Harry felt exhausted at the thought – he wasn't a healer, he wasn't a therapist. Why did he keep getting these cases? First an identity-confused former dark lord, now a completely traumatised torture victim. It was just more of being Harry Potter, he decided glumly. Coming out of his thoughts, he tossed a quick 'thanks' at Kingsley, though knowing it sounded a bit begrudging. Turning to Draco, he made an effort to remove the frown from his face.
"It's OK, Draco," he said soothingly, deciding that using the man's first name would better separate them from their school-yard rivalry. "You haven't been bad. I'm not punishing you. We're going to use the floo to go home, OK?" The trembling didn't subside. Sighing, Harry continued their movement towards the floo, taking a pinch of powder and dropping it into the flames and then reaching out to grip Draco's neck gently. Miraculously, when the flames turned green, the slave under his hand relaxed very slightly and his trembling reduced a little. Good. They wouldn't need to apparate, then. Sure, it would have been very awkward to walk through the Ministry like this, but Harry wasn't horrible enough to force a man into a traumatising situation just for pride.
Calling out for his house, Harry stepped into the fireplace, the gentle grip he had on Draco's neck pulling the man with him. Arriving in the sitting room, Harry quickly cleaned both of them off, trying to ignore the flinch at his wand. When they had stood still for more than a few seconds, Draco once more collapsed to his knees. Harry knelt in front of him, reaching out to grip his chin and lift his head. There was no resistance to his direction, but even with his head up, Draco's eyes remained fixed on the floor.
"Look at me," Harry instructed gently. Those grey orbs flicked towards him, and then away again, as if even a direct order from his master wasn't strong enough to overcome his conditioning for more than a moment. Still, the brief eye contact they'd made was enough to confirm his suspicions – Draco didn't recognise him.
The thought was so surprising, it took Harry back for more than a moment. How could the man who'd been a thorn in his side ever since they'd met at eleven not recognise him? Heck, Harry had practically stalked him for a year and then had almost killed him, after he'd tried to torture Harry. What had been done to him that he'd forgotten Harry?
"Master, where have you been?" An irate voice broke into his thoughts. He looked up to see Tom storming into the room, his eyes flashing with irritation. "Dinner's been ready for-" he cut himself off, staring at the sight. "Master…?" he started slowly, his tone heavy with foreboding. Harry sighed, dropping Draco's chin. He immediately returned to his almost prostrate position. Harry stood, muttering an absent-minded 'stay here' at the slave at his feet, then turned his eyes to the slave in the doorway.
"Let's go to the kitchen," he suggested, his tone making it clear that it wasn't just a suggestion. With another flash of his eyes, Tom turned on his heel and stomped into the kitchen.
"You're replacing me?" Harry was met with this accusation as soon as he entered the room. So surprised by it, he didn't find a response in time to stop the continued diatribe. "You're tired of me being…being not-submissive, so you went out to find a pretty little thing who'll kneel at your feet without you having to put them there, who'll be grateful for everything you give them that they'll kiss your hand and thank you in such a lovely tone of voice that you'll be able to feel good about yourself and-"
"Tom!" Harry shouted, finally, completely exasperated. "Shut. Up," he ordered. The man immediately did so, his eyes flashing even more. Crossing his arms and huffing, Tom made it very clear via non-verbal means that he was not happy. Well, tough. Because frankly, after the day he'd had, Harry was rather not happy himself. Breathing in and out heavily, he brought up a hand to rub his temples. "I need a drink," he muttered. Matching action to words, he summoned a glass and his firewhisky decanter. Pouring himself a measure, he sipped at it, closing his eyes in pleasure at the taste. Thus fortified, he opened his eyes again and gazed at Tom.
"Right. Let's address these ridiculous accusations, shall we? No, I'm not replacing you. Yes, your attitude has been pretty awful the last few days, but I understood why. That said, I'm not putting up with it any longer," he said firmly, eyeing his slave. "You've had your chance to sulk over your breakdown, now put it behind you and let's see a return of the Tom I'd been starting to see before, OK? The Tom that actually works with me and is vaguely helpful rather than the Tom who acts like a brat. Understood? You're allowed to speak."
"Yes, master," Tom replied, begrudgingly. That was OK, Harry could deal fine with passive-aggression; it was the outright arguing and deliberate disobedience that Harry refused to deal with. He reckoned Tom had been punished more by the collar in the last two weeks than the last two months. Harry had had to resist using Punire more than a couple of times – he hadn't been pleased when he came back home to find dinner wasn't cooked, for example, due to Tom being up in the library researching how to escape the collar. Not that Tom knew that Harry knew that he was researching how to escape, but even so.
"OK, good. Because I'm going to need your help," Harry continued seriously. He saw the effect his words had on his slave when Tom's glare lightened a little and his arms loosened very slightly. "That slave through there is Draco Malfoy, or at least, what remains of him."
"What do you mean, master?" Tom asked, the begrudging edge now replaced with unease. Harry looked at him steadily.
"You know how you were worried that you'd lose your mind to slavery? As far as I can tell, he has." Harry shook his head, his lips pressing into a single line. "He's…he's broken, and I don't know how to fix it." The words rushed out of him like water from a faucet. Because it was true, Harry realised. The man kneeling on the floor in the sitting room bore no resemblance to the Malfoy he had known, and while Harry hadn't liked the man he'd been, he'd had a personality. This man…there was nothing left but the slave, from what Harry had seen so far. Looking into his eyes had been the biggest clue – they had been completely lifeless; it was like Draco was dead inside and just waiting for his body to get the message and stop moving. And that? Harry didn't know if it was possible to come back from that. "So…so," he grappled for words. "I would appreciate if you can help me help him, as much as we can. His sentence ends in April and as he is now, there's no way he could be released into the world."
Tom looked at him, his eyes unreadable. Harry couldn't tell what he was thinking. Was he jealous that Draco's sentence had an end when his didn't? Surely he couldn't be jealous of Draco – after everything Harry suspected the other man had been through, Harry couldn't believe anyone could feel anything but horror. But this was Tom he was thinking of; the man's reactions were not always the most logical. Finally, he dipped his head in a nod.
"You'll help?" Harry clarified.
"I'll try, master," Tom corrected, his voice sounding neutral for the first time in what seemed like ages. "It's not something I'm accustomed to doing but…I got him into this situation, I suppose the least I can do is try to help him out of it." And, Harry supposed as he thought about it, from one perspective, that was true – if Tom hadn't been Lord Voldemort, there would have been no Death Eaters to join. But Tom wasn't the only factor in this situation – Lucius Malfoy had played a big part in it, as had Draco himself. But if feeling guilty about Draco being in this situation convinced Tom to try helping, then well and good.
"OK, good. Thank you," Harry said, suddenly feeling a rush of gratitude. This didn't seem so big, now he knew they'd be able to work on it together. "I suppose I'd better get Draco. Is supper something that can be stretched for three people?" Tom shrugged.
"It's just rice and a curry mix, so probably. But master?" Harry made a questioning noise. "Do you know when he last ate?" Huh, that was a good point. Given how emaciated he looked, Harry suspected his previous master had adhered to the 'one bowl of gruel a day' method.
"Good point," Harry admitted aloud. "Can you make a cup-a-soup or something for him, maybe?" Tom went to check the cupboards to see if they had any packet soup around. Holding up a packet triumphantly after rustling around in the corner cupboard for a few moments, Tom gave him a nod, his mouth quirking slightly at the corners.
"I think that can be arranged," he replied finally. Harry smiled back at him, then turned to go get Draco.
XXX
Tom heated up a kettle on the hob, pouring it into a mug and stirring the soup powder into it. With one ear, he paid attention to the passageway, eventually hearing two sets of steps on the stairs. Dishing up the food, he placed it on the table as Harry slid into his chair.
"Now, you can sit here, Draco," Harry told the newest member of the household, pointing at a chair opposite Tom's normal place. Tom wanted to roll his eyes – Harry hadn't realised Draco had already knelt down by his chair and wasn't paying any attention to where he was pointing.
"Master," Tom broke in with a note of exasperation in his voice. "Look." Harry looked.
"Oh. Draco, you don't have to kneel during the meals, you can sit at the table." Predictably, Draco didn't respond. Tom sighed. Harry had been right when he'd said that he had no idea of what to do in a situation like this. Tom had also been telling the truth when he'd said that he had no experience in helping traumatised people, but that didn't mean he didn't have experience with them full stop. Granted, the experience he did have was primarily based in breaking them further until they gave him the information he wanted or did what he wanted. But from what he'd learnt there and his own experience at the beginning of the year when he had tried to fight the conditioning of the last few months…well, there was no way Draco was going to be able to sit at the table and eat normally as if nothing had happened.
"Master," he sighed. Harry looked up at him. "It's not going to work," he said simply.
"Why not?" Harry asked belligerently. "He doesn't have to kneel while eating – you don't!" Tom looked at him steadily.
"No," he agreed, "but it's probably better not to change everything at once." An idea of an analogy occurred. "Remember when you first went to Hogwarts. Did you ever eat too much and end up having to run to the bathroom to be sick?" Harry looked away.
"I'd learned that lesson before I went to Hogwarts," he murmured. Tom nodded slowly.
"It's like that. If you change too much at one time, he's not going to take it well, master. In fact, it could be worse than useless and actually set any progress back. Right now, what is more important – that he eats or that he sits at the table?"
"That he eats," admitted Harry. "But I hate treating him like…"
"Like a slave," suggested Tom, though as he said the words, he knew they were unfair. Harry's glare told him that his master had felt they were unfair.
"I treat you like a slave – that doesn't mean I expect you to be like this." Tom opened his mouth to argue, but in the end shut it again. Because while it was true that in certain respects, Harry did treat Tom like a slave, in many respects he didn't. But if he hadn't realised that, Tom wasn't going to be the one to tell him. In the end, he changed his words.
"Perhaps that was the wrong way of putting it, master, but you're going to have to acknowledge that the slavery you have practised and the slavery this man has experienced are likely worlds apart." He ignored the 'good' that his master muttered, though he was relieved to hear it. "You can't move him from one world to another directly – it has to be a series of small steps. Change the most important things first, and recognise that the less important ones may never change." Harry was looking at him in a funny way.
"I thought you said you hadn't had any experience in this sort of thing? You sound rather knowledgeable for someone with no experience." Tom hesitated, then looked away.
"I said I hadn't had any experience in helping, master," he admitted in a low voice. Then, looking towards his master and locking gazes with almost defiance in his voice, he continued. "I know the process of breaking someone intimately. It stands to reason that I can apply the same concepts in reverse." There was a long pause as Harry took that in.
"I see," was all he said in the end, his voice neutral. Tom wasn't sure whether he'd received the reaction he'd expected. Frankly, he thought not. "So, what do you suggest we do here, then?"
"See if he'll drink from the mug on his own. If he won't, he's probably used to being hand-fed, so you'll have to hold the mug for him."
"I don't want to treat him like a baby," Harry exclaimed. Tom shrugged.
"Then he might not get anything to eat tonight." Sighing heavily, Harry started trying to coax Draco into eating. Tom slid into his own chair and started his food – it was already getting cold, he noted with displeasure.
Next to him, Harry gave up trying to get Draco to eat by himself. Holding the mug and tilting it, Harry got him to drink the contents of the mug. The man looked nauseous by the end of it, but fortunately the contents of his stomach stayed where they should. His duty done, Harry then turned to his food. Tasting it, he grimaced briefly, casting a warming charm on it.
"It would have been warm if you'd been home on time," Tom sniped, regretting the words as soon as they'd emerged from his mouth – he'd promised to try. Harry slammed his hand on the table and glared at him, Draco jumping sharply at the sound.
"For Merlin's sake, Tom! You know what I was doing! I would have been home on time if I'd had the option!" Tom lowered his eyes to the table, guilt squirming in his gut. A brief flick of his eyes to the silver-haired man kneeling next to his master reminded him that everything could be a lot worse.
"I'm sorry, master," he murmured. Harry took in a sharp breath.
"Is the collar making you apologise?" he asked suspiciously. Tom shook his head, flicking his eyes back up.
"No, master. I…I said I'd try, and I will. It's just…" he wasn't sure how to finish, so just waved his hand vaguely. Harry sat back in his chair, his gaze calmer.
"I know," Harry replied, quietly. "But…I'm trying too, Tom. And this is my home as well. It…it hasn't been pleasant coming home recently." Tom winced. He hadn't really been thinking about his impact on his master. He'd been more concerned with his own dark emotions, his own fear and shame.
His experiences on New Year's Day had revealed things that might have been better buried. The revelations he had come to had been…disconcerting. He'd been spending the last two weeks trying to deny a good number of them, principally the ones which seemed to undermine his desire to be free. And the way he'd been denying them? He'd been trying to act in ways that proved he was still himself. He'd been defiant, angry, aggressive. He'd triggered the collar so many times he'd lost count, and each time he had relished the pain because it proved he still had independent thought. It proved that without the collar moderating his actions, he'd still be able to behave normally.
Now, looking back, especially with the example of Draco in front of him…he realised how immature he'd been acting. Like the 'brat' Harry had called him, he'd been acting out for the sake of acting out, and he hadn't been thinking about the impact it was having on Harry. Because honestly, even in the middle of his sulk, he wouldn't have been able to argue that Harry deserved him acting like that, not after everything the man had done for him.
No, he decided. He would be free in a few months. Until then, he would do his best to show through his actions that he was grateful for how kind Harry had been. After that time, he would disappear and they would never meet again. He forcefully shoved the regret that that thought evoked far, far away. He would be a good slave for Harry while he was here, and then he would be gone and that would be that.
So for Harry's sake, he would try. And that started with a sincere apology, much as the thought of giving it tore at the little pride left in him. Harry deserved his attempt. And he deserved more than Tom creating a persona and using it to make his words and actions easier, for all that Tom worried about what acting like a 'good' slave would do to him by the time he managed to get free.
"I'm sorry, master," he said again, sincerity in his voice. "I…I have been a…a brat over the last two weeks. And you've been a lot more patient than I really deserve. You've chosen not to punish me when…when you really could have." He swallowed, having to make several attempts to force the next words out. "If…if you…if you wanted to…to…p-punish me, you…you'd be well-within your rights." His stomach a bundle of nerves, he suddenly felt wrong sitting in the chair.
Following his instincts, he slid down to the floor, ending up on his knees beside Draco, who didn't react to his movement. Looking at him, he was suddenly hit by a wave of jealousy – here was a well-trained slave who didn't question where his place was. And then equally strongly, he was hit by a wave of horror that he had thought such things – he didn't want to be a well-trained slave…did he? If anything, surely his only aim was to seem like one. Once more, the conflicting feelings threatened to tear him apart. But this time, instead of lashing out at Harry, he gritted his teeth and forced them away.
"Tom…" his master trailed off. "Tom, look at me," his master gently ordered him. Tom followed his instructions, allowing Harry to see the emotions that swam in his eyes – guilt, sincere regret, humiliation, confusion… The green-eyed man muttered something like 'give me strength' which Tom almost felt offended at, except that he knew he had been a real trial recently. "Look, I said I understood why you were acting in that way. And I meant it when I said I wouldn't put up with it anymore. But I'm not going to punish you for being upset. It's just…it hasn't been pleasant to be around you in the last two weeks, and I don't want us being at odds while trying to help Draco – I doubt it would do his progress much good."
Another wave of jealousy ran through Tom – how come Harry cared more about Draco's feelings than his own? There and then, Tom decided that he would make sure Harry didn't put so much effort into Draco that he messed up either his studies or his Auror work. Tom would take on Draco's care if he had to, just to make sure Harry wasn't affected. Harry continued. "So just…from now on, please try to help me, rather than hinder me. And get rid of that attitude, will you – it does nothing but cause problems for both of us."
"Thank you, master, for your leniency. I'll be better," was all Tom said in response. Feeling a weight lift off him at his master's forgiveness, he bowed his head once, then returned to his chair to finish off his food. After looking at him for a while, Harry did the same.
"Would you do it again?" Harry asked him after a long period of silence, when they had both almost finished. Tom looked up at him.
"Do what, master?"
"Break someone. If you were free to do it. After your experiences here." Tom had to think about it for a while. In the end there was only one answer he could honestly give.
"I don't know," he replied, and he knew he sounded as lost as he felt.
XXX
Harry left the cleaning up to Tom as usual. He'd barely been aware of the taste of the meal, so wrapped up in first Draco and then Tom. For a moment, he wondered if he'd bitten off more than he could chew – with two slaves in the household, both depending on him in different ways, plus his Auror training, plus his NEWTs work, he was feeling a bit thinly spread. But it was all so important! Sighing, he stood up from the table and moved towards the door. A moment later, he was aware of Draco standing up and hurrying to follow him a pace behind. If Draco was going to make it a habit of following around, it would get irritating very quickly.
Heading to the sitting room, he plopped down in his favourite armchair and stared into the fire. Draco quickly knelt at his feet in his usual curled over position. It couldn't be comfortable for him, mused Harry idly. Sighing again, he looked back at the flames, becoming mesmerised by their flickering dance. He had work to do, he knew that. He had eight essays due that week for Hogwarts, and he'd only done five of them and it was already Wednesday. He had to do three essays over the next two nights, and he definitely wouldn't get them done in one night unless he pulled an all-nighter. Not to mention, of course, two Auror assignments, though those could be done at the weekend, thank Merlin. But frankly, after the day he had had, he was struggling to find the motivation.
Looking back at Draco, he realised there was something else he needed to do. Groaning, he stood and walked out of the room, his persistent shadow following irritatingly close behind. Climbing the stairs, he opened the door of the room opposite Tom's.
"This is your room, Draco," he explained tiredly. "You can use the bed and all other facilities in the room, if you need the permission. In fact, although I suspect you won't take advantage of it for now, you have permission to use any furniture in the house except when I am present in the room. The exception for that is the kitchen – you can sit at the table while we eat. Understand?" Draco was silent until the collar punished him.
"I'm sorry, master!" he gasped out after twitching slightly.
"You don't need to be sorry, just tell me that you understand what I said."
"I understand, master," Draco replied obediently. Harry looked at him with narrow eyes. That…that sounded more like him responding to Harry's final words than actual understanding…. A brief thought passed through Harry's head that this was all Malfoy taking him for a ride, but he dismissed it in the same instant – there had been far too much evidence up to this point that Draco was too broken to even begin to consider pretending to act like this to flummox Harry. Another thought passed through his head – the rules encoded into Draco's collar would be the guidebook's basic rules. He'd have to do that whole talk again… Groaning, Harry felt like hitting his head against a convenient wall, but had second thoughts after eyeing the rather solid-looking wood.
Heading towards his bedroom, he paused outside the door.
"You are not allowed in my bedroom," he instructed firmly. "Understand?"
"I understand, master," Draco repeated obediently. Harry's suspicions that he was just repeating rather than expressing real understanding were proven a moment later – as Harry entered his room, after taking down the wards, Draco tried to follow him in.
"No," Harry told him, more sharply than he'd intended. "Don't come in my room."
"Yes, master," Draco said obediently, and knelt by the entrance. Harry shook his head – so apparently direct orders were the only things that worked. Raiding his closet once again for a set of clothes, he contemplated having to take Draco out shopping and almost groaned again. Then a thought hit him – what if Tom did it?
Thinking back to the guidebook, he couldn't recall if the slave needed the master present to enter a warded area. He knew Tom couldn't leave a warded area without him, but the muggle area they'd visited to get Tom's clothes wouldn't be warded…. Deciding to check the guidebook later – he'd probably better do it anyway to remind himself of the rules he needed for Draco – Harry chose a set of clothes which he figured he could resize to fit his new slave. He missed out the shoes, though – not only did he not have enough pairs to easily lose a set, but he figured Draco wouldn't be leaving the house any time soon. Plus, resized shoes never fit particularly well. It would be better if he got Tom to find a couple of potential pairs when he was out. If he could go out, that was.
Going to his medicine cabinet, he hovered over a few choices. Well, he'd definitely need the bruise balm and a general healing salve; that was for certain. If Kingsley was right, and Draco's reaction to fire certainly seemed to indicate he was, he'd also need some burn paste. He didn't have any of the strength St Mungo's had used on Tom – general burn paste was only strength 1 or perhaps 2 – but he hoped that the burns wouldn't be deep enough to need it. Anything else? Maybe a sleeping potion for tonight? Harry decided to hold off on that until he knew the situation better – long-term use of sleeping potions was dangerous.
Grabbing the vials he had decided on, he left the room, closing the door and restoring the wards once he was out.
"Here," he said, handing the clothes to Draco. The slave stood up and obediently took the items, but then just held them with no recognition of what to do next. Harry eyed him thoughtfully. "Take one step backwards." Draco obeyed. "Turn around." Draco obeyed. "Kneel." Draco obeyed with his usual alacrity. Hmm. He responded very well to clear, direct orders. What about slightly more complex ones? "Draco, go downstairs to the sitting room. Find the book on my desk entitled 'The Slave-owners Guidebook'. Take it and go kneel by my desk chair."
"Yes, master," Draco responded, bowing slightly and then turning to go down the stairs. Harry followed at a few paces behind. The man went into the sitting room. He went to Harry's desk, but he didn't find the correct book – he took a different one that was about Charms which was the closest one he could see. He then knelt by the chair where Harry had sat earlier, his head bowed. Interesting. So what conclusions could Harry draw from that?
"It looks like his cognitive abilities have been reduced to almost nothing, master," Tom's voice said from behind his shoulder, making him jump. Harry turned to shoot the man a half-hearted glare for giving him a surprise.
"What do you mean?" he asked, though having an idea. Tom shrugged.
"I heard your instructions. It doesn't appear that he feels he has permission to read, even to fulfil his master's order. That is if he is even capable of reading at the moment." Harry frowned.
"Draco Malfoy is definitely capable of reading. He went to Hogwarts for seven years. Or was it six?" Thinking about it, Harry had no idea if Malfoy had gone back to school for his Seventh year. Putting the thought out of his time – it wasn't really relevant at the moment – he looked at Tom for answers. The man hesitated before answering.
"There are…techniques which some witches and wizards can use to…endure difficult times. It's possible that the person we're seeing actually isn't capable of many skills that he should be." Harry nodded slowly.
"Is there a way to test whether that is the case?" Tom shrugged.
"The best way would be Legilimency to see if what I suspect is true." Harry eyed him, not comfortable with letting Tom go rooting through Draco's mind.
"Is there any other way?" Tom grimaced.
"It's possible to form a strong suspicion just based on his behaviour over a period of time, but Legilimency really is the most effective way." Harry nodded slowly.
"Well, let's see what happens for a while first. Maybe once he knows he's in a safe place, he'll start coming out of his shell."
"Perhaps, master," Tom replied, his tone as dubious as Harry felt.
XXX
Tom watched his master go to his desk and collect the book from Draco with a 'thank you', not even a hint that it was the wrong book and the wrong place. Giving another command, he got Draco to move closer to where he was sitting at his desk. If what Tom suspected was true…Draco honestly couldn't have fulfilled the commands any better. He sighed mentally, his thoughts irritated – he didn't like the idea that they'd have a third person here for the next few months. He didn't like the knowledge that someone else would get to see him vulnerable in front of his master. He didn't like the fact that his master would give his attention to someone else. But then Tom was hit with a wave of guilt as the same thought from earlier returned – if he hadn't been Lord Voldemort, Draco wouldn't now be in this position.
"Tom," his master said with a hint of panic in his voice. "Help?" Looking towards the situation, Tom was torn between amusement and feeling disturbed. While he'd been lost in his thoughts, somehow Draco had ended up completely naked, kneeling on all fours in front of Harry, presenting himself. There was a hint of horror too – not an inch of the blond's skin had escaped injury of some sort, though his face was better off than most of him.
"What did you tell him to do, master?" Tom asked, a note of exasperation in his voice.
"I just told him to take off his tunic!" Harry almost squeaked, doing his best to hide his eyes from the sight in front of him. A part of Tom purred at the realisation that when he'd been half-naked, Harry had drunk up the sight with a hungry look in his eyes; now with a completely naked young man in front of him, he was desperate to look away. When he realised what he was thinking, Tom shoved that thought away with a feeling of desperation – he didn't want his master getting any ideas about how attractive he was, remember!
"Why did you do that?" Tom asked to distract himself.
"I just wanted to get him to put on the healing salves before getting dressed in his new clothes. I didn't realise he wasn't even wearing underwear," Harry wailed. Tom sighed.
"Order him to sit up, then." His master nodded.
"Draco, sit up and turn around to face me." The slave obeyed immediately, shuffling forwards so he was between Harry's knees. "What's he doing now?" asked Harry, the note of panic back in his voice.
"I'd say he thinks you'd like him to suck your dick," Tom said baldly.
"What?!" exclaimed Harry, scooting away with his hands over his crotch, looking at the approaching slave with the kind of trepidation usually reserved for a stalking lion. "Draco, stop!" He did, freezing instantly. Harry looked back up at Tom, the expression on his face one of disbelief.
"You don't really think…"
"Master," Tom started with exasperation, losing his patience with his master's obliviousness. "Of course he did, just as before when you told him to take off his tunic, he thought you wanted to fuck him." Harry looked as if he was about to be sick, a green tinge to his skin.
"But I…But I wouldn't!" Tom sighed again.
"He doesn't know that," he pointed out, trying to rein his irritation back in. He supposed he should be taking this whole situation as a good omen – if Harry found the idea of taking advantage of Draco so disturbing, that was a good sign he wasn't likely to enforce it on Tom anytime soon. But he's clearly not attracted to Draco, a little voice inside him murmured; he's attracted to you. Pushing the thought aside as he had been doing with all thoughts of that nature recently, Tom turned his attention back to the situation at hand.
"Master, think about it," he murmured gently, walking forward until he was next to them. Dropping to his own knees without thinking about it, he lifted Draco's chin, the man flinching from him, but obeying the pressure of his hand regardless. Draco's face was completely blank, his eyes lifeless. Tom met his master's eyes. "Look." Harry looked. "Does it appear to you like this is an unusual situation for him?"
"No," admitted Harry, his voice hoarse and sickened. Tom let Draco's chin drop once more.
"I would bet anything that whatever else he has been subjected to, being used by his master for sexual gratification was a regular, if not daily occurrence." There was a pause.
"So you're telling me that not only has Draco been beaten to hell and back, but he's also so used to rape that he expects it from me?" It wasn't really a question, for all that it was phrased as one. Finally, his master was understanding. Tom nodded, but felt obliged to add something.
"It's not rape, master. It's not possible to rape a possession – such a designation is reserved to beings with the capacity to say 'no'. We are your slaves – if you order, we are expected to obey, regardless of our wishes." A part inside him questioned his own impulse to be honest, when his master's misunderstanding made him safer.
"Well to hell with that," snarled Harry suddenly. Tom raised an eyebrow at the sudden change in tone, aware of Draco flinching slightly, their positions so close he could feel the other man's body-heat. "To me, it doesn't matter what your statuses are on paper: if you don't want it, it's rape. End of. Draco, look at me," he instructed, his voice rough. The slave obeyed. "I don't want you touching me sexually, and I don't expect to use you sexually either."
"Yes, master," the pale-haired slave said, but both Tom and Harry could hear the lack of true comprehension in his voice. Tom sighed.
"You'll need to give him very direct commands, master. He doesn't seem capable of understanding anything more than that." Harry set his teeth, his jaw twitching.
"Fine. What do you suggest I say, then?" His voice was highly irritated, but Tom had been with him for long enough to know that it wasn't directed at him, but at the situation.
"Tell him not to touch your dick. Tell him not to present himself to you naked. Give him clear expectations of his behaviour in direct and specific language." Harry groaned.
"And I still need to deal with the basic rules encoded in the collar. How the hell am I going to do that – it's not like I can talk to him the way I did you that first day. And what am I going to do with him during the day if he can't understand more complex instructions? I'm sure as hell not taking him with me!" Tom thought about it carefully. It was good question.
"Master," he said slowly, an idea coalescing in his mind. "Can we try something?" Harry waved at him wearily.
"Go ahead. Frankly, anything you can suggest to make this whole situation more bearable…I still have an essay to do after this…" Tom eyed him with concern – he sounded stressed. More stressed than necessary.
"I'll help you with your essay, master," Tom assured him. "If I find the books for you, that should decrease the time you need to write it." Harry shot him a grateful smile which made a warm feeling pool in his belly. Both discomforted by and tempted to luxuriate in the feeling, Tom hurriedly continued. "But what I was thinking was…what if you could order the collar to react to me in your absence? Then I could keep an eye on Draco during the daytime." Harry eyed him suspiciously.
"How can I be sure you won't just use this to your advantage?" he asked dubiously. Tom wanted to feel hurt at his lack of trust but…he wasn't wrong to think so. Because despite his guilt about Draco being in this position in the first place, despite his genuine desire to help his master, there was still a part of him that rejoiced at the idea that for once in this new life, he wouldn't be at the bottom of the social ladder. The thought of having Draco kneel at his feet and obey him like he was the master…it was temptingly delicious.
But that hadn't actually been why he'd offered. They were just things that sweetened the pot. He'd actually been honest as to his true motives – Draco wouldn't be able to follow complex instructions and would probably just end up kneeling in one position all day in the absence of any other direction. His master didn't want to take the blond to work with him, understandably, so what other choice did they have? But his master had asked him a question.
"Order me," Tom said simply. Harry frowned.
"What?"
"If you're worried about me taking advantage of Draco, order me not to. The collar will make sure I obey." Harry stared at him. Tom didn't blame him. Frankly, if someone had told him at the beginning of all this that he would be asking for orders…he'd probably have tried to curse them. And then he'd probably have ended up unconscious, but still.
"Alright," Harry murmured, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Since you asked for it, and all. Tom, if this works and the collar does respond to you, you are not allowed to use it to treat him any differently than I would treat you. You are not allowed to use him to do your work for you. You are not allowed to use either punishment or reward function of the collar." He paused, clearly thinking things through. "You are not allowed to order him to do anything you don't think I would order you to do. And you are definitely not allowed to order him to do anything sexual." The last he said with some fire, pinning Tom with a fierce gaze. Tom bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement – not that he'd actually do that. Even as Lord Voldemort, he'd never personally engaged in such things, though to be fair, that was probably more because as a result of all the rituals he'd done, his libido had been pretty much nil.
"Yes, master," he agreed easily. "Shall we test if it works now?" Harry nodded slowly, a small amount of trepidation in his eyes. There and then, Tom decided that he would prove to Harry that he could be trusted in this matter.
"Draco," Harry said firmly. There was the slightest of changes in the slave kneeling beside Tom, showing that he was paying attention. "Obey Tom unless it contradicts an order from me."
"Yes, master," Draco acknowledged. Harry flicked his eyes at Tom, raising his eyebrows as if to say 'go on'. Tom cleared his throat, anticipation rising in him, much as he tried to conceal it.
"Draco, look at me," he ordered. For a moment the other man didn't move. Then, suddenly flinching, he twisted his head so he was looking at Tom, though not meeting his eyes.
"I'm sorry, master!" he gasped out. The excitement he felt at having been obeyed - after so long being forced to obey - was soured by hearing the word which belonged to his master, being directed at him.
"Don't call me master." The words were out before he could even think about why he'd had such a strong reaction to them. "Call me…Tom."
"Yes, Tom," Draco replied, bowing his head once more. Tom glanced up to see his master looking thoughtfully at him.
"It worked, master," said Tom unnecessarily, a bit discomforted by his master's gaze.
"Yes, it did," Harry agreed, still with that searching look. Then he flicked his gaze back to Draco and Tom breathed. "I guess we'd better get his injuries seen to," he murmured wearily.
"Master," started Tom, hating to hear the tiredness in his voice. "Why don't you get started on your essay? I'll sort Draco out and then come and help you with your research."
"Would you?" Once again, there was that thankful look which made a warmth in the depths of his stomach grow. "That would be great!" exclaimed Harry, a heart-felt gratitude in his voice. Tom nodded.
"Of course. But master, before you go, perhaps change the rules for Draco's collar? I don't think it matters so much if he understands them or not at this point: I'll be there to remind him of what to do in the moment. But I'm not sure I'll be able to change the basic rules, even if you've told him to obey me." Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"I suppose that makes sense." Rifling through the guidebook, he found the list of basic rules. "OK, let me see. OK. Draco, you're allowed to eat and drink at any time you are hungry or thirsty. You may use any item in the kitchen cupboards to make food, and you may consume any item in the kitchen except for alcohol and any item I've specifically told you not to eat. That'll do for the first one. Now…the second rule: you're allowed to use any item of furniture for its proper use as long as you don't damage it. When you're in my presence, I expect you to stand, kneel or sit on the floor, unless we're at the table eating together." He looked at Tom. "That way it's fair for both of you." Tom inclined his head, having already worked that out. "You're allowed to wear the clothes I've given you. I'm going to give you some new clothes soon." Again, he looked at Tom. "Actually, I was thinking about that – do you think you'd be able to enter a warded place without me there? I mean, do you think I could take you out of the wards before I leave in the morning, and then you go and buy him some clothes?" Tom thought about it.
"I don't see why not," he remarked. "I definitely can't leave the wards without you touching me or my collar, but when we came back from that shopping trip when I first arrived, you didn't have to touch my collar when we returned." Harry nodded slowly.
"OK, we'll test that later. Because I don't have time to get him clothes before Saturday, and it really needs to be done as soon as possible."
"Very well, master," Tom replied. Harry looked back at Draco.
"You're allowed to speak whenever, as long as you're respectful about it. Uh…I think that was it?" He looked back at Tom who considered it for a few moments before shrugging.
"I think that covers it, master."
"OK, good. I'll get started with my essay then." So saying, he shifted his chair so he was at his desk and turned to his studies with an air of relief. Tom looked at Draco. Right. Deciding that it would be better to do this away from Harry so that they didn't disturb him, Tom stood and took the potions bottles from Harry's desk.
"Draco, come," he ordered quietly, walking over to the fireplace. The blond scrambled to his feet and hurried over, kneeling at Tom's feet as soon as Tom gave him the command. Tom looked down, feeling strangely mixed at the sight. Of course, there was some of the expected elation, but that wasn't all. There was a nagging sense of discomfort, of something wrong about the situation, accompanied by a curl of guilt. He had spent countless hours in this sitting room, kneeling, lounging, sitting, but all of it on the floor; at the feet of his master. Taking a different position…well, it felt wrong. Quickly, Tom joined him on the floor, a feeling of relief overtaking him at the familiar pose. He pushed away his worry about his strange reaction – it was only for a few more months.
Taking the burn paste, Tom held it out to Draco.
"Take this, Draco," he instructed quietly. The man obeyed without lifting his eyes from the floor. His hand, now holding the potions bottle, returned to his lap, still once more. "OK, good. Now, put it on your burns." The hand didn't move for a moment, and then it flinched, clenching slightly around the vial.
"Tom?" Draco asked, the tone in his voice not making it much different from 'master' would have been. Once more, it sent a wave of conflicting emotion through him. Pushing the feelings aside, Tom returned his attention to the helpless slave depending on him. Sighing, he realised that apparently, 'put it on your burns' was too complex a concept for Draco to deal with at the moment. What had his previous master done to him? Or, if Tom's suspicions were true, perhaps the question was more: what had Draco done to himself?
"Here, give me the bottle," Tom ordered, resignation in his voice. Apparently he'd have to do it. Upon receiving the vial, he uncorked it. "Lie down on your front," he ordered. The blond obeyed in an instant, moving his legs apart in a position he'd probably assumed many times.
"Tom…?" Tom looked up at his master's questioning tone. Harry was looking at him, a slightly concerned look on his face. Apparently he was not entirely wrapped up in his studies. "What are you doing?"
"It's OK, master," Tom reassured him. "I'm just going to put the salves on him – apparently he can't do it himself."
"I see," replied Harry slightly dubiously, but he returned his gaze to the book in front of him, so he had at least some trust in Tom. Tom, in turn, returned to his task, dipping his fingers into the bottle and spreading the paste onto all the burns he could see. There were more than a few, most of them on Draco's buttocks and upper thighs. If Tom had to venture a guess as to their cause, he would say it looked like Draco had been beaten with a red hot poker, as it wasn't just a burn but a bruise as well. He supposed a fire-whip curse could have the same effect – he wasn't an expert on wounds, after all.
Deciding to finish the whole of Draco's back before moving on to his front, Tom quickly fetched Draco's old tunic so he could wipe his fingers off between pastes. Fortunately, as medical supplies that were often used in conjunction, none of them had ingredients that reacted badly with each other. Nonetheless, he wouldn't use the bruise balm on the same injuries he'd already covered with burn paste – the combination of both would probably render them equally ineffective.
So, methodically treating one injury after another, he covered practically every inch of Draco's skin from heels to neck with one salve or another. The most awkward bit was when he realised that there were injuries even around Draco's anus. Feeling colour rising in his cheeks, he applied general healing salve there as quickly as possible, before moving on. Finishing Draco's back, he gave them a few minutes to be absorbed. In that time, he found his thoughts wandering to why exactly he had found being called 'master' so…unappealing.
It was strange – he remembered how much he had enjoyed it as Voldemort, seeing all those proud purebloods debasing themselves by kneeling to him, kissing his robes, calling him 'master' in tones of adulation… But now all he felt was unease about the idea. Why? Was it because he'd become so used to calling Harry 'master' and himself being 'Tom' that anything different seemed wrong? Perhaps that was part of it, Tom admitted to himself, but it wasn't all of it. No. Actually, thinking about it…he felt a similar sense of unease about many of his actions as Voldemort, and the idea of taking up that mantle once again when he was free…no. Suddenly, Tom realised that far from being proud of his actions as Dark Lord, as he had always been before, he was feeling…ashamed about them.
Where they had always seemed to demonstrate strength before, - the strength of being able to convince others, in being able to control others, in making others fear - now they just reeked of weakness. Because what had all his so-called strength done for him, ultimately? It had made him arrogant: it had made him so prideful he could have died without even knowing how close he was to death. It had created bonds of loyalty so weak that most of the Death Eaters who knew who he was in his changed appearance had spurned him, had tried to attack him as soon as they knew they could do it without retribution. Far from fear being a strength he used to his own advantage, it had been a weakness that had driven him to mutilate his own soul and thereby sow the seeds of his downfall.
And then there was Harry. There was always Harry. He hadn't had the advantages Voldemort had had – followers, immortality, knowledge, power – but he'd had his own power: his bravery and his ability to inspire loyalty, true loyalty. Voldemort had almost won, had had all the players in place to ensure his complete domination of the Wizarding world. But he hadn't. Why? Because the Resistance continued fighting. Because the Order kept fighting. And most importantly, because Harry kept fighting. With his two friends, he had brought Voldemort precariously close to losing his very life, despite all his safeguards. Even with all the advantages he had had, knowing what he knew now of Harry and his determination and the loyalty he inspired in others, Tom was rather glad it hadn't actually come to an outright battle. Even if he had survived Harry, he might not have survived all those who would have risen to avenge his death.
But that hadn't happened; instead, he had been enslaved. And he had lost everything but his life. However, after months spent in introspection, going over things again and again, he'd realised that most of it hadn't been worth having, anyway.
That's why he was uncomfortable with the title of 'master'. He didn't deserve it. Frankly, he didn't even want it anymore, given the mess that he'd made with it last time. So now he was 'Tom', and soon he would be someone else, someone completely different. Once he was free, he would create himself anew, become someone else, someone…insignificant. He'd always wanted to be recognised for who he was, special. But now, he saw where that path led. He didn't want it anymore, because after everything? He didn't trust himself with power or position. Not after the mistakes he had made.
Shaking himself out of his thoughts, he checked the applied pastes. They were starting to dry, but were still a bit wet.
"Stay here," he told Draco, and then rose to go to his master. "Would you like me to get some books for you, master?" he asked, hoping that the man would say yes and give him an excuse to get out of his own head for a while. Harry looked up and took advantage of the pause to stretch. Tom found his eyes wandering down to caress the smoothly muscled expanse of Harry's exposed stomach, but quickly jerked his eyes away before he was caught.
"Sure," Harry said eventually, after finishing his stretch. "I'm working on Transfiguration – the Five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration. I need to prove why they're exceptions based on Transfiguration theory." Tom nodded.
"I know a few books where you should be able to find the information. I'll get them for you now." He turned to go to the library, but Harry called after him.
"What about Draco? Are you finished with him?" Tom paused and turned back to him.
"I've done his back, but the pastes need to dry a bit more before he can turn over for me to do his front," Tom explained. He paused for a moment longer to see if Harry wanted to say something more, but when his only response was a short nod, he turned and disappeared upstairs.
Walking up the stairs, his mind still musing over things, Tom realised two things. First, that it had been almost disturbingly easy to slip back into being helpful and pleasant to his master. Into being a 'good' slave. Throughout the last two weeks of him trying to re-establish his independence, he'd been full of anger and guilt, each just feeding the other. Now, having decided that such actions were worse than pointless, and having apologised to his master and being forgiven, both weights had been lifted from him. He wasn't sure he liked the implications of that, but…it felt good. It felt natural, like he was slipping back into a familiar and comfortable skin. Having that amicable interaction back with Harry…it was so much better than the animosity fuelled exchanges they'd been having in the last two weeks, especially since every time Tom had snapped at Harry and he'd refused to respond in kind, the guilt in Tom had only grown. This evening, however, they'd…well, it hadn't all been good, but by and large they had seemed to work together to tackle the problem that the broken slave in their midst presented. And that had been…good.
The second thing that Tom realised, this one with a lot less warm feeling, was that his master's words regarding rape weren't as reassuring as they had sounded at first. After all, what he had actually said was 'if you don't want it, it's rape'. And Tom was starting to realise that, despite his best intentions, there was a part of him that wanted…that wanted something from his master. It was a part of him that he'd tried to deny, because he knew for certain that he didn't want to be forced. Not with that. But because he knew there was some sort of…of desire there, he was worried that should his master ever find out its existence, its very presence would offer the consent Harry might need. And then there would be no scruples barring him from just taking what he so evidently wanted.
XXX
Harry stared blankly at his essay, his quill tip tapping against his lips. It was hard to concentrate, he had to admit. He'd only really been paying half-attention to his work; the rest of it had been on his two slaves. Merlin, that was strange to think! He had been getting used to Tom, starting to read the man's moods and predict how he was likely to react based on previous situations. Now he had a new spanner thrown in the works.
Well, at least Tom seemed to be back to his previous self. Better, perhaps. Maybe the fortnight long tantrum he'd been throwing had got all his defiance and aggression out of his system for a while. Harry hoped so – he didn't know how he'd manage to do everything he needed to with the addition of a highly-traumatised Draco thrown into the mix if Tom had continued with his unhelpful behaviour. Honestly, if Harry had known it was going to be this bad, he probably would have refused Kingsley, suggested they send the trauma-victim to Hermione. When Kingsley had said the slave was in a bad condition, he'd been imagining someone like Tom, but more submissive and with more injuries. But this…Surely Hermione would have been better than him, someone with no experience in psychology at all. Hermione had at least read some books about it!
Even while he thought about it, Harry acknowledged that the situation wouldn't have been any better – Hermione was just as busy as him with her degree and full-time job, and Ron was also busy with Bill and his own NEWTs. No, much as he hated to admit it, maybe this was for the best. He might not have the knowledge of psychology, but he could learn, and at least he had the public image which might prevent this from happening in the future. He already had some ideas of what to say during the interview.
Tom's matter of fact words 'it's not possible to rape a possession' had been running through his head ever since they'd been spoken. Every time he remembered them, Harry felt sick once more. That either of them could think that he'd…that he'd do that? It was one thing for a stranger, like the healer at St Mungo's, to assume based on previous experience or recorded cases, but surely Tom didn't think…. No, Harry decided. Surely not. He hadn't seemed to behave in any way that suggested he was scared of that possibility. Good, because Harry would never force him, no matter how attractive he was – he'd rather crucio himself. It didn't matter that technically it was his 'right' to make use of his 'possessions': he'd never do it, and would make sure his disgust at anyone doing so came through clearly in the interview.
He'd been concerned for a while about Tom's power over Draco. He'd accepted that it seemed to be the best solution to their problem, but he'd been a bit worried about Tom abusing him further – with what he knew of what Voldemort had done with power, he'd felt his concern was justified. The suggestion Tom had made to be ordered not to take advantage had been, frankly, flabbergasting. He'd honestly never thought that Tom would make a suggestion that Harry ordered him to do anything. Naturally, it made Harry a bit suspicious – it was so outside his understanding of Tom's character, that he felt there must be something behind it. But what could he do? Tom was right – Draco needed someone with him throughout the day, and Harry really didn't want to take him to either Hogwarts or the Ministry. He couldn't stay home with him, so that really only left one option…
So he'd been watching Tom, observing how he interacted with Draco. He'd been surprised a number of times. That Tom had knelt next to him twice when he could have stood with Draco at his feet. That Tom had told Draco not to call him 'master' without any sort of prompt. That he'd actually been surprisingly gentle and understanding… There had been a few moments where Harry had been a bit concerned: when Tom had got Draco to lie on his front in a vulnerable position, especially. But Harry had been watching, and the man really hadn't take advantage. Even when he'd had to spread paste on some…intimate areas, he had done it as quickly as possible and moved on. So, while Harry did still have some concerns about the whole situation, he was willing to give Tom the benefit of the doubt. If the man broke his trust…well, they'd be hell to pay, but Harry found himself tentatively hoping that maybe Tom wouldn't betray his confidence in him.
By the time Tom came back with a pile of books, Harry had managed to turn his attention back to his work.
"Here are some books in which I found references, master," Tom told him, putting the books on his desk. "I put a few bookmarks in places which I thought might be most useful." Bless the man! Harry smiled gratefully up at his slave.
"Thank you!" he said with feeling. He saw a faint smile touch the corners of Tom's mouth as he bowed his head slightly.
"I'm glad I could help you," the man finally murmured, a tone of sincerity in his voice. Then, lifting his head, he met Harry's gaze again. "Would you like me to get you anything else?" What a change from the Tom who had argued about fetching him parchment not so long ago, Harry marvelled mentally, but shook his head.
"No, I'm fine, thanks. Why don't you go finish with Draco?" The man nodded and turned away, going to kneel once more at the blond's side. Harry saw him test the dampness of the salves currently on his skin, then nod in satisfaction. With a quiet command, Draco turned himself over, his disturbingly blank face and lifeless eyes revealed once more. Again, Tom dipped his long fingers into the potions containers and started the process of spreading the salves on the wounds revealed.
Harry turned back to his essay, the process going a lot faster now that he had his literature prepared for him. Of course, he knew that in the normal set of events, it was important for him to find his own supporting references because that way, he would learn other things from the book, but in this instance… Well, Harry was very glad that 'helpful' Tom had made a reappearance, and was tentatively hopeful that he might stick around for a bit longer.
XXX
Tom smoothed salve over Draco's skin, each stroke across what used to be pale, unblemished skin. He lost himself in the motion, the unfamiliar position of actually moving to heal rather than hurt. Every so often Draco made small noises if Tom accidentally pressed a bit hard on one of the marks and Tom found himself shushing the slave soothingly. It was a new side to him, and one he didn't think he'd ever explored before. There had been no call for soft, healing actions at the orphanage – all it would have met with would have been ridicule and bullies gleefully taking advantage. The same was true at Hogwarts where the cold, judging eyes of Slytherin house would have seen it just as much as weakness. And then after Hogwarts? Well, he'd already been set on a path, hadn't he?
It wasn't that Draco mattered in any real way to Tom. How could he? Tom vaguely recalled the blond boy who had approached him with such excitement and brash self-confidence to receive his mark, then returned to him a shaking mess; a failure. He had punished the boy severely, he remembered. How ironic it was that he should now find himself that same boy's primary care-taker, now he was a man broken by another master.
Life was full of those ironies, he mused as his eyes drifted over to his master. To think that he would submit willingly – for now – to the boy he'd done his best to kill… That he would feel concerned for the man's stress levels; that he should offer more than he was required to do to help the master he had become. If Lady Magic were real, perhaps the Fates were also in existence. If they were, they must find much to laugh about with these silly mortals.
Draco was done. Tom's thoughts returned to the present as he realised he'd reached Draco's neck once more. He'd dealt with the injuries around the slave's private parts as hurriedly methodically as he had his anus. And now he was done. He could get dressed.
With individual orders, Tom got Draco to put on first the pair of trousers, then the shirt. They were too big for him, hanging off his thin frame like they were on a scarecrow.
"Master," Tom called softly, not wanting to surprise the man. Harry looked up questioningly. Tom gestured at Draco.
"Can you resize the clothes, please?"
"Can't you do it wandlessly?" Harry responded curiously. Tom considered it.
"I can," he started slowly, "but my wandless resizing spells are not very…accurate," he admitted. "I might make it too small or too big in the wrong place." Harry sighed.
"I see." Getting up, he came over. Draco made to kneel, but Harry stopped him with a quick command. With a measuring eye, Harry started the resizing process, letting the spell work slowly so they could see when it was approximately the right size. "There. You're done, then?"
"I've done as much as I can," Tom replied, handing the potions bottles back to him. "Because I didn't want to combine two salves together, some of the injuries have only been partially treated, but they should be significantly better with a decent night's sleep. I'll probably have to do it again tomorrow night, though." Harry nodded.
"Fine. Do that, then." Sighing, he cast a wistful look back at his desk and the waiting essay. "I suppose we'd better get him to bed." Tom shrugged.
"I can do that, master," he remarked. "Why don't we go and test if I can enter a warded area without you present, since you're already up?"
"That's a good idea," Harry conceded. "Draco, stay here. Sit down next to the fire or something." He tossed at the blond offhandedly. Draco didn't move.
"You need to give him very specific orders, master. Not choices," Tom reminded him with a note of exasperation. Harry looked embarrassed. "Also, I wouldn't suggest he sits – he's got several burns on his buttocks."
"I forgot," he muttered. "Draco, lie down on the rug. On your side." He flicked a glance at Tom as if to ask whether that was a good position. Tom nodded. It was better than most other positions, to be fair. Draco immediately obeyed. "OK, good. Stay there until Tom tells you to move."
"Yes, master," the slave acknowledged. Nodding, Harry left the room, Tom following. Reaching the entrance, Harry touched his collar until they were past the ward lines.
"OK, now stay there for a few minutes. I'm going to go back to the sitting room. If you're not inside within five minutes or so, I'll come back out," Harry told Tom. Nodding, Tom leant against the gatepost. Harry disappeared back inside. Tom took a few minutes to just breathe the cold night air, looking at the other residents of Grimmauld Place. The people next door were watching the television, the intermittent light throwing strange shadows across the curtains they had drawn. Across the road, the inhabitants were having an argument – Tom could hear the sound of their shouts even through the thick walls and street between them.
Deciding enough time had passed, Tom walked towards the house, moving more tentatively as he approached the wardline. Gingerly stepping over it, he relaxed as his collar didn't give a murmur. Opening the door, he was hit by a thought. Turning around, he made as if to leave again, but his collar sent a shock through him. Hmm, interesting.
"It worked, master," he announced unnecessarily, entering the sitting room.
"So I see," agreed Harry, relaxing back in his desk chair. "No problems?" Tom shook his head.
"No, but I couldn't get back out once I was inside the wards." Harry nodded slowly.
"So this wouldn't work in a magical area. You'd end up getting trapped by whatever wards you entered without me." Pulling out his wand, he conjured a small object. Tom moved closer to see what he was doing. The object was a disk with a clip on one edge. Harry tapped it with his wand and murmured a tracking charm. Looking back at Tom, Harry twisted his chair round and pointed at the floor near his feet. "Kneel there," he instructed. Tom obeyed, curious about what Harry intended.
As soon as he was in position, Harry leant forwards and clipped the small disc to the D-shaped ring at the front of Tom's collar. Tom frowned.
"Master…?" he asked warily. "That doesn't say something like 'property of Harry Potter' does it?" If it did…well, Tom wouldn't be able to do anything about it, as humiliating as that would be. But he didn't like the idea…did he? To his relief, Harry shook his head with a small chuckle.
"No, though I could make it if you wanted me to," he asked mischievously. Tom shook his head sharply, no doubt sporting an expression of distaste. "No, I didn't think you'd want that," Harry responded to him with a smirk. "It's just a tracking charm. I don't think I could put a tracking charm on the collar – it's got too much magic in it anyway, so this is my compromise."
"Why, are you worried about me running away?" Tom asked, not sure if he wanted the answer to be 'yes' or 'no'. On one hand, he was trying to be a good slave for Harry while he was still here, so he wouldn't try to run away until he'd got the collar off. On the other, he could see how Harry might not believe that.
"No, not at all," Harry dismissed, sounding almost surprised that he'd come to the conclusion. Tom felt like rolling his eyes at his master's naivety. He refrained, but it was a close thing. "It's just in case there are some warded areas we don't know about between here and the shops – if you do get caught, I want to know where you are. Hmm, hold still for a moment." He leaned forwards and muttered another charm, tapping the disc. "There you are. If you hold it for more than five seconds, it will warm up and send me a notification that you need me. I'll get to you as soon as possible." Harry fixed Tom with a stern look. "I'll probably have to run out of my training session, so please, don't use it except for a last resort, OK?"
"Yes, master," Tom acknowledged. "What should I do for money?" Harry nodded, digging in one of the desk draws. He pulled out a few twenties.
"Here. There's about eighty pounds here – plenty for a few sets of clothes from the Oxfam shop, a pair of shoes and some underwear." Then, hesitating again, he pulled out another twenty. "If you think we're running low on anything in the kitchen, please pick it up too." A thoughtful look came to his face. "In fact, if this works, we can probably make it a regular thing for you to go out and get the groceries – Merlin knows, I won't miss having to go shopping on Saturdays when it's always packed." Tom nodded, actually feeling a bit cheerful at the thought. He'd been stuck in the house for so much of the time; it would be a treat to go out to somewhere normal, even if it was in the muggle world. In fact, at the moment, he preferred the muggle world – he didn't attract stares there.
Finally, Harry dismissed him and returned to his essay. He'd already written almost three feet, Tom saw. Tom smoothly got to his feet and went over to Draco who was lying on his side, his face and eyes as lifeless as always. Ordering him to stand and follow, the slave obeyed, standing behind his shoulder as he'd been clearly trained to do. Getting to the door, Tom hesitated.
"Goodnight, master," he said, finally. Harry looked up, surprise in his eyes.
"Goodnight, Tom," he replied. They held eye contact for a moment before each turned away and continued their previous actions. It wasn't the first time they'd wished each other goodnight, but it had been a while since the last time.
Tom lay in bed after having got Draco settled – not easy: the man had almost had a panic attack at the thought of sleeping on the bed. In the end, Tom had told him to sleep on the thick rug to one side of the room. Baby steps and all that. Getting into the mood for sleep, Tom couldn't help but think about that evening and something he had realised while treating Draco: the expanse of skin Tom had had laid out in front of him had done nothing for him, for all that he remembered admiring some other boys at Hogwarts. It was just…Draco was too pale, too skinny. Too broken.
When Tom thought about a man in his bed, he imagined leanly muscled arms and legs – nothing too big. He thought about feeling lithe strength against him, strong hands pinning his wrists as he fought against the hold, snapping and snarling in play as his partner laughed, then moaning because his lover knew just what to do to provoke that reaction. He visualised running his hand along sleek skin, drawing a masculine groan as he played with sensitive areas. He imagined a partner who would challenge him, and who he could challenge in return.
Suddenly, he realised his fantasies had changed. It had been so long since he'd had them… When was the last time he'd visualised anything sexual, for Merlin's sake? Perhaps in his first few years after Hogwarts; before he'd made his third horcrux, for certain. Whenever he'd fantasised about older boys at Hogwarts, he'd always been the one making them submit, manipulating a more physically powerful partner with his words or his magic; making them moan more because he enjoyed having the control over them than because he wanted them to feel pleasure. The few lovers he had taken had always been far more enamoured with him than he with them, and he'd liked it that way: he'd liked making them feel beholden to him, unable to live without him…and then dropping them once he was bored.
Then there had been the long period where he simply hadn't been interested in anything carnal, developing a slight distaste for such intimacy and the insane actions it drove men and women to perform. Even once he had got his human body back with all its hormones and needs, his libido hadn't returned until recently – the shock of his enslavement and the battle which had ensued for his very mind focusing him purely on survival. But now, feeling more settled in his role and with the hearth-fire of hope banked in his heart, he had space for…other desires.
For the first time in a long, long time, he slid a hand down his own body to a part that was starting to throb with need. And as he reached his peak, his mind filled with faceless forms that writhed and twisted erotically, his last image was that of green eyes, dark with lust, staring into his own.
End notes:
Chapter warnings - Harry is given a slave to take care of who has experienced severe abuse - physical, mental and sexual. There are explicit references to and discussions over these experiences. Also, during the Ministry ball, we are shown the dire state that many slaves are in - the evidence indicates a wide range of abuses.
Is it bad that this chapter makes me want to write something where Harry and Tom set up a recovery centre for used and abused baby Death Eaters? Because really, Lady Magic's punishment is pretty harsh for them considering they were kind of forced into it by the way they were raised and the fact that the war was at its height when they came out of Hogwarts. I suppose the same could be said of the supporters who just did a few things to help the Death Eaters or Voldemort's cause, but I imagine them being older and more able to make decisions for themselves and distinguish right from wrong.
