oOoOoOo
The Bodyguard
Chapter 29: The Temptation of Draco
"What did Voldemort put into your mind, when he made you a Death Eater?" Harry gazed into his boyfriend's wide, grey eyes, and felt hurt when he saw the unperturbed mask go up. "You don't need to use Occlumency. Why are you so afraid of showing me the memory, if it proves you desired me before the Vow?"
"It's proof of a lot of other things too, Harry." Draco hung his head and his white-blond hair fell forward to cover his face.
"I've seen part of that memory. Wasn't it that misty bedroom, where you were really ... turned on?" asked Harry. He was bursting with curiosity. "That wasn't bad-"
"Turned on? Ha! That's putting it mildly," said Draco with a bitter chuckle. "But the rest of it isn't ... the sort of thing I'd like you to see ...Voldemort twisted my mind and fed me lies."
Harry looked at his boyfriend's slumped form on the bed beside him, and reached out tenderly. "I swear I won't hate you, Draco. Voldemort has lied to me too." He caressed his boyfriend's silky hair. "Voldemort used to have a direct connection to my mind, through my scar. I could feel his thoughts, sense what he was feeling and see what he was seeing. He used to send me lying visions through the connection."
Unprotected, pale grey eyes met his own. "Through your scar?" Draco ran a finger down the thin, lightning bolt on Harry's forehead and shuddered. "Merlin, I hate this scar even more ... does he still send you lies?"
"He hasn't for ages. Not since he noticed the connection, and started using Occlumency. I've barely given my scar a thought since then," said Harry. "I heard he gave you a scar too, Draco. Dobby told me Voldemort cut you on the arm when you were one-"
"Yes, Voldemort found me playing with Muggle children: a girl and a boy. They were older than me. Eight, I think. I don't remember their names and I don't know how they found their way in through the wards around Malfoy Mansion. I know Mother tightened the wards afterwards." Draco took a deep, shuddering breath. "I never saw those children again. I hadn't thought about it, but I guess what Voldemort did to my arm was nothing compared to what he did to them..." Draco hugged his legs, and rested his pointed chin on his knees. "The scar on my arm is long gone, Harry. Normal scars heal and fade away..." Harry felt his boyfriend's eyes rake across his forehead. "But your scar hasn't changed or healed in all these years. I'm telling you Harry, it's a THING not a scar. It's something Voldemort sunk into your skull when you were a baby. Now you're saying you're linked to him through it?" He stretched out his legs, and put his face close to Harry's, staring him right in the eye. "Go to St Mungo's and get your scar cut out - NOW, Harry! I'm serious!"
"I will for you, Draco, but not today. We have to meet your ex-Head of House." Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out Snape's letter. He handed it to Draco, who skimmed it and looked up. "Do you know where the greasy git's favourite chair is?" Harry asked.
"It's at Malfoy Mansion, in Father's study," Draco replied, handing the letter back to Harry. "I wonder why he wants to see us so badly?"
"I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about it," Harry muttered.
"Me too. What does he want Nagini's body for? Whose side is he on?"
They were both silent for a while. These were impossible questions to answer.
"Will you please let me see your memory?" Harry couldn't contain his curiosity any longer.
Draco sighed. "All right. You can look. But please don't hold it against me. When I was made a Death Eater, there was so much I didn't understand..."
He looked deep into Harry's eyes. Harry grasped his wand and thought, Legilimens.
oOoOoOo
The Death Eaters came for him at sunset...
There were two of them, walking boldly down the driveway of Malfoy Mansion, their feet crunching in the pale gravel, their white masks standing out starkly from their black robes.
Draco let the green velvet curtain fall back, and leaned on an inlaid, antique table, trying to still his gasps of terror. He knew why they were here ... they were going to take him to the Dark Lord ... he was going to be Marked...
...but only if he was lucky. If the Dark Lord didn't like what he found in his mind, Draco would die in agony...
He was overcome with guilty, terrified doubts. Judgement day was here, and he would live or die, depending how good a pure-blood he had been. Had he been rude enough to Mudbloods? To blood traitors? What thought crimes had he committed? Would the Dark Lord find him worthy?
Draco wanted to flee, but nowhere on Earth was far enough to be safe. Yesterday's Daily Prophet rested on the table, headline screaming that Igor Karkaroff's body had been found, with the Dark Mark floating overhead. If Draco fled, he would assuredly die within a year, but if he went with the Death Eaters, he might die tonight...
As he stood there hyperventilating, he heard Mother's voice, calling down from the upper floor.
"Draco, love? I can hear people outside..."
And in that moment, he made his decision. He had to go with the Death Eaters, putting on the best show of bravery and confidence that he could manage. He couldn't let Mother see them.
Since Father had been caught at the Ministry and thrown in Azkaban (curse that Harry Potter!) Mother had been increasingly haunted by the idea that her beloved only child would be taken and Marked, as his replacement. Nothing terrified her more. He'd overheard her talking to Aunt Bellatrix. "Surely, he can serve the Dark Lord in other ways; he doesn't have to take the Mark." His aunt's reply had been inaudible, but her sneer eloquent.
Whenever he asked Mother why she didn't want him Marked - terrifying as it was, wasn't it an honour? - she'd muttered, flustered, that he needed to finish his education ... needed to wait until he was older ... needed to understand ... but she never told him what he needed to understand. Why did she still treat him like a child? It was infuriating. He was sixteen now, and the man of the house, since Father had been incarcerated.
Draco thought, if Mother sees the Death Eaters, she'll shame our family by begging them on her knees not to take me ... or she'll fight them ... and they'll kill her.
"I'll answer the door, Mother. No need to get up," he called out, hoping she wouldn't notice the strain in his voice.
Pulling on a thick, travelling cloak, Draco hurried down the stairs and reached the vast, intricately carved double front doors, just as a heavy knock sounded. With a show of confidence he didn't feel, he threw the doors open.
The two Death Eaters loomed over him, holding their stubby, twisted wands in his face.
"The Dark Lord wishes to see you," intoned one.
"I'm ready," he drawled, swaggering outside, closing the doors behind him and turning to gaze at the Death Eaters with aristocratic haughtiness. "Take those wands out of my face. How dare you! I'm a Malfoy."
Inwardly, he marvelled that his voice sounded steady...
oOoOoOo
He couldn't help the last, longing glance over his shoulder, at his beloved, ancestral home, as the Death Eaters led him away, one on either side of him.
The sunset had turned the white walls of Malfoy Mansion blood red. A curtain flicked and Mother's pale oval face appeared in an upstairs window. He saw the curtain suddenly fall closed and he turned away.
He knew Mother would be sprinting down the stairs, desperate to intercept the Death Eaters who had stolen her baby. In a minute, she would come tearing out of the front doors, like an avenging angel.
But by then, they would be gone.
A small amount of satisfaction and relief tempered Draco's terror. Mother was safe.
For now...
oOoOoOo
He didn't know where the Death Eaters had brought him. It was cold and the air was rank with decay. The labyrinthine brick-walled tunnels resembled an old sewer. Stinking water dripped down the walls, reflecting the guttering flames of candles. Their feet splashed through puddles, as the Death Eaters escorted him, without a word, to the Dark Lord. Draco was trembling with fear, and he wondered if they noticed.
I won't beg. That was Draco's one coherent thought. He'd heard of the effect the Dark Lord had on otherwise dignified people. He did something to their minds, which made them crawl at his feet and kiss the hem of his robes, begging to be of service. Even Father had sported a manic expression of desperate desire, after the Dark Lord's return. And Aunt Bellatrix was more obsessed with the Dark Lord, than with her own husband.
Draco heard the sound of voices coming from up ahead. The tunnel opened up into a large chamber, with grey smoke drifting overhead from the flickering candles that lined the walls. Standing on a podium, in centre of the chamber, was a tall, gaunt figure, black robed, with skin as unnaturally pale as salt, red eyes and long, spidery fingers. The most terrifying person Draco had ever seen - Lord Voldemort.
The Dark Lord was not alone. Ten Death Eaters, anonymous under their heavy black robes and white masks, stood below the podium, gazing up intently. On the podium, kneeling at the Dark Lord's feet, was a tiny Death Eater, as heavily masked and robed as the others. But Draco recognised him from his cringing posture. Wormtail...
The Dark Lord's high-pitched voice tore at Draco's nerves and made his knees go weak. "You will be Severus Snape's servant, Wormtail. Report back to me daily about his activities."
"But my Lord-" Wormtail was indignant.
The nerve-shattering voice cut him off. "You presume question to my order?"
"No, my Lord."
"Good. Go now!"
Wormtail bowed his head sulkily in acquiescence. Then his body shrank as he transformed, and a balding, grey rat scampered away from the Dark Lord's feet, and was lost among the other scuttling rat shadows in the chamber.
Draco's heart froze, as the hairless, noseless head turned, and the red eyes focused on him.
"And now, we have the latest recruit to our family ... or our body count," the Dark Lord sneered.
The Death Eaters laughed horribly.
"Bring him here!" The Dark Lord, beckoned the two flanking Death Eaters. They grabbed Draco roughly by the upper arms, dragged him across the chamber, and flung him onto the podium at the Dark Lord's feet. Then they joined the throng of Death Eaters.
Painfully, Draco raised his head. The Dark Lord's black, polished shoes, and the hem of his robe were close enough to touch. I will not kiss them, he thought.
"Kneel before me, Draco Malfoy. Look into my eyes."
Draco did as he was told, too frightened to protest. With as much dignity as he could muster, he straightened his back and stared into those vertical pupils.
"Ah, you defy me. So soon, Draco," said the Dark Lord, with a feral grin. "I like to see a boy with spirit." His grin widened. "Oh, you're not a boy? You're sixteen and you're the man of the house? You hate being treated like a child?" His bared teeth were as straight and white as tombstones.
The Death Eaters laughed.
I'm an open book to him, thought Draco, horrified, all his previous feelings of guilt rushing up.
"Indeed. An open book..." The pitiless red eyes stared into his, and Draco felt the Dark wizard going through his mind, like a curious shopper walking the aisles of a bookshop: picking up a book here and there, exploring, examining, choosing.
He tasted the Dark Lord's mind - more alien than an animal's, for it was a mind without love.
"Love is worthless. Whatever that old fool Dumbledore might say."
Draco heard the Death Eaters mumbling in agreement, but his mind filled with images of the majestic, white-haired headmaster.
"Do you wish to be mine, Draco?" asked the Dark Lord suddenly.
"Yes, sir, I-"
"Don't lie to me, Draco. I can always tell when someone is lying to me." The Dark Lord stepped closer, black robe sweeping the floor. "You do not wish to be mine. I see it in your worthless mind. You do not think the rewards are sufficient."
Draco shivered.
"Perhaps you believe the rewards from serving that Muggle-loving fool Dumbledore would be greater?" Voldemort asked, his red eyes venomous.
"Sir, I'd never ... he put my father into Azkaban-"
"But still, you respect him." Draco spluttered something incoherent, but was silenced by the venomous red eyes.
The Dark Lord's tone became patronising. "Sixteen-year-old man, who doesn't want to be treated like a child ... perhaps you would rather be at home with your precious mother, playing on your racing broom, and collecting every Harry Potter article ever printed?"
The Death Eaters gasped.
Draco was struck dumb. NOBODY knew about that shameful collection in his diary. The red eyes glared down, waiting for an explanation. With a tongue that felt dry and rubbery in his mouth, Draco stuttered, "I-I h-hate Harry P-Potter, sir." An image of Potter's face, luminous green eyes behind those dorky round glasses, came into his mind and hardened his resolve. Potter had put Father into Azkaban. Oh, he was going to get even with the Gryffindor, if it were the last thing he ever did...
The red eyes bored into him. Suddenly, the grating, high-pitched voice was softer. "Perhaps you require a little ... persuasion ... to serve me, Draco. Lord Voldemort rewards his servants well. Dumbledore cannot give you what you truly desire, Draco. Only I can."
Draco stared back in confusion. Then he shuddered. The Dark Lord's long hand, with spidery fingers, was trailing over his hair. Those fingers were icy cold...
"How well do you know your true heart's desire, Draco? Lord Voldemort knows all things - even those things that men do not know about themselves." The cold fingers stroked down the side of Draco's face, and came to rest under his pointed chin. Then they squeezed tight and held his head still, in a grip of iron. Draco trembled with disgust at the touch, but strove to conceal it. "Tell me what you desire, Draco. If you serve me well, you will receive it in reality."
Consumed by those burning eyes, Draco felt the tip of a wand touch his forehead. "Erised!" said the Dark Lord, and the real world spun away.
oOoOoOo
"What do you desire?"
Such an exciting question! Draco was vaguely aware that he still knelt at the Dark Lord's feet, but all he could see were the treasures, piled high around him, sparkling and clamouring for his attention. The world brimmed with boundless possibilities for delight, and he was as full of anticipation, as a five-year-old on Christmas morning.
What DID he desire? He could have anything!
Somewhere in his head, a cynical voice that sounded like Mother, reminded him nothing came for free, and that he would pay a price for these treasures that that wouldn't be measured in galleons, but that voice was easy to ignore. Distracting, desirable objects were all around. Everything Draco had ever wanted was here.
He shouted with joy, as he laid eyes on forgotten things that he had, once-upon-a-time, set his heart on: a toy racing broom, capable of flying as high as the chimneys of Malfoy Mansion. He would have sold his soul for it, when he was five. Other objects clamoured for his attention. A Time Turner, glinting with the promise of twisting time any way he chose! His own sweet shop - the shelves piled high with his favourite chocolates, their wrappers glistening and gleaming like jewels. Cho Chang's beautiful face. How he had longed to snog her!
But that cynical voice in his head sneered at the treasures. A five-year-old's racing broom? It wouldn't even bear his weight now. Time Turners were incredibly dangerous, and not a toy. Besides, all the Ministry Time Turners had been smashed. A lifetime's supply of chocolate? Sickening! His taste for chocolate had been blunted forever by the parcels of sweets Mother had sent him every day at Hogwarts. Cho Chang? Worst snog he had ever had!
As if his dissatisfaction had been heard, more desirable temptations rose up to meet his eye. He saw himself as the greatest Seeker in the world, zooming effortlessly past a jealous and pouting Harry Potter to grab the fluttering snitch. He saw himself as Minister of Magic, kicking the Mudbloods and blood traitors out of Hogwarts, and sending a penitent Harry Potter to Azkaban for good measure. What a glorious feeling!
"I can make you Minister of Magic, if you serve me," a loveless, alien voice, echoed through his mind.
But ... no ... you don't truly want to be Minister of Magic. Think of the hard work and the popularity polls, whispered the cynical voice.
There was a trace of impatience in the loveless voice now. "You need to try harder, Draco. Tell me what you want."
Draco did try harder, wondering why his mind was resisting.
Can't you guess? The cynical voice sneered.
Straining to imagine what he desired most, Draco grinned when Harry Potter's Firebolt appeared, polished handle gleaming. The scent of it did something strange to his nether regions. Oh yes! He'd been so jealous of Harry and had begged Father to buy him a Firebolt, but Father had refused. He'd said a nearly new Nimbus 2001 was a more than acceptable school Quidditch racing broom, and he'd remained adamant, even through the worst tantrum Draco had thrown since he was three. Now the polished perfection of the Firebolt floated in front of Draco...
But then it faded. There was something else he desired, something much deeper in his mind, which prevented everything else from holding his attention.
"You try my patience, Draco," the loveless voice snarled.
Draco wondered, who would I be, if I could be anyone?
Abruptly, he WAS Harry Potter. The entire attention of the wizarding world was being heaped upon him and he gloried in it. Girls threw themselves at him. Dumbledore gave him hundreds of house points. The Minister for Magic pardoned his every action, and invited him to every Ministry function...
But the cynical voice was frightened now and snapped at him. Don't be Potter! The Dark Lord wants Potter dead!
Such a jolt of terror went through Draco that he temporarily broke free of the vision. He caught a glimpse of red eyes glaring down at him, and felt the cold fingers clamped around his chin, before the vision claimed him again.
His fear turned to fury. Everything was Potter's fault! Rage flooded through him and he saw Potter's green-eyed face rising up in front of him, saw Potter's clenched fist ready to strike. Faster than Potter, Draco balled up his own fist, punched him hard in the nose, heard it break, and watched him fall. Draco screamed in triumph. He'd done it! At long last, he'd fought Potter and won!
But something else lurked below the triumph - corrosive guilt. The blood pouring out of Potter's nose as he struggled on the ground was ... frightening. The cynical voice sniggered. Are you going to faint at the sight of blood, Draco? Since when have you relied on punches, instead of harsh words? And since when have you been faster than Potter? This vision is a LIE!
The bloodied Potter stared up with unbeaten, hate-filled eyes and Draco quailed. If this were real, Potter would leap up and proceed to beat the stuffing out of you, as usual, sneered the cynical voice. Breaking Potter's nose is worth boasting about for a few days, but it's ultimately a hollow victory. You don't desire Potter's hate - you've already got it!
"Enough!" The alien voice snarled. "I grow tired of waiting for you to make up your mind. You are lazy and spoiled! If you will not tell me what you desire ... I WILL FIND OUT!"
Draco's mind burned as the alien mind plunged mercilessly into him and searched him to the core. He felt the Dark Lord's tendrils right inside him, in his heart and soul, deeper than he'd ever gone himself. He screamed silently.
Confused sensations went through his head. Green eyes. A hand lifted in friendship. Warm skin. Touch without pain. The sweet scent of treacle tart. The woodsy scent of a Firebolt broom handle. Tears of agony and emotion rose in his eyes. He thrashed, but the icy cold hand on his jaw held his head steady.
He felt some essential part of his mind being sucked into those red eyes. The cynical voice, which had been screaming at him to shield his mind, fell silent.
The glittering treasures faded and he stood in warm darkness. The alien presence was still in his mind, but he no longer cared. With a floaty sense of wellbeing he saw a dark wood door, embossed with bronze, appear before him.
The alien voice spoke, and Draco listened without fear.
"In this room, you will find what you most desire. Enter."
"Yes, my Lord," said Draco obediently.
He pushed open the door, and walked into a tapestried bedroom, containing a vast four-poster bed, with its green drapes drawn. The bedroom was lavishly decorated. To Draco, it looked like a honeymoon suite in an expensive, magical hotel. A fire burned in the heath, below a mantelpiece decorated with carved serpents. There was a thick, lush bearskin rug on the hearth.
As he stared at the bed, such a wild feeling of desire and desperate longing overcame over him that he hunched over and hugged himself.
He could not see the mist, which swirled around the room.
"Unwrap your gift, Draco. It is only a taste of what I can offer you. When I have come to power, with your help, it will be yours in reality," whispered the cold voice.
"Thank you, my Lord," said Draco. He closed the door and walked towards the bed. He felt like a five-year-old, about to unwrap a fascinating Christmas present, but something in his trousers told him he wasn't five years old.
He didn't know what he was about to receive. He drew the curtain and gasped.
Harry Potter was lying on the bed. He was naked, unconscious, and relaxed. Leather straps bound him to the bedposts by his wrists and ankles. His eyes were demurely closed, his long black lashes rested against his cheek, and he wasn't wearing his usual round glasses. His face looked naked without them, but not as naked as the rest of his body.
On the pillow by his head rested an ornate dagger, and a tiny crystal bottle of clear liquid.
A surge of desire, so strong it was almost painful, made Draco hug himself. What could he do to the Gryffindor? Anything! The possibilities were boundless. At last he knew what he truly desired - absolute power over Harry Potter!
Draco kicked off his shoes and climbed onto the bed, next to Potter. He reached for the crystal bottle, opened it and cautiously sniffed it. Veritaserum. He uncapped the bottle, and let the contents trickle into Potter's mouth. Potter swallowed reflexively. Draco threw the empty bottle over his shoulder, heedless of where it landed. The he looked down, gloating and rubbing his hands together with glee. What would he do to his rival?
At first, only thoughts of revenge came to mind. Potter had been victorious over him so many times. It was about time Potter found out what losing was like, and the leather straps meant the Gryffindor couldn't retaliate. Potter would be black and blue, with bat bogies flapping all over his face, by the time Draco had finished with him...
Or he would be dead. Draco picked up the ornate dagger and tested the blade against his finger. It was sharp. It would give no resistance if he stabbed it downwards...
It occurred to him he could take Potter apart, piece by piece, and Potter would not be able to stop him. But the thought of blood, screaming and body fragments sickened Draco.
Besides, he'd only get one chance to chop Potter up, he reasoned. If he left Potter whole, he'd possess him ... forever!
Draco put the knife back on the pillow and feasted his eyes on his new possession. He'd never seen Potter naked, and Colin Creevy had been banned, along with his camera, from the Quidditch change rooms.
Potter was ... beautiful. His skin was darker than Draco's and without blemish. Giving into his desire to touch him, Draco pressed his hand against the centre of his chest, lifted it, and saw the white mark he had left darken gently, until it was the same colour as the rest of his skin. There was something so sensual about being next to Harry like this. He had been hard since he entered the room, somehow knowing what sort of thing his heart's desire would entail. His mind hadn't known, but another part of him had.
He ran his hand over Potter's chest, fascinated, watching the gentle expansion and contraction of his ribcage as he breathed. Feeling the strong, regular heartbeat against his hand. He ran his hand over Potter's nipples and watched them contract against his fingers, ran his hands over their pebbled surface. He stroked the sides of Potter's chest, feeling the corrugated trace of ribs under his hand.
Despite being unconscious, Potter was responding just a little, to Draco's ministrations. He was breathing a little faster and he moaned softly.
Draco leaned forward, wrapped an arm around Potter and buried his face in his neck and hair, breathing in his fresh, woodsy scent, like a handle of a Firebolt. With his cheek resting on Potter's shoulder, he looked down his body, and saw his cock resting, sleeping, on a cushion of black curls. Draco couldn't resist. His hand went to it, ran up and down it, closed around it and stroked it. Potter moaned faintly and moved his hips.
"Oh God, you're so beautiful," Draco heard himself say. Clearly his heart's desire wasn't what he thought. He didn't want to kill Potter, or destroy that delicate masculine beauty. He wanted ... he wanted to humiliate Potter. Yes! That had to be it! What would it be like to have Potter begging him - for attention, for friendship, for his touch, for love? And to have Draco reject him? There was only one way to find out...
"Enervate!"
Potter's eyes snapped open and he gasped in shock. He tried to sit up, but his bonds held him tightly to the bed and he struggled against them in a panic. Draco sat on the bed at Potter's side, watching his struggles with a cool smirk.
"Hullo, Potter. Have I got your attention at last?"
oOoOoOo
Author's Notes: Please review!
Replies to reviews:
Thank you to the following people for reviewing: 3-left-turns, carissa, death by storm, Ash of Slytherin, Wolf-of-dragon13, hearts. ThePotionsMiss, Kittendragon, GenX-Revolution, AngelLuva, NinjaoftheDarkness, LunaSky, Muchacha, bellajen94, fufu.a.k.a.speechless, Anissina June, Fmh, 6tigercubs, ProperT, GreenEyedCatDragon, thrnbrooke, Ripuku, Moonsign, Moyima, Crowley Black, Potter's Wifey, Silver-Tiger-Fira, Yellowwolf, and CatWriter.
sasunaru lover: Thanks for reviewing! Hope you get your internet back soon!
Riku-Rocks: Thanks! I think canon Draco and Harry could have been good friends too. Maybe they will be in Deathly Hallows? Hope so ... because I suppose a little canon slash is too much to hope for! ;-)
Tempest in Blue: Thanks for the review! Ginny wasn't surprised at the Harry / Draco situation because her parents and her twin brothers had warned her what to expect. Besides, she's long since worked out - HARRY'S GAY! ;-)
Jamari: Thanks for pointing out the continuity error. I went back and fixed it right away, making Harry suspicious about Draco's apology outside the Wizengamot, because the cunning Slytherin was in such dire straits at the time. That sort of continuity error happens when the author has the memory of a goldfish, she's written over 110,000 words, and none of her six beta readers responded to chapter 28. (I think I killed them by writing too much! ;-) By rights, I should go back through the chapters and make sure that continuity error doesn't pop up anywhere else, but I have to churn out a chapter every few days to finish before Deathly Hallows comes out, so I don't have time. Sorry about that!
rekahneko: I find Snape an amusing character as well. He's got a wonderful, British dry sense of humour.