Tangled
It had been more than an extraordinarily long day; indeed, it had been a long, frustrating, trying, embarrassing, simply horrible day that left Harry ready to murder Malfoy.
The order Malfoy had given him turned into a harmless joke after McGonagall found out and promptly gave the git two days of detention, though that didn't stop the entirety of Slytherin from calling him 'the Boy Who Lived to Snog Horklumps' or the odd looks Hagrid and Professor Sprout were giving him.
Nor did it stop Ron from ranting, raving, and generally brooding about the curse all day. Hermione was constantly in a state of tears, a profuse apology endlessly spilling from her lips but Ron, the tactless idiot, kept bringing it up and blaming Hermione. It was probably one of their worst rows yet at the end of the day when Hermione snapped and started to scream at him in the common room, frightening and confusing everyone before she stormed up to the girls' dormitory, still shrieking incoherently about Slytherins and house elves.
When he and Ron had fled the awkward questions and befuddled looks, Ron at last had the good grace to look guilty, shaking his head to himself and glowering at his feet as they changed for bed.
"Harry?" he asked after a while, "You don't think…I was too hard on her?"
The look on Harry's face was answer enough and Ron grimaced, coloring and muttering something about house elves. Harry just rolled over in bed and tried to ignore him, giving a noncommittal grunt when Ron decided it was mostly Malfoy's fault.
But Harry knew it was his own fault, he had been the one stupid enough to grab at Hermione's wand while she was casting that spell and Malfoy was as much a victim of it as he was.
Only the git was enjoying it far more than he should.
He sauntered down the corridors, not like the Prince of Slytherin, but rather like the King of Hogwarts entirely, smirking constantly and sending imperious looks toward all Gryffindors as if to proclaim silently that he had their leader under his control. The other Slytherins had no idea why he was acting this way, but gloried in it anyway, hexing first years more than usual and generally being haughty and nasty to anyone in their warpath.
Harry had had worse days, but the curse made this one particularly terrible; at any mention of his name, any flash of blond, or blink of grey, those strings within him were plucked, singing a maudlin tune of longing. It was absolutely revolting how much he wanted to be by Draco Malfoy's side, the thrill he got when he imagined himself groveling at his feet, dutifully carrying out his every beck and call, how he desired to be praised and ordered. He wasn't sure how long he could resist not running up to his master and asking if he needed anything.
His master, Merlin he didn't know when he was going to get used to those words echoing in his head along with Malfoy's cruel laughter.
He held tight to the belief that if he was clever enough, he could avoid obeying him, finding loopholes and 'accidentally' taking his words for a different meaning without having to punish himself. He was still terrified of that urge, the way it twanged at random moments when he unknowingly disobeyed, guilt and bloodied images of himself soaking his mind.
It wasn't the need to punish himself that was the most horrifying part, nor was it the delight in the idea at licking Malfoy's boots, it was the artificial pleasure singing through his veins at Malfoy's scorning praise that made him feel truly cursed. It felt pleasant, too pleasant, sexual even, and he thought house elves shouldn't get off that much when rewarded.
He knew the next day would prove to be just as difficult, especially coupled with the thought of the embarrassing conversation he was likely to have with Dobby.
He did not look forward to the next day at all.
~o0o~
Draco couldn't wait until tomorrow.
It was still a surreal feeling, a glorious surge of pure power to think that Harry Potter, the Golden Gryffindor, the Boy Who Lived, the hope of the Wizarding world was nothing more than Draco's house elf!
Oh, he'd been terrified at first, that crazed look it Potter's eyes still haunted him, but he quickly quashed that terror with the beautiful words Potter had then spoke, absolute music to his ears.
"I have to listen to you, you're my Master."
It was like an early Christmas.
Dumbledore's rules and threats aside, he knew Potter was naturally going to be the noble martyr he always was and bear the curse with his chin held high, glaring Draco down and stubbornly resisting his every command to the point of near death.
That would surely be entertaining.
Watching Potter smash his head into the wall hadn't been entertaining however, it was frightening in fact and left him with a churning in the pit of his stomach, the same feeling he'd felt when the Chosen One was screaming and flailing about. It'd been equally as scary when Draco tried to steady him and he went limp, staring into his eyes with a sort of dazed intensity that made Draco feel transparent.
He shook his head, directing his thoughts back to Potter-related ones that involved what fun the next day promised not how he hated to see the bloody Gryffindor hurt.
He almost considered consulting Blaise and Pansy about what he should command his new little minion to do next, but he knew that even if Potter had already moaned about the curse to the Mudblood and Weasel, their benevolent headmaster would not forgive him so easily if he were to tell two thoroughly untrustworthy and Gryffindor-despising Slytherins. Admittedly, Draco wouldn't trust his two friends with so much as a Galleon, which was mildly pathetic compared to Potter's never ending trust in anyone who so much as smiled at him, but it was still unfair.
Potter was always that old codger's favorite, running about the school without a rule to tie down his misadventures, while those who were doing the real work against the Dark Lord, those in a constant state of peril, in Hogwarts or not, were bound and tangled in expectations and secrets.
Not to mention the mark on their arms.
Draco shuddered, clutching at his left arms and fingering the Dark Mark beneath his sleeve, recalling the burn, the pain, the fucking unbelievable pain that seemed to linger even now, dull and diseased, growing like a cancer every time he thought about the dark days of summer.
The glory in the name 'Death Eater' died along with the first Muggle on the drawing room floor.
Father and Mother had been worried when the Dark Lord gained physical form again, but he thought nothing of it, foolishly entertaining ideas of himself becoming a loyal follower to his cause, a faithful Death Eater, feared by all. The fantasy was dispelled with a sneer and a Cruciatis Curse, and after that, he himself began to worry. The worry didn't stop him from doing awful things that later woke him in the night feeling indescribably despicable and filthy, as if the blood was still staining his hands, dark and thick like his own horror and shame.
When the Dark Lord gave him his very first, super special mission he knew how his illustrious career as a Death Eater was going to end. It would end with his death, either by his own hand or someone else's.
On the first day back to school, despite his bravado and vows to carry out the assassination of the most powerful wizard alone, he'd found himself already broken that very evening, sobbing forcefully in Severus Snape's shocked and stiff arms as he begged him to end it, end Dumbledore, end Draco. There had been a long silence after that, but eventually his godfather spoke, softly and carefully in a tone Draco had never heard him use before, and told him there was another choice aside from his own or someone else's death.
So he was swept away to Dumbledore's office and after a dose of Veritaserum and many assurances and irritatingly pitying looks, he found himself with a future, working as a spy just like Severus for the Light.
That didn't stop him from hating the man who saved him.
Or Potter for that matter.
He miraculously managed to drift to sleep smiling, clinging to the memory of Potter's face when he first announced he lived to snog Horklumps before a group of confused Ravenclaws.
~o0o~
He still distinctly hated the Mudblood, also, and no amount of awe in her ability to know bloody everything sway him from that, though admittedly, he was feeling particularly fond of her today considering Potter's becoming his slave was her brilliant mind's doing. So he smiled charmingly at her when she came bustling up to him in the library the next day after lunch, unfortunately sans Draco's new house elf.
"Well, good day Granger. To what do I owe the pleasure of an audience with the clever girl who granted me the absolute best gift in the form of her best friend's slavery?" he said sweetly, smirking when she glared, eyes still red rimmed from crying, and glanced about to see if anyone had heard.
"Malfoy, I need to talk to you about Harry." She said evenly, evidently finding their conversation secure in the little used alcove Draco claimed as his own territory, muffled by unpopular, thick books and tall shelves.
"Whatever about?" he drawled, lounging back in the cushion he'd conjured, flipping idly through his book, "He's not complaining already is he? I haven't even ordered him to actually snog the Horklumps. Yet."
She chose to ignore that, avoiding his imperious gaze as she sat in a chair nearby, dropping her load of battered tomes with a loud slam and a cloud of dust. Draco watched with interest as she took her time sorting through the thick books, obviously whatever it was she wanted to talk about was extremely important, otherwise she wouldn't brave his presence.
She dragged the chair back over to him, a notebook and quill in hand, sitting herself down and looking at him expectantly.
"I don't have the time to be interviewed, dear." He sneered, returning his gaze to his book, "Tell your darling Potter that I'm not making any deals, signing any contracts, or whatever else your oversized brain has concocted."
"I need to know how the spell is affecting you, if it is at all." she said patiently, opening her notebook, "I'm not entirely sure what it's actually done, obviously I need that information if I'm ever to make a counter-curse."
"Why would you assume I'd help you take away all my fun, Granger?"
"The sooner this is done, the sooner I leave you alone, Malfoy."
He sighed explosively, shutting his book and sitting up to face her steady chocolate gaze.
"Why would the curse on Potter affect me at all? It was put on him, and he was bound to the Malfoy name. I've never felt any pain when the house elves iron their fingers and such."
He grinned when her stare sharpened into a glare and was mildly impressed when she held back whatever rubbish she was going to say about elfish welfare. She simply took a calming breath and asked clinically,
"When you order Harry to do something, you feel nothing?"
"Apart for absolute joy, yes."
"When he punishes himself, you feel nothing?"
"No," he lied, ignoring the lurch of his stomach when he remembered the Potter smashing his face into the wall, the crack of his nose breaking, the blood gushing…
"When the curse was first cast and Harry fell on you, you felt nothing?"
"Nothing indeed."
Granger went quiet, nibbling her quill thoughtfully and glowering at her notes. Draco watched, wondering if she'd notice if he spelled her forehead to read 'elf shagger' or something of the like. Yes, Draco missed having his own hoard of house elves to do his bidding, but he never liked them, the memory of a particularly creepy one from his childhood that had a nasty habit of watching him sleep left him perpetually wary of the creatures.
"We'll have to test then," Granger mumbled, standing and jotting something down, "I'll be back, Malfoy."
With that she walked out of the library, still frowning at her notes and muttering. Draco faintly thought of leaving just to spite her, but decided the word 'test' was intriguing enough to make him wait.
He was rewarded awhile later when Granger returned with a harassed looking Harry Potter in tow, glaring at Draco with a hatred that simply made him grin. Whatever this was, Potter didn't like it, and whatever Potter didn't like Draco was sure to enjoy.
"Hello Potter, won't you greet your master properly?"
Draco chuckled when Potter physically resisted the order, chewing on his lip and fidgeting in the seat he'd taken beside Granger's.
"Harry," she said sharply, "Don't, not over something stupid."
He glared at her, and said without looking at Draco,
"Hullo Master."
"Good, Potter."
Potter crossed his arms and sat rigidly in his chair, blushing and still glowering in Granger's general direction. Draco wished he could take a photo of the moment, especially coupled with the fact that Potter's flushing face was one of the cutest things he'd ever seen.
He ignored that thought.
"Alright, Malfoy, tell Harry to do something. Simple. And reasonable." She added sternly when he beamed wickedly. He refrained from reminding Granger that Gryffindors and Slytherins had completely different ideas of 'reasonable' in favor of going through his long, long mental list of things he wanted Potter to do.
"Get it over with!" Potter growled; face red, when Draco had evidently taken too long smiling like a shark.
"If you're so eager…" he smirked as Potter's retort was silenced by a severe look from Granger, "Bow to me, Potter."
"What?" Potter exclaimed, bolting to his feet and glaring at Draco, the funny bend at his waist was telling him that Potter had heard exactly what he ordered.
"Bow down, Potter, bow to your master." Draco said darkly, staring into those defiant, verdant depths that were Potter's eyes with a dare held like a dagger, a death sentence between them.
After another tense moment, miraculously, those stubborn eyes lowered submissively, and Potter folded himself into an awkward, pained looking, low bow. Draco was struck dumb in awe for a moment, gaping at the back of Potter's head, his exposed neck were his messy hair curled slightly. Vulnerable is one way he thought he'd never see the great Harry Potter.
He leaned forward, sliding slim fingers to cup the Gryffindors chin, tilting his face up to meet the enevitable glare, then whispered in his ear,
"You're a very good house elf, Potter, seems to be your proper place. The Boy Who Lived will serve me well."
Potter shuddered and Draco laughed as he straightened, flushed and furious, throwing himself into his seat. With a single exchanged glance, they both knew the other would never forget that moment, one mortified and the other sinisterly gleeful.
"Well, Hermione?" he demanded, and Draco just then recalled the Mudblood's presence. She was staring at the place where Harry had bowed, brow furrowed and wand held absently at her side.
"Well, my spells couldn't detect any trace of magic there." She said, scowling as she wrote that down.
"What's that mean?" Potter asked, "Can't you sense the curse?"
"No," she sighed, frustrated, "What about you? What did you feel, Harry?"
~o0o~
Harry didn't want to share how he felt.
He felt angry at Hermione for dragging him here to test the boundaries of the stupid curse, stupid for allowing it to happen, sitting here like some sort of therapy group in a secluded corner of the library, murderous toward Malfoy for making him bloody bow to him, and positively horrified at himself for the thrill he was getting from Malfoy's whispered approval, it was all heat and sweet song strumming through the curse.
He didn't even want to think about how much he loved bowing down to his master.
"What does it feel like when you resist an order?" Hermione asked instead and Harry almost smiled gratefully at her.
"It's…all constricting, like I'm tied up on the inside or something," he tried, "And I get—I get guilty and want to hurt myself."
He silently dared Malfoy to say something, but the prat wasn't looking at him thankfully, preoccupied with his pristine nails. Hermione tittered worriedly but wrote down several notes, seeming to brighten slightly.
"Right then, so Malfoy you feel nothing at all when you order Harry to do something?" she asked.
"I've told you no." he whined.
"And when he resists?"
"Frustration, though I suppose I should expect it. I'll just have to break him in properly before he's an obedient servant I can be proud of."
"You wish, Malfoy." Harry growled, "You know I will never be 'obedient' to a bastard like you."
"You're just like a wild Kneazle, Potter. All animals can be tamed," Malfoy said simply, slouching back with that elegant grace he always carried, "Though I can't say the same about that beast on your head you call hair."
Harry rolled his eyes and stood, fighting the urge to tug self-consciously at his hair. Malfoy combed a slender fingered hand through his own gossamer strands, the platinum hair untangled, hanging in those stormy eyes that were flashing with cruel amusement.
"Can I leave now, Hermione?" he hissed, quite sure he was going to punch his master if he quipped another jibe.
"Hm? Oh, yeah, sure, Harry." She muttered distractedly, already immersed in her notes again.
Harry left her to suffer in Malfoy's intolerable company, retreating to the common room to fume in solitude for the rest of his free period, hating Malfoy every moment of it. He continued to hate him all through Charms and then Herbology, thankful he didn't have a class with the Slytherin that day. He just wanted to forget about the strings entangled in his bloody soul, the curse binding him to the Malfoy name, the feelings that he shouldn't have been feeling smoldering along those choking lines. Just the mere thought of the prat was torment.
And yet he was still more terrified of the conversation he was about to have.
He padded down the autumn chilled corridors, hidden beneath his Invisibility Cloak with the Marauder's Map in hand, this time desperately hoping not to be caught as he stole down to the kitchens.
He didn't remove the Cloak until the pear was giggling fitfully, the portrait swinging open to reveal the mass of short elves only, no fellow midnight wanderer among them snacking. When he did take off the Cloak he was abruptly welcomed and ushered in graciously in a flurry of deep bows and squeaky voices offering various sweets and drinks.
It was staggering to think that this was what he was now, apart from the bat-like ears and high voice. Perhaps Malfoy would one day make him wear a tea cozy for his clothes.
His face darkened when the curse heated with pleasure at that thought.
"Harry Potter, sir!"
Dobby was bouncing toward him through the throng of house elves, bowing the deepest of all, his forehead fairly smashing to the floor as he simply beamed.
"You has come to see, Dobby sir? Dobby has heard Jammy tell of Harry Potter beings in the corridor!" he squeaked as he guided him to a seat by one of the fires, nodding to the house elves that asked if Harry wanted the treacle tart he's so fond of.
A dirtied heap that turned out to be Winky dozed fitfully by the hearth, Butterbeer clutched in hand and tomato-like nose running copiously.
"How has she been?" Harry asked Dobby as he accepted a goblet of pumpkin juice, nodding toward the elf that now tossed to one side in the course of a dream.
"Some days is better, Harry Potter sir, some is…" Dobby trailed away fretfully, shaking his head at Winky.
Harry imagined what he may feel like if he were to lose Malfoy as Winky lost her beloved Crouches. Elation, joy, and freedom were feelings he conjured rather than the depression poor Winky had slipped into.
"Dobby, something's happened," he said quietly, staring at the goblet rather than the wide, worried green eyes watching him, "You see, Hermione was making this spell—"
There was a collective disdainful murmur behind him at Hermione's name, he glared over his shoulder and watched the elves scurry away meekly before turning back to Dobby, who had tears in his eyes.
"I'm fine! I'm alright, Dobby!" he assured him quickly, "But, the spell it sort of went wrong and now I'm—"
He stared at Dobby, who was gazing at him anxiously, probably the only creature that could understand his pain, the torment of serving a Malfoy.
But would he understand his pleasure?
"Dobby, I'm sort of like Draco Malfoy's house elf now."
Dobby did start crying then and Harry didn't take that as an encouraging sign. He frowned and patted Dobby on the back, trying to find away to assure him it wasn't as bad as it seemed.
If he were, he knew he'd be lying.
The elf blubbered half formed sentences, sobbing and wailing, until he mopped his enormous eyes and whispered,
"Draco Malfoy's house elf?"
Harry sighed, "Something of the sort. I feel the need to obey him and if I don't, well, you know."
Dobby nodded knowingly, sweeping a look over Harry as if checking for self inflicted injuries. Harry refrained from telling him about the broken nose, the elf had cried enough already.
"How has you been serving your Master Malfoy?" Dobby asked, looking fearful, "I hope Master tis nicer to Harry Potter than Master were to Dobby."
Harry scowled, wondering just what the ever abusive Draco Malfoy could have done to poor Dobby in his spoiled childhood and what he might've done to Harry if given free reign over him. He heard oven doors slamming and riotous giggling over the keening screams, shuddering to himself he dispelled the image, knowing it would come to him later in sleep and haunt him till morning.
"Dumbledore has given him rules so he can't order me around much anyway," Harry said, suddenly very grateful for Dumbledore indeed, "I don't think Malfoy's ever been nice to anyone."
Dobby agreed fervently, mumbling in wonderment about the great Master Dumbledore, and Harry sighed again, suddenly wishing he had something stronger in his hand than pumpkin juice.
"Dobby, I know you never like the Malfoys, but what's it like to serve someone you do, like Dumbledore?" he asked, feigning absent interest while really listening keenly, practically on the edge of his seat.
"Tis an honor, Harry Potter, to serve a great wizard, tis greater an honor to serve a kind one." Dobby smiled proudly, looking at the ceiling in adoration, "Dobby tis happy serving Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts!" someone snorted, a hiccup telling Harry that it was likely Winky, awoken from her sleep, "Twas more honor to serve Master Crouch."
She was sat up, sulking as she spun her bottle on the floor, watching it with teary, slightly crossed, eyes. "So Harry Potter serving Master Malfoy? What has sir to complain? Tis an honor…tis an honor. Winky remembers Lord Lucius Malfoy, she thinks him a good Master—"
"How did it feel to serve Mr. Crouch, Winky?" Harry asked swiftly before Dobby could start scolding her, from the look on his face he wanted to tell Winky what sort of master Lucius Malfoy was very much. Winky was a real, dedicated house elf unlike Dobby she had loved slaving for an unappreciative master as long as she was in her rightful place as nothing more than the keeper of a madman.
"Are wonderful, wonderful, good," she sniffed, straightening her stained blouse before her gaze seemed to focus, squinting at Harry, "Does Harry Potter sir like serving his master?"
Harry flushed, averting his eyes to the ground and taking a swig of pumpkin juice. Why did she have to ask that, the question he'd come here to ask them?
Yet he could deny the need to serve Malfoy, painful and constricting, but also the thrill of it, sweet and embarrassingly heated, sparks of lightening through his veins and thunder stuttering in his chest…
"Harry Potter sir likes to, doesn't he?" Dobby said quietly and he nodded, shame mixing with pride in a potent concoction that left him confused and mildly queasy.
"Tis a house elf's nature, Harry Potter sir,"
Harry nodded gruffly at Dobby, sincerely hoping it was just that and not Harry's own desires flaring because of the curse.
He wanted to sever the tie binding him to Draco Malfoy before he could find out.
~o0o~
A/N~ Sneaking in another warning here for self harm… My goodness house elves lead dangerous lives don't they?
I promised some people (you know who you are) a holiday special, but I'm sorry to say that won't be likely now that I'm trying to focus on Acquiescence and my own goings on this Christmas. I'm really sorry, but perhaps I'll do something for New Years if I can find the time.
Happy holidays everyone! Thanks for reading, please review!