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Chapter Fourteen—What Draco Malfoy Owned

“You may not like the house-elves’ desire to serve wizards,” Draco said to Granger, and was pleasantly surprised at how calm his own voice was. After an hour of debate, he had expected his patience to wane.

Perhaps Harry being in the audience has something to do with it.

“But it exists,” Draco said, and spread his hands, watching his motion with three sets of eyes all the while. Two of them, his and the eyes of his enemies who would inevitably be in the audience, were familiar. The third, Harry’s, was not, and Draco knew that he would worry about that and whether he had managed to answer Harry’s criticisms if he let himself. He didn’t intend to let himself. Instead, he kept a firm hold on his anxiety and his temper and spoke as if he had mere matters of fact to communicate—which he did. “It exists, just as earthquakes and diseases that kill thousands exist. You cannot pretend that it isn’t there or lessen its force by giving the elves clothes.”

“Wizards have told themselves lies about house-elves for so long that they couldn’t recognize the truth if it slapped them,” Granger said, refusing to turn a hair. “You may think that desire exists, but tell me the truth, Malfoy. How likely is it that a creature perfectly bred to serve you and do everything you wish would simply come into being? No. Wizards have made house-elves what they are through centuries of selective breeding and willful ignorance.”

Draco sighed. He had hoped that Granger wouldn’t drive him to this tactic, but it seemed that nothing less would satisfy her.

And only think of what Harry will believe, when he sees your courage and your dedication to the truth.

Draco crushed that hope irritably. It was as likely, at this point, that Harry would decide Draco’s attempts to win the debate with Granger were manipulative emotional theater. He needed to do this because he had to win the debate, not because he wanted to impress Harry. He turned towards the far left corner of the stage and clapped his hands. He had given instructions before he left the Manor, and he knew those instructions would be reverently obeyed. “Flopsy!” he called.

One of his house-elves Apparated into sight, and bowed gracefully to him. Flopsy was a handsome elf, with neatly groomed hairs sticking out of his ears and wide eyes that held less hysteria than was normal with one of his kind. “Master Draco was calling,” he said, “and Flopsy be coming.” He turned and cocked his head at Granger, twitching his ears. “Mistress Granger is having a question to ask?”

“Answers given by a slave in the presence of his master are worthless,” Granger said, as if she were quoting something.

She probably is. The Valiant Friends produced a lot of worthless rubbish in the form of essays and pamphlets that their members, as far as Draco knew, were required to recite word-perfect before they went and proselytized against house-elf slavery, or whatever Granger’s new cause was this week. But he had expected this, in part because he had taken the liberty of purchasing a few of those essays and reading them himself. He nodded and rose to his feet. “I shall retire,” he said. “And then you can ask Flopsy questions and get true replies.”

Granger stared at him, and Draco had the sweetness of knowing he had taken her utterly by surprise. He couldn’t resist the temptation to roll an eye sideways and look—

And sure enough, Harry was leaning forwards in his seat, his own eyes wide, his hands clasped on his lap as though he needed them there to keep from reaching out to Draco in his excitement. The sweetness rolled back through Draco, though this time with a sharp edge that made him shudder and thank his own foresight for wearing loose, if luxurious, robes.

Then Granger snorted at him and slammed her hand into the arm of her chair, hard enough to rouse several dull echoes. Flopsy twitched his ears, but made no comment on the rudeness of Mudbloods, the way Draco might have encouraged him to do if they were in front of a more understanding audience.

“I understand the way that the slave bond between wizards and house-elves works,” said Granger, her voice so full of condescension that Draco would have cheerfully strangled her. “Flopsy will only do what he thinks pleases you. You don’t fear leaving him alone with me because you know that he’ll still say the things he would when you were present.”

Draco had not expected this tactic to work, but it did expose one of the weaknesses in Granger’s argument, and he struck like a serpent before she could reconsider her ill-chosen words.

“I don’t understand, Granger,” he said, assuming his best “helpful idiot” expression. “You hate ‘enslaving’ house-elves because you see it as the chaining of intelligent beings with wills of their own. Is that right?”

Granger narrowed her eyes slightly, but replied in her usual calm, level manner. “That’s right.”

“Then why,” Draco said, going in for the kill—but so subtly, so smoothly, that she couldn’t notice and interrupt him before he said what he needed to say—“do you say on the one hand that you don’t trust Flopsy in front of me, and then on the other that you don’t trust him away from me? It sounds very much as if he couldn’t give you any answer that would satisfy you. Even if he complained of my rough treatment and longed for freedom, you would only say that I’d told him to recite those words in pursuit of some nefarious plan. House-elves have wills of their own, but you will not trust them in the exercise of those wills.”

Granger snarled soundlessly, caught in the logic trap. Draco knew she would soon fight her way free, and probably she would do some dramatic Gryffindor thing such as insisting on giving Flopsy clothes right that second.

Therefore, he decided to end the debate whilst he had the upper hand, and before he had said anything too offensive to Granger. Without Harry in the audience, he would be happy to deliver insults, but many things had changed now.

“For the next debate,” Draco said, making his voice soft and piercing at the same time, “decide on some test a house-elf can make that will satisfy you. And then explain why that test will satisfy you.” He paused, but not for long enough that Granger could catch her breath and take advantage of his silence. “Unless, of course, meeting a desire for service that simply exists is too hard for you.”

And he turned his back and walked off the stage, towards Harry, who rose to his feet when he saw Draco coming. His eyes didn’t express unqualified approval, but a thoughtful challenge was there that Draco appreciated more. He smiled at Harry, and Harry stepped towards him involuntarily, gaze fastened to his face.

Draco found himself lifting his chin without conscious volition and turning his head to the side to show off his profile. He couldn’t help it. Harry brought out his vain side, the one that demanded admiration.

Maybe because you know that his admiration would be worth more than anyone else’s to you, Draco thought, and then slipped a hand over Harry’s elbow and pulled him forwards. He couldn’t help the satisfied little hiss that broke through his lips, either.

“What did you think?” he asked, lowering his head so that he was whispering into Harry’s ear. The people staring at them might look all they liked, but he didn’t want them to overhear what he was saying to Harry.

“That you have good debate tactics,” Harry said. “And that you came up with an argument Hermione couldn’t answer at the moment, which takes enormous skill.” He smiled at Draco and then nudged an elbow into his ribs, gently, but still strongly, so that Draco had no choice but to let him go and step away. “Now, wait here a minute. I want to talk to Hermione.”

And off he went, as Draco stood there blinking at his back. He smoothed his expression out when he realized people were looking, but he knew someone would have noticed that stumble.

What does he want to speak to her about? Will he congratulate her on the debate, too, and try to preserve some sort of twisted neutrality where he compliments both me and his friends equally?

Draco grimaced and rubbed his mouth absently. Then he sighed. If he gave up his friends for me so easily, then his loyalty wouldn’t be worth having.

I will have to learn to live with Granger and Weasley, no matter how childish or impossible I find their arguments. Harry won’t abandon them, but he’s likely to turn his back on me if I try to make him do so. He’ll be convinced that he was completely wrong about me and I have nothing but the manipulative mask to offer him—none of the qualities that he saw in me and fell in love with.

And anyway, it’s probably not the debate that he’s going to talk to Granger about.

Draco had no evidence for that last thought, but it helped him take a deep breath and settle his shoulders. He even managed a slight smile, thinking about what admiration Harry might express when they were in private and didn’t have the eyes of the audience constraining them.

Harry won’t do exactly as I want or expect him to. And he shouldn’t. He would become another Rianna, so anxious to anticipate my wants and needs that he has no life of his own.

I don’t want that. I want him.

As exasperating as Harry could be at times, Draco was certain that last thought was the truth.

*

“Is it true that you’re dating Draco Malfoy?”

Harry smiled sweetly at the breathless woman edging towards him, her head tilted up towards him and her black hair falling artlessly around the sides of her face. He knew her. She was Patricia Morley, Skeeter’s successor at the Daily Prophet, and even more relentless in the pursuit of a story. Her innocent air had helped her get many in her time; Harry had fallen for it several times before he realized that she knew exactly what she was doing and was less overwhelmed by the blaze of his celebrity than he was.

But there were methods for dealing with people like Morley that she had never learned to counteract, and never would without changing the whole of her character.

“Yes,” he said, and walked straight past her whilst she still gaped and fumbled for a response. Hermione had stood up next to her chair, and she’d been talking to a few witches in the red and gold of the Valiant Friends a minute ago, but now she just watched him come with an expressionless face. Harry climbed the glass stage anyway and gave her a hug. She felt stiff in his arms.

“I don’t want to lose you as a friend,” he murmured into her ear. “I still think house-elves should be free. I just happen to believe Draco did a better job in this debate. Can you stand us dating?”

Hermione remained stiff in his arms for a moment longer. Then she relaxed and hugged him back. “It’s not about whether I can stand it,” she said. “It’s your love life, Harry. If he makes you happy, I’ll put up with him, and if he hurts you, then I can disembowel him. But I don’t think I’ll ever like him, and I certainly won’t give up the debates.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” Harry said, and kissed her on the cheek. “But you are one of my best friends, and your opinion is important to me.”

“Just not enough for you to make major changes in your life based on it,” Hermione said.

Harry cocked his head to the side and smiled. Hermione had had years of trying to influence his behavior with her advice, including advice that involved him embracing his celebrity and using it to push for house-elf freedom. At least she sounded wry rather than bitter now.

“I’ll bring Draco for dinner in a few days,” he said.

Hermione’s face changed quickly, scattering emotions like sparks, and finally she settled on incredulity. “I don’t think I’m willing to go to Malfoy Manor,” she said, “and I don’t know if I could have him in my house.”

“I was thinking about bringing him to the Valiant Friends’ meetinghouse, actually,” Harry said, and held his breath until she laughed.

“If he’ll come, by all means.” Hermione shook her head and clasped Harry’s hand. “I suspect he won’t, given what it would do to his reputation if someone saw him walking into the place, but it’s a bold plan.”

She kissed his cheek in turn. Harry smiled at her and watched with a warm feeling of contentment under his heart as she left. He knew, after all they’d been through together, that his best friends wouldn’t leave him because of a silly argument, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded.

He turned around to walk back to Draco, and blinked when he saw Draco staring at him, arms folded and deep lines of displeasure slashed around his mouth. Harry raised an eyebrow. And to think, I haven’t even told him about our dining plans yet.

No sooner had he arrived at Draco’s side than Draco grabbed his arm and they Apparated out of the arena, arriving moments later on the lawns of Malfoy Manor. Harry stumbled once, then again as Draco started hauling him towards the door.

“What is your problem?” he snapped, trying to brace his feet and resist Draco’s tug. Draco spun around to face him and gripped his arms, yanking him close again. Harry stared up at him. He hated, when Draco had treated him like a puppet, that the look of determined possessiveness on Draco’s face made him hard.

“She kissed you,” Draco whispered.

Harry gaped at him, then shook his head. “She’s Hermione,” he said. “She’s one of my oldest friends. And she’s with Ron, and she knows that I’m with you. That’s what we argued about, remember? How in the world can you be jealous of her kissing me?”

“You’re—” Draco began. Then he stopped, his nostrils flaring, as if he were remembering how much Harry had disliked his earlier claim that Harry belonged to him. He blew out his breath and bent over Harry again, so close that Harry almost crossed his eyes trying to focus on his face.

“You’re mine,” Draco whispered. “You have to be. I don’t want you to walk away. But I don’t know how to say it so that I don’t offend you.”

Harry curled his fingers gently into Draco’s chest, toying with a fold of his shirt. “I understand what you mean,” he said, and diplomatically did not add, What you fear. Draco wouldn’t take it well at the moment. “But treating me like a toy that someone else might pick up and play with doesn’t help your case.”

Draco closed his eyes and shook his head. His face was tight with stress. “Bloody hell, Potter,” he said. “I’m trying. I’ve never had anyone I could say that to who wouldn’t rejoice to hear it. I’ve never had someone I wanted so badly to own.” His hand curved hard around the back of Harry’s neck, and he brought their lips together with a force that cut Harry’s tongue on his teeth.

Harry opened his mouth and waited a moment until Draco’s tongue had moved into a good position. Then he bit it, sharply.

Draco leaped back with a cry, and clapped his hand to his lips. Harry raised his eyebrows, licked the blood away from his teeth, and said, “I’m happy to talk with you about this. I’m happy to make promises that I won’t kiss anyone else, or let them kiss me, if you have a jealousy problem. I’ll even admit that you being that jealous over me is flattering. I won’t let someone own me.” He could hear his voice deepening with outrage, and decided that he’d have to explain why, because otherwise Draco would never understand. This needs both of us to make it work. “After the war, everyone wanted to own me. They wanted my name, my face, my good will, my autograph. I got sick of it. If you want to have me, Draco, it’ll have to be for some other reason than because I make a good possession.”

*

Draco caught his breath and prevented his rage from exploding by sheer concentration. He’d had these fights before, and because his partners had been weaker than he was, he always won.

But the harsh gleam in Harry’s eyes said that wouldn’t happen this time.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment and fought his way back to some semblance of calm. And the answer came to him as he thought again of the differences between Harry and those partners he had courted, as he thought of the intense disappointment that had flared within him when he stepped into Merlin’s Tor and discovered Astoria waiting for him instead of his writer.

This is too important for me not to speak honestly about. And there are plenty of reasons that Harry isn’t just a good possession, or a good wife.

And that thought made him catch his breath and realize that Harry wasn’t a woman. He really, really wasn’t. He didn’t long for children and a pure-blood social circle. He longed for Draco, but he might change his mind and walk away even from that longing if he wasn’t very careful. In his story about loving Draco for two years before he made any move, Draco had come to understand, even if Harry didn’t realize he was revealing it, how stubborn he was.

So he lowered his voice and said, “You would make a very bad possession, actually.”

Harry snorted, but cocked his head to the side, a delicate motion Draco already recognized. I’m listening.

“You struggle too much,” Draco said. “You aren’t docile. You aren’t grateful to me for the favor of my interest in you.” He touched his chest where Harry’s fingers had crumpled the cloth. “Instead of swooning because I throw you up against the wall, you’re more likely to push me away and bite my tongue.”

Harry smiled faintly and lifted his head, showing off his profile much the way Draco had done earlier when Harry looked at him in the debating arena. But Draco knew this wasn’t conscious. Harry appreciated compliments, but he didn’t go out of his way to court them. He probably didn’t know that he responded to Draco’s words like someone who wanted more of those words.

That gave Draco hope. He could change his beliefs, or some of them, for Harry’s sake. He could change his debating tactics. Why not the way he seduced someone? If he could become more graceful and polished, the courtier Lucius had believed himself to be and never was, then he would have even more reason to be proud of himself.

“It becomes a question of whether I can tolerate that, of course,” Draco said in a slow, considering tone. “As well as a question of what my language really means. I will say that I don’t envision chaining you and make into a slave or a house-elf when I speak of owning you. Just—having you to myself.”

“Sexually? Socially? Psychologically?” Harry spoke with a spark to his words that hadn’t been there before, and Draco decided that he was seeing the Auror who had undertaken hundreds of arrests in the last few years.

“Sexually,” said Draco. “And psychologically, a bit. I have no illusions that I can isolate you from your job or your friends.” He took a deep breath and then spoke on before he could consider how much of himself he was giving away. “I want to come first with you. I want to know your weaknesses and faults, the things you won’t tell your adoring public for fear that they’d be used against you. I want you to speak up in defense of me the way you did to Granger earlier today.”

Harry’s forehead wrinkled, creasing the scar. “But that’s not owning someone,” he said. “That’s part of a normal relationship.”

“I’ve never had one of those,” Draco said. It was done, the words out there, and miraculously, he felt less flayed with each passing moment, instead of more. He moved a step forwards. Harry watched him with what looked like thoughtful encouragement, so Draco dared to reach out and grip his shoulder. “That’s owning someone to me. I’ve never had someone I can depend on that absolutely. I’ve never come first with anyone who wasn’t my parents, who are bad candidates for this kind of relationship for obvious reasons.”

Harry laughed and leaned forwards, resting his head on Draco’s shoulder. Draco curled a hand around the back of his neck. Contentment and power swelled in him. Is there anyone else who’s ever had Harry Potter leaning trustingly on them like this?

The knowledge that, probably, no one else ever had, gave him the courage to continue.

“I want you to depend on me,” Draco whispered, stroking his hair. “I want you to tell me the truth when you lie to the whole world. I want you to show me the injuries that you think would make others scorn you. Do you understand?”

Harry froze. Then he shook himself and gave a soft laugh. Draco tightened his hold on him, wondering if he had decided that Draco’s request was ridiculous.

“I was thinking of how vulnerable that would make me,” Harry whispered back. “I was wondering if I could trust you. But then I remembered how much I’m demanding that you trust me, especially about the changes in your beliefs working out for the best and me being worth all this. The least I can do is trust you back, hmmm?” He lifted his head and caught Draco’s eye, smiling. A moment later, he reached up and caressed Draco’s cheek. “I agree to your version of owning me. Provided that I can own you, too.”

“Of course,” Draco said. He couldn’t say anything else, because the dryness in his mouth had spread to overtake his throat.

And there was only one cure for that dryness.

He kissed Harry again, this time introducing his tongue more gently, his hands massaging Harry’s shoulders and the nape of his neck instead of clamping down on them. And this time Harry responded with no bites, but with a slow, delicious sweep of his tongue back and forth that literally made Draco’s knees tremble.

He tried to explain this, and how rare an occurrence it was, and how Harry didn’t need to think it meant he was weak, but Harry’s tongue stole his breath, and Harry’s laughter in his ear stole his sanity, and the hands rubbing up and down his scalp, tangling into his hair, stole his resolve to speak.

In fact, after another minute of Harry sliding his leg between Draco’s and rubbing deliberately up and down against Draco’s erection, only one word was left to him. “Bed,” he whispered, the next moment his mouth was free.

He expected a refusal, because from the moment he saw Harry in the room in Spain, Harry had resisted and confounded him.

But instead Harry laughed and said in a low voice, “Oh, let’s,” and Draco stumbled over his own feet moving them in the right direction.

Chapter 15.