Carnivorous, adj. Addicted to the cruelty of devoring the timorous vegetarian, his heirs and assigns. (Ambrose Bierce)

Chains

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

By Antenora

       

Harry Potter gazed at his reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance for the first time in years. He could remember a time when his appearance had seemed a matter of great importance, but it seemed another life. With something which might have been called a smirk on any other man, Harry realized that, in a sense, that was the exact truth. It had been in another life. A life in which he had been a great hero for something he couldn't even remember. A life in which he lived and died on the side of right. His only mistake had been a single night. A night which tasted of heaven and hell in his memory. A single night spent in Draco Malfoy's arms.

His hair had gained some control over itself in the last few years, and it curled about his face in licks and waves when dry. Just now it was dripping wet and plastered against his cheeks and forehead, obscuring the mark of fame upon his forehead. It was still black, with the exception of two locks of white hair which stood outside starkly against the darkness. Tokens of his death, or so it would seem. His chest and arms were streaked with pale, twisting scars. A silent testament to the torment his body had suffered beneath Voldemort's wand, hidden by the black turtleneck and pants he had donned for his trip topside. If he'd known it would rain, he might have scheduled the trip for another day. He hated the rain.

Fingertips trailing over pale skin, whispered words and gasps of surprised pleasure. The satisfying discovery that Draco Malfoy was a screamer. The sound of rain pounding against the sill, the distant chill in the air that never quite cooled their heated skin.
 

"You just... had to... give me your... damn password... didn't you?" He accused, drawing back enough to shoot Harry a tired glare. His blond hair was plastered against his sweaty forehead, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I don't take my orders from you, Potter." He grumbled, pressing a hard kiss to Harry's eager lips. 

Harry shook away the flash of memory, running a shaking hand through his hair. His image in the mirror looked tired. Black circles were holding court in the bags beneath his eyes. He considered slamming his fist into the glass, but thought better of it. He could do without the lecture from Hermione about how long it had taken to procure a regular muggle mirror. Most had been destroyed during the first year following Voldemort's final victory, or so he had been told. After all, muggle mirrors were "clean" mirrors. A clean mirror had no purpose yet and there were any number of spells which could be cast upon such a mirror, not the least of which was a handy locator spell which wasn't much good unless the person you wished to locate wasn't under in a place warded against such spells.

A quiet echo of scrapping interrupted his thoughts and his eyes darted immediately upwards.

Silly.

How... silly of him to forget about the vents.

Still.

It was a simple enough situation to rectify. His fingers reached out and closed around the shower rod at his back and he jerked it from its place, upending it so that the curtain slithered to the ground. The scrapping had stopped and he smiled to himself as he crossed the room in silence to stand beneath the grated opening in his ceiling. He remembered well how... fragile the rusting grates in these rooms were. All it took really was too much weight and a bit of a jolt for the old grates to come tumbling down. He waited just out of sight and waited patiently for the quiet scrapping to commence once more. The grate creaked and squealed its protest as weight was pressed down upon it. Another protesting squeal and another as the full weight of a human body pressed down on the old grate. Only then did Harry thrust his pole upwards, jolting the grate and sending it and its occupant crashing to the floor.

Draco Malfoy and the grate he rode in on plummeted to floor below, landing with a clatter and a curse.

"Fuck!" Draco spat as the grate dug into his hands and knees with painful force. His vision was already tearing as he rolled away from the grate, clutching his wounds hands to his chest. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he cursed, drawing his hands away from his chest enough to see the angry red grid pattern that would no doubt turn into a lovely set of bruises. Damn him for not paying enough attention and damn all iron grates.

"Fuck! That really fucking hurt, stupid damn..." He raised his gaze from his hands and stopped speaking.  

Stopped breathing.  

For several long moments he was certain that his heart had stopped as well.  

Of all the things he'd expected to see today, this certainly wasn't one of them.

Harry Potter standing naked before him without a care in the world, wielding a iron shower rod.  

Absolutely bizarre.

The words were coming out of his mouth before he'd known he was able to speak again, "I suppose I have you to thank for falling through the bloody ceiling?"

"You suppose correctly," Harry replied with a smile.

"I hate you."

"I think I've heard that before."

"Well you're going to hear it ag... Look, could you perhaps put some clothes on, Potter?"

"Would that make you more comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Then, no."

"Fuck you."

"Not if my... life depended on it," Harry chuckled suddenly, as if his words were some private joke which, Draco supposed, was probably the truth. After all...

No.

Foolish to think that Potter's words in the carriage could possibly be true. Nothing that looked this good...

Damn it.

He shouldn't be thinking this way and why the hell was he still sitting on the floor staring at Harry Potter like a besotted second year? He'd seen the show before, even if the show had only gotten better with the passing years, it was still the same damn show.  

He climbed to his feet slowly, keeping his gaze trained firmly on Potter's feet, because to look elsewhere just now was dangerous.

"So, whatever were you doing out of your room, Malfoy?" Harry murmured and Draco found himself glancing up despite his best intentions to find that Potter was now leaned back against the concrete wall with his arms folded across his chest. It was irritating and annoying and... damn sexy.

Draco frowned, his hands clenched so tight that his fingers cramped and ached. "I was escaping, you ninny."

"You're not very good at it," Harry commented, raising an eyebrow as Draco began to carefully survey the room was something sharp.

"Fuck you, Potter."

"You're just not patient enough, you see. If you'd been a little more patient I probably wouldn't have heard you."

"If you'd been a little less naked, you probably wouldn't have heard me. Do you always lounge about naked in wait of escaping prisoners?"

Harry smirked, "No, just you."

"Why ever I am so special, Potter?" Draco hissed as he inched closer to the door. Harry's eyes darkened, the laughter fleeing and leaving them dead once more. Draco gasped as the iron rod in Potter's hands caught him in the chest with bruising force, slamming him back into the closed door and pinning him in place with remarkable efficiency.  

"You are not special, Malfoy," Harry growled, dropping the pole and striding towards Draco purposefully. Draco caught the pole one-handed as it passed him in its descent. If Harry noticed he gave no sign. "You are nothing to me. I did not want you here, I still don't want you here and perhaps if you knew how to escape properly I would not have had to tolerate your presence for a single moment more." Harry's fingers curled in the fabric of the Draco's dusty, blood-stained shirt, "I never wanted to see you again."

"Sod off, Potter. You're the one who brought me here," Draco snapped, though his anger was as much for himself as for Harry.  

Anger because Harry still affected him after all this time.  

Anger because his traitorous body still reacted with near-violent intensity to this dark, dangerous image of the boy who had been his first. Not lover, really, since there had never been anything even vaguely resembling love between them.  

If he'd been the one to carve Harry Potter's tombstone, he might have carved a thousand descriptions and still never managed to capture the truth of what they were to each other.

Rival.

Hated foe. 

Worthy adversary.

The best fuck he'd ever had.  

There had simply never been anything else in his life that had affected him the way Harry Potter had.

Because Harry Potter made him burn.  

With that thought in mind, Draco Malfoy brought the shower rod up and slammed it against the side of Harry Potter's pretty head.  

Or at least that's what should have happened.

Instead the pole was caught an instant before contact and forced aside. Draco cursed, swinging out with his free hand and managed to land a solid punch which caught Harry just across his cheek. He followed the punch up by stomping Harry's foot with his heavy-booted feet. Harry cursed and released him, hobbling back a few steps to put some distance between himself and his attacker. Draco grinned, and lashed out with a kick aimed for Harry's head. Harry caught the offending foot and jerked, sending Draco crashing to the floor.  

For a moment, Draco could only lie there, too stunned by the impact to move, and a moment was all Harry needed apparently. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Draco found himself on his stomach, being pressed hard into the cold concrete, his arms effectively pinned behind his back. Harry's voice was a ragged whisper in his ear, "I'm going to hurt you a lot before you die."

"Can't wait," Draco replied, and for some reason his voice sounded soft, intimate. A whisper suited more for the bedroom then for an exchange of death threats.

Harry growled, his fingers tightening where he held Draco's arms. It felt so natural to be fighting with Malfoy again, touching Malfoy again, because it was so familiar.  

Like coming home.  

A very disturbed, incredibly dysfunctional home; but home nonetheless.  

It felt good and right and a million other things that Harry found he had no words for.   

And it royally pissed him the fuck off.  

"SEAMUS!" Harry roared, his voice thundering through the room.  

It was Ginny Weasley who opened the door, her eyes widening as she took in the scene which greeted her. "H-Harry..."

"Don't H-Harry me. Stop gapping and go get Seamus or Charlie so they can take the prisoner back to his damn room. What the hell kind of guards are they if they can't keep one idiot prisoner in line?!"

Seamus appeared almost immediately, his eyes as wide as Ginny's had been. "Holy shite, how'd he get out?"

"What's going on here?" Hermione demanded, shoving past Ginny and Seamus into the room. She stopped mid-stride, her gaze narrowing as she took in the scene before her.

Harry's state of undress.

Draco Malfoy lying pinned beneath him.

"What have you done?" She accused, folding her arms across her ample chest as she glared down at the two of them.

"Oh, yes, Hermione. I slipped him from his cell, snuck him back here so that I could shag him rotten. He wasn't cooperating so I called Seamus in to help hold him down." Harry spat, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Ginny turned positively green at his words. There were occasions, like now, when he despised them all for their expectations of what he should be like and their skewed visions of who and what he had once been. His fists clenched, his stomach tightening with disgust as he turned his full attention back to Hermione.

"As if you could force me to do anything, Potter," Draco growled and Harry dug his fingers into the tender skin of Draco's wrists, smiling with satisfaction as the man beneath him hissed in pain. "Bastard...."

"If you can't say something nice, Malfoy, you really should say anything at all." Harry murmured, his gaze still focused Hermione as his smile faded. "And fuck you very much, Hermione, for the display of trust."

Hermione flinched, "Then how, may I ask, is it that you came to be lying naked atop my prisoner?" 

"Our prisoner, and that, Hermione, is the question I was hoping you would do me the kindness of answering." Harry replied conversationally as he jerked Draco Malfoy to his feet and propelled him into Seamus' none-too-gentle care. "Because I do find this situation mildly amusing. You see, I distinctly remember telling Charlie to chain him to a fucking wall and to watch him closely. And, if my orders had been carried out, I would not be having this conversation with you. So, I would like to know precisely what you did to fuck this up. Did you have Charlie truss him up with tissue paper, perhaps?"

"No, I had him strapped to the bed in the containment room. I thought you would both appreciate the irony," Hermione replied coldly, her words cutting to the quick.

A brittle smile curved Harry's lips, "Well played, Hermione. Now, if the lot of you would be kind enough to get the fuck out of my way? And the fuck out of my room?"

Without waiting to see if the small group would comply, Harry stormed through them and they retreated from him. Almost as if they were afraid to let him touch them. Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Finnigan stumbled over his own feet. He bit his tongue on a snide remark, slipping easily back into the role he'd played for years. "Wh-what are you p-planning to do with me?" Draco whispered, confident that his face and body radiated the proper amount of fear.

"Nothing," Hermione replied tersely. "Nothing at all, so long as you cooperate."

"She's lying. We're going to kill you," Harry interjected from the closet where he was currently rummaging in what Draco assumed was a search for clothes.

"B-but I'm just... I'm just a secretary, I don't actually know anything of any v-value," Draco stammered. "Wh-what good could it... could it possibly do to k-k-kill me?"

"We're not going to kill you."

"We are," Harry commented, emerging from the closet in jeans and a black t-shirt. He met Draco's gaze and Draco's heart, or at least whatever was left of it, beat frantically like a caged bird within his chest.

"We aren't," Hermione replied sharply, turning an irritated gaze on Harry.

"Fine. We aren't, but I most certainly am," Harry conceded and for a moment Draco was certain the dark-haired girl was going to punch him straight in the face.

"Seamus. Take the prisoner back to the containment room," the girl hissed finally and Draco felt his stomach tighten. No doubt they would use something other than worn straps to hold him this time and thought brought a shiver of panic which shook him to his icy core.

They had bound him with chains this time.

He would definitely be thanking Potter personally for this one.

Oh, yes.

Very, very personally.

Just as soon as he figured a way out of these chains.

His eyes snapped open as a thin thread of light fell across his face. "Who's there?" He inquired, his voice heavy with sleep and disuse.

"I never cared for this room," Harry murmured as he slipped inside the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Draco snorted, "What the fuck would you know about it?"

"Whose wrists do you think those straps were fashioned to fit?" Harry whispered as he came to a stop beside the bed. The room was too dark for Draco to see his expression, but he could hear the bitterness in his voice well enough.

"Are you expecting me to sympathize, Potter? If you're in search of a shoulder to cry on, I'd suggest you look elsewhere," Draco grumbled. It was easier to make a smart comment. Far easier then to consider that Potter's words might be truth. Far easier then wondering why the thought of Harry Potter strapped to this bed disturbed him.

Harry's sudden laughter sent a thrill up his spine and his eyes fluttered closed. He didn't want to know why Potter's laughter scent a thrill up his spine.

"Stop it," Draco hissed and this only made Potter laugh harder and Draco could see his dark figure to kneel down on one knee at his bedside. "What's so bloody funny?"

"I... I really, really hate you," Harry replied, his voice suddenly deadly serious. All trace of laughter gone.

"The feeling is more than mutual, I assure... what are you doing?" Draco hissed, as the mattress creaked, groaned and bent as Harry crawled onto the bed beside him. He felt Harry's cool fingers close around his chin, warm breath on his face. "What..."
"Do not speak. Just listen," Harry murmured, and Draco couldn't stop the moan which issued forth from his mouth as the wet, warmth of Harry's tongue swept along his jawline.

"I hate you."

Tongue tracing a path along the curve of his ear, teeth nipping playfully at the lobe.

"I loath you."

Harry slipping across him to straddle his hips, his fingers working to free buttons and zips of his own trousers and Draco's.

"I despise you."

Teeth and tongue bruising his throat.

"I abhor you."

A breath of warm air against his lips. Lips so very, very tantalizingly close and he wanted it.

Wanted him.

Suddenly he was sixteen again, finding his first real pleasure and his first real pain in the arms of this boy who set his blood to burning in so many different ways.

He had never forgotten.

Never could forget, no matter how hard he tried.

With every rain fall.

Every crash of thunder.

Every darkened room.

Every time he found cold pleasure alone, curled up in the warm blankets in his private flat, he remembered.  

And he wanted.

And he longed for this man's touch.

A touch he had thought gone forever.

He sighed, rocking his hips against Potter's, frustrated but no longer angry about the chains which bound his wrists and feet.

"What are we doing?" Harry murmured, his lips brushing against Draco's. A ghost of a touch.  

"I'm not doing... any... thing," Draco whispered, tongue darting out to taste Harry's lips. He still tasted better than anything. "You started it."

The kiss was an agonizing slowness which traveled through him, pushed him over the edge of sanity.

Because he abhorred Harry Potter.

A lifting and twist of hips as Harry tugged his trousers down.

Despised him.

Chains rattling as Harry reached down to free his feet from their imprisonment, pulling off boots and trousers, tossing them aside.

Loathed him.

Cool, calloused fingertips tracing over bared hips and thighs.

Hated him.

Mouth drawing from his own, sliding down over throat and chest and stomach, leaving kisses in its wake.

But... god... how he wanted this. How his dreams had been filled with it. With the memory of how their lips fit together, how their bodies fit together. Like two pieces of some great cosmic jigsaw puzzle. 

Some great, seriously fucked up cosmic jigsaw puzzle. 

Harry's lips encircled him and he thought no more. He only felt...

And moaned as Harry's hot mouth engulfed him.

And hissed as Harry thrust into him several moments later.

And screamed as they came together.

And sighed to himself as Harry pulled out of him and stood. "Going to leave me here all undone, are you?" Draco inquired, forcing his voice to sound nonchalant and carefree.

"Hm, it would be rather funny to see their reaction when they see that I've had my wicked way with you."

"Funny for who exactly?"

"Don't pretend."

"Fine. It would be funny, but it's bloody cold, Potter. I really want a shower, but I will settle for my pants."

"How about your freedom?"

"And whatever would I have to do to attain that, Potter? Let you sit on my face so I can tell you that I love you?"

Harry smirked, "Malfoy, you're chained to a bed. I could do anything I liked with you."

"Hm. But where's the thrill in that?"

"Excellent point."

The chains slid free from Draco's wrists and blond sat up, rubbing his chafed wrists as he felt Harry's weight settle on the bed beside him once more. "What's this?"

"I'm letting you go, Malfoy, I thought that much would be obvious."

"It's the why that is escaping me," Draco replied, trying to scrutinize Harry's features through the darkness and failing miserably.

Harry smiled to himself, standing up, crossing the room, and opening the door. Light flooded past him into the room, and he gave Draco one last glance over his shoulder. A grim smile curled his lips as the image of Draco Malfoy sitting in the middle of the bed sans pants and looking thoroughly kiss-bruised etched itself into his memory. "Because I like to give my prey a fighting chance."

Three minutes later, Draco Malfoy was gone and the chase had begun.

~ fin ~

Author's Notes:
This story is a off-shoot of my story, To Rule in Hell.  It should make sense without having read TRiH, but if you have read TRiH, take note that this ficlet picks up from the second Harry shower room scene in Chapter Three.  Anyway, thanks much and I hope y'all enjoyed it.  :)

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