The Last Words

THE LAST WORDS

The familiar measured thrusts woke Harry up. It was not the first time his day began with hips raised in the air, legs bent in the knees, the lean pale body hovering above him, gray eyes half-closed in intense pleasure. In the beginning Harry had resented being taken as a girl, but this was Draco's favorite position. Now he even slept on his back, so that Draco could start without having to move him.

The rhythm was speeding up, and Harry tensed knowing that Draco would demand to see him climax first. To achieve the desired result he normally fantasized about undressing one of pretty girls he met at Hogwarts. He had never done that in reality, so this was a very vague fantasy. Lately that little trick was not as necessary as before; sometimes it was enough just to know that Draco was waiting for him to reach the completion.

This was one of those times when just the awareness of Draco's expectation sent him over the edge. As Draco silently rolled off him, Harry slumped back with a small gasp. His throat felt sore, and only now he realized that sheets under him felt damp. He must have had a nightmare again. No wonder Draco was not speaking to him. Dementor-induced nightmares depleted since Draco got him out of the cell in Azkaban and took him as his slave, but they still lingered. Harry could never tell what exactly happened in them, only that people he knew were dying, disappearing from his sight one by one. Harry was unsure if they were really dead, or if it was just a false memory given to him by the Dementors and his friends were prisoners of the lost war like him. Draco probably could answer how close to reality Harry's nightmares were, as Harry suspected that Draco would most likely have been the participant, if not the initiator, of their executions had these taken place. However Draco did not discuss the content of Harry's dreams, no matter how many times Harry woke him up with screaming and crying. Harry never asked either. He did not even know whether he would have preferred to find out that his friends were dead or sharing his fate.

Draco stood up and began dressing. Harry shivered. If Draco wasn't going to stay in bed in the morning, it meant he was in a foul mood.

"Do you remember your words, Harry?"

Harry nodded. Of course he remembered. Draco trained him specifically never to use any other words. It took him two months to learn.

"Well?" Draco prodded, gently but insistently.

Harry glanced up, uncomprehending.

"Say them. For the very last time, you may say them." A thin wooden stick appeared in the air.

Draco rarely took it out anymore in Harry's presence; he had said that Harry had been doing fine without it. Now that the source of screaming, and pain, and smell of burned flesh, and dread was before his eyes again, Harry thought that this was the end. He had feared before that Draco would grow tired or disappointed and give him away to somebody. In the beginning... in the beginning he had thought it had been something to be afraid of. After all, what could his old schooltime rival and crush do to him? Surely it had been safer to be in Draco's servitude than anywhere else. After a while he had started to hope that somebody else - anybody - would take him. Then he had stopped both hoping and thinking. Now it appeared that no Death Eater wanted the remnants of the Boy Who Lived. Or maybe Draco would not give his old toy to anybody else, he would rather destroy it completely. This way or another, it was the end of Harry.

But the tip of the wand was slowly lowered and pressed to Harry's throat. He understood, and was immediately ashamed of his earlier doubts.

Draco did not want to get rid of him, he would just cast a spell to disable his vocal cords because Harry often screamed and his throat hurt a lot afterwards, and it upset Draco. Draco wanted him to say only "Yes, Master" and "No, Master" when asked, nothing else, and most of the time Harry managed to follow the order. He already knew better than to consciously displease a young, haughty and proficient dark wizard. Besides, Draco did not like noise, and Harry's habit of mumbling something under his breath annoyed him to no end. Harry tried very hard to suppress this, but words still slipped out unsolicited. Spells he had learned years ago, jokes he had exchanged with his friends, ingredients of potions he had never been capable of concocting. Draco had threatened more than once to put an end to the "unnecessary sounds", and Harry's latest nightmare must have been the final drop.

"You know what I am going to do now. Do you want me to continue?" Draco stared at him attentively. Harry knew that this was his last chance to rebel, the opportunity Draco offered him so graciously. The last chance to push the wand away, to fight his unwanted master, to attempt an escape, to die like a hero he had been meant to become, to live up to the expectations of the people who had been long gone.

If he complied now, it would be the first time Draco did anything permanent to him. Previous tortures - punishments, to be exact - did not count. Harry was still the same boy, if only a bit more subdued, experienced in sex activities and used to pain. Draco's spell would leave him mute for the rest of his life, forever stripping him of a chance to ever cast a spell or utter a protest.

Maybe he should try to object? Draco never was cruel with him unless Harry's stubbornness forced him to. Or so he said. If Harry begged him enough, maybe Draco would let him keep his voice and nothing would change? He would remain in the position of a captured hero forced to serve his old enemy, a tragic but more or less dignified fate. Harry would still be able to curse Draco and send death threats to his address for humiliation he had to endure. He would still be able to assure himself at nights that he had done his best, that he was not broken and he hated every minute of his new life.

Harry looked up into Draco's eyes and swallowed. The wooden tip was sinking deeper into his skin as if demanding the decision to be made.

"Yes, Master." He should have said something else, he should not let his last words be those of a slave, but his mind was empty and it was what Draco wanted to hear from him.

Then there was nothing aside from a tender whisper in Latin that Harry could not translate and a burning flare in his throat that momentarily subsided as the soft lips descended upon his, sealing their bond.

The End

A/N: I would be very thankful if you found time to drop me a line and say what you think about this. I was in one of those weird moods when I wrote it, and I'd like to know what impression it gives - if any. Thank you for reading.