Marked

Marked

You see that boy there, the one with the messy hair and dorky glasses? He's mine.

Hah, I bet you didn't know that. Is that because of the way we're sitting on opposite sides of the hall? Or maybe because of the way he and his friends glare at me and mine like we're the scum at the bottom of a used cauldron. Or is it because everyone says that we hate each other, and everyone must be right?

Of course it is. Everyone's always right about us. Do you remember all those stories in the Prophet about him? I don't think any of those were true. And that time when everyone knew that I had the Dark Mark, someone'd seen it, but when they looked, there was nothing there.

Told you so. That just goes to prove that what you see is rarely - if ever - what you get. I don't think anyone in this whole school could say that they had no secrets, except maybe some of those ridiculously simple Hufflepuffs, but what exactly would you expect from the people who decided to create a rose garden in memory of a dead rat they found in the cupboard during a potions class? Sentimental squibs, all of them.

So, tell me, when you look at him, what do you see? I mean, besides that raven mop that won't fall flat, however much gel I make him use. And not including those piercing emerald eyes that earned him his nickname, or the NHS specs he insists on wearing unless I corner him and use a vision repairing spell, which is always - at his insistence - temporary. And no, this doesn't count that scar of his, either.

Oh, don't look at me like that, why shouldn't I talk about his scar? It's as much mine as the rest of him is, maybe even more; his other link to the darkness, as it were.

Okay, now you're just scaring me. Stop looking like that, people are beginning to stare. What, is this because I mentioned his link to the darkness? You know that everyone has some darkness in them, just some more than others, like everyone else here at Slytherin. And, of course, him. He has Voldemort's powers, for crying out loud, he can't be the innocent, pure angel everyone else makes him out to be.

Now what are you gawking at? Is this because I said Voldemort's name? Oh, it is. Voldemort. Did you know that it's French for 'flight of death'? Or 'thief of death', but I doubt that's correct. Vol-de-mort. What's wrong? Hah, you should see the look on your face right now.

Anyway, where were we before you so rudely interrupted me? Oh, yes. What do you see when you look over there at him? Yes, that's it, look closely, and--hey, wait a second! What's she doing there? What do you mean, who, you're looking right at her. Yes, the redhead, another of those Weasleys. Awful family, the Weasels, dirt poor and multiplying like germs, but that's really not the point. The point is that she's pawing at my property. Look at her, she's all over him: like I said, the Weasley rash. And he looks like he doesn't even notice. Oh, that is absolutely it! He's mine, dammit, and I'm gonna make both of them remember it.

~*~

So Draco does. That night he pushes Harry to the stone floor of his dungeon room and rips off his shirt brutally, gripping his shoulders as he strips him and manoeuvres him towards the bed, wrapping a Slytherin-coloured curtain tie from the four-poster around his wrists tightly enough to leave tender red marks there in the morning. And he doesn't stop there, instead steadily licking and biting and sucking his way across the smooth expanse of the other boy's chest, relishing every whimper, moan and cry his touches evoke from Harry's lips before stifling them with his own mouth as he takes him, and finally biting down on his neck hard enough to draw blood as they come together, the Gryffindor's cry of 'Draco' as much a mark of ownership as the fresh teeth marks on his neck.

~*~

Okay, look at him now. No, seriously, look at him. Notice anything different? Of course you do. How can you not see that livid bruise by his Adam's apple as he talks, or the sore patches on his wrists that he keeps rubbing at? Exactly, you can't.

And it obviously worked, because the Weaslette is keeping her distance from him. Or at least trying, look at her, willing herself not to stare. Are those...are those tears in her eyes? I can't quite tell. You're closer, look at Ginger there and tell me if she's gonna cry. Oh, no, too late, she already is.

Hey, what's that she's whispering? Don't just sit there like an imbecile, listen! I told you, you're closer to their table, you've got to tell me what they're saying, too. No, wait, I can hear now. Have you noticed that everyone in the Hall seems to go quiet whenever anything happens at the Gryffindor table? First the rest of their house do, then the Hufflepuffs, then the Ravenclaws. It's quite strange, I mean, even the rest of Slytherin seem to shut up at the first sign of trouble. It must be true that gossip brings people together; it has to be the only thing powerful enough to silence a hall full of teenagers.

Oh, stop looking at me like that, I just wanted to finish my sentence. The whole world doesn't revolve around the soap opera that is Harry's life. Fine, so maybe it does. Okay, okay, I'll be quiet. It's not like we missed much anyway, just Weaslette sniffling a bit.

'Oh, Harry, who did that to you?'

Honestly, must she be so dramatic? Has she never been shagged before? Wait, don't answer that. I'm sure she was saving her virtue for Saint Potter. Hah, imagine how she must feel now that she knows he's not as pure as she thought he was. And besides, even if she had, I'm pretty sure that she wouldn't have let the guy (or, indeed, girl) tie her up like that.

'Ginny, please, just sit down. It's no big deal.'

And now I have no idea whether to applaud his attempt to downplay this or to march over there and inform him that it is a big deal, and that if he won't acknowledge me as his lord and master than I'll just have to make him. Again.

Damn, I missed something. Stupid daydreams. Could you just repeat whatever it was she just said? Oh. Hah, I can just hear her saying that. 'But Harry, how could you just let someone abuse you like that?' Honestly, she is so naïve. And she seems to have some kind of fixation with Harry's name, have you noticed how she keeps saying it? Almost puts me off using it. Hmm, there's an idea. I wonder how long he'll be able to take being called 'Emerald' all the time; he hates that name.

So, where were they? Oh, yeah, the abuse thing. Wonder what he's gonna say to that? I wish he'd just speak up a bit. Huh, apparently I'm not the only one, even Weasley herself didn't quite catch that one.

'What did you just say, Harry?'

He's standing up now, and I wish you would stop nudging me like that, it's not like I'm yelling all this at the top of my voice. Besides, no one's paying any attention to me, anyway. They're all focused on him. I wish I knew what he just said!

'I said--'

Ah, here it comes...

'Maybe I like it.'

...Okay, did I hear that correctly?

'That's right, you heard me. Maybe I like being bound and branded and dominated! Maybe I like not having to be in control for once; not being everyone's Golden Boy. Maybe I'm not quite as perfect as you all think I am. And maybe...maybe I don't care.'

All right, I have to give him full marks for that exit. He left half the first years in tears, and I don't care that they'll cry at anything (remember that incident outside Charms the other week when Peeves flew through that Ravenclaw?); it's the principle of the thing. The fact that Ginger's also in tears is hardly worth mentioning.

So, what did you think? Have I made my point, or will it take a few more severed friendships to prove it?

What do you mean, this isn't a game? Don't you think I know that? Quidditch is a game; this is something else. We're in way too deep for this to just be for fun.

Hey, do you reckon it's been enough time for me to leave without looking suspicious? Good, I'll see you later, then.

~*~

Draco runs into Harry outside the Potions room, just like he knew he would. After all, Potions is their first lesson of the day, and no one else ever comes down this early, not even Snape himself.

'Some show you put on down there, Emerald,' he says, leaning casually against the wall. 'Did you know you made some of the little ones cry? And Colin Creepy and the Weaslette. Pretty impressive, although you're still nowhere near my record.'

'Shut up, Draco,' Harry replies, not looking up from the spider on the ceiling whose progress he's been tracking for a good few minutes. 'I told you not to call me that. And you know that I just did what had to be done.'

'I still think it would've been more effective if you'd let me kiss you in front of everyone. Then you'd see tears.'

'I'll keep that in mind.' A small smile plays across Harry's lips. 'Although sometimes I wonder if making little kids cry is your only goal in life.'

'Well, I need something to aim for now that I've achieved my last target.'

'Which was...?'

'Getting into your pants, obviously.' Draco leers and Harry just rolls his eyes.

'How did I ever guess?'

'Your amazing powers of divination, of course. I don't know how you've managed to starve three times in a month's worth of horoscopes without being questioned. You're a Leo in a school where the house-elves are your willing slaves and the kitchens are open twenty-four hours a day, for crying out loud!'

'You know that Trelawney'll lap up anything involving death.'

'Only from what you've told me. I was sensible enough to take Arithmancy instead of that pathetic excuse for magic.'

'Which is why you complain constantly about the amount of work you get compared to my 'measly Tarot readings'.' Harry smiles in earnest, glad to be back in his and Draco's typical routine rather than confronting the issue of his announcement to the school, although he knows that in class he'll be quizzed about it by his housemates, teased about it by Draco's, and...well, there was no real word for Snape's standard derision of his actions, but it was definitely going to happen.

'That was just one incident, and I only said it because my mother taught me how to read the Tarot before I learned to fly, and I don't see why it's meant to be a NEWT level skill, that's all.'

'Whatever. Draco, have you revised for this quiz?'

Draco sighs in exasperation, wondering why Harry has such a short memory. 'Yes, I tested you on everything last night, remember? Honestly, I don't know how you got an 'O' in your potions OWL without my help.'

Harry shrugs. 'Got lucky.' A pause. 'Haven't we got better things to do than discuss exam papers from two years ago?'

'Like what?' Draco asks, intrigued by the glint in the other boy's eyes.

'I'm sure you can think of something.'

With a smirk, Draco steps closer. 'I'm tempted to suggest we go over the ingredients for Veritaserum one more time, but even I'm not that evil.' He plants a kiss on Harry's lips. 'Now, Emerald, on your knees.'

'I thought I told you not to call me that,' Harry snarls, but he's still all too happy to oblige.

~*~

Oh, you're here. You're late; Snape's already handing out the papers. It went fine with Harry, by the way. He gives great head, and that's enough for me to overlook the fact that he's failing pretty much all his classes. So much for the discriminating Malfoy taste, not that it really matters: I sincerely doubt there'll be any children from this partnership.

Ah, this is what I've been looking forward to: I wonder what our esteemed Professor will think of all of this. He normally has some delightfully cutting observations to make regarding Harry's exploits, and although I feel bad for laughing, I really do, he is a very funny man, whatever you may have been told about sarcasm being the lowest form of wit.

And today's, despite not being particularly scathing, still cracked me up, if only for Harry's confused expression. What do you mean you weren't listening? I don't see how revising can be more important than your entertainment. He said (and this is my best Snape impression, so you'd better not make me repeat it) 'Mr. Potter, I am slightly ashamed that you didn't think to put essence of Murtlap on that rope-burn; if I recall correctly, that was something we covered in Fourth Year.' The look on Harry's face was priceless!

'You have forty minutes. You may begin your test now.'

...

What are you looking at? We've only been working ten minutes! Number five? The catalyst for the reaction is iron, how can you not know that? This is the kind of science that even Muggles use, and you can't understand it. Honestly.

...

Hey, has Harry finished the paper already? It looks like he has. And so has Granger, not surprisingly, and Blaise, and Pansy, and possibly Patil, too. What number are you on?

...

I'm sure he's done; he's talking to the Mudblood about something. Or, rather, being talked to by the Mudblood. I think she's expressing her concern over this morning's outburst, she just mentioned something about him being under a lot of stress and tried to take his temperature.

This is so infuriating; I hate the way everyone assumes there's something wrong with him or something evil possessing him (not counting me, of course). Do you think I should do something at dinner tonight, confront him or something? Oh, come on, you have to have finished the test by now. I need your help here!

Oh, forget it, I'll think of something myself.

~*~

At lunchtime, Draco drags Harry away from his corner of the library and into a convenient classroom to talk to him about what should be done.

'I want to go public,' he says, and Harry has to try hard to stop his jaw from dropping.

'But I thought you wanted...'

'Oh, I did. But I'm sick of everyone thinking you're sick.'

'If they think I'm sick now, they'll throw me into an institute when they find out I'm sleeping with you.'

Draco shrugs. 'Maybe, but they could always blame it on me and my evil Slytherin mind-poisoning and remain safe in their cosy cocoons of denial until the wedding.'

'Wedding?' Harry raises an eyebrow.

'Oh, sorry, same-sex partnership ceremony or whatever.'

'Draco.'

'Okay, fine,' Draco relents, 'maybe that's a bit farfetched--'

'A bit?'

'Well, a lot, but you know what I mean.'

'Yes, I do. So what exactly do you propose we do? I don't suppose we could just make a quiet announcement to our closest friends or something, could we?'

'Of course not! What do you take me for, some Hufflepuff? I prefer to do things with a little more style.'

'Like what?'

'I don't know, I was just going to turn up at dinner tonight and see what transpires.'

'For someone with so many 'evil schemes', you're terrible at plotting.'

'Shut up, Emerald. Reckon we've got time for a quick shag before Care of Magical Creatures?'

~*~

Yes, finally, it's dinner time! Oh, for God's sake, will you get a move on? We have to get to the Hall now. Come on!

And you can shut your mouth, I am not acting like a child. I just want to get downstairs, that's all. I want to know what he's gonna do. And what I'm gonna do. And exactly how many people will cry. If I forget, can you count them for me, please? Great, thanks.

Aha, there he is. And there's the older Weasel, still consoling his little sister at the same time as berating Harry. You would think he'd get tired of at least one of the two after a while, but evidently not. I think Granger's looking round to try and work out who Harry's mysterious lover is, and she's probably got a good enough idea already: I heard her asking him earlier whether she was correct in saying that it probably wasn't a girl. I think her justification was something along the lines of 'I've heard the word 'dominatrix' before, but this seems a bit much'. A misheard snippet of that conversation sparked the brief rumour that she herself was his abuser. It's amazing the amount of gossip that can be spread in such little time: now everyone's convinced he's having a sordid affair with Snape. I think it was the earlier comment about rope-burn that did it.

Compelled by this and the Weaslette's hysterical cries of 'Who, Harry?! Who?!', I think I shall go and investigate this further. Make sure Crabbe and Goyle don't touch my dinner, okay?

~*~

Draco walks confidently over to Harry's seat near the head of the Gryffindor table, followed, it seems, by every eye in the room.

'So,' he begins, 'anyone guessed the identity of your secret lover yet?'

Ginny nearly has a fit at the use of the term 'lover', but Ron restrains her, curious as to the nature of Draco's visit.

'Not yet. Most of them still think it's Snape or Hermione.'

The school's shock at the civil nature of the conversation between the two is quickly overcome by their constant need for drama, so no one dares comment on this unexpected twist.

'Interesting ideas, both, and I'd be thinking the same if I didn't know any better.' He continues without waiting for Hermione's query. 'First, it's against school policy, and I know that Professor Snape may be a complete git at times...' H e turns round to shoot Snape a dazzling grin, '...but he wouldn't endanger the reputation of the school. Besides, no one in their right mind would sleep with someone whose hair's that greasy. And Granger...well, she's not your type, is she?'

At this, Ron, sick of just watching, stands up indignantly. 'What are you insinuating, Malfoy?'

Draco holds up his hands in mock surrender. 'I'm not insinuating anything, Weasel. Just saying that Granger here, although objectively attractive, is not Harry's perfect match. If she was, everyone would know about it by now. Besides, it's impossible. I mean, she's female.'

Gasps rise from every corner of the Great Hall before an apoplectic Ron stands up and grabs Malfoy by the shirt collar, raising a fist.

Harry finally intervenes then, pulling Ron away from Draco, amusement clear in his eyes. 'You really do suck at planning you know.'

'What?'

He finally smiles. 'Draco, just shut up.' And then he pulls the blond towards him and crushes their lips together.

~*~

I'm not normally this compliant, really I'm not, but when I feel his moist lips against my own, his tongue in my mouth and his hands in my hair, I'm a goner.

I hardly notice that we're in the middle of the Great Hall with everyone staring at us or that both the Weasels just passed out, or that most of the teachers have turned interesting shades of purple, or even that my chicken must be getting cold, because it's Harry, and there's no way that I will ever be able to refuse him anything. I will be reminded later that the public display of affection was my idea in the first place, but right now I'm too busy enjoying the way I can taste chocolate in his mouth, and it suddenly comes to me in a moment of clarity that I don't have as much control of this situation at all.

I may dominate him physically, but he is the master of my heart, and that's much more important.

Hey, will you please stop laughing and guard my dinner? I think Crabbe just stole an onion ring. I told you already, you won't have to do it for long. I'll be back in a minute, I promise. Or maybe two...

*fin*