Chapter Text
Draco stumbled slightly as he was shoved out of the van, his mouth falling open as he looked up and took in the sight of the obscenely enormous mansion in front of him. Expansive, beautifully maintained lawns lay on either side of the driveway he stood on, tall trees dotting the garden at neat intervals with the innumerable rows of neatly trimmed flowering bushes. In front of him, right at the end of the driveway stood a huge merrily tinkling fountain, a marble sculpture of a tall, cherub-faced woman holding an upturned, long necked pot at her hip, from which the jets of cool water gushed out.
The house itself was so vast that Draco couldn’t see where it actually ended. It was all elegant cream walls, and gleaming wooden accents and sparkling panes of glass. A short, sweeping flight of steps led up to the front door that was broader than any Draco had ever seen, a gigantic, gilded brass door knocker at its centre.
He couldn’t bring himself to focus on the awed, murmured discussion of the other purchases who stood around him, their hands bound at the wrist just like his.
A sharp order was barked behind them and Draco fell into step with his companions of the last two days – two days since he, along with them, had been bought.
Bought like he were a mere commodity to be used and disposed of at one’s will.
Bought by the henchmen of the richest, most powerful, most feared, and yet most well-respected man in the country. Draco had heard that even those with the widest influence, government officials of the highest title, law enforcement officials, hell, even the president of the country, were all appropriately terrified of him. Nobody actually knew what he did for a living or how he was so rich, but people were vehemently loyal to him.
And yet, none that Draco knew had ever seen or met Harry Potter. Well known for being an intensely private individual, Potter never made public appearances, not even for the charity events he regularly sponsored, the inaugurations of all the free hospitals, schools and orphanages he funded and had built, and definitely not for any of the lavish parties and weddings and social functions he was regularly invited to by the crème de la crème.
The majestic fronts doors opened with a soft groan as Draco and the rest of the boys came up to it and Draco held back his gasp just in time at the sight before him.
Marble, glass and dark, well polished wood, gleaming gold trimmings; grand, wide flights of stairs on either end of the unimaginably large room, the steps laid with a carpet in deep, royal purple; plush, incredibly expensive looking rugs and carpets, upholstery finer than anything Draco could have imagined; soft golden lighting and innumerable paintings and works of art that Draco was sure each cost a fortune.
It was unlike anything Draco had ever seen in his nineteen years, although given his rather less than modest upbringing and background, that wasn’t a surprise. He stared around unabashedly with his mouth slightly open, not blinking even as he, along with the others, was herded through the room, their bare, dirty feet slapping softly against the floor, past sets of fine, comfortable looking sofas, elegant coffee tables each with a different flower arrangement on it, some with delicate, glass or crystal figurines.
Staff milled about busily and didn’t pay them any heed, something for which Draco was thankful. He then found himself and the others being directed into another room, rather small when compared to the one he’d just come in from. It was a long, unfurnished room and he and the rest of the boys were ordered to stand with their backs against the wall.
One of the men, the one who’d driven them here from the slave market, came around untying their hands and softly told them to sit down if they wanted to.
Sinking to the floor gratefully, with his back pressed to the wall, Draco brought his knees up to his chest, rested his face on his arms, and wondered, for the first time since he was purchased, what was to become of him now.
***
Draco would never have imagined that his life would drastically improve in quality after he’d been bought.
It had been three days, and they’d been fed three delicious, wonderfully lavish meals per day, with access to unlimited hot and cold beverages through the day. They each had soft, unbelievably comfortable beds to sleep on, were given sets of beautiful, rather expensive looking clothes, and were granted the freedom to roam and explore the nearly unending grounds of the mansion as and when they pleased.
They’d also been groomed like prized show dogs.
A while after they were led into the smaller room on the day they arrived, they were led to a huge, blindingly white room with dozens of neat little makeshift washing stations, and were washed carefully and treated for any wounds or infections. Their nails and skin were trimmed and polished and massaged with innumerable beauty products; they were given beautiful, stylish haircuts, and mortifyingly enough, completely depilated from the neck down.
Draco had grit his teeth through the interminable sessions of waxing, grateful for the gentle hands of the people handling him and for the ice packs they carefully pressed to his inflamed skin afterwards.
He’d not participated in the, in his opinion, prematurely relieved discussions that the rest of the boys had sat around having through the three days they’d been there. He smiled and nodded as they all laughed and chatted, all of them so elated and excited for what they, foolishly, believed was a life of ease and opulence.
But Draco had a niggling feeling that they had simply not been bought just to be treated like princes.
The world wasn’t quite so perfect.
And so when, on the evening of the third day since his arrival in this luxurious haven, they were each asked to strip down to their black underwear, and were marched back into that small room they’d first been untied in, Draco wasn’t the least bit surprised.
He realised almost at once that they were to be perused for whatever they have been purchased for.
He stood at the far end of the line, the dozen or so young boys standing in silence and shivering lightly as they waited.
The door opened and a familiar man entered – tall and red haired, with a mobile phone in each hand, his gait was quick and he carried a general air of neat efficiency. He’d briefly overseen their grooming and checked in on them in their chambers once a day, always asking around with a kind smile if they’d eaten and gotten enough sleep. He was rather young himself, probably just a few years older than Draco and the rest of them, and always wore a long, black trench coat over his clothes.
He was on the phone as he entered, and spoke rapidly in a low, brisk tone, snapping the phone shut as he finished the call, and looking around with a nod.
“Everybody here? Good, good, good,” he said distractedly and then looked back out through the door, nodding to someone, calling softly, “Yeah, fetch him, would you? They’re all here.”
Turning back around to them, he spoke in a soft voice, “Now, there’s no need to be afraid. He’s a very kind man and means none of you any harm. Stand still and remain calm – don’t look right at him when he comes in here - he’s strange like that,” he chuckled. “Don’t make eye contact. Just stay in place, he’ll look you over and decide who stays and who doesn’t. It’ll not take more than a few minutes, so just relax.” He looked over his shoulder and then quickly added, “Here he comes. Stand up straight, kiddos.”
Draco straightened his posture without thinking and quickly looked at his bare feet, clasping his hands before him anxiously.
There were footsteps, heavy boots on carpet, getting louder until finally, Draco knew he was in the room – Harry Potter.
He fought not to fidget as the room went still, the very air seeming to stand in place. Everybody seemed to be holding their breath and despite the thundering of his heart, Draco was desperate to look up, to take a glimpse of this man, this man who carried a nearly god-like status.
He could feel more than see that Potter was at the other end of the long room, slowly making his way down the line. He didn’t speak or make a sound and Draco could feel Ethan, the boy standing on his left, shivering violently.
And then Draco’s peripheral vision caught sight of the tall, wide figure that loomed into sight on his left. Potter slowly walked up, passing Ethan, and then finally reaching Draco, the last in the line.
Draco fought it, he really did, but before he actually knew what he was doing, he’d lifted his head and looked right into impossibly vivid green eyes, blazing into his own grey eyes.
Suddenly, Draco wasn’t his own master anymore – this man standing before him controlled him and his every physical and mental function. He gasped under his breath, his every impulse screaming at him to look away, to look back down. But he couldn’t – it was as if the emerald gaze had caught his in a grip so tight that he couldn’t look away even if he tried to; he breathed because Potter granted him silent permission to, his heart beat because Potter allowed it to – Draco existed because of and for Potter.
His breath speeding up, Draco stared up helplessly, noting that Harry Potter looked nothing like the old, fat, balding man Draco had imagined in his mind’s eye.
Harry Potter was unbelievably, almost terrifyingly handsome.
Dark lashes framed the fiery green eyes that Draco couldn’t seem to look away from, and thick, jet black hair, uncombed and mussed fell onto his forehead; pink lips set in a grim line, and a sharp, rugged jaw dusted with a faint stubble; shoulders that were twice as wide as Draco’s and arms so muscular and burly that Draco was nearly certain that Potter could easily crush him if he wanted to. His chest was wide and his waist tapered in like a lion’s, his black t-shirt clinging to his strapping form, blue jeans sitting low on straight hips. He stood atleast a foot taller than Draco and towered over him with a roaring fire in his green gaze.
Draco felt like a new born foal faced with a dangerously powerful panther.
He realised he was holding his breath only when Potter finally blinked softly, the serious line of his mouth softening – he didn’t smile, no, but his eyes gleamed with something that made Draco break out into full fledged trembling, his skin feeling unbearably hot - his very bones feeling heated.
“They’ll do,” Potter spoke, and his voice was deep, soft, and draped Draco like the finest silk. He blinked, wondering if Potter had spoken to him, because he was still looking at Draco, but then the tall red haired man was stepping forward and calling them all to go back up and get dressed.
Helplessly still looking up at the man who basically owned him, Draco followed Ethan out, all the while sneaking glances back, Potter’s gaze still fixed unblinkingly at him, until his legs felt like jelly and his heart raced and fluttered with something unfamiliar and alarmingly exquisite.
***
Draco had the strangest dream that night.
He dreamt he was wandering in a dense forest somewhere, alone and completely lost, crying out desperately for help. He couldn’t hear his own screams and then realised that probably nobody else could hear him either. Feeling a terrifying sort of darkness closing around him, Draco began to run, and pretty soon he could hear someone – something – following him – no, chasing him.
And then he was being pounced upon, and it was something enormous and shaggy, with hot, damp breath that blew over the nape of Draco’s neck. Too scared to even yell out, Draco turned over to beg to be released before his entreating words died a swift death in his throat – because the unknown creature was suddenly human and none other than Harry Potter.
Harry Potter who looked down at Draco as if he were something invaluably precious and at the same time as if he were about to consume Draco whole. And it felt glorious at that moment and Draco opened his mouth to beg for something, he didn’t even know what, but then Potter was stripping the torn rags off Draco’s body and Draco knew his whole reason for living, the purpose of his existence was this, to be lying there under Harry Potter who was inching one hand between Draco’s legs—
Draco woke with a start and realised he had just climaxed in his underwear.
***