Chapter Text
“No, thank you,” muttered Harry irritably to the eager employee of the popular, high-end restaurant, dismissing him with an absent wave of his hand. Unsurprisingly, he’d asked Harry if he’d like to rent a pretty little slave for the night. Although these types of unsettling situations had become kind of the norm now, he still felt infuriated and perturbed sometimes. Pulling his tight collar loose in frustration, he manoeuvred around the round tables and stepped out desperately for a breath of fresh air.
“God-damn bastards,” he murmured in annoyance under his breath, inhaling the cold night air into his lungs and clenching his jaw.
The long, sullen streets and potholed roads that stretched out endlessly in front of him were all empty and isolated, and it relaxed Harry’s agitated nerves just a tiny bit. Bright and vibrantly coloured lights poured onto the dreary footpath from the restaurant, illuminating the massive entrance — a dazzling glow amidst the utter gloom surrounding the street. The sparkling lights of the restaurant looked wholly out of place, as if someone had accidentally dropped them there.
Sighing glumly and slipping his cold hands into his pockets, Harry moved away from the radiance and headed towards the nearest dark corner. He collapsed back against a grimy brick wall in silence and vacantly looked up at the cloudy midnight sky, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag with immense relief.
Long tendrils of smoke flowed out of his mouth and twirled in the air, and he watched with an uncaring boredom as it faded into nothingness. He could feel his heart sinking deeper and deeper as he stood there, utterly alone and hopeless in the darkness.
Inside the fancy restaurant, the sight was beyond horrible. The whole place was unbelievably reeking with the smell of blood and rotting flesh and bodily fluids. The high-quality slaves — or prey as they were now called — were standing on display behind transparent glass windows while the Immortals sat around them, talking, laughing, and drinking without a single care in the world. It was disgusting and horrifying, and Harry couldn't bring himself to sit there and watch it happen.
He couldn’t believe how much the world had changed in the span of two centuries. It was no longer even worth living in this world.
After two hundred years of nothing but pain and disappointment and loneliness, Harry had fully given up on trying to save people — he’d had enough.
There was no Voldemort to defeat any more — no more horcruxes to destroy. There was no single big and bad villain that he could take on and obliterate to save the world. He didn’t have any strength left for naive heroics. And most of all, it was no longer worth trying.
Billions of powerful, merciless Immortals crawled all over the earth. They were murderous and beastly, and much, much stronger than Harry. Every day, they killed, chained and enslaved preys. It was simply impossible to save them all.
After spending most of his childhood running after Voldemort and pursuing dark wizards and being Dumbledore’s naive little pawn, he’d finally had enough. What grand reward had he received for enduring all the toil and the terror and the trauma? In the end, it had been a thankless, pointless fucking job, and the only thing he’d obtained in return was pain and agony. Despite everything he'd done — all the fucking sacrifices he’d made — he was stuck in a world he no longer recognized, with no place to call home, and no one to love him.
So, neither was he fighting for justice, nor did he want to any more. He had no interest in being a warrior who tried to save all the preys — he knew he’d fail miserably, like he had the first time. Harry was thoroughly done playing the hero.
In fact, Harry was an Immortal himself. In spite of being tremendously ashamed and loathing who he had become, his new instincts and physiology made him love human flesh and blood. Just a mere whiff was enough to instantly turn him on and make him want to lose all control. He didn't believe he was above anyone, or that he was better than other Immortals for pitying preys. He wouldn't dare to claim moral high ground at this point, but . . . but he could never ever bring himself to enjoy a meal in front of the slaves, or to torture them like the others do.
“Oi, Harry!” shouted someone abruptly, making Harry snap out of his reverie.
Turning around moodily, Harry eyed Fox — who had poked his head out of the restaurent door — with a wary gaze. “What is it, arsehole?” asked Harry with disinterest, blowing more smoke out of his mouth.
Over the years, Harry had made some acquaintances — mostly random, former wizards who knew him by reading about him in the Daily Prophet, or through the previously widespread rumours of the Boy Who Lived. Grudgingly, Harry kept in touch with them. Every once in a while, he went out with them to keep himself from going insane due to his loneliness and isolation. Most of the time, he hated them, but occasionally, he’d want to twist their necks and gouge out their eyes. He'd turned into one of those bitter, resentful people he used to loathe.
“Fresh prey just arrived. She’s a beauty,” said Fox giddily. “Sweet little girl. Come on in. You can have her first. Take her upstairs if you like.”
Harry’s throat constricted immediately. His hands trembled, and the urge to slit Fox’s throat was intense and unendurable. However, he managed to keep his cool. It would do him no good to get upset. This was simply the normal state of the world now. “You guys go ahead,” he said coldly, averting his gaze as he tried miserably to steady his infuriated, laboured breathing. “I’m not hungry.”
Fox frowned at him in complete confusion, as if he couldn’t believe Harry was letting go of a fresh prey. However, he didn’t say anything. Perhaps, he was finally beginning to understand Harry’s nature and peculiar habits. Turning around with a displeased huff, he left wordlessly.
When the thuds of Fox’s footsteps faded away, Harry immediately regretted his stupid decision to accompany his friends that night. He had only agreed to come to appease them, but it turned out to be his biggest mistake.
The restaurant was apparently the best one in the entire town. They sold expensive, high-quality human meat and sweet, unadulterated blood — straight from the farm. Several young human boys and girls were on display inside the brightly lit room, and customers were allowed to take them to the room upstairs — if they so desired.
A street-lamp near him dwindled and went out abruptly, shrouding him in solemn darkness. The loud chatter and horrid laughter of strangers from the restaurant trickled into his ears obtrusively, and immediately, an aching emptiness gripped his chest, growing larger and wider and more pronounced as he stood there.
Puffs of smoke flowed out of his mouth and hovered in the air, and he swallowed shakily. The air was cold, and his fingertips were numb and prickling. His mind inevitably drifted back to warm corridors and chattering mouths in crowded classrooms and hasty footsteps on cold stone floors. His heart sank slowly into the deepest pits of despair.
How did things get like this? Where did he go wrong? He had saved the world, hadn’t he? He had finished his task, his one single mission in life, but then why?
Why?
Soon after Voldemort's defeat, Ron and Hermione had left hurriedly for Australia to find Hermione’s parents. Amidst all the mourning and celebration, Harry — tired of answering people’s questions and attending funerals of people he had never even known — had left on a little journey to get some peace and quiet.
When he came back, he found the wizarding world in utter chaos. Magic had disappeared completely for no apparent reason, and the muggles reported some kind of mysterious virus spreading all across the world. Overnight, the world had been taken over by bloodthirsty, immortal beasts who craved human flesh and blood. Regular humans who underwent no change were slaughtered left and right.
Then, a new type of humans evolved — delicious prey. Some humans who were bitten by the Immortals became half-immortals, with a much higher lifespan than normal humans but with none of the strength and abilities of Immortals. As such, preys were considered an extremely rare and valuable commodity. They could be enslaved and exploited for longer periods of time. They healed faster; their flesh and blood could be harvested without killing them.
Most of the wizarding community Harry had known had died at the hands of muggle Immortals. Without the assistance of magic, they were incapable of protecting themselves. Once the wards and protective enchantments fell, they became easy prey. Muggle Immortals, on the other hand, thrived in the new world order.
How long ago had that happened? Perhaps, it’d been two hundred and forty-seven years, but Harry wasn’t completely sure. Dates were unimportant; time was endless for an Immortal — a stretch of plain nothingness without an end. The sun rose, and the sun set. A new day? A new month? A new year? What do they matter? Concepts like that had long since stopped mattering to Harry. Schedules and routines were simply tedious. Yesterday, today and tomorrow were all the same — just a blend of endless, meaningless days that began with emptiness and ended with longing. Days and months and years slipped quietly by. Nothing much ever changed. Nothing much would ever change.
For the first several decades, Harry had searched like a mad man all over the world. However, after two centuries, he’d kind of stopped caring; he’d all but given up. Everyone he knew had either turned into an Immortal or fallen prey to them.
Sometimes, Harry wondered if this was God's way of punishing him. He didn't fully know what he had done, but he was sure he did something, or else why would this happen to him after everything he had already been through?
Harry sighed heavily, feeling exhausted as the memories and emotions flooded him. He’d already gone through all the stages of grief. At first, he’d refused to accept his fate. Then, he got angry at himself and at the world. At one point, he'd tried to kill himself out of fury. He'd slit his own throat. He'd stabbed himself. Not only that, but he'd even tried hanging. He'd tried to starve himself, too, but the craving would’ve turned him into a mindless beast until he eventually hurt someone, and death still would not have come to him. A few decades back, he'd even paid other Immortals to kill him — but no such luck.
Harry was an Immortal — a true Immortal. He was utterly incapable of finding solace even in death. Immortals could only die after their estimated lifespan of three thousand years was up, or so he’d heard others say. So, he lived on, surviving on human flesh and blood, surviving, without even really wanting to.
Sighing wearily, he stared at the smoke which twirled in the air with a sour look on his face. His heart was as cold as ice as he took another, long drag out of his cigarette, feeling almost like a ghost — like someone who shouldn’t be alive. He was no longer living. He was simply here — a meaningless existence, with nowhere to be and no one to call a friend. There was no longer a home in this world — no longer a place where he belonged, and there was no one left in this hellish place who he loved.
“Walk, bitch.”
The sliding noise of the entrance door echoed in the silence of the night, and a loud thud abruptly derailed Harry’s train of thoughts. Turning around with an annoyed frown, he watched wordlessly as a weak-looking, drunk Immortal stumbled unsteadily out of the restaurant, holding a dirty leash in his right hand. It was attached to a tight metal collar which a young prey was wearing around his neck.
Blowing smoke out of his mouth, Harry stared at the wretched pair vacantly. The prey was following the Immortal without a single word of protest, his head hanging below his shoulders in terror. The prey looked scarcely older than nineteen — but he was probably hundreds of years old — with long, unkempt blond hair, pale white skin and frail, emaciated body. He wore thin, dirty trousers and a horribly rumpled T-shirt in the cold, freezing weather. He was extremely bony and gaunt, as if he hadn’t eaten anything in several long days. His arms and limbs were covered in countless old and new bruises, and his every step was unstable and staggering.
For a fleeting moment, Harry was afraid the prey would collapse to the cold ground, but then he remembered that it was none of his business if he did. He couldn't see the prey's face properly because of his long, dishevelled hair, nor did he particularly want to. With a harsh swallow, he turned away silently and continued to smoke without making any noise. It was none of his business, he reminded himself once more. He'd stay out of it. Over time, he'd learned to ignore things like this.
Selling, buying and owning preys were all completely legal. In fact, it was sort of a trend and a status symbol. According to the new world’s laws, the Immortal was well within his right to own a slave if he preferred. Questioning another Immortal’s authority would get him nowhere.
And so, Harry desperately tried not to look, and forced himself to regain his self-control and rationality. He was about to head back home. No matter what, he was not going to get involved in it. He wasn't a hero, he repeated to himself firmly. He didn’t have to act all noble any more. He didn't wish to save anyone. He just wasn't that kind of person any more.
“What the fuck are you doing, you stupid little shit?” the Immortal spat abruptly.
Curiosity overrode his resolution. Harry glanced at them briefly to see that the blond man had collapsed to his knees due to exhaustion. He was shaking all over, and Harry's heart grew heavy.
“I told you to walk, didn't I? Can you not even do that?” the owner of the prey shouted in anger. “God, you’re so fucking pathetic. I'm so sick of you. Do you want to stay here all night?” He kicked the prey in his stomach and bellowed, “Kneel, bitch.” Grabbing the blond man’s hair roughly, he slapped him across the face, making him whimper in pain. “Stay right here. Do you understand? Wait here like a good little dog. I'll be right back after paying the bill. Get yourself together until then, or do you want me to leave you here, so the mindless Immortals can have something to fuck?”
The blond man obediently stood on his knees, trembling violently as he gave his master a tiny, fearful nod. His master smirked. “Good boy. Now, stay here,” said the Immortal before tying the leash around a lamp-post and disappearing back inside.
Harry watched quietly for several seconds and looked away, his hand trembling as he held his cigarette. He heard the opening and closing noise of the door and looked up at the night sky blankly. A small gust of wind ruffled his hair and caressed his clothes, carrying the puffs of white smoke away. His shaking hands clenched into tight fists, and he exhaled smoke out of his mouth. He didn't know why, but his stomach was twisting, churning, violently. Swallowing painfully, he threw the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his foot.
Overwhelming pity gnawed at Harry’s heart as he turned to the blond man and found him dutifully kneeling on the cold, filthy ground, his head so lowered that the tip of his chin touched his chest. His knees were bruised horribly, and it looked like he was in immense pain, but he was still refusing to disobey the insane order given to him, possibly out of extreme fear. Before he could think too much about it, Harry walked towards the man cautiously and knelt before him. “You okay? You need help?”
The blond man blinked and very slowly looked up from the floor. Their eyes locked, and Harry saw his familiar pale face for the first time. Immediately, he staggered back in complete and utter shock, his heart almost leaping out of his chest as he sucked in a sharp, startled breath.
Draco Malfoy’s brilliant silvery-grey eyes stared back at him, and Harry’s breath hitched in his throat. “Malfoy?” he breathed in bewilderment, unable to conceal the emotions flowing through him.
Old, nostalgic memories crowded his mind like never before, and those seven wonderful years at Hogwarts — with his friends — came flooding back to him. His heart burst with extreme joy, and he couldn’t stop staring at Malfoy in amazement and wonder. It didn’t matter that it was Malfoy — it was someone he knew. He was meeting someone he knew, someone who knew him for the first time in two hundred years.
“Is it really you, Malfoy?” asked Harry in awe.
In recent years, he’d thought of Malfoy numerous times, like he’d thought of everyone he knew. He’d wondered what happened to him, after the Immortals took over. The last time he’d seen Malfoy, he was a death eater standing in front of a judge to get his verdict, but here he was once again.
Draco Malfoy had fallen prey to the Immortals.
Harry’s delight didn’t last long. As he continued to stare at Malfoy with a mixture of rapture and relief, he noticed how wholly unrecognizable Malfoy looked. He was skin-and-bones now. Long, scraggly locks framed his face, and his eyelashes had grown long and dark, with tears glistening around the rim. His startling grey eyes stared back at Harry blankly, his gaze utterly empty, aimless — not a single thought seemed to have passed behind those dark, vacant eyes. He looked like a hollow vessel.
“Malfoy?” choked out Harry desperately, searching his face.
Without saying anything and not moving an inch from his position, he continued to stare dazedly at Harry. There was not even the minutest sign of recognition on his tear-stained, thin face. He stayed put as commanded, looking utterly broken and alone and like he’d lost all hope. His body was shaking violently, and Harry couldn't tell if it was due to the cold or due to fear.
Harry's heart clenched with intense pain, and he swallowed the lump that welled in his throat at the pitiful sight of his former enemy. “Malfoy, don’t you remember me?” he asked quietly, desperate to make Malfoy see him.
Malfoy wasn’t even really looking at Harry. He wasn’t looking at anything. With a painful jolt, Harry realized the truth.
Malfoy simply wasn’t in there any more. Nothing existed behind those eyes — no hope, no joy, nor a sense of self. There were only orders to be obeyed, and a master to be pleased.
“Malfoy, do you need help?” whispered Harry miserably, reaching out with his hand. “Are you alright?”
He couldn’t stop himself. He was eager to make Malfoy recognize him — eager to help him. Sudden determination filled him, and his heart beat faster. It was Malfoy, a person who was a constant presence near him during some of the best years of his life. “I can help you. I’m Harry. Harry Potter. Don’t you recognize me —”
Malfoy blinked and immediately flinched back, dropping his gaze back to the floor and shaking violently. Suddenly, he looked terribly afraid of Harry, and Harry bit his lip, moving back guiltily. He stared at Malfoy for a small moment, studying his thin, trembling figure with pain in his chest. Wordlessly, he removed his jacket and extended his hand.
Malfoy whimpered instantly, squeezing his eyes shut in trepidation. Harry glanced at him and mumbled, “It's okay.” He wrapped the jacket tightly around Malfoy’s quivering, bony shoulders and smiled at him kindly. “You can have it.”
Malfoy bit his trembling bottom lip and slowly opened his eyes, peeking at Harry through his eyelashes hesitantly. Harry smiled gently, and Malfoy immediately dropped his gaze back to the floor, looking befuddled. Harry sighed softly. “Do you need my help —”
“What the fuck, Draco?”
Harry looked up with a start. His smile instantly slipped off his face, and he stood up resentfully, leaning back against the wall and watching quietly as the man who owned Malfoy stomped back towards them with an infuriated look on his face.
Shooting Harry a nasty glare, he roughly grabbed Malfoy’s arm, forcibly pulling him away. He clenched his jaw, glaring at Malfoy indignantly. “What the fuck did I say to you, you little shit?” he screamed at Malfoy, dragging him away by force. “I left you for one god-damn minute, and you're already seducing other Immortals. Stupid fucking slut.”
Harry rested his back against the wall and closed his eyes tightly, taking a long, deep breath to steady himself. A tremendous amount of rage flooded his veins, and he roughly shoved his trembling hands into his pockets, trying desperately to quell the rising fury he felt inside. Clenching his jaw, he watched with a hawk-like gaze as the Immortal shoved and kicked and slapped Malfoy, pushing him into a dark alleyway, possibly to punish him severely for disobedience.
He stood, for a fleeting moment, gazing longingly towards the dark alleyway. Then, he forced himself to avert his eyes and whirled around, heading in the opposite direction.
What had he been thinking? He had fancied for a moment that he could save Malfoy, but it was not his problem any more. He shouldn’t be trying to be a hero any more. He didn’t deserve to be a hero.
He trudged forward hurriedly, deciding to return home as quickly as possible. If he didn't immediately remove himself from this rapidly escalating situation, he’d end up doing something unimaginably stupid.
So, what if it was Malfoy? Harry had nothing whatsoever to do with him. The world wasn’t like it used to be. Malfoy was simply another Immortal's property, and Harry couldn't possibly do anything to change that.
Actually, he shouldn't.
Harry wasn't a hero. He most certainly wasn't. He himself survived by drinking human blood. What right did Harry have to interfere in how other Immortals treated their preys? What right did he have to lecture them about it? Preys were valuable property, and incurring an Immortal’s wrath would just make the rest of his long, exhausting life harder than it needed to be.
Besides, there were several preys like Malfoy who needed help. He couldn't possibly help everyone, and that was okay. He wasn't obligated to help. Helping one prey was not going to change anything at this point. It would be meaningless.
Malfoy’s piercing grey eyes popped into Harry’s mind, and his hands clenched into tight, trembling fists. He halted abruptly. Staring bitterly at the ground for a split second, he swallowed and ran his hand shakily through his sweaty hair. Swearing loudly, he swirled around, stomping back towards the alleyway, the loud, pounding thuds of his boots echoing in the silence of the night. His breaths quickened, and he rushed into the dirty, narrow alley with his heart slamming against his chest.
In spite of accepting the reality of his new world, and telling himself he would live a quiet, subdued life — without aiming to be some kind of glorious hero again — he couldn’t ignore Malfoy. He couldn’t do it, not when Malfoy looked like he was just a step away from crumbling into pieces. He had to save at least Malfoy. He owed it to him.
It was extremely dark and dreary in the small, filthy alley, but there was enough light from the street-lamp nearby for him to notice that the bastard had Malfoy forcefully pinned against the brick wall, and he was furiously stroking his dick while sucking Malfoy’s face off.
Harry’s blood boiled, and rage burnt through his stomach when he inevitably saw the way Malfoy was shaking from head to toe. Hatred and fury blinded Harry suddenly, and his eyes turned bright, blood-red as he trudged forward angrily and lifted his leg, kicking the arsehole to the dirty ground harshly. “Get the fuck away from him!” he shouted in a booming voice, enraged.
The Immortal haphazardly collapsed to the floor, hitting his head against a thick brick on the ground. He let out a loud groan of pain, rubbing his head with a confused frown on his face. “What the hell?” he slurred drunkenly, scrambling and rolling all over the muddy ground as he tried pathetically to get up. “Who the fuck are you?”
Harry panted heavily, and he could feel the sizzling blood rushing to his head. He glanced briefly at Draco with gritted teeth, but Draco recoiled back in fear. Harry’s large jacket was lying in a heap on the ground. The Immortal creep had ripped Draco’s shirt apart, exposing his pale skin, marred with several bite marks, bruises, and red fingerprints.
Harry immediately felt a pang of sharp, searing pain in his chest, and he glared down at the weak Immortal on the ground hatefully. The Immortal stared back with wide, drowsy eyes, looking a little scared himself. Panting in fury, Harry walked up to him and shot him a murderous look. “How dare you?” he hissed. “You have absolutely no right to hurt him like this.”
The expression on the Immortal's drooping face immediately turned from slight fear to arrogant outrage. “Listen, kid. Immortals can't control their sexual urges when they smell a prey’s blood. It's in our innate nature. It's who we are.” He carefully tried to crawl back to his feet, but Harry kicked him roughly again, making him tumble back with a pained gasp. “Son of a bitch, I bought him! He's mine, and I can do whatever the fuck I —”
“Shut the fuck up!” Harry snapped in an enraged voice, flashing his sharp, canine teeth and looming threateningly above the weak, frail-looking Immortal. It was startlingly clear who would win in a serious fight.
In a way, Harry understood what the other Immortal was trying to explain. He’d experienced it himself countless times. The urge was sometimes impossible to ignore, and he himself had trouble controlling it fully. Immortals were inherently incapable of resisting their desires once they caught a whiff of sweet blood. It was the main reason most restaurants had private rooms upstairs, and Harry often felt disgusted with himself for turning into such a filthy beast.
The Immortal stared sluggishly at Harry in terror and trembled. “I don't want any trouble, man. I'm — I'm actually fed up with him anyway. You can buy him off me if you want. He can't even wipe his own arse. He's already fucked in the head —”
Without even a tiny bit of remorse, Harry lifted his foot and jammed it into the drunk Immortal’s throat. The Immortal gasped in horror and looked pleadingly at Harry. “I’m willing to sell him if you pay me double the amount —”
“Oh, I will take him,” snarled Harry in anger, and he felt his canines grow. His gaze flashed red, and his hands turned into sharp, long claws, inevitably. “But I’ll make you feel the pain first,” he hissed and flashed his teeth, feeling the power and strength coursing through his veins. He couldn’t control his transformation — or his fury.
“Fucking hell,” the Immortal breathed, his hands helplessly pushing Harry’s foot. “What the fuck else do you want? I told you, you can buy him off me!”
Harry dug the heel of his boot deeper into his throat, and the Immortal heaved and wheezed, fingers clawing at Harry’s legs as he choked out, “Come on. Please! I’ll — I’ll give him —” His tongue poked out pathetically out of his mouth as he twitched and writhed like a dying snake on the ground. “— to you for free. He . . . has . . . rare . . . blood . . .”
Harry shoved his boot roughly, pressing down and stomping on his neck like it was a small, helpless fly. The Immortal choked and suffocated, gagging, drool flowing out of his mouth as his helpless heaving, gasping breaths echoed throughout the empty alley.
“P-please . . . Argh . . . No . . .” The sound of his pants caused Harry’s entire being to vibrate with exhilaration.
With the world, he too had changed.
His firm, glaring gaze remained fixed on the Immortal’s agony-filled face until his eyes slowly fell shut, and his scratching, clawing hands fell limply by his sides, his twitches dying away as he lost consciousness. Clenching his jaw tightly, Harry stomped on his face and kicked him towards the garbage bins, stumbling back unsteadily.
Heaving and panting, Harry flattened himself against the wall, staring numbly at the Immortal’s prone body and swallowing painfully. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he grabbed a large chunk of money and tossed it on top of the Immortal’s body. His head turned slightly dizzy, but he didn’t let his resolve crack. He didn’t let himself feel any remorse or guilt. He could either take things from others or let his things be taken from him — that was the state of the new world. If he wanted to save Malfoy, there had no other way. Immortals were known for holding grudges, and if Harry hadn’t intimidated him, he’d have come back to take his revenge at some point.
Minutes slipped by in complete silence, and slowly, Harry willed himself to calm down and regain his composure. His rigid shoulders gradually relaxed, and his fists loosened. He retracted his canines, and his facial features returned to normal. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he pulled himself off the wall and let out a weary sigh.
The street-lamp that had diminished earlier flickered to life, illuminating the alley with a muddy yellow light. Shakily, Harry turned to Malfoy to find him sitting on the filthy floor with his hands pressed tightly against his ears, and his eyes squeezed shut in fear.
Without saying a word, Harry grabbed his jacket off the floor and crouched near Draco, wrapping it around his shoulders cautiously. “It's okay,” he murmured in a soft voice, swallowing painfully. “Everything will be alright now.”
Still shaking, Malfoy’s frightened eyes slowly opened, and he blinked up at Harry with terror clearly written on his face. Harry’s heart plummeted, but he smiled gently and extended his hand. Malfoy flinched and recoiled instantly. Letting out a terrified whimper, he immediately crawled back to his knees and stood obediently with his eyes squeezed shut, as if he were waiting patiently for Harry to strike him.
Harry started, and he felt like a knife was being twisted ruthlessly into his gut as he watched Malfoy, whose face was filled with overwhelming dread. His bruised knees shook violently, and Harry’s blood felt like ice water in his veins.
The kind, comforting smile abruptly slipped off his face, and he bit his lip helplessly. He stared at his former enemy for a moment, studying his pitiful state. His chest filled with an intolerable amount of pain. His extended hand stilled and curled in the air, hesitating for a fleeting moment before reaching out once again. Malfoy trembled, but Harry didn't stop. Gently placing his hand on top of his messy blond hair, he attempted sorrowfully to smile again. “Relax,” he whispered tenderly. “It's okay. I’ve got you. You're alright. You’ll be okay.”
Malfoy stilled and sniffled. Reluctantly fluttering his eyes open, he stared up at Harry through his eyelashes, looking stunned.
Harry smiled a sad smile. “I'm Harry, remember?” he told Malfoy softly. “We used to attend Hogwarts together. We were . . . well, we were enemies, and we hated each other, but . . .” A lump grew in his throat when he saw the confused, almost dazed, look on Malfoy’s face. “I guess, it doesn’t really matter any more . . .” He paused, and hesitated for a moment. “Listen, Draco. Can I call you that? Is that okay?”
Harry waited, but Draco didn't answer. He was staring open-mouthed at Harry’s hand on his head. Feeling a little awkward, Harry carefully removed it. “Where’s your family, Draco?” he asked silently. “Are they still — are they alive? Do you have a home? Do you have somewhere you can go? Somewhere you can stay? You're free. You should try and find your family. Your master won't hurt you any more. You’re free to go wherever you want now.”
Draco’s blank expression changed just a fraction of a degree. Looking pained, he dropped his gaze to the floor emptily. Harry patiently, painfully, waited for an answer, but when it didn’t come, he sighed softly. “Okay. You can stay with me for the time being until we figure things out,” he explained warmly. “Would you like to come with me?”
Draco didn't say anything at all for a long time. He sat as still as a marble statue on the floor, an utterly emotionless, vacant expression on his face — as if he were a lifeless, human-like doll.
Harry chewed on his bottom lip and wondered if Draco even understood English any more. He’d heard of preys who were taken to distant countries. More often than not, they forgot their own language due to not being allowed to use it at all. Draco didn't seem like he was understanding or registering Harry’s words. He was feeling a little perplexed.
“Do you want me to leave?” he asked in confusion. “You don't have to come with me if you don’t want to. You can go wherever you please. You can do whatever you want. I just helped you because I felt like it. You don't owe me anything. You’re free.”
Draco suddenly looked up and stared at him for a quiet while. Then, he dropped his gaze back to the floor again. He was silent for a moment before he began to move shakily, grabbing the leash with grubby fingers. Extending his trembling hand, he offered the leash to Harry, staring at him with wide grey eyes.
Harry's heart plummeted down to the ground, and he swallowed harshly, giving Draco a look of pure pity. With a sudden, sharp pang of grief, he realized that Draco — like himself — had nowhere left to go. Clenching his jaw in anger, he bent down and grabbed the metal collar around Draco’s neck, crushing it with pure strength and tossing it to the ground. “You don't need that any more, Draco,” he murmured gently, his eyes stinging.
Draco stared at the broken collar on the ground, his fingers tightening around the leash. Harry grabbed his hand and gently uncurled his fingers one by one, removing the leash from his hand. Grasping Draco’s hand tightly, Harry pulled him to his feet and said, “Let's go home.”