Harry Potter collapses onto his knees, head hanging down. He doesn't struggle at all, he just gives in.

Draco Malfoy feels a great surge of bliss. He likes the power he has when someone submits to him, when they acknowledge his superior power and do exactly as he wants. He struts proudly through Hogwarts with the knowledge that, as Prefect, the other students around him are required to do his bidding, to fear him, to placate him if he is dissatisfied. The younger Slytherins bolt out of his way these days; his favourite seat is always vacated when he walks into the common room. He takes advantage of these petty marks of his prestige, but for the most part he only indulges in the abstract idea of absolute power. The only student Draco forces into utter submission on a regular basis is Harry Potter.

And Harry deserves it to. He's the reason Draco's father is in prison, therefore Draco feels no compunction about forcing him into these trysts. He doesn't care what Harry thinks of him, in the end. In spite of everything, this is a form of punishment. Not a reward.

He crosses Harry's wrists behind his back and kneels down behind him. Still, Harry doesn't resist; his eyes are shut and his mouth is open.

Draco knows that Umbridge hurt Harry. He saw the blood, the marks of the letters etched into his skin. He and Harry played this game even when Umbridge was running full steam; he had access to Harry's skin, though not the way he does now. Draco had real power then, though, not figurative power. He could take points, he could tattle, he could have students expelled with a couple of well-placed words. But this kind of power didn't impress Harry, who would not lower his eyes, he would not do more than stand still while Draco brushed his hand over Harry's cheek.

So he knew about the lines marked on Harry's skin. It annoyed Draco more than he could reasonably account for. He'd heard of quills like that before, he'd been threatened with them, but he had never seen the scars from one. He didn't want Umbridge doing damage to Harry, and that was when he realized that he wouldn't stop playing this game with him, even when his father was sent to prison and he almost lost all hope. They were on to something primal, they were feeding each other.

I must not tell lies. Draco had traced the letters on Harry's hand many times, hoping he could erase them. It's an odd thing to see dug into Harry's skin, because it's true. Harry never lies. Draco knows that Harry hasn't been lying, that the Dark Lord has in fact returned. Of course he never said so to Professor Umbridge. Draco's father told him just to do as she asks, as long as she doesn't want specific information on the Malfoys and their activities. As long as she doesn't want to know the entire truth.

"She's harmless," his father said. "She's got the right idea. Give her a hand where you can, Draco. But she's not to know anything personal, do you understand?"

She should have been grateful to Harry, really.

Draco finds it odd that she never once asked if any of the allegations were true. The raids on Malfoy Manor, the eyewitness testimonies regarding his father's activities, the story of a certain diary and a certain house elf; none of this seemed to have made an impression on Dolores Umbridge. She seemed so completely certain that she could discern the truth that Draco could not entirely find it within himself to respect her. In spite of the fact that she gave him his first real taste for domination.

Umbridge is gone now, which is a relief even to Draco. She was unpleasant and Professor Snape hated her; she wanted too much and wasn't careful enough to keep what she managed to get. That's not the way the truly powerful function; you need to give a little in order to keep what's most precious.

Draco buries his face in the back of Harry's neck and then licks his earlobe. Harry doesn't respond, he only breathes deeply and his fingers twitch a little. He doesn't need to respond. Yet. Harry still seems unduly nervous and Draco wonders if he's in for another beating.

"Harry," Draco says. He always talks to Harry while he is submissive like this, and he always uses his given name. Sometimes he tries to coax Harry to say something; sometimes he just taunts him until Harry beats him senseless. That used to happen regularly before Draco learned the fine art of not going too far; though sometimes Harry wants him to go too far. He needs him to.

Harry Potter is a very angry person, and submission is something that has to be carefully earned. After several months of this, Draco has learned to maintain a perfect balance. He hasn't had to take a trip to the Hospital Wing in more than six weeks, because now when Harry beats him he is more careful, and if he fractures something he puts it right himself.

It's the most fulfilling relationship Draco has ever had.

Draco wonders if Harry will hit him tonight; he seems on edge and unhappy. His mouth looks awkward and he keeps tensing his shoulders as if he's anticipating something. When Draco touches him he cringes a little. When he is only up for a rant his shoulders are firm and square; Draco doesn't know what to make of Harry looking so afraid.

"Harry," Draco says. "What are you doing out of your dormitory past curfew?"

"I..." Harry starts. His voice is wavering. "I wanted to get some fresh air."

"Fresh air?" Draco says. "Is this fresh enough for you?" He grabs Harry's chin and kisses him on the lips.

There is nothing unusual about this; he always kisses Harry. Sometimes Harry kisses him back, and sometimes he just shifts his face to give Draco access to him. If he's in a real mood he'll bite Draco's lips and draw blood. Draco is not certain which he likes most; having Harry respond to him or not. There is something delicious about ravishing Harry, and tonight Harry lets himself be ravished.

It works like this: Draco goes first, he exacts the first price because he is Prefect. What Draco wants is simple; he wants to touch Harry, everywhere he can manage to for as long as possible. He moves Harry to a quiet room or a dark corridor and forces Harry to strip, or to strip Draco, or just to unbutton his shirt so that Draco can press his palms against Harry's skin. From there he experiments with how far he can go, how far he's willing to go. Sometimes he wants Harry to suck him off, which Harry does without hesitation; occasionally he wants Harry to fuck him, a request that didn't even warrant a flicker of surprise across Harry's face the first time he issued the command. When submission is so complete, there is no room for questions.

After that it's Harry's turn. He is not as creative as Draco; his needs are angry and less varied. Generally he wants to destroy something, often Draco. He always wants something violent and ugly, something none of his friends would ever expect from him. For the first month or so Harry would just let go of something inside himself throw his fists and his knees and his teeth into Draco. Some days he seems less angry and just yells and throws things, as if he is always waiting to explode. Some days he just wants to tell Draco what a stuck up piece of shit he is, what a deluded halfwit his father is, how stupid all Death Eaters are to imagine that Voldemort will ever treat them with any kind of respect. He screams, he breaks things and kicks walls. And when he's done Draco repairs all the damage and nods at Harry.

"I'll let you go this time," he says. "But if I find you again, you'll catch it."

Draco likes to imagine that they both feel better after these encounters, though other than his own joy he has no evidence of this.

He rarely sees Harry on Fridays. Friday evenings he is usually with his friends holed up in that tower of theirs. Sometimes Draco spends Fridays in the Slytherin common room, but often he takes a walk through the school before bed on the off-chance that he'll find Harry somewhere, waiting for him.

Harry's eyes are still shut. Draco undresses him from behind, tugging his shirt off and dropping it on the floor, and slipping his hands into Harry's trousers. He doesn't say anything. Harry leans his head back against Draco's shoulder.

These days Draco is hard the moment he sees Harry in the hallways after dark. Sometimes this even happens in class, when Harry gets up to get potions ingredients, or when they are between classes and pass each other in the corridor. If Draco shouts something at him, demands something, he will certainly need to keep his robes lose around him until he can make it to the boys bathroom. Sometimes even just the smell of him will do it. Draco's body can't tell the difference between legit and illicit anymore; it longs for Harry most the time, regardless of how Draco feels about it.

Sometimes when Draco touches him Harry is already hard too, hard and close to the edge, gasping like a fish. Other times he is completely flaccid, as if he's disinterested. Draco doesn't mind this. He likes to feel Harry's arousal from start to finish, blooming like some weird, hot plant in his hand. It makes him feel like he has specialist knowledge, like he is in control.

He has rights to this body now. Harry owes him, he owes Draco's entire family and Draco intends to make sure he pays.

Harry is trembling a little, he's scared and Draco doesn't know why. He hasn't done anything strange to Harry, he hasn't even asked for anything yet. When he pushes Harry toward the wall, Harry complies immediately, even when his trousers hit the floor and Draco grabs hold of his backside in both hands.

"Out late again, Harry?" Draco whispers. Harry doesn't respond. He leans his forehead against the wall and closes his eyes.

Draco doesn't know if Harry has done this before with anyone else. He wondered at first because he didn't seem scared at all, but in retrospect he is convinced that it has only ever been him, and will only ever be him. He lays his hands over Harry's, pressed against the wall. It's moments like that when Draco feels most powerful; he has Harry Potter half naked and under him, he has buried himself inside Harry, he has Harry in his hands. He can do anything.

It's a wonder really that they've never been caught, rutting like wild animals in the corridors. Draco always finds Harry in the remotest spots, in sub-basements or smoky towers, always alone and looking down at his feet. Draco doesn't even try to find him most of the time; he just wanders around until Harry appears in front of him. It's like Harry can read his mind and puts himself in Draco's path. Or as if Draco has some special radar for Harry, a kind of magnetic sense that never lets Harry stray far without Draco unknowingly turning to face him like a lodestone.

Harry as a twisted true north. Somehow that makes sense to Draco, but then again everything feels like an epiphany when he's about to come.

Afterward they sit side by side in the corridor, still panting, trousers done back up. Draco is watching Harry, but Harry has his eyes shut. It's just a matter of time, and Draco is waiting for it.

He could get up and leave now but he doesn't, he never has. He needs something more from Harry, though he rarely acknowledges that it's a need. For someone who never lies Harry Potter is rarely as honest as he is at these moments after Draco has had his way with him, and seeing Harry so uncensored is often more arousing than the lusty moments that came before. So he just waits, watches. What will it be then?

Harry opens his eyes and pulls something out of his pocket. It's a bottle, which he quickly uncaps and hands to Draco.

It smells terrible.

"What's this?" he asks. He has a sinking feeling that he has to drink it. Is this what is all comes to? Months of beatings and ranting and now it's time for Draco to die an oozing death?

"Polyjuice," Harry says. "Please." He still isn't looking at Draco.

It's still steaming a bit and Draco realizes that he must have added the hair just before Draco arrived. He hesitates for a second and then drinks it. It's what he has to do, isn't it? Besides, he's dead curious as to who Harry wants him to be.

It hurts. At first he thinks he's going to throw up, but he doesn't. It just hurts. His face, his arms and legs, his stomach. He's growing taller, broader, he's an adult. His hair is growing too fast and it prickles against his scalp. Fortunately he's wearing fairly loose pants, because suddenly they're far too small for him. He undoes them quickly and watches the buttons on his cuffs pop off. A large adult. For half a second he's scared that Harry has turned him into Hagrid.

Harry is looking at him like his heart is breaking, he's starting to cry and Draco wonders if something went terribly wrong. He looks into the glass of the door behind them, wipes the dust off with someone else's hand and tries to get a look at himself. Long stringy hair, mad eyes.

He's Sirius Black.

Draco wonders what kind of relationship Harry had with this man that he would force his random and unintentional lover to become him, to become a dead man. He pushes his hair back behind his ears and looks at Harry, waiting for a clue to how to proceed.

Harry's eyes are full of tears and before long they will start to spill down his face. "I'm so sorry," he whispers.

So that's it. It's all about redemption, it's all about goodbyes and famous last words. What was the last thing Harry actually said to this man? Was it really Harry's fault that he's dead? Probably, probably. Draco considers being cruel and saying, "This is all your fault," but that's not how it works. If he does that he will never find Harry alone in the corridors after hours again. It's a delicate balance, torture and reward.

He doesn't say anything at all. What do dead men say? What is Harry expecting him to say? He should have written up a script. Draco doesn't know enough about this man to pretend to be him.

It's the same look in his eyes now, the same one as Draco has gotten so used to seeing. Angry and scared, but also desperately lonely and sad. It's an awkward combination and always makes his violence somewhat pathetic. Not any less dangerous, but just tinged with something else, something that reminds Draco that he still holds all the cards. Draco needs Harry, he needs him on a visceral level. Draco's need is a physical longing that hovers over his thoughts like a heavy mist. Harry is a promise, he's a fantasy and dirty little secret. He's something Draco thinks about when he falls asleep and when he wakes up. But Harry needs Draco far more. Harry needs Draco because he needs an excuse. Harry can't live without Draco. For now, at least.

Would Weasley have done this? Turned into Sirius Black so that Harry could apologise to him? Of course not, that's just twisted, it's some kind of sick and unhealthy role play that would make his ginger eyebrows rise up and hide in his ginger fringe. Granger? No, of course not. Ridiculous. Draco knows that Harry couldn't even have asked them to do this because they are far too innocent to understand the need for it. They are outside the world of dirty little secrets, and that makes Harry utterly alone among them. Of course it would be him Harry asked. Who else would do it?

Feeling magnanimous, Draco forces Sirius's lips into a smile, a gentle smile that he imagines Harry would want to see. Look at me, I'm okay, I'm happy, I don't hate you. I don't blame you.

Harry walks to him slowly, looking up at his serene expression, and buries his face in to Draco's school robes. He is sobbing now, his shoulders are shaking with the force of it. It's like his anger but so impotent; it just drifts into the air as nothing but hiccoughs and sniffles, it just drips down his face and onto Draco's shirt.

Instead of thinking as Sirius Black, a man who's mind he could never entirely understand and doesn't really want to, Draco decides to act out on his own secret fantasies. Doubly hidden now by their arrangement and also by the ragged face of Sirius Black, he feels even more secret and more powerful. He presses Harry's forehead into his neck, he rocks him back and forth.

Polyjuice is a funny thing; Draco knows he's still himself, but he feels stronger, braver, he feels invincible. He doesn't care if he gets caught, suddenly he knows that Harry will never betray his trust. He's almost lifting Harry off the ground now, his arms are so tightly woven around him. There are no more boundaries, there is nothing left to fear. No one will ever know about this because Harry can't ever, ever tell anyone what he's done to get them here.

"Shhhh," he says with someone else's voice. "I love you."

Harry sobs into him. 

End