Title: Owned
Author: Constant Vigilance
Status: Fin (I think)
Email: tirel@pcnuthut.com

Website: https://www.angelfire.com/tv2/firebird_ascending/
Rating: R
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Spoilers: AU. Characters aged up to age of consent.
Warnings: Slash
Disclaimer: I own nothing. JKR is God.
Summary: Draco is gifted to a fellow Slytherin as punishment. Harry doesn’t much like that.
Notes: This is one of those dorky Powerful!Harry fics. I admit it’s lame and overdone. Blame it on the bunny. It ate my muse.

Blaise strutted into the Great Hall, grin on his face as per usual these days. His delight could rival a post-prank Fred and George Weasley. Unfortunately, the reason for Blaise’s delight wasn’t nearly so benign. Draco Malfoy had displeased his father. A denial of his ‘special heritage’ and it’s resulting ‘mark’ had Lucius Malfoy invoking an ancient rite of punishment for his son.

 

Lucius couldn’t harm his own child. That was strictly against the revised Ministry of Magic laws. But, there was an old tradition that allowed another to punish a child for the father. Granted, only for a certain amount of time, but in that time, Draco’s new master had free reign to discipline Draco in any manner the master saw fit. Lucius had Blaise in his back pocket, practically begging to be the older Malfoy’s favored flunky. No way was Blaise going to treat Draco in any manner save one in which Lucius Malfoy saw fit.

 

And so it was that Draco Malfoy became the pet of Blaise Zabini. And no one, including Dumbledore, seemed to be able to do a thing about it. There was only one way to save young Malfoy from Zabini and hence Lucius. Unfortunately, that way was nearly as frowned upon as the original ritual. A champion could rise, defending Draco, and upon that champion’s victory would become Draco’s new master.

 

There were a few problems with that particular scenario, however, and so whereas Dumbledore researched and made discreet inquiries, he informed no one of the potential salvation. His first dilemma came in the form that Lucius had carefully researched the code as well and made it damn near impossible to win. The parent could specify the type of champion his child could receive. Lucius took great pleasure in warping that loophole into a Gordian knot.

 

No person with a legal bonding or assumed bonding could champion. That took care of all the married and established couples as well as any powerful enough to have a wizard bond. No person older than Draco could champion him. There went the all the single witches or wizards powerful enough to champion. The final, and most distressing, was that any remaining champion could not use an artifact or draw power from any other witch or wizard. The champion had to win solely on his or her own wizarding power. There went everyone else.

 

And so, even if there were an unbonded wizard or witch in the correct age group that was powerful enough to defeat the magical shackles that Lucius placed upon his son, none were willing to risk the wrath of Lucius Malfoy. Especially not to save a son who wasn’t any better than the older Malfoy.

 

The first day of punishment saw Draco clothed in next to nothing: boxers and bare feet. Draco had spent the first part of the day bright red with humiliation as the whole of the school snickered at his pale flesh. At lunchtime, Zabini included a leash to hook onto the magical slave collar Lucius had installed and Blaise took unmitigated pleasure in literally dragging Draco from place to place.

 

Dinnertime found Draco standing passively at Zabini’s side; eyes downcast and stomach rumbling as Blaise cheerfully ate dinner with his friends. Just before leaving the table, he tossed some scraps of food onto the floor and informed Draco that was all he would be getting for the day. Draco hesitated too long and Zabini jerked the leash, dragging Draco away from the scraps of food.

 

The next day Draco appeared similarly clothed, but with several purpling bruises that marred his porcelain skin. Blaise seemed to feel that the initial ‘gentle master’ period was over and spent the rest of the day beating Draco for the slightest of infractions. Too long rummaging in Zabini’s full knapsack for another quill earned a black eye. Not moving fast enough through the corridor earned a boot in the ribs.

 

That night at dinner, when Blaise once again tossed scraps to the floor, Draco winced and flushed with humiliation, but got to his knees and reached for the food. A kick to the side of his head and a harsh laugh later and Draco learned that he wasn’t to use his hands. Tears glinted in his eyes, but he pulled together that legendary Malfoy courage and bent to the floor, slurping up the food like a common dog.

 

Soon, the other houses weren’t laughing. Day after day saw Draco’s existence getting worse. The humiliation worsened, the punishments more painful. Draco didn’t look up anymore. His eyes never left the floor. The rest of the school alternately looked away and stared in morbid fascination at what Zabini could come up with next. And each day, it was worse.

 

Nearly a week into Draco’s nightmare, Blaise decided to push to see how far he could take it with the professors. He’d seen them wince and fight not to interfere all week and was eager to see how far they would let him go. During potions, they were creating a caustic remover potion. A stray flick to see the results of the potion found Draco crying out as the potion burned into his skin.

 

The rest of the class watched with a sickened awe as Blaise used a measuring spoon to write Property of B. Zabini on Draco’s chest with the paste. Draco screamed and tried to run but Crabbe and Goyle each caught an arm and held him immobile as Blaise painted. Blessedly soon, Draco passed out. The room, however, stank of seared flesh. Lunchtime found Draco standing unsteadily on his feet next to Blaise, newly branded and with whip marks on his back as punishment for passing out.

 

When the professors did nothing, save for McGonagall leaving the room to get sick, that seemed to be the catalyst for extreme punishment. Draco rarely made it five steps without someone from Slytherin kicking, punching or hexing him. He grew weaker and weaker each day until it was a chore just for him to stand through the meal. He wavered and stumbled, barely managing to catch himself each time.

 

But today? Today was the final straw for at least one young Gryffindor. Harry Potter had been horrified to find that the professors wouldn’t or couldn’t do anything to help Malfoy. He’d begged Hermione to research if anything could be done. He’d begged Dumbledore and Snape to help Draco. Hermione had found the champion clause but when he brought it to Dumbledore’s attention, he earned a sad look and the conditions of the clause and from Snape, a suspiciously moist-looking, helpless glare.

 

Harry had watched daily as the punishments grew more horrific, as Draco grew weaker, and he hated himself for not being able to do a thing to stop it. Until today. Today, Zabini looked like a cat in the proverbial cream. Draco had barely managed to shuffle into place beside Blaise. His head hung low and defeat was evident in every bone in the young man’s body.

 

Tear streaks could be seen through the dirt and the blood on his face and blood streaks could be seen running down his legs, out from under the legs of the boxers. Harry had had all he was going to take of this perversion. And as his anger grew, so did his power. Moments after Draco had been dragged into the Great Hall, the students and staff found their cups and plates vibrating oddly.

 

At the head table, Albus Dumbledore sat forward, an intense look in his eyes as he watched both the Gryffindor table and the Slytherin table. Blaise laughed loudly at some asinine joke Pansy told and absently reached out to slip a hand up the leg of Draco’s boxers. Draco flinched like a kicked dog and whimpered just loud enough to carry throughout the otherwise silent room.

 

At that noise, Harry lost all sense of restraint. He surged to his feet, brushing off the desperately clinging hands of his friends. He stepped up on his seat and planted a foot directly in the center of the Gryffindor table, propelling himself up and over to the other side. “That’s fucking well, enough!” he roared.

 

Heads turned throughout the room, jaws dropped and hope flared even in the eyes of those who’d hated Malfoy the week before. At the head table, Snape moved to stand and Albus placed a staying hand on his arm. The potions professor gave him a pained look but held still as Harry Potter, Gryffindor Golden Boy transformed into Harry Potter, Bloody Avenging Angel.

 

Harry landed on the other side just as Zabini stood to meet this unexpected threat. Harry took perhaps two more steps before his fist drove into Blaise Zabini’s gut. As Zabini bent over, the air whooshing out of his lungs, Harry let loose an uppercut that literally picked Zabini up off of his feet and deposited him in the middle of his own house table.

 

He raked rage filled eyes across the Slytherins sitting motionless; their eyes wide and terrified at this new personification of hate wearing the face of the Gryffindor Golden Child. Harry dismissed the rest of them with a glance and turned to Draco. The blonde watched him, his gaze full of conflicting emotions: fear, hope, humiliation, and desperation.

 

Harry held out a hand, palm down and fingers splayed. Draco shied away from Harry’s hand but didn’t move from his spot, his last few days teaching him the error in that judgment. Harry focused his stare on the magical collar around Draco’s neck. Draco’s eyes widened as Harry began to glow, his hair gently fluttering in a breeze created by the magical energies roiling off of him.

 

Harry began to sweat, his hand to tremble…slowly, he closed his fingers into a fist and held it tightly. Draco gagged as the collar squeezed his bruised throat. Then Harry threw out his fingers and Draco felt the wave of magic flow at him. He closed his eyes involuntarily and felt the constriction release. Those nearby squealed and covered their heads when shards of the magical collar shot past them as Harry shattered it into slivers.

 

Draco dropped like a rock, as though his control over his own body had shattered with the collar. He lay curled up on the floor, peering up at his avenging angel from under the bloody and crusted fringe of his hair. Harry had turned his attention away, however. Blaise managed to get back to his feet with the help of several other Slytherins. Blood poured from the corner of his mouth and his jaw was canted at an irregular angle.

 

“Are you insane?” the Slytherin screamed, his words having a slightly mush mouth tone to them as he strove not to move his jaw. “Lucius Malfoy will kill you for this!”

 

Harry sneered and leaned in to hover in Blaise’s face. “I am not afraid of Lucius Malfoy,” he spat, enraged. “He may feel free to come after me if he likes. Nor am I afraid of his mewling master. Voldemort may send every last one of his Death Eaters after me. But no one fucking touches Draco Malfoy again. Is that clear, Zabini?”

 

Blaise lifted his head stubbornly, knowing the law was on his side for once and sneered back, in as much as he could force his jaw to cooperate. “Malfoy is mine. He was given to me to do with as I please. And you can’t do anything about it.”

 

Harry smirked and cocked his head to the side. “Really?” he purred. And Zabini flew straight up nearly ten feet into the air. As his eyes widened in fear, he felt himself flying backwards. He hit the wall with enough force to concuss him and he stared down at Harry, wavering in and out of consciousness. Harry just smiled up at his new toy, pinned to the wall…without the help of a wand.

 

“I think you’ll find you’re mistaken, Zabini. I had Hermione research a bit for me. And I asked a few questions. Draco’s father put several clauses into his little bargain with you. First, no one with a wizard bond may champion Draco. I suppose,” he shrugged with a smirk, “that the bond I have with Voldemort might count. But that would force the Ministry to admit that Voldemort is indeed back. And since they won’t do that, I guess I’m free and clear of that one.”

 

He pulled Zabini back and slammed him into the wall again. “Second, no one older than Draco can champion for him. Draco, when is your birthday?” he called gently down to the boy still lying on the ground.

 

“April eighth,” Draco managed to choke out.

 

Harry widened his eyes comically. “Well, look at that. He’s actually three and a half months older than me! Not looking too good for you there, Blaise,” he grinned. “Third, the champion may not use an artifact or draw power from any other witch or wizard.” He held his hands out to his sides. “You can’t get much purer than this, Zabini,” he shook his head wryly. “I’m not even using my wand.”

 

He pulled the Slytherin back again for another rib jarring slam and Zabini let out a moan. “I think, if I’m not mistaken, that this means I am fully qualified to champion for Draco if I should so choose. I guess the rest is up to you, Zabini,” he smiled sweetly.

 

“W-what do you m-mean?” the trapped Slytherin stuttered out.

 

“Well,” Harry drawled. “I’ve broken the magical bond on Draco’s collar. Freed him from the nasty thing. Kicked the crap out of you and pinned you up against the wall. We could call it good right here and you can relinquish your rights to him. Or,” Harry perked up, “I could keep pounding into the wall until I’ve shown my house pride and painted the Great Hall red with your fucking blood. Which is it going to be, Zabini?”

 

“N-no!” Blaise yelped. “No, he’s yours! Take him!”

 

“Glad you saw it my way,” Harry preened…and then dropped the Slytherin from where he was held pinned against the wall. Zabini plummeted the ten feet as though he had on lead boots and his meeting with the ground included a sickening snap along with a tortured groan.

 

Harry turned his attention to the shaking blonde lying on the floor next to him. He knelt and brushed the hair out of Draco’s eyes. “Hey,” he said with a slight smile. Draco just shivered and stared, eyes wide and fearful. “You’re pretty messed up, Malfoy,” Harry continued. “Care to be healed up?”

 

“Don’t really have much say in that, Potter,” was the nearly whispered response. “You own me remember? You can do whatever you want.”

 

Harry frowned but nodded once in understanding. He stood and held out his hands to the blonde. Draco took them hesitantly and allowed himself to be dragged upright. “Let’s get you to Pomfrey,” Harry said briskly, lifting Draco’s arm over his shoulder. “We can fight about who exactly owns whom in this relationship when you’re feeling better.”