A/N: This was written for the weekly Dictionary Drabbles challenge on the Beloved Enemies mailing list.
The theme word for this piece was "relinquish," meaning "to give over possession or control of."
There are places in Harry's head no one else can reach.
Some of these places are filled with happy voices and the memory of friends.
Ron. Hermione. Their adventures together at Hogwarts. He retreats to these
places every time Lucius fucks him. The echo of Ron's laughter drowns out the
awful sounds of Lucius's harsh groans. The warmth of his friends' love helps
melt away the coldness of the act as Lucius strokes forcefully in and out of
Harry's slick passage.
Others of these places are brimming with recollections of the only one he has
ever loved. Long, potion-stained fingers gently brushing his skin, leaving
goosebumps in their wake. A sneering slash of a mouth softening in reverence as
the lips caress Harry's tightened nipples or stretch around his swollen cock.
These are the places he visits when he wants to remember that sex didn't always
hurt, wasn't always just another means of humiliating him.
But he doesn't go there often. The memories hurt too much. And he once made the
mistake of thinking about the feel of Severus deep inside him while he was with
Lucius, and his body responded as though it actually was Severus moving above
him. When Harry's orgasm splattered between their bodies, Lucius looked down on
him with a cold glint of triumph in his eyes.
"I knew you loved it," the older man gloated and for weeks afterward he fucked
Harry even harder, trying to elicit that response again. But Harry had learned
his lesson. It was never repeated.
And there are other places too, dark places filled with reminders of those lost
in the war. Sirius on his back in the snow, his hair matted with blood. Hagrid
lying face down in the lake, his body gently buffeted back and forth by the
rippling current. And Severus… Severus… dying with his eyes open, focused on
Harry as he took his last breath. This is where he goes when he needs to hate,
which is more often than he would have ever thought possible. For it is only
the hatred that keeps him alive, reminding him there is still a world outside
these walls. A world that may yet be saved if he can just keep his wits about
him long enough to escape.
Lucius thinks he has Harry under complete control. "I own you," he hisses as he
cants his hips upwards, plunging yet deeper into the unresisting body beneath
him. He likes to fuck Harry on his back so he can look down upon the
glassy-eyed expression that he believes confirms the younger man's abject
obedience more firmly than words ever could.
But Lucius doesn't realize that all he truly owns in an empty shell. He can
touch Harry's body, abuse it for his twisted pleasure, but he can never touch
the secret places in Harry's mind. Harry may have given up control of his body,
but he refuses to relinquish control of his thoughts.