Title: Watashi Dai-ichi no shū dorei ai

Author: Shinigami Liliz Black

Email: heir_of_slytherin_dm@yahoo.com

Summary: Draco is the mayor's son and he likes to rent slaves for sex but when he rents a slave with green eyes things turn the other way. Slash! Half medieval!

Rating: R

Disclaimer: Harry Potter characters are created and owned by JK Rowling, and various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Warning: slash!

Pairings: Harry/Draco, Godric/Salazar

Category: Drama/Romance.

Status: BETAED

Notes: Thanks to Yami no Tsuki for beta reading this chapter! This is a no time story. It has no specific century in it. It's either modern or medieval, though their way of speaking is medieval. This is a AU and PWP story (Alternate Universe and Plot what Plot?) Ideas are random so I don't know who it's really going to end up. Title written in Japanese 'My first week slave lover' The song 'One night thing' from Luis Fonsi inspired me to make this twisted story. (The rating changed by the cause of Chapter three)

Chapter One: One Night Thing

Unknown streets city lights flash before my eyes

Different faces every night, speaking words I've never heard.

Got no judge by myself, need no alibi.

No commitments so why not, take me to the spot.

A throng of either shaved or bearded men-in obscure colors, some with steeple hats-intermixed with women-some wearing hoods and others bareheaded¹-turned their heads at the young man walking in the middle of the street. Inside the old shelters, heads drew out as sounds echoed in the silence night. Sounds suggesting a slave walked on the street with the scraping of heavy metal chains, but in this case, it was no slave.

The truth is that this young man always made the same sound,  a gothic sound, every time he walked around the street. The darkness, as he always seemed to be shrouded in, could have spilled venom from human lips, but no critics were ever heard, for he was the mayor's son.

Pointed, gloomy spikes and steely, pyramid bracelets covered his pale hands and skin from the moonlight. Gothic looks covered every inch of his clothes and body but not in his heart, not even in his mind. Chains of every shape and size, fastened on his trousers, the metal shoelaces and the scraping it does with the ground as he walked on the unknown street; unknown to you but not for him.

Leather; leather fabrics sweeping against each other, a sound that reached the ear of the town. All the people detect the silence, and none dare utter a sound, as his footsteps continue through the journey. Like a blanket, like a mask, the turtle neck of his cloak covers the pink lips that no one had ever seen twitch with a smile, a laugh, a grin, or a smirk, but with a thin, stern mark of power and veneration.

His eyes were a mask of his heart. Cold, steely gray with fine elegant ends, his eyes showed the arrogance and ambitiousness in his blood and pride but never a shiny, hearty joy. The wind mussed the long, white blonde hair of the young man, as long locks fall on his face to cover his eyes like a curtain covering something personal.

The town knew the truth, the real identity of this young man. He had been destined to be their prince, but old King Deimon had left his throne at the hands of a stranger called Tom Marvolo Riddle, the great Lord Voldemort. Great Lucius Malfoy gave little concern about it, but he had asked his father with the elegant words that a high, rich class gentleman could have heard:

"My man, my old man. I seek, not the throne, not the place to be venerate and be kissed at my feet. I care less for that, but in this realm, so little but crowded, I grew up; I gave my first steps and I thank my Great Salazar for what I have earned. A town molded with his hands, he gave cleverness and pride, that it should not be thrown away. He may have been ambitious, and powerful but not heartless. So I ask thee to make me the mayor of this realm."

Don't even know his name,
Won't ask or play that game,
We've both been here before,
I lead him to the door

"Child! Heir of my flesh and bone, descendant of the great founder of this town I am shocked, taken by surprise by the words that have come from your mouth. I did not teach you such fine and proud words, words that talk of the greatness of our surname and ancestor. I am disappointed to not have chosen you as the next King of this realm. Such words, forgive me! Words that have stopped my miserable heart's beat. I do not deserve to sit besides my great Salazar Slytherin; I shall be punished with my flesh and blood."

Lucius Malfoy, heir of King Demion Malfoy, had preserved the realms pride, cleanliness and elegancy. He had declared that a town stained with starvation and humility is the realm of the weakling.

"My brothers! Chosen you have been to live in this elegant realm of Hebi². King Riddle has not been taught of our pride. Starvation and humility are a signs that should not be seen in this realm. Our Great Slytherin did not want us to call him weak! Shame on him, young Riddle! We are humans of power and glory, not bastards of ignorance for money and power. I, for the name of Salazar Slytherin, shall give the humble money and the starving food! So mote it be!"

If there was something nice in this young man it was his hands. Every time he saw a humble, starving man he would throw him five gold galleons and say just like his father did:

"Brother! Go and eat something, go and clothe yourself, for Slytherin is wonderful and he will not tolerate to see his people starve and walk naked."

Nobody dared to turn their heads and continue their business until he was out of sight. He was respected in any way, venerated to say, because he was far richer than the king himself. The Malfoys preserved the rights and the benefits that King Riddle took away.

Gazes and stares followed him to the end of the street where an elegant little bar club stood, built with mellifluous wood. He took his hands from his cloak pockets and turned the shiny handle of the bar's door. He, with the turtle neck of his cloak as his mask, smirked in satisfaction as the music stopped playing and all the voices faded away as he made his way into the bar. He loved to hear how the sound of his footsteps rebounded on the fine, polished wooden floor.

I don't care for your number or your story,
It's a one night thing.
Ten to five in the morning in the back seat I won't tell you no lies.
What we have is for now, nothing more nothing less.
I'm tasting your lips as we undress.

The sound of leather fabrics swayed, followed by the soft 'thum' of someone sitting down on the luxury bar's stool. The bartender let go of the delicate glass in his hands that he polished clean everyday and approached the white blonde young man. A clicking sound of a lighter was shortly after heard and a warm fire lit the cigarette placed on his lips. He breathed in deeply and breathed out smoke, as he placed the cigarette on his fingers.

He looked at the pianist and nodded his head. Rapidly, the pianist continued playing and people got back to their own business.

"Usual," the bartender said in a strong, firm voice, "I pressure Mr. Malfoy."

He shook his blonde locks away from his face. He dropped the cigarette down in a crystal vase full of ashes.

"Yes, Randy."

"Say, Young Malfoy," said the bartender when Mr. Malfoy drank his glass, "I received a new slave."

Malfoy put the glass down and leaned over, "Fresh meat?"

"Yes, and a beginner to say," He said grinning, "Still a virgin."


I don't care for your number or your story,
It's a one night thing.
You left your doubts in the lobby and the dress you wore on the elevator floor.
All alone it's day, you broke the spell and went away.
But I'll never regret, our one night thing.



"Really?" he asked intrigued.

"We're trying to make him lose his virginity but he's very persistent."

"You know," he said in almost a murmur, "I love to see people lose their virginity in my hands." He placed fifteen gold Galleons on the bar.

"But," he protested, "That's two much, young Malfoy!"

"High amount for one week," he said, "Send him to my flat."

He stood up and the music stopped. He walked silently towards the door as the sound of his metal shoelaces once again rebounded in the fine polished wooden floor of the place. He opened the door, nodded and left.

If there was something different from the other towns and this one, it was the people's way of getting money faster: slaves. Some night clubs had slave sellers within; they rent people for other people to have pleasure for fun.

The Malfoys were the ones who mostly bought and rented slaves for work and pleasure all the same, since they were the ones who proposed the idea. People had heard Young Malfoy, since sixteen, had rented slaves, either women or men, for pleasurable sex, but nobody ever dared to say he's bisexual, since hardly anyone in the town is straight.

Their arrogance and physical attraction came from the one who founded the realm: Salazar Slytherin, making them direct descendants.

If there was something that made the Malfoys different from everyone else, apart from their wealth, it was their magical blood. The Malfoys were highly powerful, and trained for magical encounters. They were also known around the wizarding community for their telekinetic power and the ability to control it with ease. That's why people never dared to defy them.

Not too late, 12 o' clock
When I hit the scene,
The club is packed the ladies hot
Players doing their routine
I didn't know I was being watched,
Turned around to see,
Burning eyes, target locked
As he walked right up to me

The sound of moving keys was heard. He pushed the polished wooden door open and stepped inside. He could hear voices in his room and the struggling of a man held against his will. He entered his room and his heart stopped beating. The two men held the slave pinned on the bed, lying on his stomach. Young Malfoy could not believe his eyes, why something so beautiful could have landed in the hands of a slave seller.

He was the same age as him; nineteen. Through his eyes was reflected the wet green grass of a lonely farm; dark emerald. His skin was a mixture of creamy tan, so delicate and untouchable from the human hand. His hair was messy black-jet, wild and free unlike his new reputation. On his neck, was a burned mark of a curvy elegant S; the slave's mark. His white shirt was ragged and dirty, only his trousers and boots were in well conditions. Oh! The beauty was with this man! He was blessed by it.

"Now boys, be nice to him," he sat besides the messy haired young man, "Besides he's still a beginner."

The two men let go of him and he grabbed the young man's chin and looked into his eyes. "You two may go." They just grumped and left them alone.

He shook his chin away from fine fingers. "Rude, are we?"

"Nobody has ever resisted my charms…"

"I'm not a slave, you whore!" Young Malfoy hit him hard on the face leaving red marks on his creamy, tan skin.

"You still have a lot to learn. Begin by watching your mouth."

The young man growled at him. "I'm going to remove the cuffs, keep your hands to yourself." He took the cuffs off and something hit him hard in the face. He blinked his eyes as pain ran through his cheek and jaw. The messy haired young man raised his fist to hit him once again.

He saw this and shoved his hand up. A wavy force hit the black haired man's fist and stopped it in mid air and with his other hand he touched his injured jaw.

"Impulsive man, shame on you!" he yelled, "Nobody has ever touched the face of a Malfoy with such barbarous actions. I warned you, yet you refused to listen. 'Keep your hands to yourself' my lips said."

"Fuck you, Malfoy!" he yelled. It made the corner of Young Malfoy's lips twitch. He waved his hand, sending the black haired young man flying and slamming into the wall.

Girl say one night thing, let me hear you sing,
If you had a one night, one night thing
Guys say one night thing, let me hear you sing,
If you had a one night, one night thing.

"Stained words have never left the people's lips of this realm. I am Draco Malfoy, Old Lucius's heir and I will not tolerate a slave like you to address me in this manner!" He ripped the young man's shirt off as he continued to use his telekinesis power on him.

"I will not let go of you until I hear a moan from your lips and by then end of the week make you a true sex slave," Draco whispered on the slave's ear.

"Do not dare to touch me!"

"Slave, you are at my mercy," The young man's eye widens and his hand turned into fists.

"Stop!"

"So you are persistent as told," Draco looked like he was moving his hand as fast as he could. The slave closed his eyes and bit his lips yet he did not dare to move an inch of his body.

"Release your desire," Draco whispered and dropped to his knees. Minutes later the slave yelled. When he stood up the slave fell on his body and Draco clucked.

"That, my slave, is only the first step."

"How long this will be?" he asked too tired to raise his head from Draco's shoulder and looked at his eyes.

I don't care for your number or your story,
It's a one night thing.
Ten to five in the morning in the back seat I won't tell you no lies.
What we have is for now, nothing more nothing less.
I'm tasting your lips as we undress.

"A week, my slave, but I do not work fast, especially to a beginner. I take my time, so you shall not have to worry if you have never done it."

The slave frowned and buried his head on his shoulder, "It'll be hurtful! At least be gentle with me."

"If you follow my orders everything will be gentle."

"Please, let me sleep, I am tired master," the young man said, knowing he had to live with this man for a week.

Draco traced the back of the slave's bare spine with his fine fingers, "Gladly my slave."

The slave shivered at his cold touch and as soon as he hit the bed he fell asleep within his new and first master's arms.


I don't care for your number or your story,
It's a one night thing.
You left your doubts in the lobby and the dress you wore on the elevator floor.
All alone it's day, you broke the spell and went away.
But I'll never regret, our one night thing.

TBC…

¹: Phrase from The Novel Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthrone

²: snake in Japanese.