The first time I was checked that way, I was sixteen years, eleven months, and 29 days old.
It was immediately following Shacklebolt's declaration that all pureblooded children from the losing (Voldemort's) side of the war were to be rounded up and placed in camps. They were said to be debriefing camps, meant to show us all of the horrifying images of what we helped accomplish during Voldemort's reign of terror, but they weren't. Not nearly. Instead, they were more closely related to that muggle maniac, Hitler's, concentration camps.
They threw us all into tiny cells, took our wands, and crucioed us into stupors. We sat huddled in those musty, stale rooms for weeks on end, with nothing but one another's company. Then, they tagged us. Not just our wands, but our bodies. Hardly detectable unless you're really looking, there is a small, peachy toned number on the fleshy underside of my left knee. Pureblood- 432562. That was my number, and the way they called us in for questioning, which was just a polite way of saying torture session. We felt worse than animals, at least animals were allowed to roam around in their pastures; we, on the other hand, were made to crouch until our leg muscles quivered and shook from exertion.
And then, the worst. The day Kingsley Shaklebolt put us up for sale was, undoubtedly, the worst of day of my entire life. I was only one day from being a free man, one day from my seventeenth birthday, the year of majority in Great Britain. But, that day, Shacklebolt put us up for sale like the animals we felt inferior to. Repeatedly doused in cold water, they, the very people who were supposed to be keeping us safe, shoved us toward a very clinical looking building with strict instructions not to wander away under the penalty of death. There, a doctor inspected me, ensuring that I was healthy enough, pureblood, and a…a virgin. I won't go into the dirty details as to how they figured that out, but, rest assured, it was awful.
I must have been a hot commodity, because when the rest of the purebloods were hustled back to the cells, I was chained to a large pole outside along with a very exotic looking Asian women and a huge muscled up brunet man who was fighting against his restraints with everything in him. I suppose, not for the first time, my aristocratic good looks saved me. We were bound and blindfolded, led to a platform inside of an air conditioned space, stumbling the whole way. When they removed the blindfolds, we were inside of a very familiar, beautifully decorated room in front of an audience of impeccably dressed men and women holding numbered cards. Those damned Aurors had taken my family's beautiful home and turned it into an auction house!
Misuzu, the gorgeous woman of Asian descent, and Adrian, the muscly jock, were sold before me and very quickly, in a flurry of raised cards and quiet murmuring. All too soon, it was my turn. I felt a flood of heat rise up through my body and promptly gave myself a good scolding, after all they had been staring at me for a good twenty minutes before my name was next to be called. I prepared to step forward when a rather untidily raven haired Auror jumped in front of the podium.
"Ladies and gentleman, I realize that the young mister Malfoy was led here to be put on sale, but unless you are willing to pay upwards from 750,000 galleons for him, you may go. Also, don't forget to pick up your acquired merchandise on your way out." said the rather deep voice.
It was with great nausea that I realized that the word "merchandise" was referring to Misuzu and Adrian; as if we were nothing but pieces of furniture to be gathered at their leisure. I pushed down the bile and glanced up through my lashes to see well over three-fourths of the room rise from their seats to exit my Manor. The few still seated were a collection of the oldest, stuffiest men I had ever seen gathered in one place, plus the sloppy haired male that cleared the majority of the people from the room.
When my name was called, I stepped shyly forward into the spotlight, eyes downcast. It was with hushed tones that the auctioneer began the bidding at thrice was Misuzu was sold for. At the beginning, the pompous old men were good-natured to each other, smiling and laughing as the price was driven up to one million galleons, but by the three million mark, they were sweating profusely and cursing under their breaths as my price kept soaring. They dropped out, one by one conceding to each other, until a particularly cruel looking man was the only one with his card up, my price at five million, five hundred thousand galleons. The auctioneer looked faint with excitement as he called out, asking for a higher bid. When it seemed like no one else was going to answer, he called out the goings. I had resided myself to a life of hard work with this man, when a deep, sure voice called out,
"Ten million galleons for the gorgeous blonde with the sparkling grey eyes!"
The auctioneer's eyes rolled back into his head and he dropped to the floor.
"Thank you for buying me, sir." I murmur my appreciation to my savior.
He let out a small chuckle as he bundled me into his huge muggle automobile. He adjusted my seat and jogged to the driver's side, pulling the door closed behind him. I practically tittered in excitement; Finally, finally, I would get to have a clear look at my savior's face and something told me he was-
"Potter?" I exclaimed, attempting to jump back, but snapped still by the band around my chest and lap.
The chuckle turned into a full bellied guffaw and tears of mirth ran down his face. I stayed stock still, hoping this was just some kind of elaborate joke. At last, Potter's laughter died down and he turned his full gaze upon me, green eyes still glittering.
"Hello, Draco." He started, a merry tone still in his voice, "It's Auror Potter, now. Or Master, if you wanna get real technical about it."
"Oh." There wasn't very much to say after that. After all, what can you say when your childhood enemy just saved you from a fate worse than death? Alright, so I realize that being a cleaning person isn't that bad, but for a Malfoy….insert shiver.
We arrived at the Potter Manor a few hours after my purchase. He grabbed what few belongings I was allowed to have in my cell and strode up to the façade, expecting me to follow. I did, and was surprised when he led me through a series of hallways and stairways to what looked like the master suite. I arrived just as Potter snapped his fingers and sorted my clothing into drawers on the right side of the room. I dragged my sandaled foot along the plush white carpeting, and surveyed the area around me. The décor was cool and reminded me of the ocean, with its blue walls and brown and white theme. The chests and wardrobes in the room were made of bleached pine and dark walnut, and blended in perfectly with the feel of the room. But, most surprisingly, the room looked lived in. Not previously lived in way, but in a this-is-currently-someone's-bedroom way.
"Er, Potter?" I glanced up at him, one of my teeth sunk into my lower lip.
"Yes, Draco?" He was sitting on the bed, removing his shoes and socks one at a time. When I spoke, he looked up, all of his attention suddenly focused on me.
"Is this," I break off, moistening my lips, "Is this my room?"
He slowly shook his head, a half grin on his mouth. I swallowed.
"Is it your room?" I put extra emphasis on the "your", wondering how I knew that the answer would probably be-
"Nope." The p-sound exploded from his lips and the grin over took his entire face.
Then, it dawned on me. Why he was tucking his shoes under the bed, why there were so many wardrobes, and why his grin had such a naughty edge to it.
"This is our room, isn't it?" I asked slowly, praying for a negative answer.
But, the only answer I got was Potter rising off of the bed and using those strong, Auror-training-toned legs to stride over to me. He gazed down at me, his eyes clearly searching my face for any reaction other than positive. I managed a slightly queasy smile. It must have done its job, because then Harry crushed me to his chest in a, what I would soon learn were his legendary, bone-crunching hug. Then, then he tilted my head up so that our faces were mere centimeters apart. His sweet, cinnamon scented breath washed over me and I had the overwhelming desire to kiss him. So, I did. I stretched up on my tip-toes and pushed my plush lips to his wind-chapped ones, half expecting to be pushed away.
But, he didn't. He held me close for a few more seconds, and then backed away, taking my hand. He led me to the bathtub, where he magicked perfectly warm water in. He undressed me, like a sleepy child, and lifted me in to the bath, ever so gently. As I made soft splashing noises, shifting in the deliciously clean water, he watched me from the side of the tub, a dreamy expression on his handsome face. When it was time to exit the tub, he conjured up two plush towels: a smaller one for my hair and a large one for my body. He toweled me off carefully and moved on to detangling my, then shoulder length, locks. By that point, I was nearly asleep; I was so comforted by the attentions he was paying me. I found my head nodding off to the side just as he finished, placing the whale bone bristle brush on top of the bureau that he stated was mine. I was preparing to stand up, albeit very wobbly, when he scooped me into his arms. He was very warm and solid against my naked skin. I felt him shift my slight weight around so that he could pull back the bedspread, then I was tucked into soft silk sheets, much like the ones I had at my Father's house before the Aurors hunted us down. I snuggled into my down pillow, already starting to drift off, when I felt the shock of naked skin sliding against mine.
I immediately stiffened up, inching my way away, but the soft hands that spent an hour running through my hair became like rope, reeling me in closer to Potter's unclothed front. I let out little panicking noises and fought against him as much as I could, but eventually, he settled me close to him, effectively making me his little spoon. I could feel his cock twitching every so often, nestled just behind me, and his even breaths tickled the backs of my ears. It took a while, but I finally relaxed, and when I did, I was surprised to hear him murmur after peeking behind him to look at the clock:
"Happy Birthday, sweetheart."