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Natural Magic 2


Mother had been very determined not to get him anything electrical no matter how much he pleaded. Draco knew that it wouldn’t run properly in the magical realm but he didn’t really care. He figured if he worked on it long enough he’d eventually be able to fix it so that it could run on a different power source. Mother had scoffed at him and picked out a muggle toy that shot out foamy disks. He liked the toy so he kept his complaints to himself.

“Draco, dear, stay in sight.” Narcissa pulled out the small handbag she kept just for muggle money, and joined the line waiting to pay for purchases.

The store was ridiculously crowded. Perhaps she should have saved their outing for a weekday when muggles were less likely to be out of their offices and schools. But she had learned long ago that it was easier to be inconspicuous in a crowd of people than in a scattering.

Maybe she would get Draco a small electrical knickknack after all. He had been looking forward to this outing for ages, practically jumping around the house like a happy puppy ever since she had told him it would be today. Maybe one of those little video games… she was pretty sure Lucius knew a way to shield the technology from the affects of magic.

“Pardon me, Madame,” a young woman wearing far too much makeup and clad in lacy black from head to toe, addressed Narcissa. “I couldn’t help but notice your dress. Wherever did you get it? It’s so hard to find custom made dresses, and such a fine quality at that. You must tell me.”

“I’m afraid it was a gift from my cousin. I couldn’t tell you where she found it,” Narcissa replied politely, but her eyes made it clear that she had no intention of discussing it further. Wilting under her gaze, the girl turned back to her friend without another word.

Narcissa kept her eyes set forward from that point after, only glancing around to locate Draco’s white blond hair from time to time. Maybe the video game was a bad idea; they had been there twenty minutes and her son was still staring intently at the screen along with a large group of boys, watching as two battled each other. Perhaps one of those portable clocks—wristwatch, if she remembered correctly—would be a better idea. Most all of the muggles wore them, and they would be helpful in getting her son home on time when he insisted on playing out in the yard when he knew dinner would be served soon.

She stepped forward, a tall man taking the place behind her and blocking her view of the corner Draco was playing in. She placed the toy on the counter so it could be scanned and the price entered into the computer.

Draco was probably too young yet for a computer. They were too easy to use in communication with the world of muggles, and although she didn’t mind feeding her son’s curiosity, Lucius didn’t want their son too sympathetic towards muggles. Certainly, her husband had gotten more lax over the years since the disappearance of the Dark Lord, but she had a feeling some things would never truly change.

She wanted her son to be able to see all sides and let Draco choose for himself, but Lucius and his Malfoy pride were not so lenient. If the gods were good and Voldemort truly dead, Draco would never have a choice to make.

“You have to be kidding me, lady. Do I look like a bank?” Narcissa fixed her eyes on the store clerk and raised a brow at his scowl. Honestly, didn’t muggles practice customer service?

“I have nothing smaller, young man. You have more than enough to reimburse me.” She ignored the man’s glare and waited patiently for her change. It was only for Draco that she had graced this particular low-classed establishment. She was certain there were more suitable toy stores, but she hadn’t had the time to research. It had been a long time since she had journeyed outside of the magical community, and things changed in the muggle world as much as things stayed the same in hers.

Finally her change was handed back to her… but things weren’t quite correct. The man was glaring at her still, and Draco’s toy had yet to be packaged. “Must I ask for a bag, or is commonsense beyond you?”

“We’re out of bags.”

Narcissa could see at least ten bags in plain sight right behind the counter. “It seems you are blind, as well as rude.” She debated calling for the manager, but decided she really didn’t want to stay any longer in this store than she had to. With a discrete flick of her wand the shelf behind the clerk gave a lurch, its contents spilling to the floor with a loud crash. “Oh my, what a mess…”

While the frantic clerk tried to bring some order to the mess, she reached across the counter and grabbed a bag, carefully placing Draco’s new toy in it. A demure smile in place, she whirled and carefully picked her way around the crowd, moving over to the gaming stations where Draco was likely still glued. She spotted his shining locks in the crowd and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Time to go, Draco.”

“Huh? Watch it lady.” Surprised, Narcissa stared at the crude boy that was most certainly not her son. Shaking off her shock, she turned and scanned the mobs of people for Draco, her heart speeding up the longer it took to find him. Forcing herself not to panic, she began searching each row, even going so far as to check the men’s loo.

No, no… he was probably right outside. Draco disliked crowds; he probably stepped outside for some fresh air. The bag shaking in her grip, she strode quickly to the door, not caring that she had knocked into at least five people on her way. Bursting out of the store, she looked desperately for Draco’s telltale white-blond hair.

Draco was nowhere to be found.

Alright… maybe he had wandered into another store. Maybe he had gone back to look at the one with computers while he waited. She’d check them all if she had to. Gods, what were the words to that locator spell?! Her mind was drawing a blank, and she wondered if she’d even be able to cast a simple lumos right now. Oh dear… no, she wasn’t going to faint. She didn’t have time to faint. Narcissa took a shuddering breath and carefully made her way to the closest bench so she could sit for a moment, just in case, beyond all strength of will, she did pass out.

Draco would be fine. No one knew who he was here, or who his father was; they would have no reason to harm him. And Draco was a smart boy. He knew enough to stay away from strangers or anything that could harm him.

Oh why hadn’t she given him his wand today! He only knew a few little spells, but the Ministry would be able to track him the instant he used it. Oh gods, her poor baby was all alone with all these strange muggles, probably scared out of his mind with no means to defend himself…

Pushing herself off the bench, Narcissa made her way to the nearest store to search. A moment later her vision dimmed again and she fell to the ground.

Sating The Dementor’s Kiss 11


“What? No, he’s fine… I don’t know. Video games, mostly…” Harry pulled the receiver away from his ear while trying to slip his sneaker on properly. “Stop yelling at me. Video games are a perfectly good way to pass time at any age—Shit, Draco, I have to get the door… No, for pizza.” Harry sighed, again pulling the phone away from his ear to dull the squawking of his friend. “I understand that you don’t think muggle junkfood is a good idea. And as you are well aware, I don’t care what you think. I’ll talk to you later. Yup, yup, up yours too, mate.” Harry hung up with a sigh, pushing his foot down until his sneaker finally crammed home.

He left the kitchen, finding Sirius waiting in the living room doorway, staring at the front door down the hall. “You can get the door if you want, Sirius. You’re not hiding here, and no one is trying to come after you.” Sirius didn’t say anything, just looking at him oddly and then at the door again. Harry sighed, walking to the door, feeling the man following slowly behind him.

Harry opened the door, smiling welcomingly. “Hey man, thanks for driving out here. I know its a ways off.” Harry lived in the middle of nowhere like most wizards and witches but that hadn’t stopped him from making sure he got muggle food delivered.

“Never a problem. You’re the best tipper I got.” Jamal smiled brightly, unwrapping the padded cover that held the first of Harry’s pizza boxes. “You throwing a party or something?”

“Nope, just wanted to try it all. Here, let me help you carry it from the car.” Harry stepped out, the late afternoon sun throwing long shadows over his hedges and expansive lawn. He had a landscaping company come by every other week to keep things tidy. He might be a slob, but he didn’t want his parents’ house to look like shit. Glancing into the backseat of the little delivery car, Harry wondered briefly if he had gone overboard, then brushed the thought away.

Mr. Black hadn’t had pizza in forever, and when he had asked Harry what kind of toppings they had, the man unable to remember, Harry decided to just get them all. It was his favorite pizza place with fresh ingredients and unique combinations. He had ordered all twenty-five different specialty pizzas they offered and figured whatever they didn’t eat they could eat tomorrow or the day after. Harry loved day old, cold pizza just as much as still warm, gooey pizza.

Hands full, Harry led Jamal into the hallway, Sirius edging away from the stranger and glaring suspiciously at him. Harry just raised an eyebrow at him, tilting his head for the man to follow. Jamal was his regular delivery guy, the only one willing to put his car through the extra millage to get to his house. He was a very friendly sort, full of quick smiles and stoner jokes and Harry did not want his new house guest upsetting him.

“Alright, I do believe that’s all of it, Harry. Twenty-five pizzas, two liters of soda; orange and root beer, and one order of garlic sticks and one of cinnamon sticks… with extra dipping sauce.” Jamal checked through the list while counting off boxes. He then handed Harry the bill, Harry exchanging with cash. “Shit, man, you’re going to be putting me through a doctorate if you’re not careful,” he said cheerfully, tucking the money away.

Harry just smiled, having heard that particular one before. “Hungry, Jamal? There’s no way we’re going to eat all of this.”

Jamal tilted his head back and forth, weighing propriety verse the long, hungry drive back. “I could steal a slice of the bourbon chicken,” he said eventually, taking a seat at the kitchen table when Harry offered it.

“Sirius, come on, stop hovering in the doorway,” Harry chided, holding a box of pizza out towards the man. “Where do you want to start? Roasted veggies in marinara, or maybe garlic potatoes with white sauce?”

“Oh, you should definitely try the potato if you haven’t yet,” Jamal said brightly, digging out the bourbon chicken and having a slice. “It’s one of our most popular pies.”

Staring warily at the young man, Sirius sized Jamal up. He couldn’t be much older than the weird kid, hardly anything much to look at. Maybe he was just really hung…? Sirius wasn’t sure, but he really didn’t like how Harry had just invited him in the house like that, feeding him and all. Course, Sirius had yet to see any pizza eaten in any of those movies Harry had stashed away, but then again, no one ever ordered more than one pizza, and Harry had paid the guy presumably a lot. Did you pay for the sex or for pizza…?

The phone rang, Sirius jumping from the unfamiliar sound. Harry slipped by him, pulling it off the hook and stepping outside the kitchen doorway. “Seriously, are you calling just to yell at me right now, Malfoy?”

Sirius edged further into the kitchen, pretending to look at the array of delicious smelling boxes and not the confusing delivery man. What the hell did Harry see in him? Pudgy, short, smiling… The brat could do better. Sirius growled, grabbing the nearest box and opening it.

“So how do you know Harry?” Jamal asked, eying the man curiously. He had only seen a few people at Harry’s, most of them characters. The one he was yelling on the phone with was about as yuppie, blue-blood as you could get.

“I’m his godfather,” Sirius growled, fairly certain it was the truth after he had said it. Annoyed, he tore into a slice of fresh mozzarella and spinach, only to freeze, eyes closing from the intense, amazing flavor hitting his senses.

“It’s good, huh?” Jamal said brightly, completely oblivious to the sudden glare sent his way.

“You’re pissing me off—Unless you want to come down here and cook us a fucking meal… No, no, of course you’re not going to do that, you arrogant… Right, right, I’m hanging up now… Son of a—” Harry returned to the kitchen and slammed the phone down. “My god, that boy nags,” he muttered, moving around Sirius to grab a slice of pizza. He paused, catching how Sirius was blatantly glaring at poor Jamal. “What are you guys talking about?”

Jamal stood, folding his slice of pizza in half. “Just meeting your godfather. I gotta get going. Thanks for the slice, Harry.” He held his non-pizza holding hand out, reaching for Sirius’s. “Nice to meet you, Sir.” Sirius just stared at his hand, making no move to shake it.

“Excuse him,” Harry said with a sigh. “Sirius hasn’t been around people for a long time.”

“Oh, like a mountain man,” Jamal said, not looking at all upset that Sirius was still glaring at him. Harry, on the other hand, was starting to get annoyed.

“Yeah, just like that,” Harry said, slapping Jamal on the back and leading him towards the front door. He glanced over his shoulder at Sirius, returning the glare sent their way. “Thanks for the pizza, man.”

“As always.” Harry waited till the man was in his car before shutting the door. Turning, he found Sirius standing in the hall.

“What? What’s your problem, Black?” Harry asked, striding down the hall and glaring up at the man. “Jamal is a very nice guy who drives over forty-five minutes to deliver me food. Believe me, it is really hard to find restaurants that deliver all the way up here.”

Sirius didn’t say anything, just stepped into the kitchen and started flipping open pizza boxes. Harry narrowed his eyes, debating if he really wanted to argue with the man. He hadn’t actually heard Sirius say anything to the delivery boy, and Jamal had seemed perfectly fine on leaving. It was actually odd to know Sirius had told him he was his godfather. Harry hadn’t thought much of it, having tried to separate from that fact when learning that Black had betrayed his parents. But that wasn’t true, and now Harry had a godfather. A godfather that was glaring at his only pizza delivery man.

Maybe Sirius was just feeling territorial of the house, not wanting people coming in. Harry decided to let it go for now, but would make a point to watch Sirius like a hawk when anyone was in the house.

“How’d you do on that game?” Harry asked, watching with interest as Sirius took two different types of pizza and smooshed them together like a sandwich, then took a bite out of it. The man just could not eat properly.

Sirius shrugged, throwing himself in a chair, legs wide as he lounged carelessly. “Wasn’t as fun alone.”

“Hmm… yeah, I guess not.” Staring at the pizza, Harry decided to try the sandwich move, throwing potato and barbecue chicken together. It was definitely a win. “Sweet,” he chirped, tearing off a bite and chewing as he got them some glasses and picked the soda off the ground. “So, we’re probably going to have to eat and hide the rest of this before 6 p.m. Which is when Draco gets out of work, and is going to come down here and throw a tantrum about me feeding you junk food. If you could not mention the throwing up of the other day, I would really appreciate it. You do not want to encourage his nagging.”

Sirius huffed, crushing pizza boxes down as he leaned on the table with his elbows and finished chewing. “Your boyfriend?”

Harry blinked, nearly spilling the soda he was pouring. “Fuck, no. Draco is a very dear friend, I love him to death, and I would likely kill him if we ever spent more than an hour together. And if I didn’t kill him, he’d kill me. When you meet him, you’ll see. He’s way too spic and span for my taste. Prat wastes half his day in the mirror.” Harry held up the soda, Sirius nodding towards the root beer.

Sirius again didn’t say anything, just gulping down the drink as it was handed to him. Harry had never felt talkative before, but next to this man he was a goddamn chatterbox. He glanced over his glass, watching Sirius discreetly. He was still favoring his side, hunched slightly. Not to mention, the man’s hair was a tangle, probably not brushed since the courthouse, and he was getting very bristly jawed. As nice a look as it was, Harry figured it couldn’t go on too long. Hell, he was still in the same clothes.

“Your stuff is going to be delivered to the house hopefully within the week, but until then I think we’re going to have to get you some things before then,” Harry said when the man looked his way again. “Off the top of my head, I’m going to say brush, toothbrush, razor, couple changes of clothes… Was there soap in your bathroom? If you can think of anything, I’ll write a list and go shopping this evening.”

Looking at Harry a long moment, Sirius said gruffly, “Flea shampoo.”

Gaping, Harry put his pizza down and wiped his hands on his jeans. He stepped up behind the man, Sirius bristling slightly when Harry carefully examined his locks. “You sure? I don’t see any…”

“I’m sure,” Sirius muttered, ducking his head down.

“Well, I’ll add it to the list,” Harry said, absentmindedly combing the man’s ponytail into some sort of order. “How’s your side feel? Anymore blood?”

Glancing back his way, Sirius sighed and lifted his shirt, leaning to the side and revealing the stitched up wound. It looked fine enough, no red around the edges or anything. “I’ll have to take those stitches out tomorrow or they’re not going to want to come up after that. You don’t happen to remember yet how you got hurt, do you?”

“I remember,” Sirius said flatly, stuffing another bite of pizza in his mouth right afterwards. Harry waited patiently, rolling his eyes when Sirius glared again at him.

“Well? What happened?”

“Got stabbed.”

Harry sighed, about ready to throttle the man. “Who stabbed you?” He pressed, trying to keep the frustration from his voice.

Sirius shrugged, looking for all the world like he was going to take another bite of pizza and refuse to answer. He paused, instead replying, “Red bearded fellow. Had glasses.”

Harry started, eyes widening as he recalled the people in the courtroom the other day. “You mean the auror?”

“Maybe… I didn’t really ask him his life story.” Sirius bit into his pizza, done with the conversation. Frowning, Harry sat in a chair, glaring at the pizza that suddenly did not seem so appetizing.

“When? When did he stab you?” Harry asked, knowing the answer was going to decide how he handled the matter.

Sirius pointed to the hallway and Harry remembered that the bearded auror had been one of the three to bring Sirius into the house the other night. “Well, fuck,” Harry hissed, standing abruptly and grabbing the phone. He left a brief message on Remus’s cell, having demanded the man join the modern world already. That someone had stepped into his house, stabbed his already terribly wronged godfather, and then walked away as if there would be no consequences infuriated Harry beyond belief.

“In my fucking home?” Harry muttered, hanging up the phone and pacing. “He came into my fucking home and stabbed you? Let me guess, while you were still chained up, right?” Sirius gave a brief nod, not looking disturbed at all about it. That was okay, Harry had enough anger for ten people. “I’m going to fucking ruin that shit. Walking into my home, committing an act of violence against a bound and innocent man—Fucking hell!”

Sirius looked around curiously as the room began to shake, eventually putting his pizza down when glasses started falling out of the cupboard and shattering to the floor. Harry just growled, spelling things clean while muttering under his breath. “Fucking goddamn piece of shit auror walking into my house—even after I told them to stay the fuck away, they weren’t needed—and then stabbing my godfather, like some fucking crazy vigilante instead of an officer of the fucking law. Fucking—Motherfucking—I need a walk. I definitely need to get the fuck out of here and go for a walk.”

He got to the front door when he suddenly turned, returning to the kitchen in a huff. “Can I leave you alone?” Harry asked, looking for all the world as if he didn’t know the answer. Sirius shrugged, not really knowing himself. So far he’d been much more calm than the weird kid had been.

Harry fidgeted from foot to foot, torn on what to do. “Fine, I’ll be upstairs. Try not to—If you throw up, just aim for something easy to clean,” he muttered, whirling and stomping up the stairs. Sirius just unburied another box, trying the Hawaiian style pizza and smiling from the taste.

Sating The Dementor’s Kiss 9


Harry still had nightmares even though Voldemort was long dead. Usually they were about the murderous creature in the Chamber of Secrets, sometimes a darker, smaller place where his fear burned cooler for the long wait of the cupboard being unlocked in the morning. Once in a while it was that day when Draco was nearly dying in his arms, Harry desperate to protect the boy while facing down the evil being that seemed so ready to crawl inside him and hollow him out, wanting to wear Harry like a suit. He had never told Draco about that part, had never told anyone how twisted and sick he had felt that creature to be in his head when face to face and how he had feared that Voldemort was connected still, and that he was terrible inside too.

Tonight it was that nightmare, except Voldemort had not died when Harry cast the killing curse. No, he had burrowed deep inside Harry’s flesh, the slithering, dry thing crawling down his throat, tearing his flesh from the inside out and hollowing him away. He could feel it all, his body refusing to die, feeling every bite and break of bones as the creature settled inside him and began moving him like a puppet.

Draco was there, so very pale and bleeding from his shoulder, breathing weakly. Voldemort would eat him first, drink down his pure, magic-soaked blood and grow stronger. Harry could not fight it, just watch in horror as his own hands reached for the slender boy, his own mouth widening while Draco screamed…

Harry awoke with a loud scream, heaving for air as he abruptly sat up in bed. “Fuck—FUCK!” He yelled into his hands. “Fucking Voldemort, sick, fucking sick, sick, twisted monster!” He whimpered, pulling his hands down his face, feeling the sweat and tears that usually went hand in hand with the fucked up nightmares.

Something shifted in the dark of his room and Harry jumped, wand summoned to his hand before he was even aware that he had called it. Harry breathed out unsteadily when he saw it was just Sirius, blue eyes watching him angrily from his doorway.

“Shit. Sorry, Mr. Black,” Harry growled, bringing the lights up to a very dim glow in his bedroom. “I should have warned you I get night terrors. I live alone so I forget just how fucking terrible it can be for someone else to hear.”

The man’s glare grew, as if Harry naming the issue made it worse. “I thought you were being murdered,” Sirius finally muttered, his body losing some of its tension of earlier.

Looking at him, Harry let out a hysterical laugh. “Yes, well, that was the gist of the nightmare.” Not interested in going back to bed and reliving said murder and murdering, Harry pushed his blankets down, trying to get his shaking limbs to move properly. “Sorry, really. I’ll put up silencing spells from now on. I’m sure you’re tired of hearing screaming…” he trailed off, remembering Sirius’s pleas to die because of the screaming. Harry toed through the clothing on his floor, finding a pair of loose pajama bottoms that he slipped on over his briefs and then quickly putting a semi clean t-shirt on.

Black was still standing in the doorway, eyes looking around the room curiously, lighting on Harry once in a while only to slip away. “You feeling okay, Mr. Black?” Harry asked, noticing for the first time that he was paler than normal and a little shaky. “Your wound didn’t open up again, did it?”

Sirius shook his head, stepping back into the hallway. “I, uh… forgot which door…” Following him, Harry raised his brows, realizing he didn’t know how to get back to his room. Early Friday morning, this was the first time he had seen Sirius outside of his room and he was likely confused by the size of the place. Harry stepped to the right, passing a bathroom, his gym, and office he never used, knocking on the door that Sirius was to be sleeping in.

“Here.” With a flourish, Harry waved his wand, spelling out Black in bold black letters over the door, his penmanship only a little crooked. “Now you’ll never wonder.” Sirius nodded mutely, eyes straying over the word, hand reaching up to brush the letters. Looking at the man and just how lost he still seemed, Harry added lightly. “You don’t have to go to bed, you know. I’m sure as hell not sleeping again tonight. Why don’t you come downstairs and have some tea?”

Turning his gaze to him, Sirius nodded again, not saying a word. Realizing he likely would not be talking much unless he had something to say, Harry just started walking, Sirius following slowly like some lost dog. It was almost funny. Harry had never had a pet, not wanting to deal with the responsibility of having his shit together enough to feed and entertain another living being. Yet, here he was trying to do it for this messed up man.

Stepping down the staircase, Harry started flicking lamps on, the windows that were open revealing it was pitch black outside, only 3 a.m. He went straight for the kettle, filling it with water and putting it on a burner. Harry then led Sirius into the living room, pointing towards the couch. Sirius continued to stand, staring at his large flat-screen tv with interest.

“You probably haven’t seen one of these,” Harry said with a small smile. Televisions had come a long way in twenty years, and as a wizard, Sirius may have never even owned one himself. Thinking quickly, Harry crouched to the floor, unwrapping another controller and hooked it up. He owned all the game consoles available along with the newest games, not caring that Draco thought it was a waste of his inheritance. Harry needed distractions from the terrible nightmares and thoughts that plagued him, and video games filled the void.

“Here, take this and sit,” Harry said, handing the controller to the man. Sirius sat slowly, his eyes staring at the black remote, fingers moving over the buttons as he turned it. Harry began rooting around under the tv console, looking for the game he had just been playing a week ago, throwing cases everywhere. “I really need some sort of organizer for all these things,” he commented to himself. They had some nice shelves, he just hadn’t felt like ordering anything, mostly because then it meant actually having to organize his stuff, which he would over analyze and turn into an annoying project leaving him with the need to have to put things back where they belonged, alphabetically, because he was a crazy person when being neat. It was better to be a slob and not obsess.

“Hardcore bondage boys…”

Then again, organizing might be a very smart thing to do now that he had a long term house guest. Harry whirled, snagged the very graphically imaged dvd case from Sirius’s fingers, and threw it under the tv console with perfect aim. “Ignore that… and that… and that…” Harry said, kicking another two under the console. “I live alone,” he reminded tightly, and knelt back on the floor to slide the game disk into the tray.

The kettle began to whistle, Harry turning towards the sound. “What kind of tea do you like?”

Staring at the television, racing cars zipping by as Mario Cart came on, it took Sirius a long time to answer. “Black,” he finally said, tearing his eyes from the bright graphics. “With milk… or was it sugar?”

“Hey, you’ll have a lifetime to figure it out,” Harry said casually, walking towards the kitchen. “I’ll bring the servers in and you can adjust how you like.” Once alone in the kitchen. Harry buried his face in his hands, growling lowly. Porn? Fucking porn? Shit, was he going to have to childproof his house or something? Could he unknowingly be traumatizing this already messed up man with exposure to his bondage fetish?

“Suck it up, Potter,” Harry muttered to himself, grabbing two mugs and rooting through his cabinets for the tea. He had a couple of black varieties, Draco’s favorite, so just put them on a tray with the mugs, filled a cup with milk and grabbed the sugar bowl. He left the tray on the couch next to Sirius, the man still staring quite fixedly on the graphics of racers zipping around a track. Which then made Harry wonder if he was somehow fucking up the man’s brain with flashing lights and colors—Could you get epilepsy from being in prison too long?

Cursing himself internally, Harry went back for the hot water, the steam as he filled the two mugs grabbing Sirius’s attention. “Pick your pois—er, tea,” Harry said, cutting off his very inappropriate joke considering Black had thought he was trying to poison him before. He returned the kettle to the stove and opened up a cinnamon tea for himself, throwing the bag in the hot water. Black ended up picking a vanilla chai, silently watching as the water slowly changed colors.

Harry sat on the floor in front of the tray, preferring the flatness of the floor, his back against the bottom of the couch. With his own controller, he started flicking through the options, sipping his hot tea.

“You ever play a video game?” Harry asked, glancing up to where the man was again staring, tea completely forgotten beside him.

“Tetris. It didn’t look like this.”

“No, it probably didn’t. This is a cart game… er, racing. You go a few laps trying to be first. You can sabotage other players, do jumps… It’s pretty fun.” Harry got up to his knees, leaning over Sirius and pointing at the different buttons. “Select the character with this—You unlock more options as you play. Then I’ll show you how to actually race. I’ll start on a slow level so you can get the hang of it.”

Sirius was again looking at his face silently, blue eyes very much intense and glaring into his. Harry sat back, doing his best not to blush. He should be considering that Sirius was dangerous and fucked in the head, thinking things like he was trying to kill him with his cooking. Instead, Harry was wondering if Black had ever fucked a guy and if he had glared like that when he had come. Very much inappropriate thoughts that he hoped the game would help him silence.

Harry waited patiently for Sirius to get the hang of moving through the screen, selecting with the cursor, finding a car he liked the look of. Harry didn’t even bother telling him about the stats, feeling like that was just a bit much for a first time player. Having another swig of his tea, Harry’s eyes strayed down to the man’s socked feet. Very much larger than his… How accurate was that old wives’ tale?

“Right, so now this is when you need to know how to accelerate and brake, and this button lets you jump and drag for the turns.” Harry got up again, indicating the buttons and then pointing to the screen. “See… that gets you moving… steer with this… brake, and jump… Got it?”

“I think…” Biting his tongue, Sirius glared up at the screen, glancing down at his hands from time to time to figure out where he was pressing. Harry watched him, eyes straying to the man’s stubble. He’d have to get him a razor… As long as he didn’t try to stab himself with it.

Harry sat back down, stretching his legs out and idly moving his character around while he waited for Sirius to get the hang of things. How had Black gotten that wound? Someone had cleaned him up for court. Had the wound been there before, or after? Had it been self inflicted or had someone attacked him? If Black was suicidal Harry would need to watch him twenty-four seven… Maybe a monitoring spell, like parents did for infants.

“Hey, that… What did that do?” Sirius asked, watching his character suddenly light up and grow small, moving painfully slow across the screen.

“It’s one of the things you can get to sabotage the other racers. Just, a character used it on you.” Harry quickly went through the list of items and how to use them, doubting he would remember it all. Except Sirius was already moving smoother around the track, starting to knock into other players aggressively to get ahead. He was catching on pretty fast. Putting his tea down, Harry decided it was time to join in.

Magical Reflection 14


Stuck in the Headmaster’s office, facing Dumbledore, Elder Hollands, and Madame Pomfrey, Draco was doing his best to keep his temper in check. It was about Potter, of course. The boy had disappeared days ago, no one seeing hide nor hair of him. He assumed it was another of Harry’s passive aggressive ways to avoid him and the many things they needed to talk about. Draco hadn’t deluded himself in thinking Harry would make it easy. Harry was erratic and stubborn and had spent months thinking he had sent veela to rape him. There was no way that was going to fix itself over night.

Draco had first thought Elder Hollands, the veela spokesman, had come there to reprimand him for his actions against Terrence. No, his reason had managed to be far more annoying than that.

“Mr. Malfoy, if you might just have some insight into his whereabouts?” Dumbledore asked. “It’s imperative that we find Harry as soon as possible. If what Elder Hollands says is correct, he could be in a lot of danger.”

“He’s fine,” Draco grunted out, glaring at the veela. “And even if I did know where Potter is, I’m sure as hell not telling him.”

“I understand that you’re upset right now,” Holland said, his handsome face stern, back straight and tight with perfect posture. “I don’t even understand how you’ve coped this long, Draco. You should have told us immediately when we took you into our care. We could have avoided what is undoubtedly unbearable pain for the both of you.”

“Like fuck,” Draco snarled, standing and pushing into the man’s personal space. For the Elder’s credit, he didn’t flinch or step away. “You would have broken it somehow. Would have torn us both apart so you could chain him to some full-blooded veela. I never would have let you in this castle if I had known you were interested in him. Would have killed every fucking last one of you—”

“Mr. Malfoy! Calm yourself,” Poppy admonished. “I have brought the needed draughts with me if you cannot handle this conversation without losing your control.”

“I am in perfect fucking control,” Draco gritted out, never taking his eyes from the veela Elder. “Ask him. I found out that every goddamn veela out there is fighting over who gets to win Potter—That’s how they see humans, if you didn’t know. Things. They think Potter is some fucking thing that they can just give away to another. Like they own him. I have killed no one; I am in control.”

“It’s more complicated than that, Draco,” Elder Holland said stiffly. “You have gotten your information from an adolescent, one still in the throes of his aggressive mating cycle.”

“What, you want to tell me he was lying?” Draco kept his voice low, knowing if he started shouting it would all go to shit soon after. “The council isn’t trying to win Potter?”

“That is not…” Holland fell silent, flicking a loose strand of silver hair over his shoulder. “No one is authorized to approach Harry Potter until he has come of age next summer. And when that time comes, adolescents are discouraged from participating because of the dangerous nature of the boy’s power. It is important that we remedy this situation as soon as possible. That Terrence has aggressively—”

“Twice,” Draco growled, the first of his feather’s sprouting, fangs already tipping, claws quickly following. “The first time I wasn’t there to stop him. Did Terrence tell you that as well, Elder? That when my supposed brethren entered this castle at the beginning of the year, all five of them hunted Potter down with the intent to rape him?”

By the surprised looks all around, that information had not reached veela or professor ears alike. For some reason it only made Draco angrier to realize Harry had managed to suffer so much alone, not only blocking him out, but his teachers as well.

He stepped back, the rest of his feathers rippling through him along with his anger. But he wasn’t here to fight with the Elder, he was here to keep the man from making things worse. “I invited my brethren into my territory because they had shown signs of wanting to get to know my other people better. They lied to my face, wished me well in my endeavors and then tried to rape my beautiful mate. Do you seriously think anything you say is going to remedy this?”

The Elder was silent as he thought, eyes straying to Dumbledore, who had lost all twinkle in his blue gaze.

“This doesn’t change the fact that he’s in danger,” Elder Holland finally said, directed at the Headmaster. “If anything, he’ll be more unstable and in need of guidance.”

“That may be the case, but I can hardly trust you to protect him. These revelations are beyond grievous,” Dumbledore replied sternly.

“The boy could be lying,” Elder Holland pointed out, ignoring Draco’s growl. “Potter looking for attention to feed his self destructive spiral. The halfling desperate to have Potter to himself. You really don’t know just how strong these instincts can go.”

Dumbledore sat taller at his desk, his fingers bridging in front of him. “Oh, I’m getting a clear picture, Elder. All the more reason for me to believe that five adolescent veelas with full instincts would cross a line that their kind have been known to cross before. I might be willing to offer lodgings for a veela that would help Harry with his new instincts, but I do not believe I will be granting him leave of these grounds during the school year.”

Pensive, the Elder eventually nodded. “Very well. I will need to confirm that he is indeed a Gilt before anything else is determined. Mr. Malfoy, if you would happen to have the names of those adolescents that accompanied you to your school, I require them for further investigation.”

Draco wrote them down with an angry scrawl, hating the man even more. Nothing would be done. Veela didn’t give a fuck about humans—He had figured that out very damn quick. If anything was done, it would be just for show, to set Harry’s mind at ease. It wouldn’t be enough, whatever it was. Nothing would ever be enough to fix what those fuckers had done to his Harry.

Reading the parchment, Holland folded it up and slipped it into his long, grey robes. “Alright. Now, if you will lead me to Mr. Potter, I can get on with the point of my visit.”

Draco just stared at him, disbelieving. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because if you care a thing for the boy, you will see that he is in need of help,” Elder Holland said evenly, without any animosity or smugness. “From what your professors have revealed, his health has been degrading along with his mental stability since returning to school. You must feel it. The boy will be poisoning you soon enough with his toxic energy, if he isn’t already.”

Draco looked away, glowering.

“It is not a betrayal to get him help. That he turns from you as well only shows how ill he truly is.” The man’s hand was cool on Draco’s arm, jolting him. “Gilt veela are emotionally erratic under good circumstances. His circumstances have been anything but.”

A war was waging in Draco, one with too many sides to fully comprehend. He wanted Harry well and safe and happy. He wanted Harry for himself. He wanted to be the only one that could help the boy even though he knew he had been failing miserably at the task since the very beginning.

“I don’t know what to do,” Draco finally admitted, his heart feeling painfully tight in his chest. “You’re… you’re going to try to take him away from me.”

Hands cupped Draco’s face, raising his head to meet the Elder’s gaze. “He was never truly yours.”

Draco winced, shutting his eyes.

“He couldn’t have known what it meant to you,” Holland continued gently. “His type wake up slowly. Genetic memory kicks in much later for the Gilt. That he survived his first weave was accomplishment enough for one just waking up. Call him, Draco.”

Draco wrenched himself away from the man’s hands, his body trembling. “Fuck you.”

“Call your love to you and see if he bothers to answer.” By the Elder’s tone, he didn’t expect it. Neither did Draco. Harry never answered him. Not once had the boy come to him when he called.

Magical Reflection 3


Draco found Harry passed out halfway to the infirmary. The boy was slumped over against the wall bleeding down the side, yet somehow managing to still stand. Harry was resilient like that. Resilient, powerful, and miserably stubborn.

It had taken Draco a while to pull himself from the Great Hall. Not from the students—He had gotten used to the odd side effect and had learned to manipulate people well enough to back them off to a good couple feet away. No, he had taken his time to calm himself down, Harry’s scent still full in his senses, the boy’s damn magic-soaked blood dripping all around him. The things Potter did to him just being there… It had been awhile before he could shut down his call, the power hand in hand with his arousal. Harry made Draco hard, wanting, and damn maddened at every turn. Giving in just a little bit was a dam bursting of desire and so hard to hold back from.

Even now he struggled, Draco under control and Harry so exhausted he had fallen asleep on the wall, bleeding and unable to get fully away from his call. He told himself to shut it down, to stuff the damn feelings inside and down into the darkness within. It was difficult, Harry’s face free of anger for a change. Harry had been angry for a long time now, ever since Draco had taken something he shouldn’t have. That he still wanted it… Well, it just revealed how much of a monster he was.

Harry swayed, mumbling softly when Draco gently pulled him off the wall and into his arms. And if he lingered, eyes sliding over Harry’s face currently covered in blood, dirt and sweat, he couldn’t blame himself. He was connected to the boy even if the brunette couldn’t feel it. Harry was Draco’s mate even if they never spoke a kind word again or kissed or touched or even loved. Draco was bound to the reckless, wild boy and had no regrets for it.

“Come on, Potter. Let’s get you patched up.” He lifted Harry easily, wrapping the boy’s toned, tanned arms around his neck and holding him beneath his thighs. He carried him slowly down the hall, feeling the weight of the boy, smelling his hair and his flesh and blood. He was beautiful—Fucked up and absolutely beautiful.

Something had gotten to Harry while he was out in the Forbidden Forest. Draco wasn’t certain what, but he knew it had lust properties similar to a veela. His beast inheritance had come with new senses, ones absolutely fixated on every aspect of sex, including the magic that influenced it. That’s how he could sense that Harry had been enchanted. It was also how he knew the boy wanted him, for all his angry, vicious behavior and words. But Harry also hated him and that came first before anything else.

Draco waited outside the door to the hospital wing, leaning against the wall with Harry still wrapped in his arms. It was completely his fault. He had lost control months ago when he first woke up as a veela. He hadn’t even understood half of what he was doing, so overcome with the strange, new instincts. He had wanted to live. He had wanted Harry.

Shaking his head at his own stupidity, Draco pushed the door open with his foot, laying the boy down on the nearest cot. He went in search of Madame Pomfrey, finding her in her office sipping a cup of tea.

“Mr. Malfoy, not another slip, I hope?” Pomfrey asked, looking sternly over her cup at him, paperwork surrounding her on the table.

“Not exactly,” Draco said with a faint blush. He wasn’t supposed to let his veela call loose in the castle anymore. Although he had enough control to keep himself protected, it could get really embarrassing for the other students. That he still couldn’t seem to keep the call isolated to a small area was also concerning, or so his veela cousins had suggested. “It’s Potter. He’s back from his hunt and wounded. Also he’s been enchanted.”

Pomfrey stood, clucking under her breath. “Of course he is. Heaven forbid if the boy could walk outside these castle walls and not end up at death’s door.”

Draco silently agreed, Harry an absolute menace for anything ordered and peace oriented. Even more so lately as if the boy was deliberately trying to get himself killed. Draco frowned at the thought, moving aside to let the healer by. Everyone else had been enjoying the spoils of a Voldemort free world while Harry had been quietly drifting, growing smaller and dimmer until all Draco noticed half the time was his anger.

“Oh dear,” Pomfrey gasped, backpedaling into the room and slamming the door behind her. Draco raised a brow, confused at the display. “It’s strong,” she explained, a faint blush on her cheeks as she fanned herself. “My god, I thought you veela were bad.”

“What, you’re saying it’s worse than a veela call?” Draco asked, completely horrified at the thought.

Moving shakily, Pomfrey waved her hand, summoning supplies to a tray. “That would depend on the level of control that particular veela has. You have been very tame, Mr. Malfoy, which we are all grateful for, by the by. But I’m sure if you so chose it, you could have us all eating out of your palm, in a manner of speaking.”

Draco shook his head, not certain at all of such a thing. His call was far reaching but not potent. Not like his cousins who could take the mating call and, well, use it to mate. Not always by choice of their object of affection. Draco had been glad that his call had never been so strong.

“Whatever has spelled Harry, it’s powerful. It will not be satisfied by touch, putting him in greater danger by those who feel the effect. Thankfully, it seems to be contained by walls. Do we know what caused this?”

Mind drifting back to the Great Hall, Draco tried to remember what Harry had said. “I think he called it an enchancubus. I’ve never heard of it before.”

Pausing, Pomfrey began mixing up some potions. “I have. A rare creature that can change its appearance to lure in prey and feed off of them.”

“Feed?” Draco hissed, his eyes narrowing.

“Just sex. Nothing gruesome,” Pomfrey assured. “But they’re powerful magic. I will have to do some research to see if we can’t make him an antidote of some sort. For now, you are going to have to be my helper.”

Draco blinked down, Madame Pomfrey placing the tray of potions and bandages into his hands. “Um, the thing is…” He really shouldn’t be alone with Harry. Especially when the boy was weak, bleeding, and asleep. At least when Harry was swearing at him, Draco was able to see things objectively.

“You were able to bring him here. I can only assume you are immune to the spell. He’s badly hurt; I noticed that much.” She gave him an accessing look, eyes piercing. “You will be fine, Mr. Malfoy, like you were the last time when faced with him. Once he is healed, you must take him to one of the single rooms or I will be trapped in my office. Understood?”

Draco nodded, his stomach twisting in knots. If he lost his shit, she would not be able to help. He wished sometimes there were other veela in the school, ones with enough knowledge and power to help him get through moments like this.

Sighing, he turned, letting Pomfrey step back further into the room before he quickly opened the door, slipped through and closed it. He started, eyes drawn up when he heard a noise, meeting Harry’s surprised, wide eyed gaze. Draco didn’t move, didn’t breathe, forcing the memory of flesh, sweat, and moans from his mind.

“Where’s Pomfrey?” Harry croaked, Draco flinching from the sound of fear in the boy’s voice.

“You’ve been enchanted,” he said flatly, forcing himself to move in slow, cautious steps so he didn’t startle Harry. It was only half successful, the brunette watching him like a hawk. A terrified, wide eyed hawk ready to claw the instant he slipped up. “She can’t help until she brews up an antidote. Fortunately, I can.” He tried to be light about it, but his voice just sounded grim in his ears.

Eying the blond warily, Harry sat up in the cot, putting his back to the wall and raising his chin as if ready for a fight. Draco would not be surprised if the boy started one, Harry obviously feeling cornered and overwhelmed. “She mixed up some calming draught,” Draco said, raising the vial.” If Harry didn’t want it, he would gladly drink it down.

Glaring at the blue-green liquid, Harry gave a curt nod, making the barest of beckoning motions for Draco to approach. Not fully trusting that the boy wouldn’t bolt or try to break his nose, Draco first went to the bedside table, placing the tray down so nothing could be spilled if Harry decided he’d rather brawl. He hadn’t really spoken to Harry much since the incident—Not that they ever really did before. They were in two different houses, lived two very different lives that shared amazing similarities. But somehow that year, for all of Draco trying to avoid the Gryffindor, they had managed to run across each other more and more, usually with Harry swearing up a storm, being absolutely rude, and smelling delicious. And for whatever reason, Draco was having a very difficult time ignoring Harry like he had promised himself he would.

Harry took the vial when handed to him, sipping and making a face at the bitter flavor. He eyed the metal tray, mind calculating what everything was for. Handing the drained bottle back to Draco’s waiting hand, Harry fixed him with a glare. “I’m not taking my clothes off.”

Draco scoffed, eyes narrowing at the challenge. “You think I can fix a broken arm when I can’t even see it?”

“Do I look like I give a fuck? I’ll wait until Pomfrey brews up that antidote,” Harry said sharply.

Draco just waited, hoping the damn calming draught would have an effect eventually. Anything concerning will tended to be useless against Harry. Which was why magic ranging from veela calls to the Imperius curse never worked properly. Harry was as stubborn as possible, defying even the laws of magic. Draco couldn’t help but admire it.

“Will you compromise with me?” Draco asked, hands held limply at his side, palms open. Dealing with Harry was like dealing with a wild, injured animal most of the time. He always found himself overly aware of his body language, trying to keep the boy from freaking out.

Harry stirred slightly, having grown drowsy, startling green eyes slightly hazy. Blinking, he hesitantly pushed his robe off, letting the shredded material fall to the bed. Draco held back a sigh, the brunette somehow more damaged underneath the robe, his t-shirt slashed and bloodied.

“Why the hell did you go out there without armor? It looks like you rolled out of bed and decided to go hunting the creature without any preparation at all.” Harry looked away, smirking widely, and Draco realized that had been exactly what had happened. The boy was a reckless fool.

He took a step towards the bed, preparing to heal the broken arm first. Harry stiffened, eyes once again glaring at him, body held as if getting ready to bite or run. “I just want to heal your arm. It must hurt, right?”

Harry’s glare intensified as if pointing out that he was in pain was beyond the rules of whatever fucked up game they were playing. “It’s fine.”

“It’s broken. You can’t move it. I can see the bone trying to push out of your skin. Would you like another calming draught?” One was usually the limit for someone of Harry’s height and weight, but Draco was willing to push the boundaries if it would get the boy to calm the fuck down. At the brunette’s nod, Draco carefully handed another vial over, Harry’s hands shaking when he took it. The boy threw it back like a shot this time, making Draco wonder if he shouldn’t have tried to get some alcohol instead.

“Alright… But just my arm. I don’t want it to heal fucked up,” Harry muttered, tearing at the shreds of bloodied shirt tangled around his left shoulder, managing to bare his side and half his chest in the process. Draco hissed when the boy’s tanned skin came into view, bruised, slashed, and a distinct burn pattern revealed.

Harry glared, chin again raising defiantly. “Just the arm.”

“Like hell. That’s a vice vine burn. You’ve been poisoned.” Draco stopped himself from continuing, hands held up in defeat. “Fine, the arm for now. Maybe you’ll feel like getting the rest healed after you see how much better it feels.” He didn’t really believe it but was hoping the double dose of calming draught might actually knock the boy out. Harry was already swaying, eyelids heavy, and looking far too sexy for his own good.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Draco counted to ten. As he carefully approached the bed, eyes fixed on the brunette’s arm and not the cautious green glare following him, he wondered if Harry was more afraid of him, or himself. Draco could smell it now that he was next to the boy, fingers gently probing his broken arm. Bleeding, exhausted, and in excruciating pain, Harry still managed to be aroused, body nearly brimming with want. Want for him, which only made it all the more infuriating when the brunette snapped and snarled the way he did.

Draco held Harry’s arm firmly, feeling the muscles tense beneath his palms. “This will hurt,” he said, then squeezed, feeling the broken bones realign beneath his fingers. Harry merely hissed, teeth gritted as he grimaced. Holding the boy’s arm in place with one hand, Draco used his wand in the other, knitting a binding around the bones so that they would heal properly when the accelerator potion was applied. He worked swiftly, not immune to Harry’s increased breathing, never mind flooding of scent. How Potter could get fucking hard while being patched up was beyond him. Harry did seem to have a damn pain kink.

Draco stepped back once the arm was bandaged, more for himself than the now scowling Gryffindor. Shit, the boy was always so goddamn angry. It was like the harder Harry got, the fucking angrier he was. Considering how angry Potter always seemed to be, Draco imagined the boy was always goddamn hard. He shut his eyes again, counting to twenty, trying to focus on the caustic smell of antiseptic and not the alluring scent of Harry’s musk. It was difficult… very difficult…

“Stop,” Harry hissed, feeling the beginnings of Draco’s pull, warm tendrils slipping around his flesh.

Growling, Draco stepped away, crossing the room and facing the other direction. Harry’s scent didn’t reach this far, his breath not loud enough. His magic could still be felt, pulsing like some siren’s call, but Draco had learned to ignore that months ago. Harry’s magic was always so strong to him, always so loud and begging for connection.

Mine, Draco thought, trying not to hate the half of him that had made it so. Harry was his and trying to twist his magic around him to pull him down into his fucked up, angry self.

Draco wanted to give in. He wanted to be consumed by the boy’s heated, dark desire. Taste his skin again. Feel his tight flesh open to him…

“Shit, Malfoy, just get the fuck out of here. You clearly can’t control yourself since having to… stop them.” Harry was panting, the barest of need in his voice that Draco couldn’t help but focus on. “I’m glad you stopped them… but you’re not in control and…” Harry trailed off when Draco turned, the boy’s green eyes dark and full of desire beneath heavy lashes.

“I’m in control of myself,” Draco said flatly, eyes roaming over the beautiful boy. He had not jumped Harry. He had not pinned him down and stolen a hundred deep kisses. He had not even touched the boy’s flesh the way he wanted, pulling hot moans and aching cries from Harry’s lips. Draco was in perfect bloody control of himself and had been since returning to school after learning said control from the veelas. That he called sometimes trying to pull his chosen one to him was to be more than expected, and Draco had managed to avoid even that every goddamn day.

“I don’t believe you,” Harry said, frown growing when Draco slowly returned, crossing the distance between them.

Draco wanted to remind him what he could do, what he had done when he lost control. Harry knew the fucking difference, knew what it was like when he couldn’t stop—Didn’t even have enough in him to want to stop. But Draco didn’t dare speak the words to call back that memory. They would never speak of it again. He had been desperate and newly changed and Harry… Harry had been beautiful and powerful and dripping in blood and scent that had just been irresistible. Draco knew how to resist now. He did it every day.

“How does your arm feel?” Draco asked evenly, knowing his face was blank, his eyes cold again.

Huffing, Harry managed to shrug without wincing. Clearly it was better.

“Let me get the poison out. It’s just a salve to heal the vice vine.” Draco held up the pot, not surprised that the healer had managed to spot the hint of blue to Harry’s lips even while fighting the powerful enchantment on the brunette.

Swallowing hard, Harry shook his head no, now completely adverting his eyes. Draco took it as a positive sign, the brunette tired enough to let some of his anger go. Draco sat carefully on the side of the bed, making sure not to touch the boy in any way. It was five long minutes of strained breathing, Harry’s throat showing signs of swelling from the invasive toxin the plant carried before he finally relented, pushing the rest of his shredded t-shirt over his head.

Draco kept silent, knowing anything he said would be taken the wrong way. He gave Harry another minute before even moving, and then it was just to touch his wand to any particularly nasty wound and heal it quickly, avoiding the pattern of poisoned flesh for now. Harry still jumped when Draco opened the small jar of light green salve, eyes blinking sleepily as he watched Draco’s fingers dip in and coat.

“W-Wait,” Harry whispered, Draco’s fingertips nearly an inch from the largest of the wounds. Draco stilled, feeling the tension in the boy, energy jolting through Harry’s form even as his muscles relaxed further, the calming draught flowing deeper into his cells.

“Ready?” Draco asked when the brunette made no more protests. Harry was still staring at his fingers, eyes completely hazy now.

“Okay,” Harry breathed out, sinking deeper back, relaxing against the wall. He closed his eyes at the first touch of fingers, sighing softly as the salve soothed the burning sensation on his skin.

Draco tried to work quickly and efficiently but his hands would not obey him. They kept straying, kept slowing and touching, small caresses that just begged for more. And Harry, eyes barely opened, just watched his hands as they pressed firmly into his skin and rubbed slick circles and patterns into the slowly disappearing wounds. Eventually there were no more marks on his flesh and Draco had to force himself to stop. To touch the boy then was to cross a line he had no right to cross. It was difficult, especially when Harry kept sighing soft, breathless sighs, his hips rocking subtly up when Draco pressed down.

It would be so easy to kiss him, Harry nearly asleep, gaze meeting his while he rested slumped on the wall. “Don’t fall asleep, Potter,” Draco warned, taking in the boy’s stunning eyes and full, parted lips. He was beautiful and far too vulnerable to be alone with Draco in that moment.

Harry smirked weakly, eyelids drooping lower. “Thought you were… in control,” he whispered, his voice the barest of murmurs in the room.

“I am,” Draco whispered back, cupping Harry’s face, dipping forward to steal just one small, little kiss. He stilled, centimeters away, an unfamiliar scent filling his senses.

“Has someone—Have you been with someone, Potter?” He asked abruptly, moving over Harry’s skin, breathing deep and trying to figure out just what the hell Harry was covered in. It wasn’t human. Wasn’t veela. But it reeked of magic, sex magic, and Draco found himself growling the lower on Harry he got and the more he smelled the creature. “Fucking—Are you fucking shitting me?” He snarled, pulling Harry’s waistband forward only to be assaulted by the creature’s scent.

He snapped his gaze up, Harry’s eyes blinking dazedly back at him. “Who, Potter? Who the fuck touched you? Did he fuck you? Did you let some fucking lust creature fuck your beautiful body while I can’t even touch you?” Draco hated the misery so clear in his voice. Harry could fight every lust power he knew of, even from his stronger, full blooded veela cousins. But he had let this creature touch him.

Harry held his hand up, fingers nearly taking Draco’s eyes out before the boy’s intent was clear. He covered the blond’s mouth. “Don’t call me that. Only he can call me that.”

Draco was pissed, and Harry insisting only another man could call him something was not helping. “I will call you whatever the hell I want. You are—”

“No,” Harry mumbled, eyes drifting closed again. “Only Malfoy calls me beautiful.”

“For fuck sake,” Draco moaned grabbing the fingers that were slipping down his chin as Harry’s breath began to even out. “Damn you, Potter. Damn you for doing this to me.” He could not help it when he ran his lips over Harry’s fingertips, tongue reaching out, tasting dirt, sweat and the brunette’s distinct flavor of flesh.

He had to know. It would haunt him forever if he had let Harry go out alone only to be fucked by some enchanted predator.

Dumbledore had asked him to stay back, to make the terrible phone calls to the parents of the three Slytherin students attacked that morning. By the time he had learned that Harry had been asked to go out and had left alone, Draco had then had to deal with the panicked parents of said students, one particularly angry brute threatening to hex him into oblivion if he did not get to see his daughter. Draco had been forced to restrain the man, the children tainted and contagious with no cure in sight. The entire day he had been worried for Harry being out there alone with a crazed beast. It had been a shit day and now here was Harry, dripping in another’s scent, covered in an enchantment that would surely only draw more people with many scents to cover him. It was too much.

Growling, Draco released Harry’s hand, using both of his to quickly untangle the sleeping boy’s belt. He had the brunette’s pants down to his knees in less than a minute, hissing and pulling them off entirely when he saw the huge gash on the boy’s thigh that ran down to his calve. God, he was a fucking mess. Glaring at the wound a long moment, Draco deliberately ignored it, hands sliding to Harry’s briefs.

“I will fucking kill him, Potter,” he promised, pressing his cheek to Harry’s sharp hipbone and breathing deep. “I don’t care if you hate me. I don’t care if you never want me to touch you again. I will kill anyone that fucks you.” He peeled Harry’s waistband back, moving the soft material down and slowly unmasking the last of Harry’s flesh to his view. He scowled as the foreign scent grew stronger.

Draco moved slowly, careful not to give in to the overwhelming urge to taste the soft length nestled in dark curls. Instead he slipped lower, nose nuzzling in, seeking out Harry’s balls and behind. He pulled back abruptly, quickly wrapping the boy back up. He held his hand over his face while his mind whirled.

Not fucked. Not taken. Just soaked in saliva. Draco groaned, sinking to the floor to sit, knees folded up while he fought the urge to rock back and forth in agitation. He couldn’t live like this. He just couldn’t keep fucking doing this.

Standing, he caught the cut again on Harry’s leg. Growling deep in his throat, he used his wand to heal it, wishing to touch the boy instead, to taste the damn blood that his instincts and memory told him would be perfect. He couldn’t. It would just be the end of him no matter how much he wanted him.

Harry’s jeans were soaked in blood and filth, Draco glancing around until he found the cabinet Madame Pomfrey kept the pajamas in. He brusquely slipped the pants up the brunette’s legs after pulling the boy’s shoes and socks off, then, with far more hesitation than was needed, lifted Harry’s hips to get the boy finally decent. Draco paused, hands firmly on his hips, fingers digging in too hard, staring at Harry’s sleeping face and wishing the Gryffindor would wake and yell at him to keep him from the madness growing inside.

Harry was out cold, two draughts too much for his already exhausted body. He had been accosted by something in the forest along with a host of lesser beasts that left their claw marks on him and then had returned to school to have a cafeteria full of students try to grind on him. And now he was asleep, completely defenseless with a love-crazed veela halfling who was too powerful for anyone to stop if he truly tried to take what he wanted.

“Wake up, you reckless, angry idiot,” Draco whispered hoarsely, leaning forward to press his forehead to Harry’s. “Don’t just fucking sit there and trust me. You know I can’t be trusted.” He tilted his head, gently brushing his lips to Harry’s. He did it again, pressing harder, groaning when Harry responded sleepily, the slightest of returning pressure and the parting of his lips.

“Damn you,” Draco muttered, flicking his tongue out, tasting Harry’s lips, the flavor the same dripping, heady honey of before. “Tell me you’re still mine, Harry,” he pleaded softly, tasting again, diving into the boy’s sweet mouth and nipping his bottom lip. “You are my beautiful mate. Tell me that you’re mine.”

Harry didn’t answer, stubborn even in a drug induced sleep. Sighing, Draco pulled away, tongue running over his lips, trying to taste every bit of Harry still clinging to him.

It was almost a year since he had tasted Harry the first and only time. For all he knew, he would never have the chance again. Seventh year was nearly over and he’d be returning to an empty manor. Harry would… Well, he wasn’t sure what Harry would be doing. Maybe living with his godfather and his werewolf boyfriend. Maybe punishing himself and going back to his hateful relatives. He wouldn’t be visiting Malfoy Manor anytime soon. Not after his last visit. Not after Draco had raped him and forced him to kill.

Draco left Harry in a private room, tossing his dirty clothes in a pile on the floor and locking the door behind him. He lit the sign that informed any passerby that the occupant was enchanted and dangerous and then gave a quick knock to Madame Pomfrey’s office door.

“He’s settled in?” She asked, well aware that Harry could no longer be in the room if she was not feeling his enchantment’s pull with the door open.

“Asleep. Healed.” Delicious. “His arm will be fine in about an hour. I’m going to bed but I’m willing to help in the morning until you find your antidote.”

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. I know how difficult this must be for you.” She patted his arm lightly, her eyes sober.

Maybe she did know, having treated halflings before. Draco wasn’t sure. His veela brethren had scoffed at him for even lusting after a human. But then, they barely thought humans were worth the air they breathed even though they kept mating with them. Draco shook his head wearily. “Earlier I had to pull a large group of students off of him in the Great Hall. I can protect him, but I think it’s better if he’s not around people.”

“I agree. Mr. Potter has been trying lately,” Pomfrey said carefully, thinking of how many times Harry had been in there recently, brawls and explosions resulting in many a broken bone. “Maybe some forced isolation will do him good.”

Draco shrugged, not really caring. Nothing was going to fix Potter. Not after what he had done to the boy. A part of him didn’t even care, just so long as no one tried to touch him and take him away. Draco didn’t think Harry would ever truly be his but he was able to live with that as long as Harry was no one else’s.