Warning(s): explicit language, violence, adult content, sexual themes, slash, HPDM, boyxboy, creature!Draco, Sexy!Harry, parseltongue kink, OOC, post-Hogwarts
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, 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.
The sky was an endless mass of dark clouds, the air protruding strongly of petrichor. The clouds loomed over dramatically, forecasting another sorrowful beginning. It had rained the previous day, as it did the day before it, and so on. Harry Potter scuffed his feet against the moist street, brooding for how long it had been since he'd seen the sun. Maybe months? Years? He'd eventually decide that it wouldn't deter him, either way. Like the previous day and all of the inconsequential ones before it since his graduation from Hogwarts, he'd spent his days cooped up in his office, in the Auror department of the Ministry of Magic. Even when he wasn't in that isolated pit of gloom, he'd be working on a case. The Potter had an enormous list of priorities to allocate 24/7/365, with as little as minutes to sleep, let alone eat, forget socialize.
Either way, days were the same to the retired "Golden-Boy." Harry would wake up each day, at 6:00 A.M. to the sound of his alarm, reducing the sonorous taps of rain against the roof of his flat in Grimmauld Place. He'd decided 12 years ago to ditch the hideous glasses and spell is eyes clear. He would just dress in a suit, resembling all of the other dozen pairs hanging neatly in his closet. However, Harry would leave behind the blazer and slip on his same unbuttoned, black trench coat that hugged his entire body from the tips of his fingers to his ankles. From there, he would bolt for the local floo-network spot, just a couple blocks from his house. Between his flat and the network, he could gather his thoughts and possibly ponder the unworthy sky. But, Harry need not fill his mind with such irrelevant thoughts. To avoid this, maybe he'd just start apparating to work, like all of the other witches and wizards in his department. What were their names, again? Like, he didn't already have enough on his plate without an obligation to know the other Auror's names.
Once Harry stepped out of a fireplace, among many, and into the main Centre of the Ministry, the man wasted not a second before turning on his heal and making his way toward the Auror department. Once again, like every day, people would stare. As they have since he was 11, as they still do. No matter how old the guy got, his "Boy-Who-Lived, savior" image never seemed to falter in his presence, anywhere in the Wizard community. Harry would just sigh, he did that a lot, and keep walking, not bothering to return the gazes of the onlookers. As hard as it might've seemed, getting to work was never too difficult. Everywhere he went people would back up, carving a sort-of path for the man.
When he finally reached his department in the building, you would think it'd get better, right? Wrong. Mr. Potter, as all the other Aurors called him, had been working there for over a decade. Yet, he was more of a celebrity there than anywhere else on Earth.
Walking down the same slim corridor, in his unit was as constant as anything in his life. His so-called "co-workers" would stop and stare at the man as he paced down the hallways. These people should have been used to him. There was also the same new group of interns, both women and men, whose eyes popped right out of their sockets, farther than anybody else. And none of the other Aurors blamed them, for they'd done so their first day, that is if they noticed the group. They too were still staring.
Except, this morning, he almost missed a curious pair of eyes, glaring at him maniacally. I can assure you this only happens once.
Turning a corner, Harry would do as always, and run an exasperated hand through his hair. A long time ago, he'd surrendered to the idea that his hair was always going to be an untamable, unruly mess of raven locks. No difference was it to him, nor anyone else. Mr. Potter was still by far the most attractive, mysterious, yet incredibly intimidating man anybody in both the wizard and mortal world had ever seen. He was the perfect combination of bright green eyes, flawless olive skin, messily-cute raven-black hair, and a celestially beautiful structured face, all atop an equally gorgeous male figure. Even through a white button-up, his 6-pack set of abs were unmistakable. As were his arm and leg muscles, which strained against the confinements of his attire. So, the Aurors were most definitely not the only ones who were aware of his strenuous beauty. If anything, The Daily Prophet, knew most about the obvious revelation among anyone.
However, while few, there were those who didn't gaze up at Mr. Potter with the same attraction and admiration as everyone else. They could decipher that the man was not only the most phenomenal sex-icon of the late 20th and early 21st centuries, but was also the king of self-deprivation. Harry Potter lacked the one thing essential to mankind. A life. If you were to ask anyone in the entire unit, they'd confirm on record, they had never seen Mr. Potter smile. Nor frown. Nor anything else for that matter. He maintained the usual unmoving apathetic purse-of-lips, day-in and day-out. It was almost as if he'd never felt an emotion, a day in his life. Not true. If one were to look back into Harry's teenage years, they would find that he was actually decent. Sometimes a picture with a frown, because if anyone then had a right to it, Harry Potter did. And his boyish smile was a hell of a heart warmer, for the boy had no reason on heaven nor earth to smile the way he did, all those years ago. But he did. Beyond all that Voldemort crap, Harry was popular, he had friends, a sort-of family, and an enjoyable pastime for Quidditch, and for most, a life. Such details confused not just the sentimental folk, but everyone.
What happened to Harry Potter? Why did his presence always seem so depressing? He had everything the average man or wizard could ever want, and if not, he most certainly could get it. Mr. Potter was one of the richest wizards in the entire community, having inherited his parent's wealth and made his own. If there was ever someone more in need of a job, it was not this guy. Yet, every day it would continue to rain, and he would still be there, working like his life depended on it. In fact, he was the hardest-working, top-chart Auror in the department. Harry had been promoted so many times, he was offered spot as chief of the unit. However, he declined saying he wasn't "leader material."
No girlfriend, no boyfriend? The man hadn't been in any sort of god-for-saken relationship in over a decade. Within that decade, each year The Daily Prophet would issue a list of the top 5 bachelors in the wizard world. You can imagine who made 1st place every year. Some say the newsletter should finally shut the annual thing down for there was only reason they put it up, and since its 1st edition, something has yet to change.
Well, not entirely true. Harry Potter was still like any sane, functional man, this being one of the few things he didn't deprive himself of. And that was his "late night specials." This was also another thing pretty much everybody knew. They are allowed to be upset about it, but can anyone really blame him? Harry Potter is still a man, and that species has needs, especially sexual ones. So, here's how the story goes: Mr. Potter goes to the same place every Saturday night, Declan's Pub & Club, and hook up with pretty much the first hooker he saw. Nobody judged him, though. They were probably too busy hoping they'd be the next Saturday's winner.
Before entering his office, the gloomy pit, itself, Mr. Potter sighed and grabbed a tacked clipping off the wall, and crumpled it in his fist. It was just another one of those Daily Prophet Top 5 Most Eligible Bachelors posters, advertising his face. Then the Auror would shut the door behind him and sit in his non-spinning chair (too much of a distraction), behind his desk. From there, his face would be concealed from view as whole new stacks of files consumed any free space left on the surface of the table. From there was the beginning of his 12 hour shift.
Seem depressing enough, yet? What is about to be said may be the most ridiculous idea of them all. The fact remained undeterred: Harry Potter, at the ripe age of 28, as sad as the poor man might've seemed, had no objections with his life. He actually enjoyed his job, his house, everything. He was so used to being alone that he became more accustomed to it than in presence with somebody else. When Mr. Potter had first come to work as an Auror, over 10 years ago, he'd been placed in the same office. Except it was originally a duel-office space and he shared it with another guy. After a couple weeks, the man resigned under the "pressure." So, there was still a separate office space in the room, adjacent to his desk, it just hadn't been used in a decade. Harry found that he liked it just being "his room." Nobody bothered him about his apparent need to have all unnatural lights off, nor if the temperature was set to 60 degrees, or any other strange faults in his working process. He was alone.
Like already said, every day was the same for Harry Potter. It had been this way throughout that decade. Until, one faithful day, somebody skipped through the door of the unit. This someone may have had ulterior motives but as he put it then, "he'd always wanted residency in the Auror department." Strangely enough, he was-or used to be acquainted with our dear old Mr. Potter. Except Harry hadn't seen this guy in over a decade. Boy, was he in for a surprise.
On the flip side, we have one bastardly Draco Malfoy. So, I'm sure you've heard he got married and moved to France, right? So not what happened. But before I go digging for diamonds where there aren't any, I may as well put it plain and simple. The sole reason as to why the Malfoy heir curiously dropped everything and fled. The very reason why he must return. Draco Lucius Malfoy is a Veela.
But, of course you know all about Veelas. No? Well, you'd better strap in now because when Veelas are involved, we're all going to hell.
There is a Greek Legend, relating not only of the Veela, but of their mate, whom they've been exchanging "goodmornings" and "goodnights" with since the beginning of time. Both began as stars whose sole purpose was to shoot until one were to find the other. Then, time caught up with them, renewing them with shapes and names, poems and legends. As it is told, man were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate beings, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves, without which are crestfallen upon the nostalgic feeling of being incomplete.
Long before they had a name, Veelas had been roaming the Earth and for as long as any of them could remember, there had always been someone or something that would see them for what they were and try to keep them and their mate apart. However, just ages before us, when magical beings came into part, so did an opportunity. One to disguise themselves as witches and wizards, adapting to both their powers and practices as means of, when the time comes, to find peace with their mate. Soon enough, these two species collided, conceiving children whose blood coursed with magic and their genes-their fate was as all the Veelas before them. Centuries later, their presence in the wizard community had become more known and somewhat acceptable as these creatures and their offspring masked themselves as purebloods.
This isn't too unmanageable to put off considering these creatures look exactly like the average witch or wizard. At least, in their mortal form it's easy. However, when they reach adulthood, age being 18, they come into their inheritance. Their Veela switch is turned on, sending him or her into a painful process, in which they obtain their true form, their superhuman powers, and a glowing image of their mate, with whom they'd have crossed paths with at least once in their life.
When their Veela side is activated, their mortal bodies will begin to transform. Another thing Veelas are known for is their ethereal beauty, almost inhuman. Which they are so... Any fat from their bodies will seem to deflate and be replaced with muscle. Likewise, any uncompromising "parts" will be altered. Then, any unintelligible blemishes or ulcers in their skin will be wiped clear, leaving the body flawlessly smooth and clear. Most of the time, his/hers eyes color will stay the same, only intensify in color. Their hair will be replenished and restyled. Basically, the new mortal form will look exactly like the original, just more... well, breathtakingly Veela-ish.
Likewise, their Veela form is much like their mortal bodies, but still noticeably different to anybody who happens to catch such creatures at their epitome. An idea of what they look like would be for you to imagine an angel, the glowing presence, the halo, the white wings, etc. Veelas in their true form are like angels, beautiful people, minus the positive radar, cherubic features, and the halo, with wings the purest color of white that turn black when provoked, and silver tattoos on their wrists.
They are also given a sort-of "life mission," a sole purpose, which is to do anything and everything to love and protect their mate. From there, their Veela instinct drives them to their mate, where the two are to undergo a 3-step ritual, therefore officiating their eternal bond.
Step one is Alliance. When the Veela reaches the denouement of their homicidal transformation, they are to prick their finger and from that, tap 3 drops of the blood into a cauldron of boiling water. Next, he or she will mutter an incantation. After that, they wait until the water has cooled. Once it has, the Veela will stick their face in the cauldron where they will see their future. An image will appear in the water, a glimpse of their mate, and their soulmate for whom they hope to spend the rest of their life with.
The person who appears will have crossed paths with them either in sleep or conciseness for the Veela has no control over who their mate is. Except, if they had already, even if only a little, strongly felt for another, chances are that person could make the cut. After he/she pulls their head out of the water, their Veela selves will once again feel pain as it already hurts to be away from their mate, like having a knife plunged into your heart and twisted around. They will be driven by an intense desire and instinct to seek out their mate, insinuating a meeting.
Step two is Acceptance. Unlike the other steps, this one can end brutally, it being one of the most important steps. Once the Veela and their mate have reunited, consent from both parties is essential to continue to the 3rd and final step. Just because both beings have crossed paths before, doesn't mean they did so cordially. In any other case, the mate may not even like the Veela, they might already be in a relationship, or they may just say no. If rejected, a Veela will most likely kill themselves, for their love is too strong but can be negated when not reciprocated. The destined mate may otherwise choose wisely and consent to the Veela. However, the Veela would never dream of forcing them, they'd only hope for a chance. The mates might even find these creatures have much to offer.
The aspect that separates a Veela from any other creature is the same thing that differs them from any human (magical or not.) Besides the obvious being their Veela form, their blood, history, etc. They are rendered one-of-a-kind because Veelas are a fiercely passionate species. Their love for their mate is like one from a tragic Italian Renaissance poem. Pretty much what any 21st century hopeless romantic longs for: romantic, mysterious, beautiful, possessive, protective, loving, and caring. Without any further questions asked, a Veela would willingly die for their mate. In that sense, they are kind of like other beasts, aggressive, sometimes violent if in case, to defend what's theirs. This is when their wings come in handy. The Veela uses these feathery swarms to shield their mate and show affection.
On the other hand, there is a power that the mate possesses, but is in most cases, unconsciously used. It happens whenever the mate is touched by another person, or in danger, or if the mate says the Veela's mortal name. In the non-magic world it's called an "adrenaline rush." When either of these occur, the Veela has something like that, and they reach the full extent of their power, and it's then that nothing in heaven nor hell could prevent them from answering the call. Not even layers of steel chains, in a blocked-off underground dungeon.
Anyways, the final step is consummation. When muggles get hitched, it is presumable to consummate their marriage in the bed the night they do, to officiate the bond two people created the second they said "I do." Of course, marriages are different in the wizard world, but are especially unique among Veela terms. There's no country club, annoying family gatherings, boring speeches, or tacky two-person miniature statues atop million calorie cakes. This, the Veela and their mate must do alone. If all other steps are completed, the mate is ready, and the Veela is content, they will proceed to finalize the ritual through sexual intercourse. But, it wouldn't be just sex, it never is in these situations. The pleasurable tingles are a given, but all the while, both beings must contribute. The mate will say yes, and the Veela will accept it. It sounds so simple, but in actuality, the consummation is far more complex.
So, another thing that you might've heard is Draco Malfoy is a douche. At least he was one. All you need to know is he had his reasons for going awol, all of which is to come in due time. Until then, I'll start 10 years before:
Draco Lucius Malfoy most clearly remembered the pain he felt amongst his transition, the night of his 18th birthday. The bruises and scratches he earned from his body being tampered with and thrown all around his bedroom. The sagginess of his eyes from the lack of sleep that followed weeks afterward. He just wanted to die. Especially, the way it felt to be all alone, his father not daring to enter his room, for Malfoy senior remembered his transformation from long before. However, Draco had been feeling the same pain and hopelessness for 10 years since. But, the one thing that differed a decade before and then, is the way he felt seeing his beautiful mate's face, clear as day, swimming in the glorious water.
The swirl of emotions that coursed through the Malfoy at that moment were indescribable. He'd never remembered being more unexplainably happy in his entire life. Like being on an enormous amount of laughing gas. The stomach butterflies were knotted like yarn, his skin tingled, and every fiber of his being was set on fire.
Nothing else in the entire universe mattered but the sparkling image of Harry Potter's magnificent face reflecting from Draco's silver eyes off the water. Seeing him wasn't like realizing, though, but more like remembering. You'd think 7 years of animosity would look different at a time like that, but for some reason Draco couldn't tear his eyes away long after the image had faded.
But, eventually reality set in, and the memory of his mate not only made him happy, but extremely depressed, as well.
The year was 1999, and it seemed only yesterday that the war was over. Everyone knew that Harry Potter, being the chosen one, had had it rough his entire life. And now that that patch had been waxed, the guy had a chance to be happy and lead a normal life. At least, as normal as it gets for a famous teenage wizard. Even Draco knew the boy was just starting to build a life for himself. So, when the Slytherin came into inheritance, and uncovered his mate, that wasn't about to change. It may sound strange, but Draco actually felt sorry for him and didn't want to take away Harry's future by pursuing him in a commitment he wasn't ready for.
With that sympathy, Draco Malfoy went into hiding, leaving behind a façade that he'd gotten married and moved to France. Secretly, all these years, he'd chained himself to a post, inside one of the cellars in the Malfoy Manor's underground dungeon. This just shows how little self-control and respectable restraint the Malfoy had when it came to Harry Potter. Draco even made his mother hide the key to the cell, and had her promise never, even if he begged for it, to let him out.
So, for ten years, Draco would wake up with an all-over agonizing pain. He'd awaken to the same dimly-lighted, cold, and quite small cell room. Not that the size of the room would've mattered, as the iron chains locked around his wrists and ankles permitted him to go no farther than 5 feet. Those were cold, too.
Draco's mother would come down 3 times a day and slip meals under the bars. She used to plead with him during her visits downstairs, but after some years she eventually couldn't even bring herself to look into her son's eyes, for it brought her great sadness to have to condone such torture, for so long.
Every day for 10 years, Narcissa Malfoy would travel below grounds of the Malfoy Manor, to deliver him food, some books, and the day's news. As a kid, Draco used to read a lot. Despite what anybody might've thought, Draco Malfoy was full of life, and he loved his mother more than anything in the world, more than he loved books. Mrs. Malfoy was the woman who taught him how to read, how to love, how to live. He looked up to her more than anyone. Then, he turned 18 and everything changed. Draco had someone new to love more than anything. But it wasn't that that had Narcissa so desolate, it was more that her son wouldn't let himself be with that someone, wouldn't let himself be happy, which she'd so longed to see from him.
One had to pity Mrs. Malfoy, as well, for she spent that entire decade having to listen to Draco's screams and violent conformities. She had to try desperately not to think about what might be happening to her son just a couple floors below her. And the entire time, had to remain under the unintelligible promise to keep the key hidden.
But, let's not forget Draco Malfoy, himself just yet. The poor kid woke up every day feeling the same as he when he went to sleep the previous night, and the night before that, and so on. Every day was the same to him. Draco would open his eyes, and not a moment later, regret it. It hurt constantly being alone and under pain. You'd think he'd have given up after a while. It's possible. But, every year, in the month of July, The Daily Prophet would release their Top 5 Most Eligible Bachelors and every year the #1 bachelor would be the same as all the years before it, and all the years to come, Harry Potter. And, once a year, Draco got to see his beautiful mate on the front cover. He'd been able to keep track of the guy. Those days were the better ones in his memory. Draco would even smile to himself because he'd just realize, once again, exactly why he kept himself locked away. From then on, he need not any other persuasion.
It's not sure what had been running through the young Malfoy's mind through that terrible epoch in his life. Did he really think he was just going to stay locked up for the rest of his life? What possessed Draco to think he could hold back for so long? But, obviously you know he got out, otherwise there wouldn't be a reason for this story.
Enough with the back-story montage thing. Fast-forward to 10 years later, where we'll go back to Mr. Potter, one night in the month of December.
The rain Mr. Potter saw once again that morning, had begun to fall as snow. The sky followed, already star-less black at 7 O' Clock. It was starting out to be one of those nights, the ones where Harry "forgot" that his shift was already over, and dragged on his mind-less distraction he called work, after time. That was at least, until he got a call from one of his best-friends, Hermione Granger. Her pointed face appeared in the fireplace, in his office, a couple feet away from his desk. Harry heard the crackle of the flames, and shift of wood against it, and yet pretended not to notice.
"Harry James Potter!"
Harry simply rolled his eyes, and continued to sort out a couple new cases he'd just received.
While Harry Potter hadn't been the top socialist in his adult years, his persistent best-friends, Ron and Hermione somehow made sure he never lost touch with them. Of course, things had been different between the trio, just like all things had been with anything since graduation. However, something that had never ceased, even after, was their pending concern for Harry. Who wasn't worried about him? More than his friends? I think not. The guy was quiet, had a concerning amount of "me-time," no girlfriend since forever, etc.. Speaking of which, Ron and Hermione even used to set him up on double dates with them two, and Harry with his "friday-night-special." That was a dark period in which Harry Potter would always keep his doors under multiple locking charms. Eventually, they gave up. But, in the date nights' place, the pair forced their best-friend to join them for dinner at their house, EVERY Friday night.
Once again, Harry tried all he could to get out of such repercussions, until he'd decided he owed them that much. Since then, he'd joined them every Friday. I mean, what are best-friends for?
"Harry," Hermione's voice screeched, again. "Don't you roll your eyes at me!"
Harry strained in his non-spinny chair, loosening his tie, but still not tearing his eyes from his desk, before taking a huge sigh. "You really are starting to sound like Mrs. Weasley, Hermione."
Hermione's flamed face softened when she chuckled, slightly. "Well, that is my mother-in-law your talking about."
Harry lifted an eyebrow but nevertheless, she continued. "It's Friday, Harry."
"Friday, Hermione." Harry nodded in a seemingly-sarcastic way.
It was our new Mrs. Weasley's turn to roll her eyes. "Yes, Harry, Friday. Don't go down this road with me, right now. Need I remind you that I am currently 7 months pregnant. So don't even think you are even getting out of dinner tonight, or next Friday, or the one after that, even after I finally get slim again! Now, you're late and if I don't see you, what... 1/2 an hour, you can bet I will kick your-"
"Okay, okay," Harry interrupted, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll be there soon."
Hermione raised a fiery eyebrow before her face disappeared from the flames.
Mr. Potter gave another sigh, his forehead creasing further as he rubbed his eyes. He wasn't getting out of this one.
Surrendering to his fate, Harry began stuffing case files into his briefcase. As he was about to put the last case away, he glanced impressively at his desk as though it was the first time he'd realized something in 10 years. 'Since when has my desk been brown?' He wondered, raising a curious eyebrow. Harry was about to shake the thought away when the last file he'd meant to allocate loosened from his fingers and spilled its contents on the floor.
Mr. Potter huffed in annoyance as he knelt for the papers. Picking then up, he got a look at the offense he was being assigned to deal with. 'ANIMAGUS LICENSE RE-REGISTRATION: 2 YEARS OVERDUE " was written and stamped with big letters on the first sheet he grabbed. Harry's eyes widened. Damn.
Harry has had to deal with many re-registration mishaps and the most illegal one he'd seen in all his years, up until then would be a non-renewed license late by 2 weeks. Even then, that had been a big deal. What does that make two whole years?
Suddenly, Harry's eyes darkened with realization and any impressiveness he felt for the person had faded. 'This is the case that is going to keep me up all night. Okay, who is this bastard?!' He brooded silently for the second time that day. With that, he snatched up the rest of the papers, adamantly turning them all right-side-up until he caught a glimpse of the offender's picture. Oh... my...God...
Square in the middle of a random page was a moving picture of somebody Mr. Potter recognized right away. Someone who had been absent from his mind for so long. And according to the attached records, that wasn't the only thing he'd been absent from. Harry already thought it strange enough that the photograph was a teenage portrait of someone he knew to be much older. It all made since, though when he noticed a comment below it stating a possible fault in the records. Apparently, this guy hadn't been seen in over 10 years, now. He wasn't dead because if he was, an "X" would've automatically appeared over the file, Harry decided. If he moved, that wouldn't matter because the Ministry would know that, too.
Harry turned the page and found his wand records. Once the war with Voldemort was over and the Ministry regained power and control over the wizard world, one of their first main priorities was to update the security advantages. This proved to be a huge benefit for the Auror department as they no longer had to do things such as be in possession of the offender's wand to check for spells. Now, they had access to handy-dandy lists that depicted the wand's entire history. There would be the name of a spell, and where (not too specific) and when it was cast beside it. As for this, Harry's curiosity deepened when he saw that the last spell this guy cast was a magical chain-binding spell, somewhere in London, in the Winter of 1999. Huh...
Once again, Harry flipped back over the paper, hoping he'd spot something he might have missed, seeing as none of it added up. His eyes skimmed the paper twice-over and he huffed. Nope. Nothing he hadn't already seen:
Draco Lucius Malfoy
Age: 28 years
Gender: Male
Blood Status: Pureblood
Animagus: Dragon
Harry found himself glancing at the picture. Then again, Draco Malfoy was very handsome. At age 17 in their last year of Hogwarts, Draco was the most handsome guy in school. I mean, how often do you come across a gorgeous guy with sexy, platinum-blonde hair like Malfoy, or strikingly, silver eyes like Malfoy, or a muscly body like Malfoy?
He was there. A face Harry hadn't seen in a decade and a smile he'd never seen. But, there it was. Two curls on his mouth so unfamiliar in Mr. Potter's eyes, it almost made him reciprocate. Almost, before he'd decided that the situation was way too overwhelming and shrunk the entire file to slip in a pocket of his coat. Goodbye for now. Technically, this was illegal in the Auror Unit or really the Ministry, in whole. But, Harry had little time to rethink the consequences for he should have already left for Ron and Hermione's Burrow. Besides, this case was too intriguing to set aside.
With that, he walked out of his office, like yesterday, like always, locking up and readying himself to pretend people weren't still looking at him.
Harry was nearly 5 minutes to the new Burrow. Ron and Hermione lived in an all-magic village just about a mile from the underground Ministry of Magic. Living so close made the floo network or apparation seem pointless. Besides, for once Harry was allowing himself to think of something outside the Ministry's box.
There was no problem getting carried away every once in a while. Besides, Ron and Hermione's house was hard to miss.
Since destroying a hocrux together in the Chamber of Secrets, Harry's two best-friends became closer than they had ever been before. And it wasn't long after graduation, they got married. It didn't even seem way to soon for Mrs. Weasley had apparently waited for this for a long time, as well as the rest of their friends and family.
They finally moved out of the Burrow and built their own place in Wisteria Village, and have lived there ever since.
His best mate, Ron went on to become a famous quidditch player. In fact, the best keeper the Chudley Cannons had ever seen. And Harry was happy for him, having been his captain back in their Hogwarts years.
As for Hermione, with the grades she got and the extra courses she took, she could've pretty much have had any job the wizard world could offer. So liked her father, Hermione chose something in the medical field and became a nurse at St. Mungos. That, and a mother to the newest flock of adorable, red-headed Weasley babies.
All the while, Harry had been walking and pondering Malfoy's case, when he became vaguely aware of footsteps scooting roughly against the icy sidewalk, a shadow walking a couple meters behind him, and his screaming intuition telling him suddenly that something wasn't right. The person had been mimicking every turn and pace Harry made for some time now. All thoughts of his former Hogwarts nemesis vanished as he began repeatedly shifting his head, trying to get a good glimpse of his follower.
As strange as it sounds, and as to-die-for Harry was, this was the first time somebody had ever adamantly followed him this late at night, and while he wasn't on a case. 'This had better not be another crazed fangirl,' Harry thought, already becoming irritated when the figure's footsteps got louder and more in sync with his own. Nevertheless, Mr. Potter knew exactly what to do in these situations.
First off, the follower can't know he was aware of their presence. So, as impossible as it may be, he was to not turn around or change his walking pattern. No stopping or speeding up, just maintaining the same lazy pace he'd been taking on his route. Second, Harry should not and wouldn't anyways, give them an idea of where he was going in case he failed in confronting them, and they knew where to return. Finally, find a corner to turn on and when they do the same, hold them down, and then proceed to ask questions.
Harry began formulating a plan, the follower already getting dangerously close to his own shadow. He needed to act fast. Eventually, he reached the final block, spotting his friends' house not too far away. Even at that time of night, it was hard to miss. Everything about it, the height, the brick, the windows, and the lights were as loud as the Weasley's bright, red hair. A couple houses away from it was an alleyway, just far enough to keep the person behind him from suspecting. Except, one problem stood in the way and that was the snow on the sidewalk of the block that had not been shoveled like the others. It piled nearly 7 inches, no footsteps breaking the whiteness. But, Harry had to get the follower off his trail and pushed on.
He plowed his way through the snow, his slacks drenched in cold, wet slush after a good couple seconds. Harry kept this up for a minute or so before finally turning a corner into the alley. It was even darker between the two houses, their bricks not half as bright at his friend's and no streetlights to expose him. Except there was still snow in the alley, already breaking from his footsteps. Harry shrugged, leaning against a wall and catching his breath as he awaited his follower. He waited and waited, he counted down multiple times but still, nobody turned the corner. Eventually, Harry risked a peak from behind the bricks to check the sidewalk from which he'd just been on. There was nobody there. Maybe they weren't following him?
Harry checked multiple times after, but still had the looming feeling that something wasn't right about this. Then he looked down at the snow, trying to trace his foot prints back to his shoes. It was then that he saw it. Just in front of his feet were two unfamiliar, identical foot prints that were not his. Harry's eyes widened as he froze, trying to convince himself to look up and face whatever bastard was playing tricks with him. How did they-
Just as Mr. Potter went for his want and tilted his head upwards, he received a right uppercut to the jaw. He'd not been able to get a view of his attacker before he was already getting punched in the face. Harry fell back into the slush from the suddenness and force of the punch, before quickly scrambling to his feet. What the hell? Just as he got up again, he felt another blow, except this time to his stomach. Whoever this bastard was, was abnormally strong. It felt like he'd gotten all the air knocked out of him as he crunched to the ground to wrap his arms around his already bruising stomach. The next time the person made contact with him, they pushed him up against the wall and grabbed him roughly by the chin, forcing Harry to look up at them. The hold they had on Harry was firm and in the current position he was in, wouldn't let him break free. Harry furrowed his eyebrows. Obviously, they knew what they were doing. Finally, the Auror was able to get a good look at his attacker. Or as good as it gets in a dark alley.
"Harry Potter." A voice growled, maniacally. Yep, it was definitely a male. He waited for them to make another move. Apparently, the aggressor had been expecting the same from Mr. Potter, as he didn't advance further and the air around them got quiet again. Then he spoke, this time more amusingly. "They said you'd be hard to catch, Potter."
At first, Harry thrashed against the attacker and attempted to fight back. Despite the lack of light, Harry did his best not to look so surprised, or defeated as he suspected he might've looked. Seeing the stunning turn of events, Harry decided it best to stop trying and go along with whatever they had planned, until he could find a loophole. "Well, congratulations then." The Potter replied, insinuating his words with sarcasm. This earned his a knee the stomach. Harry soon felt like he was going to throw up.
The guy spoke again, this time more calm, but still with a hint of amusement. "Harry Potter." He taunted slowly. "I'd hoped to catch you while still on the sidewalk. You can hardly see what you've done in this light. I think it's time for a change of setting, don't you?"
Before Harry had time to register his words, the unmasked man apparated them into a forest, probably a good many miles from Wisteria Village. The land they were on was probably privately owned because a bunch of spell-lit lanterns hung from the trees all around them. Harry didn't register anything yet, though as he remembered his best-friends. For once, he wanted nothing more than to be at dinner with them in their house, while they badger him about his curious lifestyle. He silently prayed there weren't any more of these guys back at the village. Hopefully, Ron and Hermione would be okay. Anyways, Harry was already late to dinner and he suspected that no matter what happened to him then, Hermione would have his ass about it later.
Somehow the hold the man had on Harry didn't falter, even after their apparation. But eventually, he let go, only to snatch Harry's wand from the pocket of his trench coat and stuff it in his own. After that, he forced Harry to his knees, before pointing his own wand at the Auror and muttering a spell. Suddenly, a mass of chains appeared out of nowhere, tangled itself violently around Harry's body and pressing his body tightly against one of the trees standing tall behind him.
What may confuse you, had confused the strange man, too. Why was Harry Potter acting so cool and curiously submissive about all this?
Yet, Harry continued playing wounded deer while proceeding to size-up his captor.
Nothing unordinary about them, which Harry found befuddling. In fact, they were almost too normal. The man standing before Mr. Potter was probably a good couple years younger than himself, fairly buff, and couldn't have reached more than 6 feet tall. He had buzz-cut, brown hair, with a face so ordinary among fury-glazed features, Harry probably wouldn't remember seeing him 10 times, if he had. Except, Harry did catch a thick, white scar stretched from his left jaw, across his neck, stopping at his right shoulder. Other than that, nothing that memorable. Even when he broke the silence once more, his voice no longer a growl, sounded pretty normal, as well.
"I guess it wouldn't have mattered, would it? You probably don't remember me, anyways. Just like it didn't matter 7 years ago."
Harry waited for the man to elaborate, hoping he'd see small bits of information like that are hardly leads. The man sensed the boredom from the Aurors eyes, too. Yet, he continued to walk back and forth in front of Harry, somehow adding effect to his current dominant position over Harry.
"December 9th, 2002. Does that ring a bell in that oaf brain of yours, Potter?"
Despite the situation, Mr. Potter scoured his brain but failed, not able to pin a point on the day. Harry shook his head.
At this, the man chuckled a sour, humorless laugh. "Of course you wouldn't. What's a day so 'irrelevant' as that to the precious, murder-laden mind of our so-called 'savior?' That, Potter, is the day you took something very special from me. Something you took without rhyme or reason, without a care in the world, something that wasn't yours to take."
He continued. "What's worse? You were rewarded for doing so, and no doubt for doing it again to other people. And they call you a hero. Hero, my arse."
Harry remained under the confinement of the chains, not only failing to break free but to understand what the man meant. "What," he finally spoke. "You want money? A job?"
His captor stopped pacing and stormed right in front of Harry's face, following up with a blow to Harry's left eye. "This isn't something you can just give back to me! No money or job, nor anything else could ever make up for you killing my father!"
Harry tried to intervene but was interrupted, as his captor began to shout. "NO! I wish to God something so materialistic could make up for it or make me forget. I wish even harder that you were able to magically bring him back to life. Hell, I even wish I didn't have to do this!
Before all this, you used to be my idol. I used to look up to the great Harry Potter, our savior and a man they'd said defeated The Dark Lord, who rid the world of evil, a man they said was a good as they get. Then, you murdered my father. December 9th, 2002. I was 13 years old, not too young to feel when something wasn't right and not yet old enough or ready to lose my father. Still, that night I went down the stairs of my house only to witness my dad attempting to run and you casting the unforgivable curse that ended his life. Now, I was sure you'd remember me. When I ran to his cold, lifeless body. When I saw it was Harry Potter. I was shocked but that had faded quickly. The look I gave you was one filled with all the hurt and fury I could muster out of my horrified, adolescent face. I was practically daring you to do the same to me. Then, you walked away."
Harry mouth hung slightly ajar as images and memories began flooding back into his mind. Suddenly, he knew exactly what this guy was talking about. December 9th, 2002. Hardwick Hills. The werewolf case. Murder. Mr. Donoven. His son...
"Joshua Donoven." Harry muttered, looking at the slush-covered ground.
The man's eyes flashed, confirming it.
"There's some stuff about that night you must not understand, Joshua. Or about your father, really."
Joshua huffed in response. "Don't tell me what I do and do not understand! My father was a good man. He'd never done anything wrong, never hurt a fly. Unless, you kill men for weeknight gambles off poker games, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded, pity beginning to churn in his stomach. "And I have no doubt Rufus Donoven used to be a great man."
"Used to be? He was." The man replied, angrily.
Nevertheless, Mr. Potter proceeded. "Tell me, Joshua. Do you know what a werewolf is?"
By the look on Joshua's face, it was almost as if he couldn't believe Harry would be so blunt and random as to ask such a question. Plainly to say, he was super pissed. "W-What-why-I-I don't," he spluttered, incoherently. "Y-yeah, I know what a werew-what does that have to do with my father?!"
Harry sighed, disappointingly. "It has everything to do with your father, Joshua. Now, tell me what you know about werewolves."
Joshua was far from adamant to tell Mr. Potter anything, but nevertheless, continued. "Werewolves are creatures, branching from humans. Part man, part wolf. They are either born from it or bitten by another werewolf. Every full moon, they transform into their wolf selves."
"I see you've done your homework. But did you know when someone is bittern, they may still look human 95% of the month, but can hardly still be considered human? Not in that small, underestimated 5%. Did you know when they turn, practically everything that makes them human vanishes, their personality, their humanity? Did your teacher ever tell you your father was a werewolf?"
The look that replaced Joshua's expression was one of pale, awe-struck realization. He shook his head. "No! My father couldn't have been a werewolf because... he just couldn't!" Joshua must have realized he had no proof against it. Maybe it even made since.
"I'm sorry, Joshua. I wouldn't have done it if not a must. The ministry had proof that not only had he just been turned, but was he spiraling out of control. He was bitten some time presumably in May of the same year. For months, I'd find out he'd slaughtered and devoured more and more people. Eventually, there was only so long I could pretend not to see was what so blatantly shoved by record under my nose.
'What you didn't know about that night, 7 years ago, was that I found your father drunk outside of a bar. He'd just turned when I arrived and had already mauled two locals. I began following him late into the next morning, until he'd made his way back to his house at around 4 O'Clock, still a werewolf. Who knows what he might have done to you or your mom? So, I attacked and was nearly killed by Rufus. You came downstairs, I'm guessing around the time I'd gotten back on my feet. Right as I cast the killing curse, your father transformed back into a man. Unfortunately, you saw the worst part. As it so happens I do remember the look you gave me when you knelt by your father. I can imagine I'd have made the same face, if I had seen my father when he died. So, I left."
Joshua believed him, Harry could tell. He was making the same face Hermione used to make when she was thinking intensely about something.
"You father would have killed me and maybe even you next if I hadn't done what I did. I don't know about you but I didn't feel like letting anybody else, including myself die just yet. I won't ever feel like that. Nevertheless, I'm sorry about your father."
"Is that supposed to make it okay? So what? Who cares if my father was a bloody werewolf? I wouldn't have. I'd have helped him, found him a cure, something..."
"There is no cure. I'm sorry" Harry interrupted, sadly.
"'I'm sorry?' Really? Look at me! It doesn't matter what my dad was and was not, what he did or didn't do, or even whether you really had to or not. I had plans and a life. I wanted to become an Auror when I grew up. But, instead of training to achieve that dream, I'd been training to defeat you. As bastard who I'd caught killing my dad, and not 7 years later, calling him a monster. I don't know about you, Potter, but the only monster I'm seeing is you."
Joshua pulled his wand out again, smoothing the wooden shaft with his fingers. His face once again contorted into a malicious, evil smirk. "I'm going to make you pay, Harry Potter. You've already lost your family and a lot of other things so there's not much leverage there. So, why not do the next best thing and kill you instead? Maybe once your gone, this anxiety and contempt I've been feeling for 7 years now, will finally go away." He pointed his wand directly at Harry's face.
"Joshua," Harry said, trying to sound as calm and sympathetic as possible. "You don't have to do this."
All of the sudden, Joshua's face softened and he hesitantly lowered his wand. "Your'e right... I'd rather torture you first, anyways."
Before Harry could say anything else, Joshua rose his wand again, pointing it and with a quick movement dragging it across Harry's chest. Suddenly, Harry felt a searing pain stretching across his front, causing him to thrash violently against the chains and bellow out from the intensity. He looked down at his white button-up to find it sliced open and stained and the skin beneath it blotched with red. He'd been slashed across the chest and it hurt like hell.
"I'm going to make you wish you were dead. You'll be begging for it. And unlike you, being the merciful person I am, will oblige. Until then..."
Just when the pain had become a little less than completely unbearable, it was back. Harry felt another deep gash carving his skin over both his shoulders, wrapping around and connecting to the first one. Harry screamed from both the indescribable agony but of the sheer peril of it all.
"I was only trying to help." Harry managed to choke out. This only earned him another matching slash across his torso. Once again, he cried out as his shirt tore completely off his body, leaving his chest bare and exposing his new "collection." The winter breeze did anything but help his beaten, bloody body.
Joshua continued to shout at him, all the while. "I want to see your face when I hit you." But, Harry made the mistake of not looking up that very second, still transfixed by his wounds. "I said look at me, damn it!"
With that, Joshua struck Harry with the Cruciatus curse. That was he loudest Harry'd screamed that entire night. With the gashes, his blood, the snow, and now what felt like little bolts of lightening hitting his skin, it was all way too much. The shocks coursing through his body from the unforgivable curse, caused more blood to gush from his slashes. Eventually, his body was convulsing so hard, he somehow managed to squeeze out of the chains and fall to the even colder ground, doubling over in pain.
Harry hated every moment of it. Not only was that one of the most painful experiences ever, but he could no longer feel himself, couldn't get up, couldn't move a muscle. The snow beneath him was already stained red and the ugly color began spreading all around him. At this rate, it wouldn't be long before he would drain and die.
The lanterns that had surrounded them had all burnt out by now leaving them even more inconspicuous in the dark, star-covered night.
"Please." Harry cried one last time.
Joshua laughed maniacally at the revelation and walked closer to Harry's helpless and near lifeless body. "Finally." He muttered, using his wand to push Harry's bangs out of the way, and pointing the tip directly against Harry's scar. The one that caused all the problems. The one that started it all.
Then, something totally spontaneous and magical and out-of-this-world, crazy happened.
"Draco." Harry couldn't remember when or why he said the same. But for some reason, the way it slipped off his tongue so reflexively, harmoniously and familiarly sent tingles all over his body. Like he was born to say the name, like he'd said it before. His heart thumped rapidly in his chest, almost daring to fall out.
Even in their Hogwarts years, Harry had only ever regarded the guy by his last name, as Malfoy did him. Did that name even come from his mouth or was he imagining it? He hadn't even been thinking about him. Harry had no reason in the world to say his former nemesis' name. Plus, he'd said it so plainly and sure-of-himself. What did he expect would happen? Did he subconsciously think Draco Malfoy would just swoop down after 17 years of animosity and 10 years of absence into the middle of nowhere, and rescue him?
"Any last words, Potter?" Joshua said, tantalizingly. But, Harry attention had shifted to something else, his eyes gazing off dreamily at something just above his captor's head. Joshua didn't have to look up when the thing Harry had been looking at fell in front of them, landing on Harry's frosty lips. A feather. That's strange. But, there it was, clear as day and whiter than the snow not yet soaked in Harry's blood.
"What the-" Joshua didn't get to finish that statement, as his body was shoved roughly off of Harry's body with a force so incredibly inhuman, it broke the 22 year-old's arm against the snow.
Draco Malfoy couldn't remember how or when it happened. All he remembered was being whole-bodily consumed with an excruciating desire to find something... to help something. But he did know this then and that was that there was only one thing he truly desired above all else in this shameless world he lived in. It was Harry. His Harry.
Next thing he knew, the chains that were said-to-be "unbreakable," the chains that had become somewhat family to him crumbled into pieces at his feet. For the first time in ten years, Draco could see the part of his wrists inked with silver tattoos and he'd suspected were red form the uncomfortable cuffs digging into his sensitive skin.
Draco's eyes widened but had no time to register the consequences of breaking free, before he realized this could've only meant one thing. Harry was in trouble.
No... No... No!
Instinctively, Draco stretched open the metal bars that had confined him for so long, as if they were made of rubber. He suddenly became aware of two shadows emitting from his back. Draco looked and saw a man, him, and two half-heart shaped, feathery wings on either side of his body.
As the Veela flew from the dungeon, he didn't consider any practical thing. Not once. Not the parts of his house he hadn't seen in so long whizzing past his vision as he flew across rooms. Not even when he busted open the front doors, letting himself outside for the first time in what seemed forever. Draco had been sure it was daytime, he must have lost track of time at some point. Feeling completely exposed, the light of the moon and the overdramatic Stars nearly blinded him.
Oh my God...
Everything about well,... everything seemed so surreal and imaginary. Draco finally managed to look at the unworthy sky, and decided it used to be much prettier. Now, it reeked of the very thing he despised. That he was about to prevent from happening. Nevertheless, he flew across that ungrateful sky, letting his Veela's intuition carry him away.
Joshua groaned in pain, but found that that wasn't the only thing he was in for.
He was struck again and again, repeatedly as if, when the time came, killing him once wasn't hardly enough. And to him it never would be. It never would never make up for hurting his mate.
Draco felt his wings draw in as he landed at his destination. And what he saw would forever be burned in his memory.
His mate. A face he'd been dreaming about for 10 years, but even more beautiful than in any picture or fantasy. God, he was so beautiful. Draco had not seen Harry in person since graduation. Yet, the man was still as gorgeous as when they were young. The feeling that spread all throughout Draco's body was warm, and flowery but still needed to be completely satisfied.
Draco's eyes continued to roam across his mate's too-good-to-be-true body until he reached Harry's chest. It was laden with scars and blood so unmistakable even in the harsh darkness of the night. All so fast, Draco's fuzzy feels melted and molded into a white hot ball of fury. He quickly connected the dots from the wounds to the man grinning evilly above his mate.
No!
Draco swooped down as quick as possible, jumping the man who'd been ready to kill his mate. Oh, he obviously had a death wish. Maybe Draco would've treated him more mercifully but at the time, neither himself nor his Veela side would allow such lenience. He had never felt so angry in his entire life. Draco Malfoy was beyond furious, beyond seething, he was murderous.
It could be seen all over his face as his feet touched the unfamiliar snow and his toes tickled the hidden grass beneath it.
For once in a long time, Narcissa Malfoy relaxed in her bed and yawned. 'It sure is quiet.' She thought.
Then, she rethought that statement and rethought it, again. What in the-
The Malfoy Mistress gasped aloud and shot straight up from her pillow. She wasted not a second afterward, jumping to her feet and racing out of her room, and taking multiple stairs, two-steps at a time. When she reached the dungeon, she made her way to Draco's cell, waiting to see one of her greatest fear come to life. Her son had killed himself.
But no. What met her eyes was so far from it, so great, she couldn't believe it. Her son was gone from his cell, the bars had been stretched and the feather-covered chains were in pieces on the floor.
As it goes, Mrs. Malfoy dropped to her knees, burying her face in her hands. Maybe she was crying? Maybe she was praying?
But, when Lucius Malfoy followed Narcissa to the dungeons and caught her on her knees, he could have sworn on his life, his wife was laughing with joy.
As expected, from Draco's fingernails grew claws which at full length cut deeply into Joshua's face. And Draco didn't care. All he knew was that his Harry was hurt, and this son-of-a-bitch was trying to kill him, now he was the one who was going to die.
Joshua cried out in pain, forgetting all about Harry and his plan. He even dared to fight back. But, Draco had more obviously the better advantage and grabbed him by the neck, hurling him to the right, Joshua's back then colliding with the trunk of a tree.
Finishing the job, Draco grabbed him roughly by each side of jaw and snapped his neck. Even after Joshua stopped breathing, Draco continued to claw at his life-less body. Then he remembered...
Turning around, Draco got his first good look at his mate. His love. He made his way toward a sight that nearly broke his heart, had he not been pining after this moment for over a decade.
Harry's eyes were shut so he didn't see the heartbroken expression on Draco's face when he saw his mate.
Harry's body was soaked in his own blood, his face and stomach were severely bruised, and he looked as if, if something fly-sized were to even graze his precious skin, he might break to pieces.
Yet, somehow Harry managed to still look as beautiful and arousing as ever. Was this all just a dream? Was Draco about to wake up to find himself chained up in the Malfoy Manor dungeons?
Draco wanted nothing more than to make Harry's pain disappear, to maybe take it on for him so at least his mate wouldn't be in pain. He knelt down next to Harry's beaten and battered form, already swelling from the cold.
The first time they touched, Draco used his thumb to caress Harry's cheek, and wipe a tear from his eye. When he did so, something of a shock or bolt of lightening struck his finger. It was made of something so pent up and pleasurable Draco couldn't keep himself from further exploring his property. His hands roamed all over Harry's face, neck, shoulders, arms, chest, anywhere he could make contact with. Draco's body was practically on fire with pleasure.
However, even in unconsciousness Harry's body was shivering as his skin proceeded to change its hue from olive to blue. Draco then did the only thing he thought to do to keep his mate alive and laid down, pulling Harry into his body, and wrapping his Veela wings around both their forms, shielding them from both the cold, and the evils of the outside world.
After some time, Draco could here Harry's heartbeat slow down and tucked in his wings, picked up Harry's innocent, broken body, and began walking. He savored all the emotions and tingles Harry unconsciously caused Draco to feel so harmoniously.
At some point on their walk, Harry's eyes fluttered open, for just a smidgen of a second. The last thing Harry remembered before his world faded once again into sheer blackness was a pair of strikingly, familiar silver eyes staring possessively back at him.
To be continued...
A/N: The theme song for this first chapter is Better Off Alone by Alice Deejay. I used to listen to this song when I was younger and I just think the lyrics (even lack thereof) really coordinate with the mood I'm trying to set for this chapter... or really this whole story.
Seriously tho, COMMENT! VOTE! I'm pretty self-conscience when it comes to my writing. Which is prob why I always delete shit from my profile and never finish anything. I hope it wasn't too bad...
Until next time...