A/N: Hello people who are reading this!
This story will contain slash, meaning male/male action! (Not the awesome guitarist.) If you don't like it, then don't read this fic.
This fic is rated M, as in not for little kiddies, because of… "Drum roll, please"… Slash, MPreg, Dom/Sub, multiple mates, language, languages, original creatures, bitching, naughty jokes, and quite a few others things too.
DISCLAIMER: I did not create a world of magic and mayhem! I did not create the gorgeous duo that is Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter! I AM NOT J.K. ROWLING! I am me. I created the plot, the original characters, and hopefully a few smiles on your faces.
There is an abundance of creatures in this fic!
This is a WORK IN PROGRESS people! The rate of upload depends upon my muse and my work schedule.
A very, very special 'thank you' to AlyceLovesShadow for the first ever review of this fic!
The count is now up to: Reviews= 346, Favourites=330, Followers=527!
*This is the second re-written chapter.*
Translations and review replies are to be found at the end of the chapter.
All reviews, questions, and constructive criticisms are welcome!
Chapter Two: Mon Chaton
-5th June-
"As I was saying, Mon Chaton, zee first guests shall arrive at six o'clock. We shall meet zem in zee parlour for tea, zen we shall move into zee ballroom for when zee ozzer guests arrive an 'our later. Zere shall be a string quartet, and zere shall be waiters about ze room wiz les hors d'oeuvres. Zere shall be dancing, and I am sorry, but you shall 'ave to dance wiz ze Parkinson girl. 'Er muzzer was almost rude when she arranged ze dance wiz me. I 'ope zat you do not choose 'er, Mon Chaton." The cool, yet affectionate voice was laced with concern. She did not want her darling boy, Son Chaton, to be trapped by the pug-faced gold-digger.
"Do not worry, Maman, I would rather freeze my blood than let it be warmed by 'Darling Pansy'. She is truly revolting." Her son's voice was reassuring, as was his comforting hand, but the cold distain that dripped from his voice when he talked about his 'Darling Pansy' made her nervous. Her son had a potent mix of her passion and culture, and the cold intellect and cunning of his father. He would be a force to be reckoned with when he matured.
"D'accord. Now zat zat is finished, you should go to bed, Mon Cher. You should not be tired for your birzday ball!" She stood up and kissed both of her son's cheeks. She fell nervous, but she knew that there was no reason to be. It wasn't in the stars for her son to Inherit tonight. She was sure of it.
Even since she was a little girl, she had felt a strong connection with the stars. As a Black she had a long history with the constellations, and both Astronomy and Astrology had been her best subjects at Beauxbatons. She had spent many a night gazing at the sky in the tallest tower of her school. It was one of the things that she had missed most when she transferred to Hogwarts for her sixth year. The Hogwarts Astronomy Tower was adequate, but it was used more for late night liaisons than to wonder at the beauty of the night. She had had such easy access to Le Tour D'Étoiles, but she had been stifled in the dungeons of Hogwarts.
"Bonne nuit, Maman." Her son replied, bringing her for her thoughts. "Et merci pour ton travail." His French was perfect as it was his first language, having been raised by his Maman and a French House elf. He had learned English later on, and had an upper-class accent that was influenced by his French when he was emotional. He was also fluent in Latin and Russian.
With a parting kiss upon his mother's forehead, the soon to be sixteen-year-old walked away, politely ignoring his mother's nervous state. If the problem was important for him to know, his mother would tell him without needing to be prodded for the information.
..~*~..
For some reason he couldn't sleep. He had tried everything short of a sleeping potion as the night had worn on, but nothing had worked. It was really starting to annoy him.
So he lay on his luxurious black sheets, on his majestic silver and dark wood four-poster bed. He had begun practising wandless magic at the start of the year, and by now he was quite good at it. So he cast a 'tempus' charm, and lay in his bed, staring at the slowly changing numbers that hovered before him.
He thought about the ball that was being thrown in honour of his birthday party the next day. Mother had insisted upon it, but he had wanted just a small formal dinner with his family and close friends, not that he had many, followed by a few drinks and musical performances. But no, Mother had insisted upon a huge hullabaloo of a ball. At least, he supposed, it was an excuse to dress up and dance.
He wondered about who would attend. His mother had already mentions the Parkinsons and the Greengrasses, but who else? The Crabbes and Goyles would attend, of course, as would his best-friend, Blaise Zabini's family. Then there would be the Notts, the Davis', and the Bulstrodes. There would also be a mass of foreign political families, and a wide array of eligible young ladies that would be carted in to meet him. He was, after all, the heir to a very rich and politically active Pureblood family. It was a shame that it wasn't to his tastes to enjoy the women, as they would all be very pretty, with both money and high social standing.
There would be many gifts, first from his close friends and family in the parlour, and then piles of presents from the other guests, that would be collected on a table at the edge of the Ballroom. He was excited, and yet he felt an odd sense of foreboding.
Something wasn't quite right.
His thoughts echoed about his head as a sharp spike of fiery pain shot up his spine. The fire spread through his veins, bathing a body that was so used to ice in fire. He was burning. Sparks flashes across his vision, and they were shut out as he closed his eyes, trying to protect them from the heat. His magic began to buzz deeply, becoming tangible in the air of his bed chamber. A concentrated ring of magic bloomed around his thrashing body, the buzz in the air and the screams in his mind blocking out the sobs that came from outside his door. The flames became hotter at the base of his spine, behind and over his eyes, at his hairline above his temples, and over the skin of his face, neck, and back. The flames strengthened at the tips of his fingers and toes. His muscles screamed and his bones groaned. The flames began to throb in time with his magic, a harsh, tribal rhythm that made his frantically beating heart fly.
Then, with a final, powerful, throb, the fire was no more.
He lay there in shock, collecting his breath, calming his racing heart. Then, after twitching to see if he could move, he raised his arm and went to click his fingers for a House elf. His hand didn't co-operate.
Glancing at it, he let out a yelp in surprise. What should have been a pale, long-fingered hand was now a huge paw, covered with long, thick white fur that was spotted with grey. He wiggled his paw, trying to understand the situation.
He must have Inherited something.
So much for 'Pureblood'.
He felt a flash of anger towards his parents. How dare they keep this from him? How dare they go on about the merits and superiorities of Purebloods, denouncing those of lesser purity, when they themselves were not pure? A deep growl began to thunder in his chest.
He leapt off his bed, and landed on the floor on his feet. All four of them. Looking down, he confirmed his suspicions. He was some sort of feline.
He stalked across his bedroom floor, his strong claws unsheathed in his anger. He looked at himself in the mirror.
A huge Snow Leopard stared back at him.
His shoulder stood at least six feet tall, his neck and head adding another. His legs were long and muscular, and his paws had a span of at least ten inches. His body was seven feet long, and his tail was at least four and a half feet long. His coat was the purist white, adorned with open florets of varying sizes and varying shades of grey. His eyes were large and two shades darker than his original shade of grey, very expressive with the emotions that would not have been allowed on his human face.
He was beautiful.
But he had to change back.
With that thought the heat started again at the base of his spine. But this time it was different- now it was more of a gentle warmth than an engulfing flame. His magic and the fire didn't throb; instead they gently hummed, making his body tingle. The transition between forms seemed to improve with practise.
Now in his human form, he stood up from the ground to look at himself once more.
But he didn't look truly human.
The Inheritance had stretched his frame. He now stood at 6'3", three inches taller than he had been the day before. His shoulders were broader and his muscles were far more defined, looking smooth and hard as rock. His skin was still as pale as before, but now his complexion was completely clear, marred only by long-healed scars. It seemed to glow.
Then he realised that he hadn't turned on a light.
He could see in the dark!
He saw a flicker of movement, and he stilled. He still had the tail, though it had shortened to a length of three foot. What else did he still possess from his Snow Leopard form?
His feet looked human, but when he flexed his toes, his toe nails were replaced by smaller versions of his previous claws. His legs were human, strong and shapely beneath his black silk pyjama bottoms. His tail had torn a hole in the back of the said bottoms. His hips were still narrow. His chest muscles rippled beneath his skin as he shifted his weight, and his waist was slightly smaller. He didn't possess an ounce more fat than he needed.
His gaze lifted to his face, and once again he stilled in shock.
He had TATTOOS.
They were pure black and elegant, whilst incredibly masculine and tribal. They started at his eyebrows, smooth swirls of different shades of grey that reminded him of the florets on his coat. His eyes followed the trail they made across his cheekbones and jaw, highlighting the bone structure of his aristocratic features. They continued to the back of him neck and, he saw by looking over his shoulder with his back half-facing the mirror, down his spine. They merged from swirls of grey at the base of his neck into florets that were very similar to those of his coat. They bloomed in size as they travelled down his spine, until the centre of his back when they began to shrink until they met the base of his tail.
Turning back to face the mirror, he realised that the tattoos weren't the only difference to his face.
His jaw was stronger, less pointy than before. His cheekbones were broader, making him lose the last bit of androgyny from his face. His eyes were larger, the pupils vertical slits of midnight black, surrounded by a smoky grey that was two shades darker than his original eye colour. His nose was stronger, less delicate than before, but without looking ugly. His lips were fuller, flushed a pale pink that set of his pale skin beautifully. One final difference caught his attention. He had a pair of pure white cat's ears peeking out of the white-blond hair above his temples.
He looked good, he decided, his pleasure shown by his trade-mark smirk.
But he had to look human.
Again the warmth started at the base of his spine, and a few moments later he re-opened his eyes.
His eyes were still darker, his lips fuller and pinker, his cheekbones broader and his jaw stronger. But his tattoos and his cat ears were gone, as were his catlike pupils and his tail. He now looked like he had had a huge growth spurt overnight, and had hit the gym for the past year religiously. In other words, he looked older, more masculine, and sexier. He couldn't complain.
Then he heard a muffled sound outside his bedroom. It sounded like his mother… Sobbing.
No matter how angry he was, he couldn't stand to hear his Maman cry. So he went to find her.
As soon as he opened his bedroom door and stepped out, his arms were filled with his sobbing mother.
"Oh Draco, I am so sorry," She gasped out between sobs. "I sort zat it wouldn't 'appen. I sort zat you would be safe!"
Draco couldn't do anything but comfort the distressed woman in his arms.
"Je t'aime Draco, et je suis désole!" She clung tightly to her son, her sobs wracking her small frame.
"Je sais Maman, et je t'aime aussi." Draco murmured, hugging his mother tightly.
She would explain everything later. Now, she just needed her son's shoulder to cry on.
Secretly, Draco needed her for comfort too. Tonight had been traumatic.
Everything would be explained later on.
..~*~..
"Draco." The voice was cold and commanding. Draco froze in the middle of the corridor, repressed a shudder, and made sure that his 'Malfoy Mask' was firmly in place before he turned around.
"Yes, Father?"
"I wish to speak with you in my office. Come." Lucius said, his icy gaze stabbing at Draco. He then turned on his heel with a dramatic swish of his robes, and strode off to his office, never bothering to glance back. His … son was obedient.
Draco stood frozen for a moment longer, but this time in anger. He was a Dominant Katyarana! How dare his pathetic, human, father presume to order him about? He fought to keep in his 'human' form- His 'true' form wanted to come out and roar and force the pathetic human to submit to him. He was no Submissive.
After a moment he forced himself to relax, his 'Malfoy Mask' reappearing to cover his aristocratic features. He squared his shoulders, and followed his father. A mantra ran in his mind.
'Must. Keep. Control. Must. Keep. Control. Must. Keep. Control. Must. Keep. Control.'
The mantra continued as he journeyed across the manor to his father's office. Inside, his father sat down on a chair that would have been more at home in a throne room than in a home office. Draco sat down on a chair that was on the other side of a large Lois XV desk.
He met his father's gaze for a moment, but forced himself to drop his gaze. His father didn't like to be challenged. He still had scars before to prove it.
"Draco, your mother recently bestowed upon me some rather… Troubling news." Lucius told his son, his dull grey eyes glinting with malice.
"And what were those news, Father?" Draco asked, following etiquette with what appeared to outsiders as cool, yet polite interest. Inside his Katyarana growled, begging to be let out to squish the pathetic human.
"It seems Draco," He spat out his son's name with disgust, "That you gained more than some height and muscle from your Inheritance." His sneered at the boy before him. How dare his son mar the Malfoy name with his genetic defect?
"Is that so, Father?" Draco replied, barely stopping himself from spitting out the word 'father'. Both of his other forms were growling now, deep and threatening within his chest. He could feel the sound building, but his 'human' form kept it in check. The 'human' Draco could not growl.
"Yes it is, boy." Lucius sneered. "I have tolerated your… differences before," He glared at his son, "But this is unacceptable. Action must take place."
Lucius stood, placing a firm hand on the head of his cane, and glared down at his son. His glare intensified and he sneered again when his son mirrored the action, only without the cane.
"I demand to see what else changed." Lucius said. His tone was colder than a glacier, and held a strong bite. But Draco was not going to be intimidated by the pathetic human.
Draco walked forward slowly, more of a prowl than his customary saunter. He stopped when he was toe to toe with Lucius, and absently noted that he was two inches taller as he sneered down at the pathetic human.
"I. Refuse." Draco ground out. He was not a performing monkey, a pet to change forms at the will of its master. He was a Dominant, not a Submissive.
But his Dominant Katyarana status was forgotten as he fell to the floor in agony. Instead he was Draco Malfoy, a boy of eleven, writhing silently around on the floor. He had learned over the years that his father would get bored and lift the curse quicker if he didn't scream. He had also learned that being beaten by a Mudblood was not acceptable.
The curse was lifted, and a sharp-toed boot kicked his foetal-positioned body.
"What was that, boy?" The cold, sharp voice asked.
Draco tried to get up, but was forced down by another kick, and then a foot that was placed on his chest.
That final position broke his control. HE WAS NOT A SUBMISSIVE!
With a growl he grabbed the leg and pushed it of him, changing form simultaneously as he leapt up, the usual warmth hotter in the speed of his change.
He kicked Lucius over from where he had been trying to get up, and planted his foot on his former father's chest. He chuckled darkly, his cat-like eyes dark and thundering.
"I will never, never, submit to you again, you filthy, pathetic little human." He growled between his fanged teeth. Years of anger and pain bubbled in his chest, the agonised cries of an eleven-year-old ringing in his ears. It took all of his control not to kill the man.
"Vous n'êtes pas mon père, Lucius." He snarled, his accent thick with his anger and pain. He leaned onto the foot that was pressing down on Lucius' chest, and smiled darkly when Lucius hissed in pain. He added a little more pressure for emphasis, and then moved off. He stunned Lucius with a flick of his wrist, and stalked out of the office, his three-foot-long tail held straight out and bristled behind him.
..~*~..
"Maman?" Draco called softly, knocking on his mother's parlour door.
There was a shuffling noise, and then the gilded door opened, revealing his tear-stained mother. She looked at him and gasped, freezing on the spot. After a moment he realised what had frozen her- it was the first time she had seen his 'true' form.
He smiled softly, his eyes half-closing, his cat-ears facing forward and tilting slightly back, his tail curving down and then up at the tip, level with his muscled calves.
"Salut Maman. Oui, c'est moi." He said, crouching down to meet her eyes at her height of 5'8". He loved her height- it was perfect for him to rest his chin on top of her head when they embraced. And embrace his mother he did.
He pulled her into his strong, yet relaxed arms, holding her like one would hold a fine china doll- with the utmost care. He rubbed his cheek over the crown of her long blond hair, a shade darker than his, and breathed in the familiar, homey scent of his Maman. She was his Pride.
After a few moments, Narcissa snapped out of her shock, and buried her head in the crevice between her son's neck and shoulder. She started to cry anew, and the sobs wracked her delicate frame. Draco realised that she wasn't crying in shock because of his Inheritance, not this time, no, this time she was crying about the situation that they were in. She hadn't expected to see him again, not at least as healthy as he was now. But she could tell that her bastard of a husband had cursed Son Chaton- his muscles spasmed and twitched as he held her, and his aura was tired and damaged.
That bastard had touched son garçon one too many times. Her tears stemmed and her eyes narrowed in anger.
Feeling the change in his mother, Draco drew back from the embrace to look at her. What he saw almost made him pity the pathetic human that he had once called his father. But he shook his head at her.
"We do not have time to kill him, Maman." He told her in French, his tone strong and commanding. "I only stunned him wandlessly- there is no way of knowing when he will wake. We must leave, Maman."
Narcissa's face formed a silent question- where would they go?
Draco chuckled lightly and pulled his mother back into his embrace.
"To Severus, of course." He murmured into her hair, smiling at the thought of his Godfather.
..~*~..
Severus Snape owned two houses. One was dreary, old, and full of dark magic. The other was his home. Only four people knew about his home- Dumbledore, Narcissa Malfoy, his Godson Draco, and himself.
There was a sound of the floo being activated in the living room, followed by the sound of two bodies and baggage.
Speak of the devil.
He cast a hasty stasis charm on the potion he was brewing, and made his way to the living room. What he saw there made him freeze in shock.
Standing in his living room, surrounded by settling ash, was a Dominant Katyarana.
Automatically, it seemed, he bent his head and rested his chin on his chest, submitting to the Katyarana.
A soft chuckle sounded across the room, and a moment later a strong, pale hand reached out and lifted his chin. His eyes widened at who he saw.
It was his Godson.
Gone was the only-just-brushing-six-foot boy who had slight muscles and a rather androgynous face. In his stead stood a 6'3" man, with strong shoulders, and a muscled torso that lead to slim hips. Behind those hips a three-foot-long snow leopard's tail hung. The man's face was handsome and aristocratic, yet made feral by the snow leopard ears, the fanged teeth, and the cat-like pupils. Not to mention the 'tattoos'. Severus had never seen one of the Katyarani before, but in the books it was said that the size, pattern and shade of the 'tattoos' were unique to each Dominant, and that they often depicted some of the traits of the Dominant they adorned. Draco's were-
The hand holding his chin spasmed and Draco rocked back on his heels, fighting to remain conscious. Recognising the symptoms, Severus grabbed Draco and dragged him to a small room that adjoined the living room, mentally cursing Lucius viciously along the way. The room had been christened the 'sick bay'. He barked orders at Narcissa, focussing on Draco and casting diagnostic spells. After getting the results, he grabbed the different vials of potions from Narcissa's hands, and got Draco to swallow them before pushing the teen back onto the bed. One of the potions had been a sleeping draft, and it soon took effect.
He breathed in deeply once, then twice, calming his heart and mind as he looked over his Godson.
As small, soft hand slipped into his hold, and he interlaced their fingers. Narcissa rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh, and Severus turned to place a kiss on her crown of silken blonde hair.
The women he loved had married men that he hated. One had died, and now the other was here.
Maybe one day she would see him in the same light. Until then, he was content with looking after his… family. It was the closest to the real thing he had ever had.
To be continued…
French to English translation!
'Mon Chaton'= My Kitten
'Les hors d'oeuvres'= Posh finger food, similar to canapés.
'Son Chaton'= Her Kitten
'Maman'= Mum, Mom, Mummy, Mam, Mama, etc…
'D'accord'= Okay, Alright, etc…
'Le Tour D'Étoiles'= Star Tower (Literally 'Tower of the stars')
'Bonne nuit', Maman= Good night, Mum.
'Et merci pour ton travail'= And thank you for your work.
'Je t'aime Draco, et je suis désolée'= I love you Draco, and I am sorry.
'Je sais Maman, et je t'aime aussi'= I know Mum, and I love you too.
'Vous n'êtes pas mon père, Lucius'= You are not my father, Lucius
'Maman'= Mum, Mom, Mama, Mam, etc…
'Salut Maman. Oui, c'est moi'= Hello Mum. Yes, it's me.
'Son Chaton'= Her kitten
'Son garçon'= Her boy
Review Responses:
FanFan: Thank you for your support, I hope that you enjoyed this chapter.
Signora Lilium: You're absolutely correct! I made an error whilst uploading this fic, and is selected Harry/Draco instead of the intended Draco/Harry. As you may have understood from this chapter, this fic is a Dom/Sub creature!fic. Harry is most definitely a sub.
Mochi flavoured fun: Darling, Harry is in no way, shape, or form a female. He is a submissive creature.
Myrkky: It seems that you have great timing! Harry at the moment is in a very defensive and submissive state of mind. Sirius' death took the rug out from under his feet, and now his body is being trampled by his hormones because of his recent inheritance. I believe that he would have been very hormonal leading up to his inheritance, too. But fear ye not! Harry will get his fire back!
Thank you too all of the new followers and favouriters!
Post A/N: All reviews and questions are welcome!