7. Rebirth
Our steps are slow and calculated, I can feel his thoughts as if they are tangible entities, they smother me. I know that he wishes to never hurt me as he did before and is fighting his conscious because he is more deadly afraid of hurting me so cruelly again.
I love the feelings that course through me, like acid and vinegar, they eat away at my insides. I love being needed, I love being owned, but unlike with Voldemort or father, Harry needs me for himself and only himself not to fulfill some sadistic plan of world domination.
We've stopped outside the dining hall, in front of the towering doors, I can see his friends approaching us, coming from the Gryfindor wing. Harry was saying something, I did not hear, I can see the anger in his eyes and almost feel his arm tensing. I open myself to him in ever way, he needs to learn, to relearn, not to hold back. At least for me but perhaps it would be well of him to learn to release his anger towards others as well.
His eyes narrow and an almost guttural sound issues from his throat. He grabs my arm and squeezes it painful, his hand goes back and I prepare myself mentally for the coming blow. It stings, his hand across my cheek, with demon like furry, it stings. He didn't hold back, I feel my head snap back and if his hand had not held my arm I would have fallen to the floor.
His friends gasp, along with those in the dining hall, they saw everything. They should be shocked, if I was in there position I would have been shocked too, Harry Potter, never acts as such. Harry Potter is kind and good, and he should be for he's the savior of the wizarding world but neither are they infused with cursed veela DNA, no, they know nothing.
"Listen to me when I am talking to you, understand?" he hisses, regardless it carries throughout the silent hall. Bracing my feet I gather my strength enough to support my own body, "Yes, Master." I murmur. He smiles and pulls me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me, "Good." He mutters into my hair, kissing the top of my head gently, like a parent would a child.
His friends run over, they stand beside my mate, eyes still wide with shock. "Harry, you just, what happened?" Granger said, reaching to put a hand on Harry's arm.
I felt myself bristle and a growl escaped my throat, "Don't touch him," I snarled, watching her hand pull back as if she had been bitten.
Harry's grip around me tightened painfully and I cried out softly, a whimper escaping my lips. "Don't, Draco. They, are, my friends. You will respect their privileges as such." Harry said, watching my eyes as he slowly loosened his painful grip on me.
"Yes," I gasp, stepping back as his arms release me.
His friends. I turn to face them, watching them critically. Weasley tenses like a wary cat and Granger looks curious as usual. I fight down my customary snide remarks and bite my tongue to fight down the trademark smirk. Instead, I take a deep breath and slowly, very stiffly, bow to them. As a finish I glance over towards my mate, a wave of relief washes over me as I see the pleased look on his face. A glance back at my mates friends show Weasley looking like a fish out of water and even Granger looking a little shocked.
Harry grabs my hand and proceeds to lead me the Gryfindor table. He sits down and I followed his example, Granger and Weasley not far behind. The entire hall fill with voices, gossiping about what they had just seen but it doesn't matter. As long as I have Harry everything is perfect, and I could die happy if I didn't know that it would hurt him so much. I slowly pick through my food, occasionally serving various items to Harry. His friends watch him.
"How do you know what he wants?" Hermione asks, "You may be his mate but, you hardly know him, how do you know exactly what foods he wants?" I look up at her and smile, or rather smirk, I couldn't keep it down, Harry glances over and a small smile playing his lips. It's rather interesting, we both hold the grandest secret in the world, each other.
He nods slightly and I turn back towards Gran-no-Hermione. "Magic?" I murmur sarcastically.
Ron rolls his eyes and Hermione blinks furiously.
I laugh lightly, "No, sorry…I know because I watch him. When he wants something he looks at it briefly, all you have to do is watch him."
They ask no more questions which was a very good thing considering I felt completely drained of courtesy. Breakfast ended quite without incident although after the little show before it left little that could compete. As we leave for our first classes I notice out of the corner of my eye, Dumbledore, winking at us, in that horrible humorous way that makes you think he knows your every secret and finds it a grand joke. I wouldn't be surprised if it was true.
First class of the day, double potions. I haven't seen Snape since the night before. I feel a slight wince of guilt in the knowledge that he probably hates me now, as he hates Harry. He used to be one of the only ones who truly knew what it was like to be surrounded by death eaters, death and plans of conquest. Guilt, its pain is refreshing.
As we enter the class room, he bursts through the door, slamming it behind him in his usual melodrama. By now most have gotten used to it. Neville still flinches but than again he flinches at almost everything. Snape starts giving out instructions immediately for some powerful difficult potion in that impossible fashion of his, always saying the instructions much too rapidly for proper notes. He then sorts us into partners, usually the most incompatible pairs he can manage. He is completely bent on destroying all the slackers which for him is eighty percent of the class, including Slytherins.
Snape pauses for a moment when he comes to my name, his eyes locking onto Harry. Harry meets his gaze with complete malice. Grimacing, Snape continues to read off pairs. Harry and I together, probably an intervention of Dumbledore's, I wouldn't doubt. Harry begins to sort our ingredients and randomly hand them to me, I suppose not randomly. It took me a second to realize that he was handing me half the ingredients to mix into the pot already sorted into the time deviations from each other that they needed to be mixed. Harry is not as incompetent as I previously thought but perhaps his partners were, of course guilt again. Before I was the main partner of Harry and I spent half the time trying to get him to make a mistake. My fault.
I slowly methodically begin preparing the ingredients, everything went perfectly for a while but I knew it couldn't last. Harry became anxious and irritated at my lack of speed although it wasn't required. I finished preparations and found Harry waiting for the last ingredient, mine.
"Draco," He murmurs, "give me your hand."
I did as he said, slowly giving to him my left hand nearest to him, fully aware to the fact that it would be very stupid to give him my dominate hand.
He lays my hand palm down upon the table, turning around to pick up his scalpel which he had used to dissect the essential ingredient from the otherwise useless Goreget eye. He carefully wipes it upon his robe and I, attempt to suppressed my fear. It is then that Snape takes that precise moment to step up alongside our caldron, to check our results.
Harry looks up at him and smiles slightly, "May we go to the hospital wing, Professor Snape?"
Snape glares at us for a moment, "I do not see anything the matter that would require aid, Mr. Potter."
Harry's smile disappears and is replaced with a sickly frown, "Not yet."
He looks over at me and at the same instant imbeds the scalpel into my hand. I suppress the scream rising in my throat, swallow the groan of agony. A whimper did manage to creep out along with a solitary tear sliding down my cheek as Harry ripped the scalpel out again. He clutchs my hand with his own, never fully taking his eyes off Snape, who's face is contorted into a mask of shock and rage.
I know that Harry is provoking him, I know he can't win, at least not in Harry's eyes. If Harry thinks anything like my father or most of the veela's I have met, only death will satisfy him, or sometimes, if the veela in question is in a good mood, exstreme physical mutilation or permanently debilitating punishments. Veela's aren't nice creatures.
"Please allow us to go to the hospital wing." I breath through gritted teeth, "You see I'm in a lot of pain and bleeding all over your floor."
Snape blinks, as if just now remembering where he is, he can't seem to gain his tongue but instead gives a stern nod. And we leave.
