CHAINS OF EARTH CHAPTER TWELVE
Mar. 31st, 2010 09:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dysonrulesSorry so late! This chapter had issues! Loads of thanks to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
alaana_fair for fixing them for me. WOOT! I owe her something BIG. (And HARD.) (And attached to someone pretty and MUTE.)
*really distracted now*
ONWARD!
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Twelve
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
- Kahil Gibran
Harry was giddy. He felt like he was floating as Draco ascended the stairs, carrying him as though he were weightless. He decided there was something special about having a boyfriend with superior strength. Not that Draco was his boyfriend, or even his lover, yet. Hopefully, that would be remedied very soon.
He kissed Draco again, forcing him to stop rather than walk them into a wall. Draco laughed when Harry pulled away.
“Eager?”
“You have no idea,” Harry said breathlessly.
Draco continued on into the bedroom and tossed Harry haphazardly onto the centre of the bed. “Clothes off,” he said thickly.
Harry’s breath caught and for a brief instant he wondered if Draco was playing a horrible trick on him; that he planned to humiliate him at the worst possible moment.
But then Draco reached up and grabbed the collar of his own shirt and tore it away with a quick jerk. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers next and Harry decided if Draco planned to embarrass him, he was going about it all wrong.
He quickly yanked his own shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Draco drew in a quick breath and Harry’s gaze flashed to him before he realized what had drawn Draco’s attention. The feather, still on a chain around his neck.
Draco said nothing, but a soft smile curved his lips, making Harry’s blush deepen, but more with pleasure than embarrassment. He was not ashamed of the token. To prove it, he removed his trousers, and after a moment of hesitation, his pants, as well. He sat on the bed and then pushed himself back to lie flat, heart pounding with something resembling terror, but the look in Draco’s eyes alleviated it; he seemed ready to devour Harry. Draco’s gaze fixed once more on the feather that Harry wore around his neck.
Draco’s trousers slid to the floor and he stepped out of them. Harry raised himself on his elbows, eager for his first sight of Draco uncovered. He was not disappointed. The blond’s body was stunning. Absolutely stunning.
“Have you always looked like that?” Harry asked.
“Like what?” Draco asked with a frown.
“Gorgeous,” Harry breathed.
Draco smiled. “Yes, I believe so.”
Harry raised a beckoning hand. “Come here, gorgeous.”
Draco walked forward and joined him. Harry was glad his bed was a simple four-poster without a canopy or bed curtains, because Draco’s wings had room to spread. Harry’s breath caught at the angelic sight as Draco climbed over the top of him.
“I suppose there is no question of who tops?” Draco asked.
Harry chuckled. “Not unless you want to get creative.” He tried to make it clear that he had no problem with anything Draco chose to do. He could hardly fathom that Draco was actually here, in his bed.
Harry lifted his hands to Draco’s face and drew him down for a kiss. It was like nothing he had ever imagined, soft and tender, and filled with more emotion than he would have dreamed. In his fantasies, their kisses were always rough and passionate, but the reality was so much better.
Harry touched him, sliding his hands over his shoulders, arms, and chest, mapping the feel of Draco’s skin. He felt Draco doing the same, touching him everywhere. Harry avoided the wings at first, content to caress Draco’s lovely skin all the way down to the curve of his amazing arse, but eventually one hand stole up to stroke the feathers of one wing. Draco gasped.
“Can you feel that?” Harry asked in puzzlement. He would have expected the feathers to be lacking sensation.
“Yes. I think it has something to do with the magic. My feathers are much more sensitive than my skin. It’s… odd.”
“Wow,” Harry said and Draco laughed. He must have looked surprised.
“What?” Draco asked.
“Your laugh. It’s beautiful.”
Amazingly, Draco flushed and then lowered his head to capture Harry’s lips again. This time when his hands began to move, they did not hold back. Strong fingers stroked along Harry’s cock and then wrapped around it tightly.
“This is beautiful,” Draco said with a grin.
Harry could not reply, he could only make a guttural sound in the back of his throat, and arch into Draco’s touch.
“No, you’re beautiful,” he gasped when he could find enough breath. He sought for, and located, Draco’s cock, nestled in a soft tangle of curls. It felt incredible. He stroked it firmly, matching Draco’s movements with his, banging their thumbs together until they found the same rhythm.
“Romantic sap,” Draco said and Harry laughed breathlessly.
“Sometimes, yeah,” he admitted. He groaned as Draco’s palm curved over the head of his cock and twisted. “Oh, we need to stop or…”
“Harry?”
Harry’s eyes widened and his hands stilled. “Godric, say that again.”
Draco frowned. “Say what?”
“My name. I don’t think you’ve ever said it before.”
Draco nuzzled his face onto Harry’s neck with a snorted chuckle. “You are impossible.”
Harry released Draco’s cock and curled his arms around his muscular back. “Very. Are you going to fuck me, now?”
Draco’s lips pressed into Harry’s throat for a moment and he said, “I don’t… I’m not sure I know how.”
Harry shut his eyes, overcome with the knowledge that this would be Draco’s first time, at least with a man. Harry didn’t care a whit about Draco’s familiarity with females. “Well, then, it will be a learning experience for us both.”
Draco reared back in surprise and his wings lifted in a lovely canopy.
Harry laughed. “Don’t look so shocked! I only recently accepted the fact that I prefer men. I did not immediately rush out and garner experience.”
A smile curved Draco’s lips, making him look alternately devilish and insanely gorgeous. He stared at Harry in a manner that seemed positively possessive—or perhaps that was only wishful thinking on Harry’s part.
“I find that curiously erotic, Pott—Harry,” Draco said in a quiet tone.
The statement got Harry going again, not that he was in any danger of losing his erection. “Prove it,” he said with a wicked grin.
Draco groaned and set about proving it. His hands stroked Harry’s skin and he followed the trail of his fingers with his lips. When he reached Harry’s erection, he paused, locked his gaze with Harry’s, and then licked a stripe up the centre of his prick. Harry arched nearly off the bed when Draco took it into his mouth.
“Merlin!” he cried. He could not tear his eyes away, amazed that Draco still managed to look smug with a cock in his mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as it emerged, wet and glistening, from Draco’s lips only to disappear once more. The feel of Draco’s flattened tongue was indescribable.
Before he became completely lost in sensation, Harry Summoned his wand from the floor and then cast another Summoning Charm to snap a bottle of lubricant into his hand from the bedside drawer.
“Here,” he said and thrust it at Draco. “Before it’s too late. You might want to stop doing that or I won’t make it to the main event. Not that I’m complaining; but I want it to be good for you, too.”
Draco released his cock with a final lick and grinned at him. “What makes you think it isn’t good for me, Harry?”
Harry had to close his eyes and remember to breathe, because the idea that Draco Malfoy liked sucking his cock was orgasm-inducing all on its own. His fingers carded through Draco’s hair and caressed the sides of his face. He opened his eyes and said, “Far be it from me to stop you, then.”
Draco took the bottle and examined the cap. “I think your idea has merit. How does this work?”
Harry thought he referred to the cap and nearly replied, but then he realized what Draco meant. “Oh. Um, first you put lube… on your fingers…” He blushed hotly as he explained the mechanics. To Draco’s credit, he never cracked a smirk, but listened intently.
When Harry finished explaining—although, truthfully, his own knowledge had been gleaned from a sizeable stack of porn magazines and various books picked up in far-away Muggle stores—Draco opened the cap and poured out the viscous fluid. The scent of citrus wafted over them.
“Orange, Harry?”
“I like oranges,” Harry murmured and then gasped when Draco touched him there.
“Cold?” Draco asked.
Harry shook his head. “It’s fine. Just feels… really good.”
That was an understatement. It felt incredible. When the tip of Draco’s finger breached him, Harry forced himself to relax. He had done the same to himself, of course, but it was incredibly different under the control of someone else.
“Still?” Draco’s voice was hushed.
Harry nodded. “More,” he said.
Draco obliged, inserting a second finger that had Harry arching his spine and making an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat. Draco’s lips pressed into the hollow of his neck. His fingers pulled out slightly and then pushed back in.
“Ngh. More,” Harry murmured. “More.”
Draco pushed in a third finger and for a moment Harry thought it was too much; it had to be too much. But his body adjusted quickly and seemed to pull at Draco’s digits as though seeking additional stimulation.
“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said in an almost unrecognizable voice.
Harry managed a chuckle. “Yes, please.”
Draco nodded and then tugged his fingers free. An additional application of lubricant renewed the scent in the room and then Draco’s cock was pushing tentatively against Harry’s entrance..
“Salazar, Harry, it’s not going to fit. There is no possible way this will—”
Harry thrust his hips forward, effectively impaling himself on Draco’s cock. Draco made a choking noise and Harry smirked. “You were saying?”
Draco swallowed hard and Harry relaxed his fingers with effort, having curled them into Draco’s skin hard enough to leave bruises. He tried to relax in other areas, also, but it was difficult.
“Bloody Gryffindor,” Draco said breathily. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just… Don’t move quite yet.”
“No problem. I think if I move it will all be over. For me, at least.”
Harry chuckled and the movement made him gasp. “Cancel that,” he said in a strangled voice. “I need you to move.”
“In or out?” Draco asked and the urgency in his voice made Harry want to laugh again. He knew instinctively that Draco would abandon his pleasure without hesitation if Harry professed to be in pain. He marvelled at how much Draco had changed—or, more likely, how little Harry had known him to begin with.
“In,” he said. “Definitely in.”
He thought he heard a sigh of relief, but it was lost in a wave of sensation as Draco’s cock moved ever deeper, until Harry felt the brush of Draco’s testicles against his arse. That, in itself, was an unusual sensation and he revelled in it for a moment before giving in to the exploration of other, more urgent, impressions.
Draco pulled nearly out, making an extremely erotic, almost primal sound as he did so. “Potter… Harry. Oh, Salazar, Harry.” He pushed forward again, obviously determined to keep it slow and steady in order to spare Harry as much pain as possible. Harry allowed it for a short time and then urged him to pick up the pace.
Draco complied, thrusting deeper and with increasing speed, but then he paused, seeming to remember something. “Harry. Touch yourself.”
Harry blinked at him for a moment and then blushed when he realized what Draco meant. He had been perfectly happy with the situation, but the very thought of Draco watching him as he wrapped a hand around his cock… Draco watched. His eyes fixed on Harry’s hand as it rose and curled around his hard prick. He stroked a couple of times, tentatively, because he was so fucking close to losing it and Draco was watching him…
“Draco, I’m going to—”
“Me, too,” he said fervently. “I think—”
Whatever he thought was lost in Harry’s shout. He jerked wildly as an immense orgasm rushed through him, so intense he thought his toes might never uncurl. His release shot over his abdomen, hot and thick, pumping out with each stroke. His other hand splayed over Draco’s shoulder and he felt shudders wrack Draco’s body even as long fingers dug into his hips hard enough to leave marks of ownership.
Draco’s face lowered and ragged breaths wafted against Harry’s neck, though neither of them altered their grips. After a moment, Harry’s hand fell away to dangle limply at his side.
“Draco,” he said.
“Mmmm?” Lips pressed into his throat.
“We’re floating.”
“Yes, it feels like it,” Draco agreed languidly.
Harry wondered if Draco always dropped off to sleep after mind-blowing sex and thought he could definitely get behind that habit, but not quite yet. “No, I mean we’re really floating.”
Draco’s head snapped up and he glanced around. Harry turned his head, hoping they were still in the vicinity of the bed, because they hovered mere feet from the ceiling. Draco’s wings flexed and brushed the wooden beams.
“Fuck!” Draco said and immediately flipped them over. Harry, barely holding on and not ready for the sudden movement, nearly slipped completely across Draco and off, but a combination of arms and wings caught him and righted him atop Draco's chest.
“Well, this is novel,” Harry said in amusement.
~~ O ~~
Draco stared up at Harry, whose arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. His thighs clenched around Draco’s hips, riding him like a Thestral. Draco’s cock had slipped out during the manoeuvre, so Harry edged upward. His amusement was a surprise; Draco would have expected fear or horror at being suddenly suspended in midair, but then, Harry Potter was no ordinary man.
“Did I forget to mention I could make you feel like you were flying?” Draco asked, making an effort to tease.
“We are flying.”
“Semantics.”
Harry laughed again and then sobered. “I can’t believe you’re here. I still can’t believe this is real.”
Draco frowned. “I thought I had done a very good job of convincing you of the reality of the situation.”
Harry cocked his head. “Hmm, I don’t know, it still seems quite dreamlike. After all, I am hovering in the air atop a criminally gorgeous man with amazing wings and the most luscious body… No, I would say I need a lot more convincing.”
A wicked grin curved Harry’s lips and Draco found himself returning the expression. He had not expected Harry Potter to be adorable and amusing in the bedchamber. Passionate and intense, yes (and Salazar knew he was that, as well), but fun? That was unexpected.
Draco kissed him and then slowly lowered them back to the bed, lifting his wings out of the way as best he could. Lying on his back was difficult, but not impossible.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Harry murmured and then stroked both hands over the upper coverts of Draco’s wings, drawing a startled breath.
“No, but… You really like the wings, don’t you?”
Harry flushed and nodded, still running his hands along the feathers. It felt delightful.
“Why?” Draco asked.
Harry smiled, looking more like an adorable schoolboy than the extraordinarily powerful wizard that he was. It was strangely humbling. “I don’t know. They are fascinating. And they are really beautiful. When I was a boy, I used to run into the local church to escape bullies. And my cousin. I used to admire the statues and paintings of angels. They made me feel safe, I suppose.”
“I’m not an angel, Potter.”
“Mmm, I know. You’re a man. A very nice man.”
“I am not a nice man!”
Harry dropped his face and snickered into Draco’s neck. “No, you’re right. How silly of me. You are a dastardly man. Wicked, even.”
Draco smiled and mouthed at Harry’s black hair, tugging at it with his lips. “Quite right,” he growled, inhaling the tangible scent of it.
Harry laughed again and his body rocked atop Draco’s, sending his thoughts spiralling in another direction as he considered Harry rocking atop him for another reason. Before he could put his idea into practice, an insistent tapping sounded at the window.
Harry’s head jerked up and Draco could almost see the Auror mask drop into place. “I should get that. It might be an emergency.”
Draco nodded and Harry levered himself from Draco’s body and padded, naked, to the window. Draco manoeuvred his wings so that he no longer lay on them and rested on one elbow to admire Harry’s lovely arse. Draco cast an absent spell to clean up the mess coating his stomach.
Harry opened the window to admit a blast of cold air that left him wincing. An owl fluttered in and attached itself to the perch in one corner of the room. It immediately shook snow from its wings and fluffed its feathers until it looked like a stuffed toy. As Harry approached, it stuck out a foot obediently.
Harry looked at Draco apologetically before reaching for the message. “It’s Ron’s owl,” he commented.
Draco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He hated for reality to intrude on their interlude. Having Harry Potter for a lover was a fabulous fantasy, but in actuality, he knew it was impossible. Harry was an Auror, the Golden Scion of the Ministry. And Draco was a former Death Eater with the wings of a freak. A passing fancy, at best.
Harry scanned the note.
“Does he need something?” Draco asked as casually as possible.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” Harry said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He gave the owl a treat and then walked back to the bed. He half-crumpled the paper and dropped it on the bedside table before sliding onto the mattress next to Draco, who braced himself for the return of the visions. They were less intense this time, and seemed of shorter duration, which was a relief. Draco’s brief foray a vision of Potter drinking from a chipped mug and turning sharply to glare at someone out of range was not noticed by the Auror, who tucked himself in next to Draco and gave a heartfelt sigh.
“Will you clean me up, too?” he asked. “I feel a bit sticky.”
Draco cast the spell again and Harry sighed happily and snuggled closer. Draco realized with a jolt that he had seen this version of Harry before—in a vision. Tousled hair and dark red sheets… apparently Draco’s visions were prophetic. “What are you doing, Potter?”
“Harry,” he corrected. “And I’m resting. I’m very tired. For some reason, I slept badly last night.”
Draco stretched out and made himself more comfortable, drawing Harry’s body against his and linking their legs together. As an afterthought, he brought one wing forward to curl it around Harry’s nude form. He pondered the Auror’s words and remembered Granger’s suggestion that something had happened to upset him. He thought about asking, but knew their intimacy was not a substitute for friendship.
Harry sighed in seeming contentment and buried his face in the hollow of Draco’s throat. “Will you stay?” he murmured. “For a while?”
“I’ll stay,” Draco whispered around a strange tightness in his throat.
“Good.”
Draco closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Harry’s breathing until it grew deep and regular, but even then he did not move.
~~ O ~~
Hermione walked purposefully through the Atrium, deep in thought, absently skirting assorted Ministry employees. Obviously, Draco had talked Harry into listening to him, at least for a time, or he would have been back through the fire and ranting angrily about “stupid Gryffindors” and “stubborn Aurors” and suchlike. Hermione had waited nearly thirty minutes to verify it and then Flooed back to work.
She had nervously scanned the newspapers that morning, worried that Ginny’s anger would get the better of her, but there had been no mention of Harry. Hermione had gone to work for a couple of hours before departing for Malfoy Manor to fetch Draco. Even though she was technically on holiday, there were still a number of projects that she hated to leave unfinished.
The lift doors pinged and she ran for them, slipping inside just as they were closing. A young man stood stiffly in one corner and an elderly woman stared at Hermione with a steely gaze as she requested Level Two.
“Hermione Granger, is it not?” the woman asked. Her sharp voice belied the age evident in her features. Her face resembled a shrunken, dried apple, deeply lined and leathery, but the eyes that peered out were sharp and intelligent.
“Yes, Madam Marchbanks,” Hermione said politely. Griselda Marchbanks had resigned from the Wizengamot during the Umbridge debacle, but she returned often in an advisory capacity. Hermione thought it unlikely that the old girl would ever fully disentangle herself from the politics of the Wizarding World. It was obvious she loved it far too much.
The old woman snorted. “No need to be formal. You may call me Griselda. How is your friend, Harry Potter?”
Hermione smiled wanly. In truth, she was used to people asking about Harry; he came up in casual conversation more often than not. She didn’t mind, really, but sometimes she thought it might be nice if someone would simply ask about her.
“Harry is fine. He is working on a case, at the moment.”
The young man’s gaze had sharpened and he studied Hermione with more interest, but she ignored him as the lift stopped at the first floor. The doors opened and he sidled out with obvious reluctance. “Have a pleasant day, Madam Marchbanks. Ms Granger,” he said.
The doors shut and Griselda’s ancient lips twisted. “Insufferable bootlicker. I can’t abide the younger generation. Present company excluded.”
Hermione had to smile. At least the words seemed sincere. The lift began to rise once more.
“What case is Potter working on?” Griselda asked.
Hermione nearly sighed aloud. She wondered what age, exactly, entitled one to speak precisely what was on their mind without fear of being thought pushy or obnoxious. She supposed it varied by person. She was about to politely mention that she was not at liberty to say—and also to pretend she was not privy to Harry’s professional cases, even though that would have been a lie—when it occurred to her that Griselda had been around a long time. A very long time.
“Madam… Griselda. Do you remember a very old case involving Gunther Pokeby?” she asked.
“Pokeby?” Griselda’s expression was blank.
“Yes, he was experimenting, trying to recreate winged people—the Anakim.”
Griselda drew in a startled breath. “Gunther Pokeby,” she repeated. “Yes. Yes, I do remember now. Those poor boys. The Pokebys always were a bit mad, but Gunther was, by far, the worst. What he did…”
Hermione nodded. “Can you think of anyone that might want to take up where he left off? Someone with a similar obsession? Also, is there anyone capable of recreating the potions he was attempting to make?”
Griselda frowned. “Why? Please tell me that sort of horror has not begun anew.”
Hermione considered Draco. She would not consider him a horror, and Harry certainly did not, but Draco did. Narcissa did as well, apparently, and Lucius… She shuddered at the thought of what Lucius Malfoy would say about his son’s transformation. “It’s possible,” she admitted.
The lift doors opened on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and both women stepped out. The long hallway was deserted and Griselda paused near the bank of windows that showed the budding trees of a pleasant spring day—a far cry from the reality of snow-laden clouds.
The old woman sighed. “Sometimes, I feel I have seen too much. Is someone truly trying to recreate Gunther’s potions? To what purpose? Gunther was obsessed with bringing back the ancestors of the Veela, although his motives were unknown to anyone but himself. Not even his trial disclosed his true purpose, although I believe it was simply a case of experimentation for its own sake. He wanted to bring them back merely to see if he could.”
“I don’t think the motive this time is quite so obscure. I believe someone is using the potion as revenge,” Hermione admitted. “By changing a normal wizard into… something no longer human.”
Griselda’s gaze sharpened. “Using the potion? Are you saying this has already happened? The potion exists?”
Hermione swallowed and nodded. Griselda said nothing as two Aurors approached, greeted the women amiably, and waited for the lift. Silence stretched between them as the Aurors waited for the doors to open, casting curious glances toward them as they argued over where to have lunch. Hermione said nothing until the doors were safely closed and they were alone once more.
“It exists. And it has been used. The problem is, we don’t know who has the capability to recreate such a thing. We recovered Gunther’s notes, but they are all coded and very difficult to decipher. Plus, the fact that we have Gunther’s notes causes me to wonder how the perpetrator managed to make the potion at all. That, and the lack of a clear motive, has turned this case into a nightmare of dead ends.” Hermione’s frustration was evident in her voice. It was a relief to unburden herself; the strain of maintaining a positive attitude around Draco and Harry both was more immense than she had realized.
“You are saying a potion like Gunther’s has been used?” Griselda sounded disbelieving.
Hermione nodded.
“Then, there was another death? Why haven’t we heard of this?” Griselda’s eyes narrowed, as though Hermione had intentionally kept such news from the Wizarding World.
Hermione swallowed hard and looked around carefully to make certain they were not being overheard. She quickly cast a Muffliato, just in case. “He didn’t die. The potion worked. The victim… well, he is now very similar to an Anakim. It’s unbelievable, really.”
Griselda fairly goggled at her. “He has wings?”
Hermione nodded. “Very nice wings, actually. And increased strength. He seems to be in excellent physical condition. We haven’t run tests, of course, because he is not an experimental animal. He retains all of his faculties, as well as his abilities as a wizard. He simply has… wings.”
“Then Gunther’s final potion actually worked,” Griselda whispered.
“Yes. We just don’t know how they did it. There must have been a copy of his notes; either that or he was working with someone. I found nothing at all in Gunther’s Ministry file, however. There was no mention of an apprentice or accomplice. And the Pokeby family is long dead. There were no cousins or relatives that we know of.”
“What about the potion?” Griselda asked sharply.
Hermione frowned, not understanding the question.
“The potion,” Griselda repeated. “The one that was seized when Gunther was arrested.”
Hermione’s confusion deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Gunther was attempting to administer a potion to a young man when he was arrested. The potion itself was used as evidence at the trial. It was analyzed. Where is the Analysis Report? And the potion itself? Have you tested it?”
Hermione shook her head. “I saw no mention of a potion in the file,” she whispered. “And there was no Analysis Report…” Her eyes widened as she realized the implications. No one had recreated Gunther Pokeby’s potion. They had simply stolen it.
“Where would it have been taken?” she asked breathlessly.
“The Department of Mysteries, of course,” Griselda replied.
Hermione thanked her and ran for the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift.
~~ O ~~
Draco eased away from Harry’s sleeping form and then gently covered him with the blankets. He resisted the urge to comb the dark hair away from Harry’s eyes and instead turned to find his clothing. As much as he would love to be in Harry’s bed when he awakened, he really needed to get back to the Manor and work on the potions. Granger was probably wondering what was taking so long.
He flushed as he realized she probably knew quite well what had taken so long and he smiled as he basked in the memory for a moment. Harry was amazing. It still surprised him that Granger was, apparently, perfectly fine with their relationship. Not that they had a relationship. More of a… thing.
Draco dragged on his pants and trousers with a low groan, unwilling to think about the ramifications of a one-time fling with Harry Potter. He had more important things to worry about.
The crumpled paper on the bedside table caught his attention and he fought with his conscience for a moment before walking over and snatching it up. The words did nothing to help him puzzle out the mystery behind them.
Harry, I need to talk to you right away. Ron
He did, however, place a single kiss on Harry’s exposed shoulder before making his way downstairs and taking the Floo home.
Thankfully, his mother was nowhere in sight. To his surprise, Granger was not in the makeshift laboratory. A Fire-call to her house was unanswered. He decided she was probably off looking for another book or a potion ingredient, and set to preparing the next batch of components.
An hour later, he was interrupted by a house-elf. “Master Draco is receiving an owl message. Homely is not recognizing the owl.”
Draco frowned and set the silver knife aside. None of the potions were at a critical stage and the juniper berries would be fine if he left off crushing them for a few minutes. “Very well. Where is Mother?”
“Mistress Narcissa is being out. She is not telling Homely where she is going or when she is returning.”
Draco breathed a sigh of relief; one less problem to worry about. He dismissed the house-elf and then completely cheated by taking to the air and flying through the house to reach his bedroom much faster than walking would have allowed.
A strange, grey owl sat on the perch in his room, shaking snow from its feathers after obviously having been rescued from the balcony by Homely. It looked at him almost reproachfully, but obediently lifted a foot. A distinctive blue band around the owl’s left leg was telling evidence—the owl belonged to the Diagon Alley Messenger Service. A hired animal, then, and not a pet.
The message was written on plain parchment in a black scrawl that looked as though it had been penned in anger.
How do you like being a freak, Malfoy?
Draco’s breath caught and he nearly crumpled the paper in a rage. He backed away from the owl, trembling, and sat heavily in a nearby chair—after nearly knocking it over with his wings. Fucking wings.
How do you like being a freak?
He had been so busy, and then there was Harry… Draco had started to forget how much of an outcast he truly was. How much of a freak. And they were no closer to finding the culprits than they had been. The bastards were still out there and now they were taunting him; laughing at him. He let the paper flutter to the floor. Harry… Potter would probably want it for evidence, for all the good it would do.
Draco put his head in his hands and sat in the chair for a long time.
~~ CHAPTER THIRTEEN ~~
alaana_fair for fixing them for me. WOOT! I owe her something BIG. (And HARD.) (And attached to someone pretty and MUTE.)*really distracted now*
ONWARD!
Miss the beginning? Start here: PROLOGUE
Chapter Twelve
When love beckons to you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
- Kahil Gibran
Harry was giddy. He felt like he was floating as Draco ascended the stairs, carrying him as though he were weightless. He decided there was something special about having a boyfriend with superior strength. Not that Draco was his boyfriend, or even his lover, yet. Hopefully, that would be remedied very soon.
He kissed Draco again, forcing him to stop rather than walk them into a wall. Draco laughed when Harry pulled away.
“Eager?”
“You have no idea,” Harry said breathlessly.
Draco continued on into the bedroom and tossed Harry haphazardly onto the centre of the bed. “Clothes off,” he said thickly.
Harry’s breath caught and for a brief instant he wondered if Draco was playing a horrible trick on him; that he planned to humiliate him at the worst possible moment.
But then Draco reached up and grabbed the collar of his own shirt and tore it away with a quick jerk. His hands went to the waistband of his trousers next and Harry decided if Draco planned to embarrass him, he was going about it all wrong.
He quickly yanked his own shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor. Draco drew in a quick breath and Harry’s gaze flashed to him before he realized what had drawn Draco’s attention. The feather, still on a chain around his neck.
Draco said nothing, but a soft smile curved his lips, making Harry’s blush deepen, but more with pleasure than embarrassment. He was not ashamed of the token. To prove it, he removed his trousers, and after a moment of hesitation, his pants, as well. He sat on the bed and then pushed himself back to lie flat, heart pounding with something resembling terror, but the look in Draco’s eyes alleviated it; he seemed ready to devour Harry. Draco’s gaze fixed once more on the feather that Harry wore around his neck.
Draco’s trousers slid to the floor and he stepped out of them. Harry raised himself on his elbows, eager for his first sight of Draco uncovered. He was not disappointed. The blond’s body was stunning. Absolutely stunning.
“Have you always looked like that?” Harry asked.
“Like what?” Draco asked with a frown.
“Gorgeous,” Harry breathed.
Draco smiled. “Yes, I believe so.”
Harry raised a beckoning hand. “Come here, gorgeous.”
Draco walked forward and joined him. Harry was glad his bed was a simple four-poster without a canopy or bed curtains, because Draco’s wings had room to spread. Harry’s breath caught at the angelic sight as Draco climbed over the top of him.
“I suppose there is no question of who tops?” Draco asked.
Harry chuckled. “Not unless you want to get creative.” He tried to make it clear that he had no problem with anything Draco chose to do. He could hardly fathom that Draco was actually here, in his bed.
Harry lifted his hands to Draco’s face and drew him down for a kiss. It was like nothing he had ever imagined, soft and tender, and filled with more emotion than he would have dreamed. In his fantasies, their kisses were always rough and passionate, but the reality was so much better.
Harry touched him, sliding his hands over his shoulders, arms, and chest, mapping the feel of Draco’s skin. He felt Draco doing the same, touching him everywhere. Harry avoided the wings at first, content to caress Draco’s lovely skin all the way down to the curve of his amazing arse, but eventually one hand stole up to stroke the feathers of one wing. Draco gasped.
“Can you feel that?” Harry asked in puzzlement. He would have expected the feathers to be lacking sensation.
“Yes. I think it has something to do with the magic. My feathers are much more sensitive than my skin. It’s… odd.”
“Wow,” Harry said and Draco laughed. He must have looked surprised.
“What?” Draco asked.
“Your laugh. It’s beautiful.”
Amazingly, Draco flushed and then lowered his head to capture Harry’s lips again. This time when his hands began to move, they did not hold back. Strong fingers stroked along Harry’s cock and then wrapped around it tightly.
“This is beautiful,” Draco said with a grin.
Harry could not reply, he could only make a guttural sound in the back of his throat, and arch into Draco’s touch.
“No, you’re beautiful,” he gasped when he could find enough breath. He sought for, and located, Draco’s cock, nestled in a soft tangle of curls. It felt incredible. He stroked it firmly, matching Draco’s movements with his, banging their thumbs together until they found the same rhythm.
“Romantic sap,” Draco said and Harry laughed breathlessly.
“Sometimes, yeah,” he admitted. He groaned as Draco’s palm curved over the head of his cock and twisted. “Oh, we need to stop or…”
“Harry?”
Harry’s eyes widened and his hands stilled. “Godric, say that again.”
Draco frowned. “Say what?”
“My name. I don’t think you’ve ever said it before.”
Draco nuzzled his face onto Harry’s neck with a snorted chuckle. “You are impossible.”
Harry released Draco’s cock and curled his arms around his muscular back. “Very. Are you going to fuck me, now?”
Draco’s lips pressed into Harry’s throat for a moment and he said, “I don’t… I’m not sure I know how.”
Harry shut his eyes, overcome with the knowledge that this would be Draco’s first time, at least with a man. Harry didn’t care a whit about Draco’s familiarity with females. “Well, then, it will be a learning experience for us both.”
Draco reared back in surprise and his wings lifted in a lovely canopy.
Harry laughed. “Don’t look so shocked! I only recently accepted the fact that I prefer men. I did not immediately rush out and garner experience.”
A smile curved Draco’s lips, making him look alternately devilish and insanely gorgeous. He stared at Harry in a manner that seemed positively possessive—or perhaps that was only wishful thinking on Harry’s part.
“I find that curiously erotic, Pott—Harry,” Draco said in a quiet tone.
The statement got Harry going again, not that he was in any danger of losing his erection. “Prove it,” he said with a wicked grin.
Draco groaned and set about proving it. His hands stroked Harry’s skin and he followed the trail of his fingers with his lips. When he reached Harry’s erection, he paused, locked his gaze with Harry’s, and then licked a stripe up the centre of his prick. Harry arched nearly off the bed when Draco took it into his mouth.
“Merlin!” he cried. He could not tear his eyes away, amazed that Draco still managed to look smug with a cock in his mouth. He watched, mesmerized, as it emerged, wet and glistening, from Draco’s lips only to disappear once more. The feel of Draco’s flattened tongue was indescribable.
Before he became completely lost in sensation, Harry Summoned his wand from the floor and then cast another Summoning Charm to snap a bottle of lubricant into his hand from the bedside drawer.
“Here,” he said and thrust it at Draco. “Before it’s too late. You might want to stop doing that or I won’t make it to the main event. Not that I’m complaining; but I want it to be good for you, too.”
Draco released his cock with a final lick and grinned at him. “What makes you think it isn’t good for me, Harry?”
Harry had to close his eyes and remember to breathe, because the idea that Draco Malfoy liked sucking his cock was orgasm-inducing all on its own. His fingers carded through Draco’s hair and caressed the sides of his face. He opened his eyes and said, “Far be it from me to stop you, then.”
Draco took the bottle and examined the cap. “I think your idea has merit. How does this work?”
Harry thought he referred to the cap and nearly replied, but then he realized what Draco meant. “Oh. Um, first you put lube… on your fingers…” He blushed hotly as he explained the mechanics. To Draco’s credit, he never cracked a smirk, but listened intently.
When Harry finished explaining—although, truthfully, his own knowledge had been gleaned from a sizeable stack of porn magazines and various books picked up in far-away Muggle stores—Draco opened the cap and poured out the viscous fluid. The scent of citrus wafted over them.
“Orange, Harry?”
“I like oranges,” Harry murmured and then gasped when Draco touched him there.
“Cold?” Draco asked.
Harry shook his head. “It’s fine. Just feels… really good.”
That was an understatement. It felt incredible. When the tip of Draco’s finger breached him, Harry forced himself to relax. He had done the same to himself, of course, but it was incredibly different under the control of someone else.
“Still?” Draco’s voice was hushed.
Harry nodded. “More,” he said.
Draco obliged, inserting a second finger that had Harry arching his spine and making an incomprehensible noise in the back of his throat. Draco’s lips pressed into the hollow of his neck. His fingers pulled out slightly and then pushed back in.
“Ngh. More,” Harry murmured. “More.”
Draco pushed in a third finger and for a moment Harry thought it was too much; it had to be too much. But his body adjusted quickly and seemed to pull at Draco’s digits as though seeking additional stimulation.
“Fuck, Harry,” Draco said in an almost unrecognizable voice.
Harry managed a chuckle. “Yes, please.”
Draco nodded and then tugged his fingers free. An additional application of lubricant renewed the scent in the room and then Draco’s cock was pushing tentatively against Harry’s entrance..
“Salazar, Harry, it’s not going to fit. There is no possible way this will—”
Harry thrust his hips forward, effectively impaling himself on Draco’s cock. Draco made a choking noise and Harry smirked. “You were saying?”
Draco swallowed hard and Harry relaxed his fingers with effort, having curled them into Draco’s skin hard enough to leave bruises. He tried to relax in other areas, also, but it was difficult.
“Bloody Gryffindor,” Draco said breathily. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Just… Don’t move quite yet.”
“No problem. I think if I move it will all be over. For me, at least.”
Harry chuckled and the movement made him gasp. “Cancel that,” he said in a strangled voice. “I need you to move.”
“In or out?” Draco asked and the urgency in his voice made Harry want to laugh again. He knew instinctively that Draco would abandon his pleasure without hesitation if Harry professed to be in pain. He marvelled at how much Draco had changed—or, more likely, how little Harry had known him to begin with.
“In,” he said. “Definitely in.”
He thought he heard a sigh of relief, but it was lost in a wave of sensation as Draco’s cock moved ever deeper, until Harry felt the brush of Draco’s testicles against his arse. That, in itself, was an unusual sensation and he revelled in it for a moment before giving in to the exploration of other, more urgent, impressions.
Draco pulled nearly out, making an extremely erotic, almost primal sound as he did so. “Potter… Harry. Oh, Salazar, Harry.” He pushed forward again, obviously determined to keep it slow and steady in order to spare Harry as much pain as possible. Harry allowed it for a short time and then urged him to pick up the pace.
Draco complied, thrusting deeper and with increasing speed, but then he paused, seeming to remember something. “Harry. Touch yourself.”
Harry blinked at him for a moment and then blushed when he realized what Draco meant. He had been perfectly happy with the situation, but the very thought of Draco watching him as he wrapped a hand around his cock… Draco watched. His eyes fixed on Harry’s hand as it rose and curled around his hard prick. He stroked a couple of times, tentatively, because he was so fucking close to losing it and Draco was watching him…
“Draco, I’m going to—”
“Me, too,” he said fervently. “I think—”
Whatever he thought was lost in Harry’s shout. He jerked wildly as an immense orgasm rushed through him, so intense he thought his toes might never uncurl. His release shot over his abdomen, hot and thick, pumping out with each stroke. His other hand splayed over Draco’s shoulder and he felt shudders wrack Draco’s body even as long fingers dug into his hips hard enough to leave marks of ownership.
Draco’s face lowered and ragged breaths wafted against Harry’s neck, though neither of them altered their grips. After a moment, Harry’s hand fell away to dangle limply at his side.
“Draco,” he said.
“Mmmm?” Lips pressed into his throat.
“We’re floating.”
“Yes, it feels like it,” Draco agreed languidly.
Harry wondered if Draco always dropped off to sleep after mind-blowing sex and thought he could definitely get behind that habit, but not quite yet. “No, I mean we’re really floating.”
Draco’s head snapped up and he glanced around. Harry turned his head, hoping they were still in the vicinity of the bed, because they hovered mere feet from the ceiling. Draco’s wings flexed and brushed the wooden beams.
“Fuck!” Draco said and immediately flipped them over. Harry, barely holding on and not ready for the sudden movement, nearly slipped completely across Draco and off, but a combination of arms and wings caught him and righted him atop Draco's chest.
“Well, this is novel,” Harry said in amusement.
Draco stared up at Harry, whose arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. His thighs clenched around Draco’s hips, riding him like a Thestral. Draco’s cock had slipped out during the manoeuvre, so Harry edged upward. His amusement was a surprise; Draco would have expected fear or horror at being suddenly suspended in midair, but then, Harry Potter was no ordinary man.
“Did I forget to mention I could make you feel like you were flying?” Draco asked, making an effort to tease.
“We are flying.”
“Semantics.”
Harry laughed again and then sobered. “I can’t believe you’re here. I still can’t believe this is real.”
Draco frowned. “I thought I had done a very good job of convincing you of the reality of the situation.”
Harry cocked his head. “Hmm, I don’t know, it still seems quite dreamlike. After all, I am hovering in the air atop a criminally gorgeous man with amazing wings and the most luscious body… No, I would say I need a lot more convincing.”
A wicked grin curved Harry’s lips and Draco found himself returning the expression. He had not expected Harry Potter to be adorable and amusing in the bedchamber. Passionate and intense, yes (and Salazar knew he was that, as well), but fun? That was unexpected.
Draco kissed him and then slowly lowered them back to the bed, lifting his wings out of the way as best he could. Lying on his back was difficult, but not impossible.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Harry murmured and then stroked both hands over the upper coverts of Draco’s wings, drawing a startled breath.
“No, but… You really like the wings, don’t you?”
Harry flushed and nodded, still running his hands along the feathers. It felt delightful.
“Why?” Draco asked.
Harry smiled, looking more like an adorable schoolboy than the extraordinarily powerful wizard that he was. It was strangely humbling. “I don’t know. They are fascinating. And they are really beautiful. When I was a boy, I used to run into the local church to escape bullies. And my cousin. I used to admire the statues and paintings of angels. They made me feel safe, I suppose.”
“I’m not an angel, Potter.”
“Mmm, I know. You’re a man. A very nice man.”
“I am not a nice man!”
Harry dropped his face and snickered into Draco’s neck. “No, you’re right. How silly of me. You are a dastardly man. Wicked, even.”
Draco smiled and mouthed at Harry’s black hair, tugging at it with his lips. “Quite right,” he growled, inhaling the tangible scent of it.
Harry laughed again and his body rocked atop Draco’s, sending his thoughts spiralling in another direction as he considered Harry rocking atop him for another reason. Before he could put his idea into practice, an insistent tapping sounded at the window.
Harry’s head jerked up and Draco could almost see the Auror mask drop into place. “I should get that. It might be an emergency.”
Draco nodded and Harry levered himself from Draco’s body and padded, naked, to the window. Draco manoeuvred his wings so that he no longer lay on them and rested on one elbow to admire Harry’s lovely arse. Draco cast an absent spell to clean up the mess coating his stomach.
Harry opened the window to admit a blast of cold air that left him wincing. An owl fluttered in and attached itself to the perch in one corner of the room. It immediately shook snow from its wings and fluffed its feathers until it looked like a stuffed toy. As Harry approached, it stuck out a foot obediently.
Harry looked at Draco apologetically before reaching for the message. “It’s Ron’s owl,” he commented.
Draco’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. He hated for reality to intrude on their interlude. Having Harry Potter for a lover was a fabulous fantasy, but in actuality, he knew it was impossible. Harry was an Auror, the Golden Scion of the Ministry. And Draco was a former Death Eater with the wings of a freak. A passing fancy, at best.
Harry scanned the note.
“Does he need something?” Draco asked as casually as possible.
“Nothing that can’t wait,” Harry said with a smile that did not reach his eyes. He gave the owl a treat and then walked back to the bed. He half-crumpled the paper and dropped it on the bedside table before sliding onto the mattress next to Draco, who braced himself for the return of the visions. They were less intense this time, and seemed of shorter duration, which was a relief. Draco’s brief foray a vision of Potter drinking from a chipped mug and turning sharply to glare at someone out of range was not noticed by the Auror, who tucked himself in next to Draco and gave a heartfelt sigh.
“Will you clean me up, too?” he asked. “I feel a bit sticky.”
Draco cast the spell again and Harry sighed happily and snuggled closer. Draco realized with a jolt that he had seen this version of Harry before—in a vision. Tousled hair and dark red sheets… apparently Draco’s visions were prophetic. “What are you doing, Potter?”
“Harry,” he corrected. “And I’m resting. I’m very tired. For some reason, I slept badly last night.”
Draco stretched out and made himself more comfortable, drawing Harry’s body against his and linking their legs together. As an afterthought, he brought one wing forward to curl it around Harry’s nude form. He pondered the Auror’s words and remembered Granger’s suggestion that something had happened to upset him. He thought about asking, but knew their intimacy was not a substitute for friendship.
Harry sighed in seeming contentment and buried his face in the hollow of Draco’s throat. “Will you stay?” he murmured. “For a while?”
“I’ll stay,” Draco whispered around a strange tightness in his throat.
“Good.”
Draco closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Harry’s breathing until it grew deep and regular, but even then he did not move.
Hermione walked purposefully through the Atrium, deep in thought, absently skirting assorted Ministry employees. Obviously, Draco had talked Harry into listening to him, at least for a time, or he would have been back through the fire and ranting angrily about “stupid Gryffindors” and “stubborn Aurors” and suchlike. Hermione had waited nearly thirty minutes to verify it and then Flooed back to work.
She had nervously scanned the newspapers that morning, worried that Ginny’s anger would get the better of her, but there had been no mention of Harry. Hermione had gone to work for a couple of hours before departing for Malfoy Manor to fetch Draco. Even though she was technically on holiday, there were still a number of projects that she hated to leave unfinished.
The lift doors pinged and she ran for them, slipping inside just as they were closing. A young man stood stiffly in one corner and an elderly woman stared at Hermione with a steely gaze as she requested Level Two.
“Hermione Granger, is it not?” the woman asked. Her sharp voice belied the age evident in her features. Her face resembled a shrunken, dried apple, deeply lined and leathery, but the eyes that peered out were sharp and intelligent.
“Yes, Madam Marchbanks,” Hermione said politely. Griselda Marchbanks had resigned from the Wizengamot during the Umbridge debacle, but she returned often in an advisory capacity. Hermione thought it unlikely that the old girl would ever fully disentangle herself from the politics of the Wizarding World. It was obvious she loved it far too much.
The old woman snorted. “No need to be formal. You may call me Griselda. How is your friend, Harry Potter?”
Hermione smiled wanly. In truth, she was used to people asking about Harry; he came up in casual conversation more often than not. She didn’t mind, really, but sometimes she thought it might be nice if someone would simply ask about her.
“Harry is fine. He is working on a case, at the moment.”
The young man’s gaze had sharpened and he studied Hermione with more interest, but she ignored him as the lift stopped at the first floor. The doors opened and he sidled out with obvious reluctance. “Have a pleasant day, Madam Marchbanks. Ms Granger,” he said.
The doors shut and Griselda’s ancient lips twisted. “Insufferable bootlicker. I can’t abide the younger generation. Present company excluded.”
Hermione had to smile. At least the words seemed sincere. The lift began to rise once more.
“What case is Potter working on?” Griselda asked.
Hermione nearly sighed aloud. She wondered what age, exactly, entitled one to speak precisely what was on their mind without fear of being thought pushy or obnoxious. She supposed it varied by person. She was about to politely mention that she was not at liberty to say—and also to pretend she was not privy to Harry’s professional cases, even though that would have been a lie—when it occurred to her that Griselda had been around a long time. A very long time.
“Madam… Griselda. Do you remember a very old case involving Gunther Pokeby?” she asked.
“Pokeby?” Griselda’s expression was blank.
“Yes, he was experimenting, trying to recreate winged people—the Anakim.”
Griselda drew in a startled breath. “Gunther Pokeby,” she repeated. “Yes. Yes, I do remember now. Those poor boys. The Pokebys always were a bit mad, but Gunther was, by far, the worst. What he did…”
Hermione nodded. “Can you think of anyone that might want to take up where he left off? Someone with a similar obsession? Also, is there anyone capable of recreating the potions he was attempting to make?”
Griselda frowned. “Why? Please tell me that sort of horror has not begun anew.”
Hermione considered Draco. She would not consider him a horror, and Harry certainly did not, but Draco did. Narcissa did as well, apparently, and Lucius… She shuddered at the thought of what Lucius Malfoy would say about his son’s transformation. “It’s possible,” she admitted.
The lift doors opened on the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and both women stepped out. The long hallway was deserted and Griselda paused near the bank of windows that showed the budding trees of a pleasant spring day—a far cry from the reality of snow-laden clouds.
The old woman sighed. “Sometimes, I feel I have seen too much. Is someone truly trying to recreate Gunther’s potions? To what purpose? Gunther was obsessed with bringing back the ancestors of the Veela, although his motives were unknown to anyone but himself. Not even his trial disclosed his true purpose, although I believe it was simply a case of experimentation for its own sake. He wanted to bring them back merely to see if he could.”
“I don’t think the motive this time is quite so obscure. I believe someone is using the potion as revenge,” Hermione admitted. “By changing a normal wizard into… something no longer human.”
Griselda’s gaze sharpened. “Using the potion? Are you saying this has already happened? The potion exists?”
Hermione swallowed and nodded. Griselda said nothing as two Aurors approached, greeted the women amiably, and waited for the lift. Silence stretched between them as the Aurors waited for the doors to open, casting curious glances toward them as they argued over where to have lunch. Hermione said nothing until the doors were safely closed and they were alone once more.
“It exists. And it has been used. The problem is, we don’t know who has the capability to recreate such a thing. We recovered Gunther’s notes, but they are all coded and very difficult to decipher. Plus, the fact that we have Gunther’s notes causes me to wonder how the perpetrator managed to make the potion at all. That, and the lack of a clear motive, has turned this case into a nightmare of dead ends.” Hermione’s frustration was evident in her voice. It was a relief to unburden herself; the strain of maintaining a positive attitude around Draco and Harry both was more immense than she had realized.
“You are saying a potion like Gunther’s has been used?” Griselda sounded disbelieving.
Hermione nodded.
“Then, there was another death? Why haven’t we heard of this?” Griselda’s eyes narrowed, as though Hermione had intentionally kept such news from the Wizarding World.
Hermione swallowed hard and looked around carefully to make certain they were not being overheard. She quickly cast a Muffliato, just in case. “He didn’t die. The potion worked. The victim… well, he is now very similar to an Anakim. It’s unbelievable, really.”
Griselda fairly goggled at her. “He has wings?”
Hermione nodded. “Very nice wings, actually. And increased strength. He seems to be in excellent physical condition. We haven’t run tests, of course, because he is not an experimental animal. He retains all of his faculties, as well as his abilities as a wizard. He simply has… wings.”
“Then Gunther’s final potion actually worked,” Griselda whispered.
“Yes. We just don’t know how they did it. There must have been a copy of his notes; either that or he was working with someone. I found nothing at all in Gunther’s Ministry file, however. There was no mention of an apprentice or accomplice. And the Pokeby family is long dead. There were no cousins or relatives that we know of.”
“What about the potion?” Griselda asked sharply.
Hermione frowned, not understanding the question.
“The potion,” Griselda repeated. “The one that was seized when Gunther was arrested.”
Hermione’s confusion deepened. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Gunther was attempting to administer a potion to a young man when he was arrested. The potion itself was used as evidence at the trial. It was analyzed. Where is the Analysis Report? And the potion itself? Have you tested it?”
Hermione shook her head. “I saw no mention of a potion in the file,” she whispered. “And there was no Analysis Report…” Her eyes widened as she realized the implications. No one had recreated Gunther Pokeby’s potion. They had simply stolen it.
“Where would it have been taken?” she asked breathlessly.
“The Department of Mysteries, of course,” Griselda replied.
Hermione thanked her and ran for the stairs, not bothering to wait for the lift.
Draco eased away from Harry’s sleeping form and then gently covered him with the blankets. He resisted the urge to comb the dark hair away from Harry’s eyes and instead turned to find his clothing. As much as he would love to be in Harry’s bed when he awakened, he really needed to get back to the Manor and work on the potions. Granger was probably wondering what was taking so long.
He flushed as he realized she probably knew quite well what had taken so long and he smiled as he basked in the memory for a moment. Harry was amazing. It still surprised him that Granger was, apparently, perfectly fine with their relationship. Not that they had a relationship. More of a… thing.
Draco dragged on his pants and trousers with a low groan, unwilling to think about the ramifications of a one-time fling with Harry Potter. He had more important things to worry about.
The crumpled paper on the bedside table caught his attention and he fought with his conscience for a moment before walking over and snatching it up. The words did nothing to help him puzzle out the mystery behind them.
Harry, I need to talk to you right away. Ron
He did, however, place a single kiss on Harry’s exposed shoulder before making his way downstairs and taking the Floo home.
Thankfully, his mother was nowhere in sight. To his surprise, Granger was not in the makeshift laboratory. A Fire-call to her house was unanswered. He decided she was probably off looking for another book or a potion ingredient, and set to preparing the next batch of components.
An hour later, he was interrupted by a house-elf. “Master Draco is receiving an owl message. Homely is not recognizing the owl.”
Draco frowned and set the silver knife aside. None of the potions were at a critical stage and the juniper berries would be fine if he left off crushing them for a few minutes. “Very well. Where is Mother?”
“Mistress Narcissa is being out. She is not telling Homely where she is going or when she is returning.”
Draco breathed a sigh of relief; one less problem to worry about. He dismissed the house-elf and then completely cheated by taking to the air and flying through the house to reach his bedroom much faster than walking would have allowed.
A strange, grey owl sat on the perch in his room, shaking snow from its feathers after obviously having been rescued from the balcony by Homely. It looked at him almost reproachfully, but obediently lifted a foot. A distinctive blue band around the owl’s left leg was telling evidence—the owl belonged to the Diagon Alley Messenger Service. A hired animal, then, and not a pet.
The message was written on plain parchment in a black scrawl that looked as though it had been penned in anger.
How do you like being a freak, Malfoy?
Draco’s breath caught and he nearly crumpled the paper in a rage. He backed away from the owl, trembling, and sat heavily in a nearby chair—after nearly knocking it over with his wings. Fucking wings.
How do you like being a freak?
He had been so busy, and then there was Harry… Draco had started to forget how much of an outcast he truly was. How much of a freak. And they were no closer to finding the culprits than they had been. The bastards were still out there and now they were taunting him; laughing at him. He let the paper flutter to the floor. Harry… Potter would probably want it for evidence, for all the good it would do.
Draco put his head in his hands and sat in the chair for a long time.