Spell Master

Babychan

email: baby_chan1778@yahoo.com or babychan1778@yahoo.com

Title: Spell Master

Rating: R but it will become NC17 later.

Series: Yes. Chapter 26/?

Parings: H/D S/N/L N/B

Warning: Mention of non-con HP/SB

Summary: The wizarding world is going to find out that Harry Potter is not the only one with awesome powers. Its a Pro-Slytherin and Pro-Draco fic. This is slash fiction. .

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all its characters do NOT belong to me :( (pout) I’m just writing for the fun of it. I get no money for it whatsoever. .

A.N.: I would like to thank everyone for their reviews for my fic. It means sooooooo very much. Thank you!!!

Spell Master

It turned out that Dumbledore only missed Harry by a few minutes. Snape didn’t even have the chance to enact his war of nerves on Lupin, and Lupin didn’t even get the chance to appreciate being alone with the object of his affection. However, neither man was too disappointed when the white-marble guardians retracted their weapons, only a second before Harry walked through the silk veil.

Potter seemed out-of-it, of sorts, when he stopped and stood far enough away from the guardians, for them to reestablish their X-shaped position. But surprisingly – to Lupin anyway– his close proximity didn’t evoke an attack.

Remus also took note that the boy looked to be in good spirits, despite the fact that his eyes were red-rimmed and his cheeks were tear-streaked and flushed.

On the other hand, Snape could care less about Harry’s disposition.

“What have you done to Malfoy?” He accused viciously. He was worried something happened to his son. And the fact that Draco had yet to appear and Potter was wearing one of Draco’s school robes, and the sandals his son had on *today,* weren’t appeasing his fears.

Harry jerked to attention and looked up, and at them, as if he had just realized they were there.

Actually, he *did* just realize they were there!

“Uhh…I haven’t done anything to him…” He absently gestured behind him with his thumb.
“He’s in his bedroom.”

Not a moment later, Snape quickly crossed the large living-room, raised his wand toward the gargoyles and commanded. “Open-Says-Me!”

Immediately, the caryatids returned back to their original and docile position.

“You KNEW!” Lupin seethed with wide, shocked eyes. “You knew that spell all along and you had us wait out here for nothing?!”

Of course he did. Snape was secretly trying to give Draco time to fix whatever it was, the boy messed up.

Severus ignored the irate man and brushed –actually pushed– past Potter, in a flurry of billowing robes.

Before the raven-haired boy could even lose his balance, Remus was there, holding Harry up and growling at Snape. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Why I didn’t *I* tell you?” The Potion Master derided with an arrogant and dismissive drawl. “Mayhaps it’s because no one asked me.” He didn’t even turn around as he answered, and disappeared behind the veil.

Harry started at Snape’s words. His words triggered a memory.

A memory of…

Something Dumbledore had told him…

That same night he was resorted into Slytherin.

Lupin mistakenly thought the boy’s knee-jerk reaction was because of an injury he obtained in Draco’s room. Amber eyes then quickly roamed over the boy like a fine tooth comb.

“I’m okay.” Harry assured as he pried himself out of Lupin’s grasp, and gently pushed the man back. He didn’t feel like being touched right now. Nor did he feel comfortable with the way Remus was looking at him. Not when he was practically naked underneath Draco’s robe.

*His* robe, he mentally corrected.

It wasn’t that he thought the other man would hurt him, but… Until it happened, he didn’t think that Sirius would have ever hurt him either.

“Are you sure?” Remus fretted. “We felt a great power coming out of the room and Malfoy had lied about you not being in there! We feared he may have done something to you.”

“We?” Harry asked. “You mean there were others?” In truth, he was surprised to see Lupin and Snape, they should have been teaching a class by now.

“Oh yes… Dumbledore, McGonangall and Hermione, we were all here…” He assured in a nervous chuckle. “But one-by-one this hell’s mouth of a room ran them out.”

Harry nodded absently, because he had no idea what the other man was talking about. In his opinion, the only thing terrible in Draco’s rooms was that little, pink-haired, girl.

“So Dumbledore really *was* here?” Harry asked again, just to be sure.

“Yes, Harry.” Remus nodded as he put a worried hand on the boy’s forehead. “Are you certain that you’re okay? Malfoy didn’t *do* anything to you did he?”

“You mean, besides cradle me in his arms while I cried like a baby?” Harry mentally asked as he shook his head and that embarrassing memory away. Gently brushing Lupin’s hand off of him, he then turned around and looked at the entrance to Draco’s room. “So he was telling the truth after all.”

“Who? Malfoy?” Remus asked disbelievingly. “That will be the day.”

It must have been his tone. Or maybe the way he accused Malfoy of being a liar. Whatever it was, it seemed to

Piss.

Harry.

Off.

What came next was a silent type of rage which held more volume than any actual words.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t the silence but the *power* which seemed to emancipate off of the boy, in hot waves.

Remus nervously backed up, because he had *never* seen anything like it in his entire life.

“You, calling Malfoy a liar…” Harry chuckled bitterly as his malachite eyes narrowed with contemplative fury. “Wouldn’t that be like the pot calling the kettle black?”

“Wh-what?” Lupin asked apprehensively “Harry, I don’t understand what you are implying?”

“Of course you don’t.” The raven-haired boy hissed sarcastically.” So let me clarify.” He made a quick glance around the huge room. “Accio bag!”

At the bottom, of every glass encased book shelf, was a single ornately paneled drawer. The bookcase which was closest to the fire place, started to shake unsteadily, right before his bag pushed the drawer open and zipped toward Harry at an alarming speed; nonetheless, he caught it with a seeker’s precision. Then slowly, and dangerously, he turned around toward Lupin and asked.

“Why are you here?”

Remus was taken back by Harry’s look of malicious intent and stuttered. “Th..the Dark Arts alarm went off and— ”

“Dumbledore gathered you all.” Potter finished with bitter cynicism. “But was that before or *after* the alarm went off?”

Because with so many *Gryffindors* and no other person from any other House, other than Snape, Harry knew something had to be up.

Something was *always* up.

And Harry was also acquainted enough with visions, to know that his weird omen about dragon-snakes and bumblebees didn’t warn him for nothing.

“Harry…” Remus tried to sooth, for he had no idea where all this rage was coming from. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

The boy just shook his head in disappointment. “I don’t want you to say anything… I just want you to see what I know.” He delved into the bag and pulled out a picture. Angrily, he showed it to the DADA professor.

Amber eyes widened in sorrow, as Lupin’s hands covered his mouth. “Oh..oh God! Harry, I am so--”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He hissed as he stuffed the picture, of his mother, back into the bag. “It’ll probably just be another lie anyway!”

“Harry..” Remus pleaded with his hands out. “You’ve got to understand—”

“No! I’m tired of it!” Malachite eyes narrowed dangerously. “I’m tired of the games. I’m tired of the lies and your fucking half truths! All I want, now, is for all of you to leave me the hell alone!”

And with that

Harry Potter spun around, on his heel, and ran out of the Draco’s quarters.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Severus walked through the veil, he was greeted with the sight of Draco lying, on the bed, on his stomach, and with one foot dangling off the edge. It almost looked as if the boy couldn’t quite muster up the energy to pull himself completely up.

Draco’s arms and wings were spread eagle, and his wings looked almost bonelessly flat against him. Nalta was also there, sitting beside him and rubbing an ointment onto his cheek.

It had always amazed Snape how Draco, and Vanity, were immune to the nightmare’s touch. Where everyone else…wasn’t.

“I hurt, Daa…” The boy whined, once he noticed the man standing in the doorway. “I think ...I think I am dieing.”

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes and admonish him for being so dramatic. Draco always said that or something to that nature, whenever he got hurt. I’m dieing; I died; It’s killing me; or its killed me. It was always the same. However, Snape was never sure if Draco said those things because he had a true fear of death, or a desire for it. The behavior seemed to start right after Vanity died, and everyone –who truly knew them– knew that the young Veelan prince used to live for his little sister. Nevertheless, Severus knew not to dismiss the fact that his son probably had a serious injury. Because the boy usually *did* when he made those exaggerated proclamations.

“Did Potter do this to you?” He already knew the answer to that question before he even asked it. The very sight of Draco being hurt by Potter *again* infuriated him. Three times, this month alone, Potter had attacked his son, and the school year just STARTED!

“Yes….” Draco groaned, as he shifted his head, slightly, so the little girl could rub some of that cool cream onto the burning bites on his neck. “…But it wasn’t really his fault.”

Beetle black eyes snapped wide with surprise. “Excuses me?”

The boy gave his step-father a pleading look and whimpered again, but in his native tongue of Veela. “I hurt, Daa…” Draco wanted to stop with the talking. He wanted his daa to hurry up and fix him. And he wanted to get off of his bed, ASAP! Potter had slept in, and contaminated it. The sheets needed to be changed, and well,...thrown away. Draco had no idea what kind of muggle germs the boy carried and he had no desire to find out.

“Oh… for the love of everything unholy!” Draco hissed, when Nalta pulled him out of his silent plea and crawled onto his wing. She then placed her right hand on the middle of his back –to support her weight – and leaned over him to rub the ointment on the other side of his neck. “Nalta…please…” He cried out. “Please…just stop….I’m okay..I’m okay!”

She stopped her treatment and gave him a look that said she didn’t believe him.

“I’m okay…” He reassured again, in a painful whisper, then let out a breath of relief when she backed away.

Severus sighed and let the questions go, after Draco flashed him another silent and pleading look. With a slight nod, he then turned and walked toward an armoire on the left side of the room. It wasn’t a closet for clothes; it was more like a private potions, and medicinal supply room.

Draco knew that Nalta was only trying to be helpful, but, in his opinion, her noble gestures were only making things worse! Hell, he didn’t even have a wound on the other side of his neck. Moreover, she was even using the *wrong* kind of ointment!

Draco was just glad that his Daa was now here and that Potter was gone. He was in So. Much. Fucking. Pain. It was only by his sheer arrogance and pride was he able to remain standing until, *after*, the other boy had left.

On the other side of the room, the Potion Master gathered some extra medicinal tools. The cabinet was impressive but only because the boy made his medicine himself. In truth Draco’s medicine cabinet could almost rival Madame Pomfrey’s–in content, not quantity. It was a shame though –in Severus’s opinion– that Draco needed this much medicine. It was even more of a shame that by the end of the year, the boy’s supplies would be almost depleted. Draco was extremely accident prone. Though, that was a well guarded secret.

It wasn’t that the young prince was clumsy, because wasn’t. He had *always* been a graceful child. It’s just that… bad things seemed to seek Draco out. Most people in Hogwarts never noticed though, because they were so enamored with Harry Potter’s great adventures. They never noticed the many times when Draco would practically crawl back to his rooms so that he could heal some outrageously odd wound.

His friends knew though.

But only because they were usually injured too and were crawling back with him.

“So are you ready to tell me what happened, Dragon?” Severus asked as sat beside the boy and arranged the necessary items carefully on the bed.

“I really don’t know *what* happened?” The blond admitted in a groan “But I think Nalta here,” He lightly gestured to the girl sitting on the other side of him. “broke one of Potter’s mud-damns when she touched him.”

“So it *was* his power we felt.” Severus mused as he retrieved a pewter ewer and pored a pinkish liquid into a white, porcelain, bowl-like chalice. “Sit up, Draco, and drink this.” He held it to the boy.

Passively, Severus watched as his son made a production of the task of sitting up, then almost rolled his eyes when the boy, weakly, took the proffered item; however, his thoughts were on something else. He was impressed with Potter’s new ability. It didn’t matter that he didn’t like the boy. That was *a lot* of power. And just maybe –he hoped– it would be enough to defeat You-Know-Who.

“Now take off your tunic.”

“Will you help me?” The boy replied pitifully, as he put the empty cup down. “I have on two and…” Draco slouched even more as he sat and drawled out painfully. “I don’t’ think I can lift my arms.”

“Very well,” The raven-haired man sighed, as he tried to keep the worry out of his tone. “Do you think your arms are broken?”

The answer was a slight shake of a golden head. “I think...it’s more my scapulae. Both of them, actually.” He reiterated, then added. “Some ribs too.” Because he hit that armoire pretty damn hard and if they weren’t broken, they sure as hell felt like it.

“Are you serious?” Severus asked alarmed. When Draco nodded weakly, he swished his wand and made the tunics disappear. “Why didn’t you say something in the first place!” He quickly reached over, and gently helped the boy lay back down and onto his back. “Are your wings injured, again?” They *were* awfully limp, in his opinion.

“No…” The young prince hissed out through clenched teeth. “They surfaced after…”

“But you can move them?” Because Severus needed to know if they were paralyzed, or not. If they were, then they needed to leave immediately, and go to the palace and see the royal shaman.

“Yes, I can move them but….” It was a timid plea. “I’d rather not.”

Severus gave a short nod in relief, as he took off his robe and quickly rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. There was tube of a black cream beside his leg. He picked it up, and squirted a dollop onto his palm, then poked his finger in it. As he did this, Snape mentally reminded himself that Veelas were not humans and it would be fatal for him to treat Draco’s injuries as such. Mentally, his mind recalled all of the little different skeletal and organ, intricacies of a Veela’s body structure.

Severus used his finger and smeared a runic symbol on Draco’s forehead, then a different one on the temples, and over the pulse point on the left part of his neck. He then drew a large pentacle on the boy’s chest. He dipped his finger into the cream again then wrote some chthonic symbols in between the openings of the circled star. Churic symbols were then written down the arms, He dipped his finger in the cream again, and drew a swirled symbol on the boy’s inner wrist and a crescent on the inner juncture of the elbow, followed by a line connecting the two.

“Dragon…” Severus began, as he also made a mental assessment to the boy’s outer damage. The milky flesh was spattered with bruises, some deep purple, some greenish yellow, and others which were a sickly grey. There were scratches also, dozen of them, some were on Draco’s face, but most were along the shoulders and ribs, some were deep, and some were superficial, but all were oozing with Draco’s silver blood.

Severus wasn’t’ sure, but it almost looked as if Potter was fighting, and grasping to keep Draco *close*, while simultaneously beating the shite out of him.

Snape didn’t even want to acknowledge the bite marks on the neck. Not yet, anyway.

“Do you want me to treat your shoulder blades first or your ribs?”

“Ribs” The boy hissed between his teeth, after felt his daa’s hand press against his side. “I think one of them is poking…something…it ..it hurts.” Yes, and it hurt even worse now that Snape put that burning aphotic cream into his skin.

Snape wiped the rest of the black ointment on a magically spelled cleaning cloth, then placed a sanitizing spell, on his hands, right before slathered them with a bluish cream. “Draco, I’m going in. You know the drill, take a deep breath and say the alphabet.”

“Ahh.. okay… A..B… C”

“In Greek .”

“Okay…” Draco took another deep breath, pinched his eyes shut and began. “Alpha…beta..gamma…delta…epsilon..”

“No, Draco,” The man stopped before he even started. “Backwards, you know better. Say it backwards, or I will make you do it Arabic.” That was the new language the boy was learning, and he was having a hard time of it.

“Fine” Was the irate and pain-filled hiss. “Omega…psi.. khi..phi…”

Because of the potion Draco drank, the symbols on his body, and the bluish cream on his hands, Severus was now able to magically sink his hands into the boy’s body and tend to the injuries from the inside.

“Ahhhh it hurts!…” He gasped as his wings bristled and his back arched in pain.

“Don’t think about it, Draco.” Severus commanded, almost gently. “Just continue with the alphabet.”

After a minute of pain-filled hisses, Draco obeyed. “Upsilon…tau.. sig-- ow ow ow ow ow That *hurts*, Daa!”

“Concentrate, Dragon.” Serverus admonished patiently. Nevertheless, he knew that Draco was right. This sort of procedure was *extremely* painful. To have someone sink their hands into your body, then prod around and push things back into place, well, in most peoples opinion, the cure was almost worse than the affliction.

“Okay…I’ll try.” The boy whimpered. “S-s-sigma…rho…omicron…”

“You skipped one.”

Draco was silent in his question of where. However, he was in so much pain right now, he didn’t care if he missed one or all of them.

“Right before omicron.” Snape elaborated as he picked a shard of rib out of the boy’s lung. “You missed pi.”

“I d-don’t ..car”

“Should I make you start again? In Arabic this time?” Snape cut in, thus ending the rebelliousness before it even surfaced.

“Ummm..owww.. that *hurt’s* Daa!” He whimpered pitifully when he felt Snape’s finger push his rib back into place, from the inside.. “ Oww…ow ow ow Please..please..I think…stop...I.. think I’m dieing!”

Severus gentled his ministrations as he whispered a spell, to stop the internal bleeding in the lung. Still, it amazed him how his son had no real tolerance for pain. Unlike his masochistic father.

“Okay, dragon. Let’s talk about something else.”

Draco scrunched his face in pain and shook his had no. He didn’t want to talk. It didn’t ease the pain. He just wanted the “healing” over with.

But Severus was not to be deterred. His years as a Death Eater taught him that it was always best to think about something other than the pain. “The vase, who gave it to you?”

“…..Which vase?” He gasped.

Severus muttered a spell to mend the boy’s ribs then answered. “The one on your coffee table.”

“Ahh..fuck….Milly…” The blond hissed as his back arched in pain. “Shite!!.. hurts…”

“So Millicent gave it to you?” Severus asked for conformation, as he tried to mask his surprise and his mental yell of “What the hell was she thinking?” He moved his hands around, inspecting each rib for any more major breaks or the slightest fracture.

Draco’s head thrashed side to side as he gripped his sheets and unconsciously turned them into shreds.

“Focus on my words, Dragon, and not what I’m doing.”

Draco gave a weak nod as tears of pain, trickled out his eyes.

“Why did she give it to you?”

“It was my birthday present…I think…” He whimpered, but still, and barely, not crying. “I think she was trying to be funny.”

Severus nodded to the answer. Ever since that whole fiasco in Atlantica, two summers ago, those two liked to give each other prank gifts. “I need to borrow it.”

“Why?” The boy hissed out in excruciating pain, when Severus ran his finger down the bones of his spine.

The raven-haired man answered dispassionately, so not to arise any suspicion. “I want to do some tests on it.”

Yeah, test how many sinking charms he had to put on it before he threw it into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

“Oh…okay.” The answer was easily compliant because Draco was in too much pain to care about the kind of test his daa was going to do.

“You won’t be getting it back.” The Potions Master informed blandly. He was trying to make sure his voice didn’t express how extraordinary the vase really was, but he also wanted the boy to know that the item would be lost to him forever. Draco was extremely possessive, and protective, with what he considered to be “his.”

“That’s… fine.” Draco groaned. He didn’t really care. “It’s a cheep bauble anyway…. Part of the junk the Weasley’s sold, to keep their spawns out of prison.”

Few things still surprised Snape, but that confession seemed to slip past his jaded wall. “Are you saying that it once belonged to the *Weasley’s*?!”

He couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe that they were *stupid* enough to cast an illusion charm over it and sell it as a vase. They could have sold the bottle –for what it was– in Knockturn Alley and acquired themselves a not-so-small fortune. They could have paid Draco off –with that alone– and still had *a lot* of change left to spare. It was so incredibly STUPID that Snape wasn’t sure what was worse. The Weasley’s selling the genie’s bottle as a trinket, or Millicent buying it and giving it away. Nevertheless, Snape was glad that Draco had no clue to what it truly was.

Draco gave a pain-filled, but triumphant nod. “I told you it was just cheap junk. I only kept it because it’s like a trophy of sorts.” He ignored his pain, as he chuckled amusedly. “It reminds me of what I did to them. What I did to *all* of them.”

“Of course.” Snape drawled as he mentally confirmed that Draco had no respect for the theory of karma. Whatsoever. Not that he did either, but how else could he explain the fact that his son was whining about *dieing* one minute, then laughing and reveling in the fact that he destroyed people’s dreams in another.

“Draco take a deep breath.” Severus informed coolly as he shifted his hands into position. “This might hurt a bit.”

Translation: it was going to hurt A LOT

Immediately after he pushed one of his son’s vertebrae in place, Draco’s hand clamped onto the lower part of his arms. The Potions Master looked down and at the grip Draco had on him. The boy’s slender aristocratic hands and wrists looked deceptively frail, but Severus knew that Draco was strong as hell. He had seen the boy bend iron bars into pretzel shapes just to show off for girls/ boys, and a quick lay. And he feared that with one more surge of pain, his son’s demonic strength was going crush his ulnae and radii.

“Draco.” He said sternly. “Let go.”

“Huh?” Draco whined as he lifted his head and looked at the grasp he had on his Daa. “Oh..oh.. shite.!” He gently let go and saw the beginnings of hand-shaped bruises on his daa’s skin. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” It was question, to appease his own guilt because he could clearly see the bruises for himself.

Severus didn’t answer with words; instead, he pulled his hands out of the boy’s body. “You know… it has just occurred to me that there is a more practical way to do this.”

Knowing exactly what the older wizard was talking about, the blond frantically shook his head no. “I hate that spell!…It hurts too much!”

“Are you telling me that it hurts worse than this?” He pursed his lips knowingly as he wiped the blue cream off of his hands with the magical cloth. “I seriously doubt it.”

“How would you know?” The boy whined. “You haven’t even—“

“Trust me. I’ve used it.” One devil-arched brow rose superiorly. “Would you like me to tell you when and how many times?” Because Snape’s husband was not only a masochists but a sadist as well.

“Ugh.. no!” Because, Veela or not, Draco didn’t care to hear the details of his parents sex life. “Please, just finish...I won’t grab you again... I promise!”

“No.” And it was said in a tone that brook no disagreement.

Draco pouted as he lay on his back. For a good minute he debated whether or not the pain of his injures outweighed the pain of that horrid spell. It didn’t. But it took another five minutes before he gathered the courage to summon his wand and say those dreaded words….

“Abracadabra.”

Tbc…..