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 27/?

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


At Draco’s piercing scream, Severus decided that Draco must have banshee blood in him. Later, he would have to check his ears for blood, or any type of hearing damage, but right now, he gave no outward sign of discomfort. Instead, he watched as all of the wounds, bruises and scratches magically disappeared. It was truly an amazing spell.

Nalta,on the other hand, covered her ears and disappeared. She had decided that going to Shadow was the best course of action.

When it was over, the boy groggily sat up and grumbled. “I always knew you hated me.”

Severus outwardly sighed as he shifted Draco around to face him. He gave his son, one last thorough search for injuries, and through it all, the boy kept giving him wounded and betrayed looks.

Severus ignored them.

It was expected. Draco always acted like this after someone healed him. He was a horrible patient.

After Snape deemed Malfoy alright, he then demanded. “Draco, bring me your Vade Mecum.” There were answers he needed which concerned what happened to Potter, and he had a suspicion that he would find them in there.

The Equinox Child hesitated. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to share his spells. It was just that…well… He *didn’t* want to share his spells!

They were his dammit!

Written and invoked with his *own* life energy!

And in his less than humble opinion, he really shouldn’t be expected to share something so personal.

When Draco looked at his daa defiantly, the Dark Wizard, who was truly a Dark Master aka Warlock, gave him a look that said “Don’t make me repeat myself.” That look alone was the deciding factor and the budding Spell Master scooted off the bed, and rushed across the room to retrieve it out of it secret location.

“Okay” Draco begrudgingly conceded. “But don’t look where I’ve hidden it.”

Severus just rolled his eyes before he closed him. His son was so paranoid. It wasn’t like he didn’t *already* know where it was. His ears quickly picked up the almost non-existent sound of Draco padding back across the room. Severus fought back a smirk. His son always hid his most precious items, in the same location–underneath his bed– since he was 6 years old. It was only the *wards*, which kept his collectibles from prying hands. And Severus knew first hand that when it came to the Malfoy’s, the word ‘overkill’ –especially when it related to protection and privacy wards– held no bearing.

A few minutes later, Draco was standing in front of him with the large, leather bound tome in his hands. Severus took it and started to delve through it. He knew that whatever Draco had written would instantly appear. The book was special and magically bound to the boy. It would also categorize each invocation as a dark spell, light, incantation, potion accompaniment, ect. However, as the older wizard flipped through the pages, he was shocked to see that there were more spells written in it than he had expected.

Each one he passed made his heart palpitate with the sick realization that Draco could, and would have died.

For Real!!

If he were an ordinary wizard.

Each spell also made Severus want to take Draco over his knee and paddle him for even deciding to write a spell in the first place.

When a scowl etched itself on top of his Daa’s usual frown, Draco figured that Severus was displeased with his accomplishments. Not that he blamed him, mind you. The spells Draco usually wrote weren’t particularly useful. In Draco’s opinion, they were more like grand mistakes. Most were dark spells and caused a lot of chaos, but still not particularly useful. However, getting the book did explain a lot. Draco always felt that bad things seemed to always find and follow him. After getting his Vade Mecum from his mother and seeing all the spells that he had unconsciously written, now, he realized that he was actually *summoning* those horrible things to him.

Or *invoking* them, if you will.

He just didn’t know.

Soft glowing ideograms caught Severus’s attention. It was the tomes way of announcing the newest spell. And the latest addition was…

Umren Zaspan

Snape glanced up at his son, then back at the page. Then back at his son. “When did you learn Macedonian, Draco?”

“I don’t know Macedonian.” He replied honestly.

The raven-haired man glanced back at the page and bit on his bottom lip as he tried to understand what and *how* this mess happened. But for the life of him, didn’t know.

“Are you sure?”

“I think I would have remembered.” Draco drawled sarcastically, as he peered over the upside down book, to read what he had invoked this time. It looked like scribbles to him. ‘Figures.’ The boy mentally grumbled. ‘Another useless spell.’ In Draco’s opinion, this “Spell Master” thing sucked! Nine times out of ten, the spells, he wrote, didn’t do what he intended. Most of the time they only served to it get him into trouble. The other *one* time, it was in a language which made no sense.

And it *still* didn’t do what he wanted it to do!

“So that’s Macedonian?” He asked. This wasn’t the first time he had seen those scribbles in his book.

“Yes.”

The boy pursed his cherry-colored lips in annoyance then asked.“Can you explain to me why?... No, *how* in the world I invoked a spell in Macedonian, Daa?” Draco made a small gesture toward the book. “I don’t even *know* Macedonian!”

But on the plus side, at least he *now* knew were to look for translations.

“It doesn’t matter *how* you wrote the spell, Draco. All that matters is that you did.” Snape informed a bit awed.

Awed into sickness, that is.

“Moreover, this spell is not even magic.” Snape muttered under his breath. “It’s Magija.”

“Magija?” Draco furrowed his brow as he tried to place the word. He had never heard of it.

“It’ nothing *you* need to know about.” He informed sternly as he simultaneously damned his mouth for even mentioning it in the first place. Now, because of this slip up, it was only a matter of time before Draco started poking around in it. The boy was so insufferably curious.

Magija was a form of the blackest, most dangerous, and most potent types of magic, During Severus’s first years as a Death Eater, he studied it, for a bit. It wasn’t until after he realized how volatile that type of magic truly was, did he decide that it wasn’t something he wanted to mess with. Less, of course, he wanted to come back looking like Voldemort.

Which he *didn’t.*

And he definitely didn’t want Draco engaging in that type of magic. It was powerful stuff, but the cost was too high.

“Are you sure your father hasn’t started your Macedonian lessons yet?” The Potions Master inquired. Just to be sure. He hoped that Draco had just forgotten. Lucius had a tendency to try and cram an extra curricular study into Draco’s daily planner. Despite the boy’s protest.

“What?!!” Draco sputtered. “I have to learn Macedonian too?!” He could not fucking believe this! Learning it on his own was one thing, but being forced was another. His father must have lost his damn mind!

Severus could tell by the boy’s distress that the magija thing was now momentarily forgotten. He was glad for it.

“It’s not fair!” The prince yelled brattily “My schedule is filled to the *brim* with prior duties! I have *no time* to learn another *dead* language!”

Snape inwardly nodded. That was the truth. He and Lucius did require a lot of their son. Sometimes he wondered how Draco consistently lived up to their expectations. But that was only sometimes, and it was a fleeting thought, at that. Mostly because when Draco was left to his own devices, he would do something…

Bad.

That old saying “An idle mind is the devil’s workshop” must have been made specifically for the young demon prince.

Of course, the boy wouldn’t mean too to be bad.

Well, not all the time, anyway.

Never-the-less it didn’t change the fact that Draco Diabolis Malfoy was the pureblood version of Denis the Menace. But instead of bothering his neighbor, he would create a dementor house elf, which wiped out his friend’s memories, or conjure up murderous nightmares, who ran-a-muck in the Veelan place, or unconsciously summon fire pixies to carry out his silent fury.

And that was just the *tip* of the ice burg.

It was at that exact moment when things started to piece themselves together, and the Potion’s Master started to understand. *This* was what being a Spell Master truly was. It meant that Draco had the power to invoke spells, of any magic, and in any language, even if he didn’t know what they were or what it would do. It meant that his recalcitrant son could and *would* invoke spells, not knowing, or caring, what damage they could cause.

And Draco would.

He knew Draco long enough to know that a little thing like *caution* wouldn’t stop him. No, the boy probably felt that he was invincible because he could invoke spells in the first place.

So Draco would feel that it was his right.

His *birth* right.

To reek havoc on the world

Severus tried to keep the worry and fear out of his eyes as he looked at his fair-haired step child, but his anxiety was starting to consume him.

Draco was a danger!

Not only to himself but to *everyone* around him!

“Daa!” Draco whined, bringing the man out of his thoughts “Why can’t father understand that my plate is full? I barely have any free time as it is!”

Snape knew this, already. He knew the boy’s schedule and how busy he was. The young prince was seventeen years old, and he not only had his scholastic responsibilities, but his teaching responsibilities, his Head Boy responsibilities, House responsibilities, and his Quiditch responsibilities, He also had responsibilities to the Malfoy family businesses, and his *own* fledgling businesses. Then add that with his Veelan Royal responsibilities, his duty to the Veela Royal guard, his private wizarding and demon training, and his social life –whose purpose was really only to strengthen future alliances. Only to top it off with the fact that he was *now* supposed to befriend and sway Potter to the Slytherin side *and* be the next Spell Master– which was going to entail a shit load of responsibilities in itself– and he was still expected to give a 110% of himself with each task.

His father, Lucius, accepted nothing less.

Then, if that wasn’t bad enough, his hectic schedule barely gave him time to satiate his sexual urges!

And that was a NECESSITY, because he was VEELA!

“I mean come ooooon!” The boy fumed as he waved his hands in the air. “I already have to use time turner spells just to stay on task as it is! What does he expect me to do now? Split myself in two?”

“Oh God no, Draco!” Severus interrupted. Very rarely did he ever call on God, and it was only when he was *truly* frightened. “For you, I will speak to him.” He didn’t want Draco to even begin on that train of thinking. The boy just might try it.

“You promise?” The boy asked hopefully.

“Yes” Snape lied as he gave his son a charitable smile. Nevertheless, Severus knew, good and well, he wasn’t going to bring this up to Lucius. The Macedonian thing was just a random question. Not any kind of fact. Draco was just paranoid. However, the boy’s grateful smile and hero worshiping eyes was enough to let the raven-haired man keep up the charade. “Don’t worry yourself over this. I’ll take care of it.”

Still, the situation was not good. Well, maybe it was. Severus couldn’t decide. He knew that Dumbledore was probably shitting bricks right now. Who wouldn’t be? He screwed up big time, and he knew it. For the Headmaster knew that under the curse of the Dark Mark, Voldemort had the best Potions Master to live within the past 200 years, a demonic Dark Master, and a Spell Master.

That right there would win you *any* war!

Then if the odds couldn’t get any worse, the Headmaster also lost the infallible trust of the only person who could possibly defeat You-Know-Who.

Harry Potter

“What the…hell?”

Draco’s terrified whisper made Severus leave his thoughts and focus on his son. The boy was standing in front of an ornate full length mirror, using that magical cloth to wipe the symbols off of his body.

But what had caught the boy’s attention was….

That one remaining bite mark at the juncture of his neck.

The only wound that didn’t heal with the abracadabra charm.

And abracadabra was supposed to heal ALL wounds

No matter what they were.

The sight made Severus sick.

Because if that bite mark meant what he *thought* it meant…

Harry Potter was no longer their Savior.

He couldn’t be….

Not anymore.

They were doomed!!!!!!!!!

Narcissa’s reading was wrong.

They were all going to die!

DIE, I tell you DIE!!!

Severus wanted to just…crawl under a rock and hide. He was, also, seriously thinking about quitting the Order and doing his best to rise in the ranks of the Death Eater circle.

Because really….There was no use fighting for the “light” now.

Seeing how Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, The only one who had a half-arse chance in defeating You-Know-Who, just placed his *own* self under the Scalvus Curse!

‘Somebody should have really told that boy about his family tree’. Snape mentally fumed. Because really, who just goes around *biting* and *bonding* themselves to people? “Idiot child!”

“What was that?” Draco called from across the room.

“Nothing!” Snape snapped.

Draco continued to stare at the bite mark, as if he couldn’t really believe it was actually there. Or as if he hoped it was just a bad dream. But it wasn’t. It was real. And it was a fucking nightmare.

“Draco.” Severus called, to his shell-shocked son. Then called again after he didn’t get a response.

“I’m not going to give him the book.” Was the answer. Though whether Malfoy was talking to Snape or to himself was yet to be seen.

The older man didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say. Draco already knew his stance as it concerned the journal. Not that it mattered now.

Not anymore.

There was a pregnant silence, fill with unresolved convictions. So the Potions Master shifted his gaze away from his confused child and waited for Draco to make up his mind about what he was going to do. However, while he waited Snape decided to search through the Vade Mecum. He wanted to remember as many spells as possible; he wanted to know what else he, and the rest of the world, had to worry about. He also wanted to find as many useful spells as possible. The self healing spell, even though extremely painful, was also extremely useful.

“Daa” the flaxen-haired boy whispered as he gazed into the mirror, to look at his father behind him. “I’m almost killed him today… and I…I was so scared.” Idly, he remembered telling Zeni never to admit that. What a fool he was then. Even if it might bite you in the ass later, sometimes you needed to confess; just like sometimes you needed to repent. “I always thought that I would be happy when he died...” He continued almost confusedly, as he idly gathered his long hair over the shoulder opposite of the bite. “I even imagined myself doing a magnificent dance on his grave.”

Not sure where this confession was going. “A Dance of Mourning?” Severus prodded as he continued to search through the book.

The boy spun around and scowled. “Mourning?...Of course not!” He spat out, disgusted that it was even suggested. “It was a Dance of Triumph and Spite!”

“Good.” The comment was out before he could even stop it. Dancing was an integral part in Veelan society. They had all types of dances, which meant all sorts of different things, and for various occasions. Some dances were even used as weapons. Depending on the Veela, their dance could be more powerful than the strongest Imperus Curse, for they could inveigle a type of infatuated devotion on the enemy.

However, there was another pregnant pause, after both of their confessions, so Severus prodded again. “But now…you’ve changed your mind?”

“I don’t know...” Draco admitted as he chewed on his bottom lip. “All I do know is.. Is.that if the Dark Lord wants Harry dead...” His expression became resolute and determined. “He’d better find another patsy, because it won’t be by my hand.”

“Are you sure about that, Draco?” Severus asked very seriously “This vow might mean your death.”

Draco glanced at his step-father then started walking toward his living room.

“Draconis…”Snape called worriedly as he put the book down and followed his son into the next room. “What are you doing?”

The boy didn’t answer, instead he drawled “Accio Journal.”

Out of an open drawer, in the bookcase closest to the fireplace, Voldemort’s journal zipped out toward the young prince. Instantly, Draco shifted to his demonic skill and the leather bound book was telekinetically thrown into the fireplace.

Severus didn’t even have the opportunity to accio it before Draco summoned, in his native tongue of Veela “Black Fire of Hell, come forth!”

Obediently, the hell’s fire exploded in a dark blaze of fury.

“Oh…My… God!” There was really nothing else, Severus could say. All he could do was stand there, frozen in shock as he watched the black fire dwindle away and leave nothing but…

Ashes.

Snape felt sick. He literally wanted to throw up.

Draco had just turned VOLDEMORT’S book into ashes!

It was in times like this when Severus felt that Draco was too much of Lucius’s son.

IDIOTS the both of them!

Because how in the name of Orcus was he going to explain *this* if –no WHEN– that scaly bastard summoned him?!?!

“I..I must go.” The Potion Master choked out.

“Already?” The boy asked innocently.

So fucking innocently.

“Regrettably, yes.” He replied calmly, though inwardly, he felt the sharp burn of an ulcer forming in the pit of his stomach. He needed to go, get out of this room, and contact Lucius. Mayhaps his idiot husband could get them all out of the country, and hide them in another magical world before their “lord” figured out that his book was destroyed.

And before any of them were killed for this transgression.

However, that was not what he told Draco. Their precious baby boy had always been sheltered from the true horror which was Voldemort. The boy knew that they were trapped, and censured on how they should regard the Dark Lord, but Draco also knew that all of his parents did whatever they could to secretly overthrow the tyrant.

Moreover, Draco had never *seen* the damage Voldemort had inflicted on them. Or on anyone. Not when it was at its worst. It gave the boy a false illusion that he could rebel without serious repercussions. Then add that to the fact that the young prince had never *really* been punished for *anything,* In truth, Draco didn’t know the true meaning of punishment, consequences and repercussions.

Well, not as it related to *him* anyway.

And that was why Severus lied.

“I must leave you now, I have a class to teach and. ..I am already late.” He rolled his eyes dramatically and tried to play the part of the long-suffering teacher. “Only Merlin knows what those dunderheads are doing in my absence.” But God, he didn’t even sound convincing to his own ears.

Nevertheless, Draco nodded in understanding. Then gave a slightly, royal dismissive nod right before his father fled his quarters. He had no idea of the other man’s inner turmoil. On the other hand, he did know how tough Professors had it and how hard it was to maintain order in a classroom once it had been lost. Draco also knew, for a fact, that a potions room was *not* a place you wanted to leave a bunch of unsupervised teenagers.

“Oh daa… before you leave…”

Severus stopped at the vestibule doorway.

The boy walked over to the man and gently placed the “vase” in his hands “You forgot this.”

Severus looked at his son and felt an even greater conviction to protect him. Draco was so *innocent*. It amazed him how most people never picked up on it. “I’ll be in touch.” He confirmed. He hoped.

When Severus left, Draco walked back into his bedroom and toward the mirror. He stared at the scar on his neck again, and caressed it lightly .

This was no ordinary bite mark, that Draco was sure of. The slight touch made every one of his nerves tingle and his blood feel like it was on fire. It also made him more determined to fulfill that promise of finding out tHarry Potter’s family tree. Only a few magical creatures could leave a mark like this and most of those times the creatures were usually *cursed.*

The only question, now, was “how.”

“Harry Potter…” He sighed out to himself, as he caressed his scar again. “What the hell have you done now?”


tbc