Dragon Hunt

Harry had woken alone and his stomach sank. There was no note, no message, no real clue to his mate’s whereabouts, but Harry knew. He understood immediately that the only reason Draco wouldn’t have woken him to let him know where he was going was if he was going to meet the Dark Lord. Draco wouldn’t have wanted to see Harry’s face when he knew where his mate was going. He could feel his mate’s unease. He glanced back at the egg and continued his pacing. Fear coursed through his body faster and colder than his blood. He knew his breathing was rough, coming in worried pants. He hated being separated from his mate.

He knew that his reaction to separation was even more extreme than Draco’s. He didn’t understand that. Draco was the dragon. Draco was the special one. Not Harry. Hary was just Harry. The Boy-Who-Lived, yes, but human and average in all ways, save luck. But he felt incomprehensible panic being away from Draco. He needed to know that Draco was safe and well. He needed to hear his mate’s purr and feel his smooth, warm skin and know that all was well.

But the longer he paced, the more he began to realize that not all was well. Draco was with the Dark Lord. He was with his betrothed. Oh, how Harry hated that thought. It disgusted him. It made him shutter and it made him nauseous. Where was Draco?

The sun began to peak over the horizon: first just the subtle lightening of the sky and soon a ray of golden light spilling over the dark forest. Moisture on the leaves began to glitter as more colors began to blend: copper, bronze, salmon, and violet. He longed to see a glint of silver in the mix. But there was nothing.

Harry almost jumped out of his skin when the magical doorway opened. Malfoy stepped through. Malfoy, not Draco. He looked on Harry and the veneer cracked. “Draco,” Harry breathed, stepping towards his mate. The purr was dull, muffled.

Draco stepped away. He shook his head. “I—I need to shower,” he said softly and rushed past Harry. The brunette moved to follow, but he found the door locked both manually and magically.

Draco dropped to his knees in front of the porcelain bowl. He emptied its contents, flushed them away and emptied himself again. He allowed himself to cry, allowed the sobs to rock his entire body. He had not only betrayed his love and his mate, but his very nature. He disgusted himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of what he had almost done. It was wrong; he was wrong. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to die.

Tears stung Harry’s eyes. He leaned against the door, placing his forehead on the smooth, worn wood. Softly at first, but with growing speed and power, he pounded his fist on the door. When he got no response, he pulled his wand and unlocked the door. It slammed open, making him jerk, but Draco never moved from his place on the floor before the toilet.

“Draco?” Harry said softly.

“I feel so dirty, Harry. I—“

“No,” Harry said softly, though his voice broke from his own tears. “Love, you’re beautiful.”

“I’m sorry,” Draco mumbled frantically. “I’m so sorry. Sorry, Harry. I—I’m just so sorry, Harry.” He felt Harry’s arms wrap around him and jerked away. “Don’t touch me!” The words made Harry’s own tears renew. Draco had only shied away from Harry’s touch when he felt as if he didn’t deserve his mate’s touch, the comfort that Harry knew it would give him.

Harry refused to be denied. He wouldn’t let his mate go through this alone. He wrapped his arms around Draco, held him fiercely against his chest, holding the blond as he cried. “Please forgive me,” Draco cried. “Please—“

“Shhh, dragon,” Harry soothed. “Don’t. There is nothing to forgive. Nothing, do you understand me?” he said fiercely. Harry held him tightly, protectively. He hated what Draco had done, but he’d hated even more that Draco had felt it necessary to protect his mate and the world. He hated that Voldemort had touched someone so beautiful, so pure, so—his. Harry felt rage flowing through his body.

“Come on,” Harry said, lifting his mate from the floor. Tears stained the pale cheeks. His eyes were both red and swollen. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“You’re angry,” Draco muttered meekly. Harry had set him down at the edge of the shower, reached to start the water and was pragmatically undressing him. But, he didn’t answer him. “I’m so sorry,” Draco said again, a fresh wave of tears hitting.

“I told you,” Harry said flatly. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Then why are you angry with me?” Draco asked. Harry stopped fumbling with the buttons of Draco’s shirt and finally looked up at his dragon. Draco was so pale, more so than usual. And he looked so frightened, so fragile, so ashamed. Harry’s fury was renewed. He dropped his eyes and reached again for Draco’s clothing.

Draco pushed Harry’s hands away. “You don’t have to touch me,” he muttered brokenly. “Go. I can take care of myself.” Harry nodded and stepped away.

Harry didn’t leave though; he simply leaned against the counter and to watch Draco finish stripping down. Draco pulled his shirt from his shoulders. There was a scratch on his mate’s stomach stretching a couple of inches down towards his hip, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. Harry clenched his fists. That thing had hurt his mate. Draco pulled at his belt. “Please go,” Draco said softly.

“What did he do to you?” Harry asked, his eyes trained to that scratch. It was insignificant, really. Harry knew that both he and Draco had gifted eachother with worse in some of their more amorous moments. How had it been? Had the snake pretended to really care about his mate or was he cruel, rough—“Tell me!” Harry demanded.

Draco jumped and turned his back to Harry. Had he not turned his back, he would have seen the changes, seen the differences in his mate. Harry practically growled when he saw the four parallel scratches on the back of his mate’s shoulder. “Harry,” Draco said calmly. “I need you to leave.”

“Why?!” Harry demanded.

Draco swallowed and fought to remain calm. “Because I have just had the most disgusting, degrading, and humiliating experience of my life and now you are angry with me—“

“No!” Harry cut off, frustrated. “I’m not angry at you! I’m angry at the world! I’m angry at myself! I’m supposed to protect you and I allowed this! I was meant to do more! I was meant to keep you safe, my dragon! And instead, you’ve been defiled by that thing! I’m angry that the bastard who wants to kill me is succeeding mentally if not physically! I’m angry that he touched you and now I’m stuck wondering—wondering where he touched you, if you—“

“If I what?” Draco snapped, turning to glare at Harry. Harry looked down, ashamed he had put a voice to the thoughts. “If I touched him?” Draco growled. Harry looked up, seeing his mate swallow back some emotion. When he spoke again, his voice was broken. “If I liked it?”

“Did you?” Harry asked softly.

“How can you even ask me that?” Draco screamed. “He’s a monster! He’s murdered only the gods know how many people! He’s trying to murder millions more. Particularly you: my mate, my love! He’s cruel and disgusting! He—”

“Tell me what happened,” Harry interrupted. But this time, his voice was weak, broken.

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“You’re right. I don’t want to, Draco. But I think I have to. Please?” Harry pled.

“He announced the engagement. Apparently I’m getting married on New Year’s Eve,” Draco said, trying and failing to sound unbothered.

“Never!” Harry said fiercely. “And you know that’s not what I meant.”

Draco took a long moment to calm himself before answering. “I tried to distract him by offering up the manor to him. He wouldn’t be. I stuck to my demand that the engagement remain proper and he agreed. But he also reminded me that tradition only demands that the couple refrain from vaginal or anal intercourse. He—He said that he wanted to give me a taste of the pleasure he could give me. He put his hand in my robe, down my chest, stomach. I realized the game would be up if I couldn’t respond to the touch, which I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I was disgusted and ashamed and—I don’t think I—I told him it would give me more pleasure to see him find his own. He undressed and st—stroked himself.”

The words sounded painful coming out of his mouth and Harry felt nauseous hearing them. “He demanded that I—” Draco fought to get the words out. “That I suck him. Snape interrupted before I could—He demanded I stay on my knees and he kept stroking himself while he carried on a conversation with him; Snape left before he—he got off before I was forced to do anything. He grabbed my shoulder when he came. He said that he wouldn’t want o mess up my perfect hair.” Harry resolved that once Voldemort was dead Draco never slick his hair back again, never. It should hang free and soft. “He got dressed and he left. Snape came in and took me to the manor to give the elves instructions and then I came straight back here.” Draco turned again, testing the temperature of the water. “Go. I—” He shook his head and laughed derisively. “Just go.”

“I love you,” Harry breathed.

“I love you too, Harry,” Draco responded. He dropped his pants and stepped quickly into the spray.

Draco stood under the spray for a long moment letting quiet tears join the stream. He scrubbed shampoo through his hair, letting the strands tangle and pull. He’d puked and done a breath freshening charm, but still he opened his mouth out and let the water beat against his tongue. He scrubbed at his neck and jaw. He felt the presence behind him and shivered despite the heat of the water. Harry wrapped his arms gently around his middle and kissed the side of his neck.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly. They stayed quietly entwined for a long, soothing moment. “Your purr isn’t muffled anymore.”

“I’ve told you everything,” Draco said quietly. “I don’t know how—This is so hard, Harry.”

“I know how hard this is for you; it’s hard for me too. It’s hard to know that the thing I hate more than anything has defiled the person I treasure above anyone. And I hate that I have to let it happen for the time being. And I don’t know how to deal with the fact that before I knew you, I wanted him dead. But now, I want to kill him.”

Draco ran his hands over Harry’s arms, wrapping them tighter around himself. “I don’t want to repeat this scene everytime I have to see him,” he said quietly.

“I wish there was something I could do to help you, help you get through this. I feel helpless. I feel worthless. You’re doing this at least partially for me and I—What can I do for you, Draco?” He pressed his forehead against the back of Draco’s shoulders. “Please tell me there is something I can do to help you.”

Draco pulled away from Harry’s embrace to look him in the eye. He nibbled on his lip. “When this is all over, promise me something?”

“Anything,” Harry said quietly, brushing Draco’s hair from his face.

“Just love me,” Draco whispered. “Just wrap your arms around me and hold me. I won’t hide anything from you, Harry, but—you must understand that I don’t want to relive what I had to do.”

“I do understand.”

“Then I am begging you, Harry, begging—I’m begging you to not ask. I’m begging you to not dwell on it. If you need to know something, I will tell you.”

“I promise that I will at least try,” Harry said honestly, though he knew he would wonder and dwell no matter how he tried. But he would try, as he’d promised. And he would take care of his mate any way that he could. “Let’s get you dried off. You haven’t slept.”

“We need to tend the egg,” Draco said quietly.

“And then sleep,” Harry muttered. “For you at least, though I probably won’t be able to shirk off classes.”

“Well, cheer up. Your double-potions will be cancelled. Severus is giving the Dark Lord a tour of the manor this morning.” Draco smiled back at Harry and then turned off the water.

“Well good. Then I can nap for a couple of hours with you. I didn’t get much sleep last night either.” Harry grabbed a towel from its hanging by the shower and dried them both before they stepped back into the bedroom.

“Did you take the magic restoration potion?” Draco asked as he crawled into their shared bed with the egg.

“No,” Harry admitted, stalling his own comfort to dig a potion out of the bottom drawer. He paused to gather the courage to deal with the taste and then threw it back like a shot of whiskey. Harry then crawled in behind his mate and wrapped his arms around both dragon and egg. Automatically, the process began. Their magics joined together, flowing from one to the other and back again. Harry reveled in the feel for a moment, letting it wash over him. He felt so safe and secure and happy when he was joined with Draco.

And then when the energy had built itself up, Harry focused it, pushed it through his skin and into the egg beneath his palm. The egg’s purr grew louder, more alive each time they did this. Harry slumped into sleep and Draco began to move Harry’s hand away and the egg’s purr settled down to a simmer: life, but not alive yet. It had to be soon. With each passing day, Harry and Draco both realized that the magic simmering in the egg needed to come to a rolling boil, when it did, the egg would be safe.