Dragon Hunt

“Tell me the whore’sss name!” Voldemort shouted.

Draco coughed, spit some blood and shook his head. He’d fought against the magical bonds upon him, but couldn’t break them. His wand was no where to be found and something was keeping him from transforming. He’d been vaguely aware of his godfather’s presence, but he was absent now.

So he waited, silently taking the abuses Voldemort dished upon him. He’d lost count of the times Cruciatus had been heaped upon him. He’d lost count of the whip marks across his back. He’d lost count of the times Voldemort had healed him so that he could ravage more damage without risking death to his pet dragon. Instead of focusing on the here and now, he reserved his strength and imagined he was in Harry’s arms.

“You have been promisssssed to me. You and aaall that goesss along with it: theee manor, the businesssssesss, the presssstige of a pure-blood faaamily. I will not haaave that tarnissshhed by ssssome bassstard you faatthher with ssome meaninglessss dallianccce of yoursss!” Voldemort shouted.

Draco responded with silence. Voldemort retaliated by causing more pain. And then he seemed to change his strategy. Draco felt the attack on his very mind and began to put up the fight he was foregoing moments ago. Draco fought with everything he had to keep the Dark Lord from his mind and hoped for a break in the onslaught.

“Potter?!” the Dark Lord snapped. It was confusion and not quite anger in his voice making Draco think he did not know the reason Harry was on his mind, but only that Harry was in his thoughts. Draco locked down tighter and refused to let the Dark Lord any deeper in his mind. He refused. He thought about thick stone walls and locked vault doors and tried to stay closed against the onslaught.

The attacked eased off. “You depeeend on Potter,” Voldemort muttered. “You haaaven’t jussst betrayed my bed, you’vve betrayed my idealsss, my—“

“I have never committed any betrayal against you,” Draco muttered, the first words out of him for hours. And they were weak and breathy, but sure of their content.

“Liar!”

“You have to pledge loyalty to commit betrayal,” Draco said, spitting more blood.

“You ssstaged that ssscene for the Parkinssson girl to ssssee in order to place yourssself closssse to me,” Voldemort guessed. Draco felt no need to correct him. He was done speaking, again anyway. The pain began anew.



The group met at the gates of the small home Voldemort had taken for his hiding place. “Wards will trip the moment we open the gate,” Snape explained. “Voldemort’s inner circle will automatically be called, so we’ll have to be fast and move into position to defend.”

“Where’s Draco?” Harry asked, his eyes focused on the front door of the house.

“Basement,” Snape answered automatically. “Which is probably where Voldemort is as well.”

Sirius cleared his throat. “Harry, myself and Snape will head straight for the basement. The rest of you: set up a perimeter around the property and prepare for the onslaught.” There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

“There are latent stunners connected to the wards,” Snape reminded.

“The three of you head in; we’ll deflect them for you,” Moody said.

“On three,” Sirius said. “One.”

“Two,” Snape said.

“Three!” Harry shouted as he charged the gate.



Voldemort’s head turned away from his toy when the wards broke. He could hear shouting and commands from upstairs and settled himself in for a fight before he even knew what was coming. What was coming was a thick fog, filling the room quickly and silently. When the fog had cleared, Voldemort saw only his servant Severus standing in the doorway. “What issss going on?”



Harry bolted down the stairs with the fog and stayed on the wall, using it as a guide to move around to the other side of the room where he could sense his mate. When he saw Draco, obscured by the fog that hadn’t quite permeated over here, he wanted to allow himself to shatter. His beautiful lover, his mate, his dragon. Draco’s body was ravaged, beaten. Cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of the usually porcelain smooth and pale skin. His breathing was labored, raspy. He was hanging from steel cuffs on his wrists, the position tugging at his shoulders in a way that looked excruciating. His head was down, chin on chest, white-blond hair matted with blood hanging limply.

But then Draco managed to raise his head and Harry saw a crystal blue eye peak out from under the matted hair. His heart lurched and he had Draco in his arms before he remembered taking the last couple of steps towards him. He quickly unlocked the chains and cradled Draco against him as he lowered him to the ground.

Harry felt it immediately, but it was different. Their magics were combining like they did as they tended their egg, but instead of the peace it usually brought, Harry felt Draco’s anger and hatred and then instead of Harry focusing that magic into an egg, Draco stole it away and pressed it outward.



“You’re losing,” Snape replied easily.

“Wha—“ Voldemort started, but Sirius hit him with a stunner from the side. Voldemort dropped to his knees to catch his mental and magical balance as well as physical. He turned to see Draco, released and cradled in the arms of the Boy-Who-Lived. Voldemort could feel the magics swirling around the pair and then he felt it lash out: uncontrolled and unfocused.

But then he realized that it did have a focus, a purpose. The dragon had just unleashed himself.


“Draco,” Harry said, his voice showing his fear. Draco wouldn’t focus on him. His mate was focused only on Voldemort.

“Run, love,” Draco said coldly. Harry saw his skin begin to shimmer and his body began to change.

“Run!” Harry called to Snape and Sirius. But he would not leave his mate.



Moody turned away from the battle with Deatheaters when he heard Snape and Sirius running from the house as if running from an explosion. And then he heard cracking wood and felt the ground beneath him shift as the foundation of the house broke. And before he truly understood what was happening there was an icy dragon standing in the rubble.

“Where’s Harry?” Moody asked Sirius, even as they dodged and threw curses.

“Don’t know,” Sirius muttered, sparing a glance back towards the rubble.

“Voldemort is gone too,” Snape added.

“Focus!” Remus shouted after deflecting a curse almost making it to the trio.



Harry pulled himself to his feet. He held his arm awkwardly, knowing it was dislocated. He didn’t know where his wand was. Above him, he saw Draco’s dragon belly. The dragon was standing above him, hovering over the gaping hole that used to be the basement.

Then Harry saw Voldemort with his wand not focused on Harry, but on the belly of his mate. Harry didn’t even think; he rushed Voldemort, knocking the creature to the ground in defense of his mate. Harry could hear the battle raging on the lawn. He could hear Draco’s purr (really more of a violent growl at the moment) as the dragon joined the battle, breathing fire and lashing out with claws. And here he was in a wrestling match with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort was distracted by Harry’s unconventional attack, allowing Harry to get to his feet. When the brunette looked down at the creature, there was a wand focused on him. But even with himself unarmed and Voldemort armed, the Dark Lord looked afraid.

What Harry didn’t know was that his pupils had slitted, elongated. “You will not hurt my mate,” Harry hissed, slipping to parseltongue without noticing. His skin began to shimmer, but while Draco’s seemed to reflect light like mirrors, Harry’s skin sucked the light from the air, making everything seem just a bit darker.

Voldemort managed to get off a couple of quick and easy spells, both hitting Harry square in the chest, and while they caused damage, Harry barely felt it. His blood was boiling, rippling through him, his body tensing and shifting. With Harry’s seeming acquiescence, Voldemort took aim and let loose the spell. The Boy Who Lived jumped backwards to dodge the hastily cast spell he didn’t want to test if he could survive again and watched as it ineffectively hit the wall of the ceilingless basement. Voldemort, too, was retreating, backing away from whatever Harry had become.

The light shifted and Harry glanced up, seeing that Draco had moved and was now looking down into that hole, looking down at Voldemort as he tried to climb up the broken staircase. The next thing he knew, Voldemort was on fire.

Harry expected the fire to be out in moments; Voldemort still had his wand, after all, but instead of the fire going out, a spell was shot out. Harry didn’t recognize it, but was sickened when he smelled the blood that flowed down on both himself and the Dark Lord. Draco was bleeding profusely, enough that the blood had put out the fire. Harry raged. He could smell his mate’s blood and he could taste it. And he could hear the pain and panic and weakness in the purr.

“Your mate?” Voldemort asked, finally seeming to have caught up to what Harry had said.

“Yesss,” Harry hissed. The need to protect and fight for his mate and take revenge on any who dare touch his mate overwhelmed him, dare harm the other half of his soul. Harry lunged forward as his body shifted, changed, expanded.