Secret Keeper

Chapter 6 -- A Most-Rare Species



Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to JK.



Author's Note: All work and no play for me. :( Although I did get the chance to see GoF the day it opened! I hadn't bothered with the second and third movies, but the fourth book is my favorite in the series, so I decided to see if the movie was any good as well. I must say that I was pretty impressed.



I hereby solemnly swear never to take longer than a month to post a chapter again. I solemnly swear to post a chapter every two-three weeks, at least.



Beta'd by the wonderful Karli, who always tries to keep me writing, even when I want to slack off. :P



Hope you enjoy the longest chapter yet! :D



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Harry was confused. Groggy, aroused, and confused, to be more specific.



He'd just woken up from a very strange dream regarding Malfoy by Ron sneaking back into their dorm.



Ron had made a habit of creeping into the dorm in the early morning hours ever since he'd gotten together with Hermione last year. Harry was happy for them, and still was - really, but he missed the late-night chats that he and Ron used to share. Whenever his best friend stayed in his own bed nowadays, he wanted to sleep. And Harry, being a light sleeper due to Voldemort and Vernon, always woke up at the whispered snick of the shutting door; the other three they shared the room with, Neville, Seamus, and Dean, managed to sleep through his friends entrances.



But no, it was his dream about Malfoy that had caused his confusion. And a very unwanted guest tenting the blankets.



"Hey Ron?" he softly called, voice scratchy from interrupted sleep as he turned on his side and bunched the blankets up around his waist so as to better hide his erection.



Rons head jerked in his direction, blue eyes wide and surprised, before he quietly tiptoed over. "Hey mate, what're you doing up?"



"Had a weird dream," Harry replied, scooting over on his side so that Ron could sit on the edge of his bed.



A shudder visibly passed through Ron as he sat down. "You mean ... from You-Know-Who?" He shook his head, disbelief written on his freckled face. "Blimey, Harry, school's just started too!"



Harry rolled his eyes. "No, not from Voldemort." Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself. "It was about Malfoy and -- "



"Malfoy?" Ron frowned and got to his feet. "Listen mate, I'm dead knackered and I really don't want to spend the rest of the night - morning, hearing you yap on about another one of your 'I beat Malfoy to a bloody pulp' dreams."



"But it wasn't -- " Harry began, but Ron had already shucked his slippers off and tumbled into his bed. Harry waited, hoping his friend would investigate his protest, only to hear a soft snore from Rons bed.



Harry sighed, disappointed, but grateful for his advanced senses. Without them, he would have been waiting for a reply that would never have come. They had saved his arse many times this summer as well. It was nice to be able to hear Vernon's footsteps pounding in the hallway towards his room before the door was thrown open; it was nice to be able to gaze out his window and see the butterflies fluttering around the neighbor's flowers, reminding him that not all in the world was abusive and vindictive; it was nice to be able to smell the school supplies and presents that called attention to the fact that if he were to just get through the summer, he could be where he wanted to be with those he loved.



A loud grunt from the other side of the room jerked him to the present and he sighed again, scooting back over onto the left side of his bed, the fading warmth of his previous position soaking into his skin. He always slept on the left side of his bed and always in the nude nowadays, and he didn't know why. He had come up with a theory for his sleep position; that perhaps he was leaving a space for some part of him that he was missing, but he didn't really view this as viable. It was utterly ridiculous to think that he was missing something as he had finally, somewhat, come to terms with Sirius' death and had made amends with the Order of the Phoenix after some rather nasty things he had said to them.



He rolled over to look at the alarm clock perched on top of his nightstand. 6:40. Damn, he was up early. And he was not going to be able to fall asleep again with his mind now alert and ready for the new day. He growled and threw the covers off, crawling to the foot of his bed. As if there was a point when he was just going to get up at 7:15 for breakfast anyways. Awkwardly reaching from behind, he opened his trunk and rummaged through it for the clothes he would wear today. Holding up a wrinkled shirt and a wrinkled pair of slacks that sort of matched, he decided they were good enough and quietly closed the trunk lid, clambering off his bed to head for the shower. While he was up so early, he would sneak one in before things degenerated into their usual shoving match for rights.







Harry stood naked in front of the mirror, eyeing the reflection staring back at him, fresh from the shower with moist, flushed skin and dripping black hair. His thoughts had become horrifying over the course of what was meant to be a short, ten minute shower, but had turned into a long, half-hour shower as he'd agonized over every inane and stupid thing possible. All with the question of what Draco - Malfoy. - would think. He hadn't planned on washing his hair since he'd just done it yesterday, but the thought of Draco - Malfoy! - seeing him dirty was abhorrent and enough to have him furiously scrubbing both his hair and his body. This lent him to wonder what Draco - Oh, shit. - would think of his shampoo and soap. Did the shampoo make his hair look shiny and healthy? Did the soap make his skin look soft and clean? He sighed and reached up to finger a lock of his hair. Never had he wished more that he could tame it, that it wouldn't look like he had just crawled out of bed. Of course, his opinion didn't matter at this point, only Draco's, and maybe Hermione was right when she said it looked 'sexy'.



He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, watching the wet strands fall at odd angles. That was another thing that scared him. His thoughts were centered on Draco. And there was more than one thing wrong with that. First, why was it Draco? For 7 years now, it had been Malfoy, Ferretface, prick, arse and et cetera; there hadn't been any inclination to say his rival's first name and even if there had been such a thing, it would have caused shudders of disgust to course through his body, or at least he would hope so. But now... now there was a - a compulsion, a need, to say or think the blonde's name. When he did, oh, yes, when he did, it gave him an intimacy he craved; it made his toes curl, his body prickle with arousal, his stomach do somersaults of warmth and happiness. "Draco." he whispered without thought, shuddering at the sensations, the feelings that bombarded him, loving the way it rested on his tongue and rolled off. Oh, gods. He'd have to use all of his control today, all of his stubborn determination, to not repeat Draco's name over and over, just to feel ... alive.



Shaking his head to dispel the fog of lust, he reached for his briefs and pulled them on. This made him curious about what Draco preferred - boxers or briefs. Which also led him to the second reason he was scared. His thoughts were centered on his rival, arguably obsessed. The last time he had ever thought of someone in this manner, for a prolonged length of time, was in fourth year when he had thought he'd fancied Cho Chang. That paled in comparison to the depth of obsession he faced with Draco. Emerald eyes fell on the wrinkled pile of his clothes on the sink counter. He couldn't wear that. Not when they were so wrinkled and mismatched; not when Draco would see him wearing them. He needed to impress the blonde who made his stomach flip-flop. He smiled softly. An admiring glance, an admiring smile, would make his day.



"HARRY! GET YOUR ARSE OUT OF THERE AND STOP WANKING." Seamus called through the door before it proceeded to rattle dangerously with the force of his blows. "IT'S ALREADY 15 AFTER AND THE REST OF US BLOKES NEED TO USE THE BATHROOM TOO."



"I'M NOT WANKING!" He yelled in protest, hurriedly smoothing his hair down as best he could and swiping some deodorant under his arms.



In similar hurried situations he would have skipped brushing his teeth - one day wouldn't hurt them - but with his mind focused on Draco, and what he might think, Harry found himself reaching for the toothbrush, vowing to make up for all those days when he hadn't.



"Harry's in there wanking and he won't come out," Seamus complained to someone in muffled tones, his vicious pounding on the door coming to a stop.



"Why would he come out? I bet his cock is prettier than your face," he heard Dean tease.



"Have you tried the door handle?" Neville asked, ever the practical one. Harry groaned quietly and sped his brushing up; if Seamus listened to Neville, the whole rowdy pack would be here in a few seconds.



"What's the point of doing that?" Seamus shot Neville's suggestion down while Harry spit the last of his paste into the sink and cleaned the brush out. "Harry's always locked the door before, so it's going to be locked now."



Just as the last words left his mouth, the door swung open. Harry stepped out, a smug grin on his face as he sauntered past his surprised roommates with the unwearable clothes lazily thrown over a shoulder. "Shoulda tried the door, Seamus."



"Told you so." Neville said sullenly, pushing past a still dumbfounded Seamus and into the bathroom.



Dean slapped Seamus on the back good-naturedly, shaking his head as he passed. "Better luck next time, mate."







Where was Draco? Harry assumed the Slytherin would have arrived by now, 15 minutes after the start of breakfast. As far as he could tell, the rest of Draco's housemates were here, happily filling up their plates and digging in. Maybe he'd slept through his alarm. Harry didn't think that was very fair. Draco was supposed to be here on time, so that he could admire how nice and crisp Harry's clothes were.



A fork waved into view, tines laden with a healthy amount of scrambled eggs, jarring him out of his thoughts. Harry blinked and re-focused, an eyebrow raising incredulously.



"Aren'tcha gonna eat your breakfast, mate?" Ron asked, cheeks bulging with food. "You've been staring across the Hall for the past five minutes."



"Oh, yeah. Uh, of course." he muttered, quickly reaching for his own silverware. "I was, um, just thinking ..."



"About your classes, I hope." Hermione interjected from the other side of Ron. "This is our last year and --"



"-- We don't want to hear about studying at breakfast, on the first day." Ron pointed out around a mouthful of strawberry tarts. Hermione sighed and shook her head, reaching for a book to bury her nose in. "Just let us get through the first day without hearing any of that, right Harry?"



Harry's fork clattered to his plate, drawing curious looks from those closest.



"Hey, I would've thought the Boy-Who-Lived would know how to feed himself by now!" Seamus catcalled from a few seats down. Raucous laughter broke out.



"Harry?" Ron asked anxiously. "Harry, are you all right?"



Hermione glanced up from her book and peered around at their dark-haired friend. Noticing that his gaze glued to someone, or something, she followed it, frowning again when it turned out to be Malfoy. "He's staring at Malfoy," Hermione whispered to Ron, nudging him and pointing it out. Her gaze returned to the blonde. She watched him freeze in the middle of the hall, then seemingly wander about with a frown on his face and his head oddly tilted to the ceiling. It clicked. Harry was reacting to Malfoy and vice versa. Even though she had a large part of whatever was happening, she didn't have all the details, which irked her. Hermione smirked. She'd know everything eventually.



"Staring at Malfoy?" Ron's reply cut into her thoughts. He blinked and searched for the Slytherin who was, by now, slowly making his way over to the Gryffindor table. "Well, of course he's staring at the Ferret. Probably blinded by the git's ugliness." Satisfied with his rebuttal, he took a large bite of his toast, considering the subject closed.



Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. Even she could admit (to herself) that Malfoy had become very handsome, especially over the past summer. She glanced back at Harry and immediately did a double-take. He was visibly shaking, sweat was beading his face, and was he ... growling? A quick look about the table confirmed the surprising fact that no one else had noticed his state. Before she could think to ask him what was wrong, he had jumped out of his seat and sprinted out the Great Hall doors, nary a word or look to his two best friends.



She heaved a sigh. "Ron, pick up Harry's bag, please. We'll have to give it to him in History of Magic."



"Hey, where'd he jog off to?" Ron asked, surprised to see the empty space next to him. "He was just here a moment ago." A long arm snatched the sagging bag from where it rested against the bench leg.



"Honestly Ron," Hermione replied exasperated, "You would've noticed if you hadn't been stuffing your face so diligently."



"I can't help it if I like good food," he protested, reaching for another helping of pancakes as if to prove his point.





Meanwhile ...





Harry was close to hyperventilating by the time he reached a small, secluded alcove in the west wing of the first floor. Seeking relief from the heat that raged inside, he tore his school robe off and loosened his tie, pressing his hands, his face against the cold stone wall. He could care less how strange he might look to anyone who happened to pass by. He needed to calm down before he had a panic attack, before he descended into the crippling cycle he knew so well. Harry slowly slid down the wall until he was crouched on the floor, rocking and whimpering. In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth. What was happening to him? Why were these emotions so strong? He was shaking with them, caught up in a violent vortex of possession, lust, anger, and obsession. When Draco had walked into the Hall - Oh Lord, he had known instantly. How could he not when he had been so close to up-ending the table and tackling his ... his ... mate ...



He leapt to his feet and ran out of the alcove, through the hall and up the stairs towards Dumbledore's office. When he had sprinted out of the Great Hall, he hadn't known where he was going, only that he needed to get out of there before he did something he would regret. You wouldn't regret having your way with a ravishing blonde male, even if it was in front of everyone. He groaned and picked his pace up, arriving in front of the gargoyle in record time. He was going to seek help from the smartest person he knew.



"Chocolate frog," he panted and squeezed through the small opening, too impatient to wait for the stone to completely open up. "Dumbledore! Professor Dumbledore! Something's wrong with me!" Harry called, racing up the spiraling steps.



"Harry? What is it?" Dumbledore met him at the top of the stairs, his lined face expressing concern and worry, the heavy oak door ajar. "Has something happened?"



"Yes, but I ... don't know what." Harry replied, dodging the older man's fatherly pat. "Please don't ... touch me, sir." he mumbled and moved to sit down in a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk. "I don't think ... I can handle it ... right now." In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth.



Dumbledore frowned, but nodded, moving to sit behind his desk. "I understand. Would you please explain to me what happened to cause you to show up at my office in such a state?" He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers and regarding his young student with a steady blue gaze.



"I ... I don't know, sir." Harry mumbled, staring at the floor. "This morning I ... well, I woke up and, um, well, I, uh ... I couldn't stop thinking about ... well ..." he nervously started to fix his tie, belatedly realizing that he had left his outer robe on the first floor. "I couldn't stop thinking about, um ... Mal-Malf-Draco ..."



The headmaster silently gestured for him to continue.



"And then, um, when I was at breakfast and he came in." Harry abruptly stopped, focusing on the last knot of his tie. Once done, he tugged at it anxiously, drumming the fingers of his left hand against the plush arm of the chair. "I ..." he frowned, a leg jiggling unconsciously. "I don't even know what happened after that. It was like ... my world came crashing down into a tunnel that focused completely on him. Everything was silent except for the pounding in my ears." He shifted in his seat. "All I could do was stare at Ma-Draco. He was so ..." Harry blushed and ducked his head, fiddling with the cuff of his shirt. "I'd been waiting for him. To come to breakfast, that is. I wore my best clothes to make a good impression. When he didn't show up, I became sort of ... anxious ... but he did!" Harry nodded. "Yes, Draco came to breakfast just like I knew he would and I was ready for him. But then ..." He glanced up into Dumbeldore's twinkling gaze.



"Go on, my boy."



"That's when everything ... it was ... I couldn't understand what was happening to me." Harry shook his head. "I started to shake and I was sweating and ..." He blushed, but met the headmaster's gaze steadily. "I felt like I wanted to leap over the table and ... well ... rip, er ... M-Draco's ... clothes off." he mumbled almost inaudibly. "I felt ... All these emotions were ... I felt strange. I could feel my powers building and building. I knew that if I stayed there much longer, just staring at him, I would do something I regretted. And then ... when I was trying to sort my thoughts out ... I called him my ... mate." he finished, now avoiding his mentor's gaze. Dumbledore was sure to think he was loony, he just knew it.



After no immediate response, he looked up and immediately began fidgeting nervously. The Headmaster was looking at him strangely ...



"Did you, by chance, go through an inheritance this summer, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, an eyebrow raised.



Harry frowned, wondering what that had to do with his problem. "Er ... yes? I tried looking for whatever it is that I am, but I couldn't find anything. I'm not an elf, veela or a vampire."



"And what, exactly, is it that you are able to do?"



"Well, my senses are a lot stronger and ... and I feel like I'm split. In half." He said thoughtfully. "As if there's a new part of me that's competing with the ... old part." Harry shrugged. "Maybe that's why I can turn into anima--"



"Any animal, Harry?" Dumbledore interrupted fiercely, his wrinkled face suddenly tense and his hands gripping the edge of his desk until his fingers turned white with pressure. "Magical as well?"



Harry blinked. "Well, I, er, I don't ... know. I've never given it much thought, sir."



"Do it now." The headmaster commanded, blue eyes alight with an unusual fire. "It doesn't matter what, just do it."



Harry eyed Dumbledore cautiously. There was something more going on here than what was being let on. The instincts that had surfaced this summer and had helped him survive through the Dursley's were now blaring a warning to him. Fight or flight, you must choose, fight or flight. Harry was never one to turn down a challenge and he realized that by his behavior, Dumbledore most likely had the answers he needed. Sucking in a breath, trying to calm down the roiling rush of adrenaline inside, he did as he was asked. A picture of the Hungarian Horntail he had fought in the first task of the Triwizard Tournament shimmered into his mind. Closing his eyes, he transformed his animal just like any other time - a quick mental picture, a quick gathering of his seemingly limitless power, and before he knew it he was uncomfortably squeezed into the rotund office. He nearly upset Fawkes' perch, with his wings awkwardly jabbing out two of the windows and his long neck roped around behind the professor's desk.



"Excellent!" Dumbledore crowed as Harry immediately turned back into his human self. "Brilliant, pure brilliance! You are exactly what I thought you were and oh, what great tidings this is, my boy." The headmaster clapped his hands and fairly danced across the room to a small fireplace. "I'll be right back, Harry. I've got a few books you might like to see in my own personal library. Make yourself at home, make yourself at home!" Gathering a pinch of floo in gnarled fingers and throwing it into the fire, the headmaster shouted "Dumbledore's basement!" and was off into the green fire, elbows carefully tucked in.



Harry stared at the crackling fire, shocked by the display of glee coming from his mentor. It certainly supported his suspicion that something else was going on here and definitely proved that Dumbledore knew what he was. He sighed and aimlessly wandered about the office, looking at all the knick-knacks. He wished it could be as simple as him being able to turn into animals and the like, but he got the feeling that it was going to be a lot more complicated than that.



Fawkes trilled at him from across the room, so Harry ambled over to the phoenix and gently stroked his feathered head. "Hey Fawkes. How was your summer, eh? Keeping ol' Dumbledore on his toes?"



The phoenix's head bobbed, bringing a smile to Harry's face. "Oh really? Gone and re-birthed, huh? You must feel loads better now." He sighed and dropped his hand. "I have a feeling I'll be wanting to disappear in a burst of flame when Dumbledore gets back with those books of his."



Fawkes ruffled his wings and moved on his perch in an agitated manner.



"How can I be proud of who I am when I'm not even sure who that is?" Harry groused. "I've never been just Harry Potter, Fawkes. I've always been Harry Potter, the only person to survive Avada Kedavra; Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding world; Harry Potter, the youngest seeker in a hundred years; Harry Potter, the bloody Boy-Who-Lived. And now this?" He shook his head mournfully. "I don't even know what I'm going to do with this ..."



A loud cry behind Harry interrupted any reply the phoenix might have made. Turning around, Harry saw Dumbledore do a small jig as he juggled an armful of books and conjured a small wooden table with which to put them on.



"Well, come on, my boy!" Dumbledore cried, carefully placing the books on the table. "Your next class is in," he glanced at a clock on his desk, "twenty minutes and I want to tell you the basics of your species, at the very least. Then you can run the books up to your room and go on to your class. I believe it's History of Magic?"



Harry nodded and warily pulled a chair up to the table. His alarms were still going off and he could sense that ... something ... was not quite right with his Headmaster.







You are a Zatiga, Harry. A most-rare species of magical beings ...



Harry strode confidently through the halls to his first class, brimming with the knowledge of what he was. A sense of self-worth flowed through his veins and revitalized him, made him feel powerful, invincible. And as he indifferently wondered where he had misplaced his school bag, he knew that something fundamental and basic had changed within him.



He had mentioned it to Dumbledore - this idea that he was split in half, the new competing with the old; it had been a very general, very vague description of what he actually felt inside, but now he could pinpoint it. There was a ... Beast. A Beast inside of him, pacing, circling, waiting with glowing eyes in the darkness to escape from its cage and be free. It roared for release, clawed at his insides, at his mind, with sharp daggers; it taunted him, teased him, asked him in a sly and cunning voice why he wasn't letting it free to take control, to roam and do what it pleased. It asked him why he was denying himself the pleasure of the hunt and the kill; it spoke to him in tones of hunger and thirst and need; it constantly threw itself against the bars of its cage and roared its frustration, pacing, pacing, continuing to pace and circle and glare out with deadly hunger and thirst and need.



His wizard half, on the other hand ... Harry thought it seemed frightened. Confused and unnerved by the new presence in what it considered his territory - and had been his since Harry was born. This new ... thing ... was bloodthirsty, ravenous for freedom, and very scary to the wizard. It warily circled the cage that housed the Beast, unwilling to take its eyes off this threat to its security, to Harry's security. If this thing got out ... the wizard knew he was no match for the instincts that rode the Animal. If the Beast got out, the wizard would do the only thing it thought it could do - stay out of the way.



A foreboding feeling settled in Harry's gut - he didn't know what would happen if the Beast came out, but he could make a few accurate guesses. Harry figured he'd simply have to take extra care not to rile it.



He sighed and was about to enter the last corridor to History of Magic when it hit him.



That alluring scent, the scent of Draco - his mate. Harry inhaled the rich aroma, delighting in its caress and the images it brought to mind. But suddenly the Beast roared his fury, the wizard cowered in fear, and Harry's vision turned a hazy red. His emerald eyes turned a swirling crimson color and narrowed as he did an abrupt about-face, stalking in the direction of the blonde with clenched fists. Why the fuck was Draco alone? He should know better than that! He was to be protected at all times; there were too many dangers in the world for him to wander about the castle by himself. Harry snarled and began to jog through the various corridors, fingers itching to wrap around his mates neck and strangle him. Draco's lack of concern to his own well-being and safety was something Harry was not willing to put up with - such disregard would leave both of them vulnerable.



The Beast roared his acceptance of this plan to storm over to his mate and show him how stupid he was being. The force of its fury rippled through Harry and had him shaking as he closed the distance, a strange prickling in his mouth.



But was this how he really wanted to confront Draco?



The unwelcome thought whispered through his mind, giving him cause to slow down and actually think about it. The Beast, of course, was not very happy and let him know in no uncertain terms as its claws scraped at his mind, compelling him to keep going, compelling him to wallow in the rage, accept it and its beautiful bloodthirsty quality. He wanted the hunt, didn't he? The hunt and the kill? The satisfaction that came afterwards - knowing that he was dominant and invincible, the hunger and thirst satiated? These thoughts wrapped around him, sensually licking at his mind, creating a gentle fire and warmth that he would have liked to stay in forever. He knew that if he wanted to stay in the warmth, he just had to give in - give in to the rage, give in to its beautiful compulsion.



No. Harry frantically shook his head, closing his eyes and carefully unclenching his fists. I don't want to, I don't want to. I'll scare Draco and I don't want to do that. You can't make me. You can't. He began to work on his breathing, trying to calm it down, even it out - In through your nose, out through your mouth. In through your nose, out through your mouth. - and absentmindedly wiped the sweat off his forehead. I may be concerned about his safety, but I don't want to scare or hurt him. He's my mate.



The Beast threw himself against the bars of his cage, growling and snarling his frustration. He had been so close, so close to being free. He snarled one last time, then backed in to the darkness of his prison, eyes glowing as he bided his time. There would be other opportunities.



Harry tiredly rubbed his eyes and continued on his way, following the trail of Draco's scent. He would definitely have to be more careful in the future, now that he knew exactly what the Beast would do to get out. It had been too close this time.



With meticulous calculations, he accidentally-on-purpose rounded the corner at the same time that Draco did and painfully collided. He hadn't counted on the Slytherin carrying anything.



"Watch where you're going!" Draco snapped at him and bent down to pick up the textbooks that had fallen.



Harry grinned. What a wonderfully spirited mate he had - as if he didn't already know that, of course. Noticing the blondes movement to pick a book up, he swiftly reached it first and almost laughed at the squeak Draco emitted when he finally realized just who he was talking to. "Is that any way to talk to your dominant, precious?" Harry asked smugly, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth. Oh, how he was enjoying this - reveling in the proximity, the scent, the appearance of his mate. He watched Draco's eyes narrow, sensed his mates next action and quickly moved the book out of reach. "Ah, ah, ah," he reprimanded gently, his smirk growing wider, "what do you say when someone does something nice for you?"



"Potter. Give me. My. Book. Now." Draco said slowly and forcefully through gritted teeth. Harry hoped he wouldn't hurt himself talking so harshly.



"Hmmm ... nope. I don't think that's right." Harry grinned and stood up, casually leaning against the wall behind him and flipping carelessly through the textbook he held. What he saw caused him to drop his flippant pose and straighten his posture. Chapter Six: How Muggles Create, Distribute, and Use Heat. He blinked and glanced up at Draco, who had finished gathering the other books into his arms and was now standing sulkily in front of him, his silver eyes spitting fire. "You're taking Muggle Studies?" Harry scanned over the chapter, which was complete with moving pictures and demonstrations of the things mentioned.



"Yes, now give me my book back. I'm already late to that class." His mate took a step towards him, hand held out expectantly.



The Beast rumbled a warning from the darkness, eyes flashing angrily. It was almost as if his submissive expected to be obeyed - as if he considered himself dominant. Harry frowned, but let it slide, deciding that it wasn't worth the energy to get worked up about something so minor. "Sure, but what do you say when someone does something nice for you?"



"Don't you have a class to go to, Potter?" The blonde sneered, taking another step forward, his hand still outstretched.



Harry snapped the book shut and eyed the Slytherin - the way his blonde hair fell in graceful waves over his shoulders, the way his skin looked so deliciously pale and his silver eyes glittered with anger, with passion. The musk of his mate encompassed him, enticed him, and the Beast roared hungrily, pacing out of the shadows to glare balefully between the bars. Before he could think to resist the temptation, Harry had grabbed Draco's hand and shoved him against the wall, delighting in the soft grunt his mate expelled upon impact. Such close quarters with the handsome blonde was heaven. "No," Harry whispered silkily, nuzzling his mates neck and inhaling the rapturous scent, "I think I'm rather happy where I am now ..."



"Potter!" Draco squeaked. Harry felt his mate tense, the books being clutched closer to his chest as if to shield himself. "What the fuck are you doing, Potter?!"



"The name is Harry, precious," he whispered, his tongue flicking out to wetly graze the neck available to it. The Beast growled and threw himself against the cage surrounding him, demanding that he be let free. Harry shuddered and licked his way up to Draco's ear, gently biting the lobe. Your pleasure will increase threefold, if you were to let me out. the Beast spoke to him in a sly murmur, claws gently raking at his mind, compelling, teasing, taunting. Harry's gaze turned hazy red and his nostrils flared. So much, so much, he could do ... his mates scent tantalized him ... created pictures, images, of what they could do with each other ... that's what he wanted ... perhaps ... he should let the Beast out? A triumphant roar echoed through his mind. It had said his pleasure would increase ... Yes. If that's what it took, he would --



He gave a strangled gasp and collapsed to the floor, tears flowing down his face, hands cradling his crotch. Oh ... god ... the pain ... he wheezed and panted, vision blurry, but just clear enough for him to see Draco racing off to Merlin-knew-where. Oh god ... he slowly rolled onto his hands and knee's, one hand still protectively covering his crotch, albeit belatedly. Blimey, if he'd known his mate would kick him there ... He whimpered and deliberately got to his feet, grimacing as shockwaves of pain rocketed through his body. The Beast had disappeared into the darkness, silent and watchful.



He'd be damned if he'd ever get that close to Draco again - his mate was on the run and would probably be reclusive for the next few days. As well that he had no real reason to seek the Slytherin out. Or maybe ... Harry grinned smugly and bent down to pick up the lone textbook laying on the floor.



And so the Hunt begins.