Dragon Hunt

With the thick leather-bound volume tucked under his arm, Harry made his way to his bedroom. He paused and stood outside the door. It felt as if the door across the hall were watching him. It was silly. He could hear the sound again, the sadness had subsided somewhat and the sound itself seemed less—active. If Harry had to bet, Draco was sleeping. Maybe he would be okay? Maybe Draco could live without his mate?

Harry found himself turning the knob before he thought about it. The room was dark and here, the purr was loudest. Draco was curled up on the bed. He was on his side in a position similar to the one he was in when Harry found him in the bushes. But unlike when he was in the bushes, he wasn’t naked. Instead he was wearing a pair of white cotton boxers that Harry recognized as his own.

Harry just watched him sleep from the doorway. He was just so beautiful. He would never be worthy of that beauty. Just as he’d never been worthy of Cedric’s. He must have stood there for an hour watching Draco before a sound on the stairs cause him close the door and retreat to his own room.

“Just sleep,” he told himself as he dropped the book on the floor and stripped down to a pair of white boxers. “Sleep makes everything better.”

He flopped face first onto the mattress and concentrated on the comforting purr. . . .

. . . “Where are we going?” Harry asked. Cedric continued to drag him through the corridors. Cedric turned around and tried miserably to give Harry an angry glare. Harry only laughed in response and allowed himself to be tugged along.

Harry was just about to ask again when Cedric slid to a halt. He turned and faced Harry, looking overly excited. “All right. I want you to pace up and down the hallway three times.” Harry looked at him like he was crazy. Cedric stepped even closer and whispered seductively in his ear. “And the whole time, I want you to think of the perfect place to for you to find the greatest pleasure of your life.”

Harry gulped and nodded. He began pacing along the hallway as instructed, imagining a huge bed, large enough for the two of them to roll around in a tangled ball of limbs and never reach the edge. A door appeared on the wall in front of him.

“Open it,” Cedric said excitedly . . . The memory ended there, but the dream continued. In it, Harry shook his head at Cedric and apologized before walking away. That wasn’t what had happened. Harry had opened the door and found that huge bed and he and Cedric had spent all night pleasuring one another in ways Harry hadn’t known were possible.

Harry opened his eyes slowly, staring up at the long shadows above him. All of his other dreams had just been memories, but this had been different. That’s not the way it had happened. Why hadn’t he relived one of the greatest nights of his life? Why hadn’t he opened the door?


Draco could feel his mate’s confusion, his concern. Draco had watched the dream along with Harry, as he always did. He knew what was behind that door. The thought had saddened him, watching again as his mate touched and was touched by another, touched so intimately. No one should touch Harry but him. But he knew how much joy those dreams brought his mate, so he would watch it as he had before.

But Harry hadn’t opened the door. He’d walked away from the man with the stormy eyes. What did that mean? Why hadn’t he opened the door?

The only answer Draco could imagine was guilt. Now that Harry knew that Draco experienced his dreams along with him, the brave and noble Gryfinndor wouldn’t put Draco through the pain, even if it brought him his only source of pleasure.

Draco questioned why he was still here. He was bringing his mate sadness and guilt. It pained him to know that. If he could not help and provide for his mate, he should not be there.


Harry couldn’t sleep. He leaned over the edge of the bed and pulled the heavy volume Snape had tossed at him as well as his wand from the pile of his clothes. He lit the tip of his wand and opened what he assumed to be some textbook about dragon mating behavior. But when he opened it, he found a handwritten journal. The writing was large and immature, running in slanted, uneven lines across the page.

Father said I should begin to chronicle my life. I leave for school tomorrow. There is a rumor that the Harry Potter will be in my year. I can’t wait to meet him. Father says he is very powerful, but I should stay away from him. But, Father also says I should begin making powerful allies. I hope Harry will be one of those allies. I hope we will be in the same house.

He realized he was reading Draco’s journal, one that he had been keeping since just before he had met Harry for the first time. As Harry read, he learned Draco’s thoughts on him right after Harry had chosen Ron over the blond: anger at the rejection and determination to prove the choice was the wrong one. But soon the thoughts of Harry faded into disappointment that he wasn’t paying attention. And then, Harry’s name was rarely mentioned.

Days went by. Each day, Harry spent the day playing wizard’s chess with Draco and the night, reading Draco’s words.

The handwriting became more and more mature, elegant.

Harry read about how Draco disapproved of the elder Malfoy’s alliances. He read about his relationship with Snape, and how the old bat had supported him no matter what. He read about how Draco was continually torn between the two because he was afraid of his father, and yet he was his father. He read about how much he hated his life and what was asked of him.

And then, he read about how he had discovered Snape’s position as a spy.

I overheard Severus in his floo. He was telling Dumbledore about a meeting with my father, a meeting I knew to be Deatheater business. I couldn’t believe it. Severus has always protected me from my father, always, and for that he is my hero, but now even more so. He is defying what is expected of him, something that I envy the strength to do.

Father has begun training me for what will happen upon my maturity. He claims that when I become the dragon I was destined to be, I will be in the perfect position to eliminate the threat that is Harry Potter once and for all. The thought of it sickens me. Yes, Harry makes my blood boil every time I see him. Yes, it is frustrating that he can do no wrong in the eyes of our Headmaster, but somehow I know that my transformation should mean something different for Harry, something so much different than his death.

The Great Harry Potter, (Harry could almost hear the sarcasm coming from the page.) how I envy you. Life in Slytherin is nothing but a mind game, one that never ends. A few weeks ago, I’d managed to sneak away for a few hours. I had just needed a break. I ended up at a pub in muggle London watching some horrid American reality show called Big Brother. It was ghastly, exploitive, cruel: nothing but forging alliances only to betray them. It reminded me of home, as well as the dungeon I currently reside in.

I wonder what it would be like to reside in Gryffindor tower? What would be like to have friends instead of allies? What would it be like to be able to relax without fear of someone seeing a chink in your careful figurative armor, a chink they would be all too happy to exploit? I wonder what Harry looks like as he sleeps?

I’m sure his hair is even more messy, though only gods know how that would be possible. He probably looks like a child: innocent, young, beautiful. His soft skin probably glows in moonlight. He probably snores, but of course it would also probably be a soft endearing sound. Yes, seeing Harry at peace would probably be another benefit to escaping the Snake Pit.

Harry gulped at the imagined description of him, but quickly distracted himself by continuing to read.

I want to escape the Snake Pit and the life Father has planned for me. Severus is my chance. Maybe, just maybe, if I align myself with him, aid him in his spying I can secure my freedom from this life someday. Maybe. It’s my only hope. And even if it isn’t much of one, I will be defying my father as I do it and that will feel so good.

Tomorrow, I will approach Severus and offer my services.

Harry shook his head and flipped forward, finding an entry that seemed to be all about him.

I can feel my blood racing through me every time I see him. Every time I see him I’m torn between throwing him into a bed and having my way with him and cursing him to oblivion. I throw insults in order to relieve the tension, but that only angers him. When he’s angry, he flushes. And when he flushes, he’s even more attractive.

I know what he will be towards me. I know that he is my mate. I can feel it and it saddens me. He deserves someone as beautiful and pure as he is. He deserves someone with more strength. Sure, I secretly defy my father, but if I were stronger, I would have reported him to the Ministry or slit his throat as he slept. Someone strong enough for Harry would have done that, not stand idly by as he murders innocents. Someone strong enough for Harry wouldn’t slink through the shadows terrified of his father.

Someone strong enough for Harry would stand boldly and declare his alliances and his hatred for all things Slytherin and he would declare his feelings for the emerald-eyed Gryfinndor who had stolen his heart. And I wish that could be me, but I am terrified.

I am terrified of my father. He will kill me for not allying with him. I am terrified of the Snake Pit. They would eat me alive for not being just like them. I am terrified of Harry. His rejection of me at the age of eleven was painful enough. I cannot take it again, particularly now knowing that he is the other half of my soul. I can’t take knowing that he will never feel for me a fraction of what I feel for him.

Tomorrow I am going to Dumbledore to warn him. Harry must be protected from me at all costs. If I am allowed to touch him, his life will never be his again and he deserves the choice to have whatever he wants. And this summer, I will beg Severus to hide me. If I am with my father at the time of my maturity, he will use the memory loss to his advantage. I cannot risk his ability to manipulate. Not when Harry’s life is at stake. It will mean my death, the moment I step into public again, but I can’t in good conscious allow anything else.

Each day, Harry looked at Draco differently. He was beautiful, and wonderful, and made Harry smile. And while at night, Harry dreams no longer starred a stormy eyed Hufflepuff, but faceless pleasure, and as he was awake and daydreaming and choosing his fantasy, they starred a lithe Slytherin with eyes like blue ice that could rip into his soul.