Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Intangible	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9795 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Warnings: This is a Harry top, Draco bottom magical creature fic, with some voyeurism, very sexually aggressive moments, drama, all eventually leading to an open relationship between the two and a group of shifters. Lots of swearing, some hints of non-con, an original character that hooks up with a main character as a background couple, and Harry being versatile at the very end. Sexually explicit, and very, very gay. Oh, and plot. Warnings for plot.
Author's Notes: I've completely rewritten this, only keeping the prologue and some of the order of previously written scenes—but still completely rewritten. I had always liked this story, but had never been happy with how I had executed it, likely very distracted with the things going on in my life at the time. This version is more focused, cutting out a lot of the background character interaction, moodswings, and weird shifts of point of view between Harry and Draco that the first version had. More action, less reflection.
Intangible
The final battle was not fought at Hogwarts among a sea of children. There was no glorious clash of armies in front of the Ministry of Magic, waging a war between good and evil for all the wizarding world to see. Not even Dumbledore had expected that the calm summer night was different from any other, until the wards at Privet Drive fell.
Two masked figures had raised their wands at the muggles, murdering the parents and teenager in a sickly flash of green. Voldemort had crept into the small second bedroom, only to have a sleepy, messy haired teen with a telltale scar instinctively block the killing curse from his dusty, cramped bed.
Their wands had clashed and disintegrated in a blinding flash that lit the night sky for miles. The Dark Lord's twisted body fell in upon itself, the life lost from the scaled flesh. He had inhaled once, a shuddering, desperate breath, and then nothing. The Boy Who Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World, was consumed by the light, body and all. As he disappeared, his expression was neither of acceptance nor fear. His jaw was set, his eyes ablaze with power and determinations as he stared above the fallen flesh of He Who Must Not Be Named.
The final battle had no witnesses, not in this realm.
Those who bore the dark mark heard His final screams. The Death Eaters could feel the pull, the pain, when their lord reached for them in his final death throes. Voldemort had grasped the connection as an anchor to life. Instead he had almost drawn them into the abyss with him, before the link had been severed. Their marks had burned once again on the servants arms before fading into a mass of scar tissue, leaving a permanent reminder of past sins.
None had seen the final clash, but all knew the result. Voldemort was destroyed, never to return to torment, slaughter, or corrupt. As for the fate of Harry Potter, things were less clear. The Death Eaters had heard him curse the Dark Lord. Even as Severus Snape had stood over Voldemort's cooling corpse, he had heard Harry's voice as he delivered the final, killing blow. He heard the boy's heavy breathing and righteous words, until the connection had failed and Voldemort was no more. Still, Severus believed Harry to be alive, even after months of fruitless searching.
Others were not convinced. During the Christmas break, a monument was unveiled at the Ministry of Magic in a community wide ceremony. A statue of Harry defeating the Dark Lord was erected to replace the ruined fountain that had once stood there. In effigy, Harry became an eight foot tall, strapping man with the trademark lightning bolt scar covering half his face, delivering the finishing blow to a crippled and weak Dark Lord. 'The Boy Who Lived To Save Us All' had been engraved at the feet of the memorial.
Harry's friends had broken down at the sight, while the Hogwarts teachers and the Order looked grim faced. No more searching would be done. The Ministry was content to let Harry Potter die as a martyr. Surprisingly, it was an icy eyed Draco Malfoy, father and aunt freshly incarcerated for killing the Dursleys, who had spoken what all those close to Harry were thinking. “Potter would have hated this.”
Still, as the winter turned to spring, and things at Hogwarts began to settle down once again, a certain Gringotts's vault remained locked to the Ministry's prying hands. Somewhere, a Potter still lived.

Chapter One
“Seriously, Draco, try to eat,” Blaise muttered under his breath, lightly elbowing his pale, and lately too thin friend.
“Fuck off,” Draco grumbled back, resting his head on his hand and pushing his food around with a fork.
Blaise sighed, turning his head to glare. “I'm not joking. I think you have a problem.”
“You're going to have a fucking problem if you start spouting shit again, Zabini,” Draco snarled, silky blond hair falling across his face, only to push it back with a vicious motion of his hand.
Narrowing his eyes, Blaise leaned in closer so the surrounding Slytherins couldn't hear him at the lunch table. “Bullshit. I'm not falling for your fucking empty threats. I want you to see Pomfrey—How are you going to fly tomorrow if you haven't eaten in a fucking week, huh? You're going to get yourself bloody killed. And right now, I think that's exactly what you want.”
Draco's hand tightened on his fork and he bent the silver utensil. “Back. The Fuck. Off.”
“Or what? You'll faint on me?” Blaise pushed, angry brown eyes daring Draco to disagree. “You're a mess, Malfoy. You've got a team of people depending on you tomorrow, and you can't even bring yourself to eat. Its time to get some fucking help.”
Pansy reached a hand out, grabbing Blaise by his sleek ponytail and pulling the black boy back away from Draco's silver glare. “This is not helpful. We're in the Great Hall.”
“I don't care anymore,” Blaise hissed quietly. “I can't just keep watching this.”
Draco glared, cut a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth. Then promptly turned green and spit it out again. “Fuck... fucking hell.” He pushed his plate away, turning on his friend. “You know what? Fuck you, Zabini. Spending one fucking summer with you because my parents were in jail doesn't mean you get to be my fucking mother, okay? She's still around and is shitty enough as it is.”
“Yeah, well maybe if you told her to fuck off with that arranged marriage shit, instead of letting her run your god damn life, you'd be eating right now. You've been a god damn wreck since she messaged you. Why are you even doing this? Your dad is in jail, your mom is under suspicion—why are you letting them fuck you over like this?”
Draco was about moments away from punching his friend in the teeth. He fisted his hands, knuckles white in restraint as he slowly and calmly replied. “Its none of your bloody business, you nosy shit.”
“It's your god damn life, Draco. Stop throwing it away!” Blaise was yelling now, Pansy's restraining hand doing nothing to stop the boy.
Draco looked up, seeing nearly everyone at his table, never mind the Great Hall, turn their heads towards him. He took a deep breath and coolly and deliberately stood. “I'll see you in class,” he said with a false sense of calm while extracting himself from the bench.
Harry, sitting on the Gryffindor table between magically enchanted plates of food, watched as Draco Malfoy tried to escape whatever heated conversation he was having with his dormmates. His first day in the Great Hall since the incident, Harry had been enjoying the conversation of his Gryffindor friends, although sometimes difficult to hear, like they were talking through water. “So you're alive after all, Malfoy...”
He honestly had thought Draco had died over the summer. It had been one of the reasons Harry had avoided mingling among his former classmates for so long, instead hiding in Dumbledore's office for the last months hoping the man might notice him. Dumbledore hadn't, and Harry's existence was still unknown to everyone but Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix. Today Harry had finally given in to the urge to be around people, even if no one could see, hear, touch or smell him. The world was oblivious to him, Harry caught in an echo and watching from afar.
Harry stood slowly, frowning as Ron and his quidditch teammates blocked Malfoy from the doors. Gryffindor was having a match against Slytherin tomorrow, and everyone was talking about if Malfoy was going to choke or not. Draco's teammates were also getting up, whatever being said enough to think he needed defense.
Something was different about Malfoy. He seemed almost glowing...
“You look like shit, Ferret. Can't handle the pressure?” Ron asked as he folded his arms and blocked the door from Draco.
Draco glanced up, not intimidated even though Ron was a head taller than him now. “What pressure, Weasel? You haven't won a game since,” he pointed out, blowing his hair out of his face while looking bored.
“Neither have you. I figure our odds are looking damn good.”
Draco rolled his eyes. “If you go in for empty victories, by all means. I sure as fuck don't. Playing you tomorrow is a goddamn joke.”
Ron couldn't disagree, their new seeker shit, and everyone's morale down without Harry. “Well, it's a fucking joke that we gotta see to the end. And I would appreciate it if you would actually put some energy into it.”
“Oh, I'm not backing down. Even with him gone, I'm kicking the field with you stupid lions.”
Ron smirked at that, nudging Seamus who was standing next to him. “Fucking told ya. Malfoy's not going to make it easy.”
Seamus shrugged, glaring at the Slytherins. “We'll see.”
“Oh, getting tired of all the charity matches already, Weasel?” Draco said with a huff. “I swear, they keep trying to hand you the fucking winning cup and your new seeker still just refuses to catch the snitch. Must be a goddamn shame.”
“It sure fucking is,” Ron agreed, ignoring the scorn in Draco's voice. “Tell your team to start sharpening their beater bats. I want to see some blood tomorrow.”
Draco laughed, glancing back at his currently muttering quidditch team. “As long as you don't mind that its yours. I'm sure Potter would appreciate a blood sacrifice in his honor, even from his own housemates.”
Ron couldn't help but laugh back. “Just looking for a proper game. No more of this pity shit. Figured you'd be the last one to have any of that.”
Draco nodded, turning his head when Blaise pushed past to whisper in his ear. “Draco, let's go to Pomfrey's—it'll be just a second.”
“Fucking let it go, Blaise.” Draco scowled, pulling away. “Weasley, move the hell out of my way already,” he demanded, shoving lightly at Ron's towering form as the boy continued to lean on the only exit out.
“Whatever.” Ron raised himself off the door slowly, tilting his head at his team. “Come on, clear out. We should go practice anyways.”
“I don't know why you bloody lions think you'd even have a chance if Potty was still alive,” Theodore Nott muttered as the group started to clear.
Ron went very still, straightening to his full height as he glared down at Nott. “Watch your mouth,” he growled warningly, Seamus and Dean suddenly at his side.
“Why? Some fucking holy being going to strike me down for tarnishing Saint Potter's name?” Nott scoffed, meeting Ron's glare head on. “All he did was get himself killed by You-Know-Who. The stupid fuck was a shit martyr, never mind terrible seeker.”
Ron took a step as if about to swing, only to fall back as Draco turned from the doorway to brutally grab his teammate by the face and push him backwards and down to the floor, smacking Nott's head against the tile. “You have got to be some kind of fucking idiot.” Ron glowered, moving forward to block the sight from the teachers getting up from their table across the room while Draco knelt on Theodore's chest, grabbed him by the throat and stuck his wand in his face.
Nott didn't respond, starting cross eyed at the wand burning red, centimeters from him. “Theo, I will only say this once,” Draco said softly, his hand tightening on the larger boy's throat. “If you ever say anything bad about Potter in my presence again, I will kill you.”
“Draco, I didn't mean—!”
“Shut. Up.” Draco snarled, dark anger curling into his voice. He reached over, tearing the sleeve of Nott's robe up to reveal his scarred arm. “You can pretend all you fucking want that you weren't crying like a bitch when they beat the shit out of you and burned the mark on your arm. I fucking remember, Theo. I watched each one forced to kneel and scream. The monster is fucking dead, and you will not call his memory. You sure as fuck will not belittle the name of the boy that killed him and freed us—I will not stand for it!”
Nott didn't speak, didn't move, instead staring at the power sparking off of Draco as the pale boy tried to control his wrath.
Harry watched, stepping through classmates and friends to kneel in front of the glowing Draco Malfoy. “You idiot, Malfoy... Getting all worked up over nothing. People are going to start thinking you give a shit.”
Up close, Draco was beautiful, especially when death was blazing in his silver eyes. Once, Harry had thought Draco had wanted to be a Death Eater, just like his father and aunt. But that was before last year when Harry had caught Malfoy admitting to his friends that he was planning on killing himself over summer break. Draco had thought death was better than life as a slave to Voldemort.
Harry was pretty sure that was the moment he had fallen in love with the crazy boy.
“Mr. Malfoy, I think it would be wise to come with me.” Severus Snape was standing over Draco, placing a careful, restraining hand on the boy's shoulder.
Draco took a slow breath, and then another, closing his eyes to block out the current object of his anger. It wasn't Theo's fault. They all talked shit—it was what they had done for years. It was how it was supposed to be. Except Voldemort had died, and had killed another fucking child in the process, and now you didn't talk shit about Potter anymore. Not if you wanted to be in the same room with Draco or Ron and not be hexed into oblivion.
Draco's hair fell across his eye, and he quickly brushed it away, freezing mid swipe as something brushed his hand. A familiar scent filtered in and Draco swayed, suddenly dizzy, blood roaring in his ears as the memory of green eyes flashed in his mind. “...What?”
Harry gaped, holding his hand to his chest where Draco's hand had knocked into his. “Malfoy, can you—”
“Come on, Malfoy.” Snape was lifting the boy, helping him stand, and all Harry could do was stare.
Draco looked around confused, trying to figure out what had just happened. And then he noticed Nott again, looking relieved and not as terrified as he should be. Shaking himself, he glared at Vince and Greg, giving them meaningful looks and tilting his head towards the fucker on the floor who was in desperate need of a bloody beating.
Draco caught Ron's eye, eyebrow raised as he pocketed his wand. “Weasel, I'll see you tomorrow when I'm kicking your ass on the field.”
“Looking forward to it, Ferret,” Ron said cheekily, deliberately stepping on Theodore's hand as he turned. “Wear the pointy boots; those are always fun.”
Harry stared from his sprawl on the floor, students walking through him oblivious as Draco followed his head of house out the Great Hall doors and down to the dungeons for a well needed spot of tea and therapy.
Getting up, Harry intended to follow the boy and see if he hadn't just imagined the whole thing, only to stop as he watched Blaise and Ron start arguing furiously under their breath to each other. Pansy came over, and then Ron and her both rounded on Blaise, saying something about not pushing Draco—it was only going to make him pull away. Hermione agreed, stepping around Nott, who was finally pulling himself to his feet. And then everyone was yelling at Nott, demanding to know what the fuck he had been thinking.
Theodore held his hands up, still very shaken from what he was certain was nearly a painful death. “What? How the fuck was I to know? His father and aunt helped get Potter killed!”
“You're a fucking waste of brain matter, Nott,” Ron growled. “You think Malfoy might be feeling a little fucking guilty about that?”
They separated, Blaise and Pansy walking with Ron and Hermione back to the Gryffindor table to whisper more, and Crabbe and Goyle hauling Nott by his arms and lugging him out the door.
Harry had to wonder if maybe he hadn't been thrown out of his dimension. Maybe he was just viewing an absolutely different reality instead. It was fucking bizarre.
He twitched, grabbing his side as power sparked uncontrollably and painfully. “Fuck.”
Decide, he headed for the dungeons, hoping to find Snape and Malfoy and test if the boy could actually sense him.

Harry ended up sitting outside Snape's office door, unwilling to open it while the two were inside talking about whatever the hell was wrong with Malfoy. And clearly, there was something very wrong with the prat. The boy had used to be the epitome of self control, playing the part of the perfect bad boy while secretly plotting ways to be free of the monster waiting for him at Malfoy Manor. Now, well, now he was attacking his own housemates, fighting in the Great Hall, and apparently being friendly with Gryffindors. Or at least, Malfoy's friends were.
Guilty... Why the fuck would Draco feel guilty about what his father and aunt had done? It's not like he had any control in anything. Not like he could have stopped them. Or warned anyone that could have enough power to stop Voldemort. It was ridiculous to waste so much energy on something one couldn't control, Harry knew firsthand.
Because he had spent the last months feeling guilty that the Dursleys had died. They hadn't been perfect, but they sure as fuck hadn't deserved a wand to the head. They had done nothing to deserve their untimely death, except take Harry in under the protections of the wards. And they had paid with their lives.
Sighing, he stretched his legs out, head thumping back on the door in a way he could only hear.
Harry was fairly certain he was still alive. He had no hunger, no need to sleep, or breathe, but still, he knew he was alive. He could feel. Hogwarts existed in more than one dimension, the magic infused into the stone castle making it solid to Harry's touch. Harry constantly brushed his hands and feet on anything with a hint of magic, reminding himself he was alive. Especially when in those small, terrifying moments when his magic flared and snorted, as if what was holding him together was slowly unraveling.
He needed even more to feel alive, because in those moments he was certain he was dying.
The spasms were occurring more often now, as well as Harry could keep track of time. He was losing hours, maybe even days for all he knew. Not sleeping, but not existing. He was starting to slip away, and he was afraid.
Ironic, considering how Harry had gotten in the situation to begin with. He had survived. Voldemort had stalked him down, surprising him in the house at 4 Privet Drive during his summer before seventh year. Harry had woken to feel the Dursleys die, Death Eaters killing them while Voldemort had cast the killing curse on Harry. He had blocked it, raised his wand, and when Voldemort had cast another spell, a terrible light had exploded from their energies meeting, and Harry had ended up here.
Voldemort had died. Harry had made sure. Even though the twisted body had fallen when their wands had met, something dark and stained had filled the space where Voldemort had stood. It was almost as if evil had found a form, corrupting the air around it, shimmering in terrible magic. But Harry's body hadn't fallen. He had been encased in the light, his magic somehow even stronger in the new realm. Harry had wandlessly cleaned the stain that was Voldemort from all the realms with a few powerful explosions of raw magic.
He was stuck after that. Whatever the explosion had done to send them out of reality, it hadn't reversed with Voldemort's death. Harry had watched the Aurors arrive, arresting Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange, the two Death Eaters that had come with Voldemort that evening to kill the Dursleys and Harry. Severus Snape, working for the Order of the Phoenix, had looked everywhere, muttering and holding his searing arm where the dark mark was, certain that Harry was still alive.
For a while, Harry had hope that the man might figure something out. But Snape was waylaid by the group of gawkers and authorities sifting through the Dursleys' house, wrapping bodies and taking evidence. Harry had stayed at the house once everyone had left. He thought maybe there was something there he was missing. A portal, a path—something to find his way back out of the strange echo of life he had found himself in. But there was nothing.
Time moved differently where he was. He had slipped, lost days without realizing it and had missed the train to Hogwarts. He had found the station and followed the tracks, walking for months in nothing but the jeans he had been wearing when he had fallen asleep before Voldemort had attacked. Not that it mattered; his feet felt no pain and he never got tired. The ground had enough life energy in it to keep him from slipping through, but not enough to hold solid.
Hogwarts was solid to Harry. Anything with a magical ward strong enough to keep people out, was something that could stop him from crossing through. But there were plenty of door that weren't warded, and Harry could slip through those easy enough. And after observing Fawkes, Harry had learned to get through the passworded and locked doors as well.
Fawkes had revealed to Harry exactly what had happened to him, even if no solution was found. He had read that the phoenix existed on seven planes of reality. Harry now existed on five. Which would have been fine, but none of them were of the realm he belonged in. Since Harry shared three of these same realms with Fawkes, he could interact with the phoenix, even if not with anyone else.
“...What if I had just imagined it?”
Malfoy had been all weird and glowing and Harry had sort of assumed that would mean he might be able to sense him. Magic was solid to Harry, so if Draco had been cursed—or whatever it was that made him seem full to the brim with power—it stood to reason he would be tangible. But things had been tricking Harry for a while now.
He had thought Dumbledore could see him at first, had assumed because the man was such a powerful wizard. But even weeks following him around in his office, shouting at the top of his lungs, Dumbledore had not noticed Harry at all. Maybe this was the same, and Harry was just getting his hopes up. Maybe he had just imagined touching his hand...
Malfoy was alive. It was still difficult for Harry to get his mind around it. He had went back to the Dursley's that summer, certain that Draco would be dead within days and knowing there was nothing he could do about it but pray the boy found a better answer. Harry had become a bit obsessed over Malfoy then, as if hoping that if he thought about him enough, maybe Draco wouldn't really die.
A year ago Harry had been minding his own business, hidden under his cloak after a run to Hogsmeade for treats, when he had stumbled across Draco, Pansy and Blaise arguing in an empty classroom. Draco was terrified that his father was going to force the dark mark on him that summer, and was threatening to kill himself.
It had been about the clearest Harry had ever understood Malfoy in that moment, while his friends argued that dying really wasn't going to solve a fucking thing. Draco had insisted that death was better than being a slave any fucking day, no matter how fucking terrified he was. In this he at least had a choice. Blaise and Pansy had convinced Draco to wait it out—to wait until he was certain. Harry had been attacked by Voldemort that summer, only a few weeks into vacation, apparently before Draco had done himself in.
Harry had shared what he had seen with Hermione and Ron. He had asked them not to give Harry shit for liking the Slytherin. Maybe that's why everyone seemed so buddy buddy with Harry gone? Draco had never shown any inclination in Harry—beyond whatever fucked up yelling thing they always found themselves doing. Harry was pretty sure the prat was straight and had a fiancé, ever since third year. But, maybe Hermione and Ron were afraid Draco was unstable and going to off himself, and had taken it on themselves to watch over him with Harry gone?
Draco sure as fuck was acting unstable. Too thin, too tired looking, fighting over Nott talking about Harry dying. Somehow Harry felt damn guilty about that too, even though he didn't have any control in the matter. He had fought damn hard to keep going and find a way back. Time was just running out.
Harry drifted, in that place where he didn't sleep, but didn't really exist fully, feeling depressed and hopeless. In his unconscious state, Harry was unaware of when Snape's door flew open, but he did notice the sudden pain in his foot. Harry could not remember the last time he had felt pain, but it was not that enjoyable to rediscover it after so long.
Cracking his eye open, Harry was privileged to the sight of a very flustered Malfoy strewn across the floor in front of him. The git was really cute since he had changed his hairstyle to let it flow loose. Or maybe it was the embarrassed pout on his flushed face...
“Are you all right, Mr. Malfoy?” Severus asked, looking down at him with a raised eyebrow.
Draco gave a long-suffering sigh and pulled himself to his feet. “Yes Professor. I think I tripped over my shoe or something.”
“Not bloody likely,” Harry muttered, rubbing his sore ankle and standing, crossing into Snape's body and then passing through.
Snape gave him a dubious look, then nodded. “If you like, I can give you a pass for the rest of the day.”
“I'm fine, really, Professor. It was just, you know, stress from the quidditch match tomorrow,” Draco said smoothly, not wanting to make a big deal out of anything. He had been tripping a lot lately, losing his strength and his balance. It was likely from not being able to keep his food down. “If I skip out of class now, they'll all think I'm unbalanced or something. It's the last period for the day, anyways.”
Draco finished dusting off his pants and finally met his head of house's eyes. “Thank you, Professor. For um... listening.” His smile was unsteady at best, but Draco was proud he could manage that much.
“You know my door is always open, Mr. Malfoy. Better to come to me than to go cursing students left and right,” Snape said in his normal manner, the affection not unnoticed by the young Slytherin. With a quick bow and stronger smile, Draco slipped down the hall.
Harry followed after, limping slightly. He glanced at Severus's expression as the man watched Draco leave. He looked down right concerned, and Harry had to wonder what Snape knew about Malfoy that Harry didn't.
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Intangible