Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Dark Lord Rising	By : Sparrowbirdie Category: HP Canon Characters paired with Original Characters > Slash - Male/Male Views: 6505 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 3
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Pirates of the Caribbean, Midsomer Murders or Troy. I make no profit from writing this story. This is a work of fiction.

Chapter List
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Thanks to the artist Poe for her wonderful song: One word, which has inspired so much of my work.

Harry Potter wasn't sure where he was headed. He reeled into the woods, his body numb, his knees shaking and feeling sick. There was a waterfall up ahead, and he followed the small river upwards, amongst snow-covered slippery rocks and rotten grass. It was spring. The first rays of sun were still without warmth.

“With only one word” someone was singing up ahead, “you took the ice out of the air again. And put the heat back in the sun again. With only one word.”

Harry had no idea where the music came from, but it was like heaven. It felt like something good, and it became easier to breathe and less painful to move forward. He didn't care if he was wet and cold, smeared from head to toe with dirt and dead insects. He felt the evil in him subside. Harry became more in control of himself. Finally.

Coming up to the steep hillside, a slippery wall of rock bearing almost vertically downwards, Harry Potter stopped. His chest ached from the strain of fast walking. He had the taste of his own blood in his mouth. His fingers were on fire, burning with the cold. The air was alive with the crisp magic of spring, the icy drizzle of tear-drops from the roaring waterfall and of something else. Song magic. The immaculate creature standing on a small, moss-covered ledge just a few metres away, bore a familiar and friendly face, and those eyes – those grey-blue captivating eyes – seemed made of stone, bearing a strong conviction. Despite the chilly morning air, the apparition wore nothing but a shawl made from sky blue chiffon. A male Venus, one hand discreetly covering his genitals with one end of the chiffon shawl, the other lay about the opposite shoulder, covering his chest. His blond hair partly shrouded his face. It had grown long, down past his ears. It was cut short by the neck. It was taken by the wind, created from the masses of falling water, shrouding those calculating eyes. Harry Potter felt something bloom inside his chest. The evil in him leapt forward, and he felt a sudden craving, a desperate need to possess this near angelic apparition. Harry felt this thirst and knew it wasn't his. It belonged to this evil entity. The wind blew, and the shawl was carried off. Harry's feet were carried closer, one step at a time. The entity inside of him was trembling, its focus was on the belly of the male Venus.

“Help me!” Harry wanted to say. He knew this man all too well. He knew that his salvation was right there, within reach. But was this right? What if this man – this blond man who he knew from school – was about to betray him? What if Voldemort was lurking about, ready to grasp him as soon as he was handed over?

“You want this?” the blond said, caressing his own belly with long, slow and sensual moves with his left hand. “Do you want me? Let us lay down, like lovers. Come inside me. Come!” the blond beckoned with velvety voice. His lips were lush, moist and inviting. His limbs were pale, shimmering like the surface of milk and mother-of-pearl. In despite of himself, Harry reached out, his hands crooked, his fingers dislocated. He was barely conscious, terrified of what might happen next, desperate for help. He wanted to scream, wanted his mate from school to see the horror he was living, but Harry knew. His face told another story, an entirely different story. The demon was in control. Harry laughed. It was a wicked and mad laugh mingled with the terror and desperation. Harry thought of Ron, whom he had left in the woods, all bloody and with his skull bashed in. Neville Longbottom – who in his wisdom – had turned and fled. The mean laughter leaving Harry's lips mingled with his sincere sobs. Not once did the conviction in the blond's eyes faltered. He responded to Harry's arms which were reaching for him, and he returned the laugh with a cold smile. Just before their hands met, the air went cold, icy cold. The blond acted fast, seizing Harry's right hand with his left. He pulled Harry's body to his left side and caught Harry's neck with his right hand, locking it in a crushing grip. Harry's head was forced forward, and just before everything was blurred by the water, he saw a tiny silver cross hanging from a branch which protruded from the ledge of the waterfall.

Never before had Harry felt such pain. It was like being shoved into live flames, and the immediate sensation afterwards reminded him of flesh melting from bone. He howled. Or rather – the creature howled. He froze up, his limbs becoming stiff and awkward. The blond let go off his arm with his left hand and seized Harry's chin. Strong hands dug into the flesh, forcing Harry's jaws open. Water flooded his mouth, and before he could respond, the man pulled at his neck so he had to swallow. The water burned, seared its way down, and Harry suddenly came around. He felt sick. Horrified, he felt something vile pulsate and force its way up. He spewed an inexplicable amount of black gore. Dizziness seized him and he could hardly keep erect. The blond forced his head backwards again and repeated the procedure. This time, Harry felt it. He understood what was happening, and he felt himself apart from the demon inside. It squirmed and screamed, its fear rising as Harry mustered every bit of will power to swallow as much of the water as possible. Again, he felt himself go rigid. Then sick. He threw up again, fighting to remain on shaky legs. Finally, finally he could say it. Finally, Harry could speak his mind: “He – help me!” he screamed, and this time the demon's voice mingled with his own in the end of 'me'. The demon was panicking, swinging around with Harry's limbs, but Harry fought. He had new-found strength now. He had hope. He had someone who had the skill to help him.

Draco Lucius Malfoy grit his teeth together and steadied his footing on the slippery stones. He averted the blow the demon tried to give him through Harry. He couldn't deny he was enjoying this. But most important of all. This was about helping Harry. He forced the Gryffindor's head backwards one more time and opened his jaw. Harry's head shook. The glasses went flying. It was as if Harry was having a seizure, but Draco knew it was the demon who was burning. Black smoke steamed from his mouth afterwards, and black gore painted Harry's teeth and lips. Slime shot out through his mouth in one strong spray. This time, Harry crumbled, but Draco forced him to stand. Harry's body spattered. He could see Harry's fleeting consciousness in his eyes. One minute he was himself, the next it was the demon.

“I can keep this up all night long, you know” Draco told the demon, staring into Harry's eyes. “You want some more?” He pulled Harry close, so close the tip of their noses touched for a second. Over their heads, far above the tree tops, clouds gathered swiftly and a very sudden storm started to brew. Harry felt the sudden and unavoidable attraction wash over him. Magic was rapidly building in the air around them. Draco forced Harry's head underneath the water again, and this time he used his weight to ensure that all of Potter was drenched. The demon howled.

“Should we summon God while we're at it?” Draco suggested sarcastically.”The Lord's prayer ought to do the trick, don't you think? I'm sure he will find time in his otherwise tight programme to stop by for a demon snack.” Harry was positively shaking. With his senses returning, he now felt the numbing cold from the air and the water. He wanted to squeeze tight to Draco's naked body and steal every ounce of warmth the blond had to give. He grasped Draco by his elbows as to steady himself. Fighting the demon was easier now, for Draco's conviction – his celestial armour – was like a moving wall which firmly and surely squeezed the demon out of him. Harry would never have guessed years back, that Draco would be able to harbour such integrity and spine. The demon faced Draco one more time, and Draco responded by pulling Harry's head backwards. Swallowing a lot of water, Harry coughed and then puked. This time it felt as if he emptied his belly along with his intestines as well. Black gore, warm and foul-smelling, poured out from his mouth and through his nose. Harry coughed black smoke, over and over. Harry sank down. His legs would no longer carry his weight. He felt an indescribable peace inside and his eyelids were too heavy for words. In Draco's strong arms, he felt himself being lifted down to the mossy ground. From somewhere close, he heard Neville's voice.

“Is he dead? Is he alive?!” Neville's voice was brimming with anxiety, and Harry felt and heard their laboured breaths as he was placed on the ground, on a soft and dry coat. “Are you cold?” Neville then asked, and judging by the slight alteration in tone, the discreet way the affection sneaked in between the words, Harry knew the question had been meant for Draco.

“Nah” the blond responded absent-mindedly. He was a few metres away now, rummaging around in a bag. Harry forced his eyelids open, and just then he saw Draco lurching over him with a long, sharp metal needle. Before he could respond, Draco thrust it into Harry's belly. Harry tensed up, waiting for the pain. But no pain came. He saw the long metal shaft which was wrapped in a red leather band protrude from his belly. But there was no blood. No pain. Its long, sleek and elegant shaft was engraved with symbols and markings Harry had never seen before. All except one. The swastika. As Draco pulled the needle out, Harry only felt a slight tingle.

“He's clean” Draco stated.

“What?” Neville said, still working to catch his breath, his voice rasping in his throat.

“The needle confirms that the demon has left his body. It's a fine piece of instrument” Draco went on, as he vigorously began to pull the wet garments from Harry's body. Neville sat down and helped him. “A number of needles were forged in the ancient Jerusalem. They are made from pure silver, imbued with the power of angels and washed in the blood of Christ. They're not weapons, only tools to determine whether or not a person is infested with a demon or has been in contact with demons.” Draco paused and pointed the sharp end of the needle towards the palm of his left hand. The tip of the needle began to cut through the skin. Draco winced, and dark red blood oozed from the apparent wound which went angry red. “See? I bleed, therefore I am guilty.” He put the needle down, which was a long instrument, about half a metre long, and continued to tug at Harry's pants in an attempt to peel them off. Above them, the stormy clouds continued to build, and distant thunder could be heard rumbling louder and louder. “When the Templar Knights returned from their failed crusades during the twelfth century, they brought with them some of the needles to Europe. But the information on how to use them, were partly lost. And so were the needles. When the witch-hunts began, the information which by then had withered away and could only be found sporadically in old writings, was misunderstood. Prod the accused. If you find her insensitive spot, she is a witch. The spot was believed to be the place where the devil had entered her. If she bleeds and feels pain, then she is not a witch.”

“They got it all wrong!” Neville replied. He was tugging at the right leg of Harry's trousers while Draco pulled at the left. The pants came off with a wet, sloppy noise.

“Had it not been for the fact that hundreds of thousands of men and women suffered through terrible tortures and then death either by burning or hanging as a direct consequence of the damned book, the Malleus Malificarum would have been bloody fun to read.” He stopped to watch Neville. Neville had gone quiet. He was still kneeling beside Harry's feet, not one metre away from Draco. They were practically shoulder by shoulder.

“I – I can't stop thinking about you” Neville whispered.

“If you want to shag me, that's fine – !”

“ – no! I mean – yes – I want to – to make, you know, love...!” Neville blushed. It hit him just how lame it sounded.

“Make love, huh? To me?” Draco smiled. But it wasn't a sneer. Or something loaded with sarcasm. “And just how and where should we – make love?” Draco asked, pulling off Harry's smelly socks. He instantly winced at the odour and drew away. A loud crack of thunder roared above their heads. “We'll need to stay put. He's in no condition to be Apparated anywhere. I'll arrange for some transport –!”

“I figured we could – you know – have four or five bottles of wine, get seriously drunk and fumble about in the dark?” Neville replied, sounding sheepishly.

“Do you really mean that?” Draco replied and launched a flare from his wand which reminded of golden fireworks. Within seconds appeared a huge bear from the thicket.

“Oh goodness gracious!” Neville exclaimed at the sight of the bear.

“Lord of the Forest” Draco said to it, bowing his head in respect. He showed no sign of fear, as if he had done this a million times before. “In this most desperate hour I must ask for your help.” The bear only growled low in return, then he turned and disappeared into the canopy.

“He just left? He's not going to help?!” Neville exclaimed.

“Just answer the question, Longbottom” Draco replied.

“What? Oh, uh, no. No, I – I'm not sure. I mean, I really would just like to lay down with you in a warm bed without fear of being caught and just – you know – try stuff. Kiss you.”

“So you don't really want to make love to me, you want me as a test subject so you can explore the borders of your sexuality. I would be your – puppet – and you would – !”

“ – no! No no! I really mean I want to make love to you.” Neville wished for a big black hole he could disappear into. How was it possible to stumble and fall so far and quickly whilst trying to express himself? Judging from the look on Draco's face, Neville's dreams seemed destined to stay just that. An unachievable dream.

“All right. If it's love you want, then you've got it. But we stay sober and respect each other's boundaries.”

“I just mentioned the wine because that's how I thought you might want it. I'm not – well, that handsome.”

“Don't second-guess me. Just be honest.”

“Right. So … it's a date?” Neville wondered, immediately regretting it. It sounded so childish, like he was still thirteen and looking to grope Draco's tits.

“I don't do dates” Draco sighed and glanced at Neville with an expression which told the Gryffindor that he had tired of the subject. In all his nakedness, not shy of anything, confident and bold, his milk-white skin shimmering in the fleeting sunlight, sparkling whenever the thunder rolled, Draco was a bedroom dream. And Neville felt like a twit, un-cool and gawky. He watched as Draco dressed, watched the milky-white skin disappear inside jeans, and warm jumpers. Above their heads, the clouds divided and as a clap of thunder rolled across the sky, Neville had to look twice. Was that the outline of a ship in the sky?

Ronald Weasley was conscious for a moment. Opening his eyes, he stared straight into a wooden ceiling which was less that a metre away from his head. His first conclusion was that he had been buried alive, and arriving at that conclusion made him panic. Turning his head induced a serious pain to the back of his head. It was worth it, because he saw Harry Potter laying in a berth just like Ron was. Harry was snoring loudly, his breath was slow and steady, and everything about him gave Ron the impression that Harry was at peace. Maybe it was over? Everything smelled of crisp sea and tar, and the cabin in which they lay, was adorned with maritime objects. The timber creaked and the gentle swaying of the vessel rocked Ron back into a sleep littered with the ever-changing faces of monsters and demons.

Neville had been ordered inside the captain's cabin. He was still in awe. They had carried Harry's unconscious body onto the ship – a beautiful square-rigged Indiaman. Her hulls were painted yellow, her railings black, and the intricate woodwork at the front which melted together the keel, the stem and the bowsprit were also in black. She had reminded Neville of a beautiful princess wearing black lace over a yellow silk frock. The ' Queen Eleonorah' was magnificent.

Built in 1713 to 1719 in Portsmouth, the Queen Eleonorah was a state of the art warship. With her 160 canons, four decks and four masts, she went on to become a legend of the East India Trading Company's naval fleet stationed in the Arabian sea outside of India. Then, Satan himself decided to set foot on her deck, one cloudy day in May, 1798. Of a total crew of 253, only 47 African slaves survived. They emerged at the shores of Guinea once more, living another day to tell the fantastic tale of how the great Papa Bondye descended from the heavens and freed them from the evil white ones.

Draco mentioned this story briefly and extremely censored as he guided Neville into the midst of the captain's cabin. There stood an old-fashioned copper bath-tub draped with white linen, filled with steaming lavender-scented bath water.

“You're joking, right?” Neville had to ask.

“I joke you not. If you're going to be my cabin-boy, I expect you to tidy up. And get some sleep” Draco winked at him before he nodded at the food on top of the drawer and then at the bed. He turned and left.

“Where – where are you going?!”

“I need to mind the wheel.” Draco shut the door. He walked up the stairs to the commanding deck, zipped up his jacket and took hold of the wheel. So, he hadn't been entirely frank with Neville. He didn't really need to be minding the wheel. Queen Eleonorah minded herself perfectly, setting whatever course her captain demanded. Right now, Draco needed to be alone with his thoughts.

The truth of it was that seeing Harry brought back a ton of unpleasant memories. Now that he finally could be alone with himself, the memories came back with a vengeance. He remembered vividly that night at Hogwarts when he'd first seen Harry Potter himself standing at the foot of Draco's bed. It was November, and Draco had yet to be repelled by his own house. The troubles with the eudaimon had just begun, and Draco had hit his mental bottom. It had dawned on him that everyone and everything held a grudge against him and his family. That he was indirectly responsible for the death of Harry's parents. He had just begun to emphasize, to realize what it meant not to have parents. And the guilt he felt had hit him hard. Through his shocked and delirious mind, he saw only the hatred in Harry Potter's green eyes. And it the terror that hate invoked in Draco, was beyond anything he'd ever have to deal with before. From a sheltered and censored upbringing under the wings of Lucius Malfoy, Draco was facing what he thought was the cold reality all on his own. When the icy feeling of immobility had seized him in the midst of night, Draco had stared at Harry Potter in disbelief. A part of him understood that this was not the real Harry. But his paranoia ran away with him instantly, and he guessed that the eudaimon had somehow smuggled Harry into the Slytherin dormitories. Harry was going to get his vengeance. Draco wanted to say something, to avoid what he knew would be coming. There was no mistaking the way Harry had held his wand. So hard, the whites of his knuckles showing through the thin flesh on his hands.

“Get on your hands and knees, Malfoy” Harry had barked menacingly. Draco's limbs had begun to move on their own accord, obviously eager to accommodate. Draco himself wasn't. Not at all. He shook with trepidation, certain that this would be the final humiliation before his life ended.

“Your soul's going to Hell, Malfoy. And after you're dead, I'll go after your mum and your dad so that you can all be together” Harry had said sarcastically, pulling down his pants, “and burn. Together.” Harry had pulled down his underwear to reveal a full erection, glistening with pre-cum. He had positioned it at Draco's unprepared opening. Draco remembered wailing a futile 'no'. He had been forced flat down on his stomach, and out of the corner of his eye, he had seen Harry hover above him. He would never forget that face. A profound scowl, hatred thundering in those dark and green eyes. Cold and condemning, deaf to Draco's mumbling pleas for mercy. The bitter thought in the back of Draco's head. That he had deserved this treatment. It was only fitting that Harry would be the one to sodomize him before his death.

He had shuddered as Harry – or whoever it was – had positioned himself between his legs. He had felt the silky smooth sensation of Harry's erect member. And Draco had sobbed as he had been entered without preparation. The guilt – it had devoured him with a ferocity there was no remedy for – and he had taken the pain as best as he could thinking he deserved every last ounce of it. He had wished only to disappear, to undo what had been done. Had he only known some kind of way of going back in time, he would have done so, and he would have done whatever it took to prevent it. He would have placed himself between Voldemort and Harry's mother. He would have done it. He would have forsaken his own existence, just so Harry would have his mum at least. He had been laying there on his stomach, with Harry thrusting in and out of his bloody orifice, and he had felt so incredibly sorry it hurt inside. Draco had been gripping the sheets, his tears pouring, begging for forgiveness.

“You're excuses are worthless, Malfoy” Harry had barked at him. The noise of flesh pounding into flesh had been nauseating. But the shame Draco had felt...! It had surpassed any previous emotional peak and downfall. Feeling as if he had been sinking into a bottomless black pit, Draco had been waiting for the inevitable end. Harry had been grunting on the end, with long, slow slides. Then he had stopped as the orgasm had come to an end. He had pulled out, and a sudden ache had flared up in Draco's entrance. Draco had remained immobile, knowing that this moment – this was it. This was when justice however strange, would be done. He had thought of his parents, wondering how they would respond to the news of his death. Or perhaps he would just go missing? Maybe Potter would conceal his body? Maybe he would be buried in a ditch?

Draco couldn't remember for how long he thought he had been laying like that, just waiting for the inevitable. Then finally, Harry had climbed upon the bed, straddled Draco across his bum, and put the tip of his wand against the back of Draco's neck. Draco had been shuddering, sobbing quietly, his breaths fast and shallow. He couldn't die now! He just couldn't! There were so many things to set right, so many people to apologize to! It couldn't end like this, it just couldn't!He had closed his eyes, feeling remorse to the very core of his Slytherin being. It wasn't fear of dying. All was so unfair! He didn't get a chance to make up for his sins! Draco had gripped the sheets on either side of his head tight, so tight it had hurt through his fingers.

“Forgive – me – Harry! Forgive me...!” he had managed to sob. It was an apology from the heart, and yet the words were simple, they had conveyed both the years at Hogwarts, Harry's parents and Harry himself. He was the chosen one, a boy, who had to deal with a monster.

Harry hadn't said a word in response. He had climbed off rather swiftly and left Draco. He must have. All though Draco had no clear recollection of Harry – if it at all had been Harry – leaving him. Draco remembered being delirious with grief, fear and remorse. He had been laying like that for quite some time, sobbing and whimpering, begging for forgiveness from someone who no longer was present. He had kept his legs spread apart, and blood stained the sheet underneath his crotch. A piece of him had broken, that time. And it had stayed irreparable until this day. It would never mend, Draco knew. It would forever be the abyss which would make it impossible for him to form a real friendship with Harry Potter.

Draco went back down to the captain's cabin, only to find Neville sound asleep. Neville smelled of fresh lavender and soap. His damp hair was ruffled, and he had a three-day beard. He was shirtless, and Draco spotted a multitude of dark hairs on his chest. Neville's mouth was half open, breaths steady, looking peaceful. It wasn't the first time Draco had seen Neville shirtless – had he not given the guy a blow job? – but the sight of this revelation of a perfect bedroom dream, sparked something in him. In was a feeling Draco got whenever he saw Luna. A kind of intense tender emotion, a need to protect and show his affection for. Luna was – for a lack of a better word – a safe haven to display his emotions in. She liked him for who he was and everything about her made him do his best to treat her with great care. Neville was that way too – only he wanted more. Draco could see it in his eyes, his face, the way Neville hesitated whenever he was going to move from left to right, anxious to see which way Draco was going first. There was a strung cord between them, something inexplicable, and Neville was relentlessly demanding of Draco his friendship and his intimacy. He would not take no for an answer, he refused to misunderstand Draco's two-edged and evasive replies the way Harry Potter did. Neville was growing tall, half a head taller than Draco, broad-shouldered and some serious muscle. Compared to him, Draco was slender and frail built. A Slytherin with a soiled last name and nothing going for himself but a talent for fucking demons. Draco moved closer, swallowed and held his breath. He leaned over the sleeping Neville, wondering how it was possible to come up with so many positive adjectives about this man in less than a minute.

“I would do anything for you, Neville Longbottom” Draco whispered to Neville's sleeping face. He placed a light kiss on Neville's lips.

He went down below to check on Potter and Weasley again. He couldn't shake the anxiousness he felt whenever Potter was around. It was a feeling which had followed him ever since last year at Hogwarts. Ever since Potter had turned up by his bed that night in Slytherin House. Draco had been skipping the morning classes. He hadn't felt like meeting Potter again, and he had finally mustered up the courage after lunch. He had attended classes, keeping his gaze low and his mouth shut, positive that everyone knew what had happened. He felt as if Harry's fingerprints were all over his body for everyone to see. Draco remembered vividly how he had been visited by the eudaimon the following evening. Draco had been on his way back from studying in the great hall. It was the best place to be, because it was around other people, and their presence took his mind off things for a bit. Out of nowhere, the bricks had disappeared from underneath his feet. No one saw him disappear. He had landed on his left hip, and the pain had flared up. His books lay scattered on the floor. He remembered looking up, and the eudaimon – who looked like he was in a really foul mood – had seized him by the hair and dragged him off to a nearby pelt. As Draco had been tossed onto it, the eudaimon – who liked to torture his victims into suicide – had snapped his fingers and Draco's wand had immediately flown into his grasp.

“Allow me to stress the fact” the eudaimon said sharply, almost sounding like Severus Snape, “that either way, you're going to Hell. Leave Hogwarts and you'll be running into the arms of a very displeased dark lord. I hear he has taken a fancy to feeding his victims to Nagini while they're still alive. Imagine being swallowed and then slowly digested for weeks inside her belly. Conscious and in horrible pain because of her etching belly juices. Or – you continue to hide within the castle walls while I torture you into insanity. I understand that the headmaster's got you under surveillance. There's a good possibility he's just waiting for an excuse to kick you out. If I were you I would keep up appearances, attend my classes and work hard at achieving good grades.”

Draco had been thankful for the heads-up. It had been the moment in time when he had decided to set everything in on making the best out of the situation, to attempt to redeem himself and his father's actions while he had the chance, while he remained sane. His fate in the hands of Voldemort just wasn't an option. He had thought about this, silently chosen his fate while had undressed with shivering hands and tears running down his cheeks. With his own wand pointed at him, he had removed his undergarments and taken off his tie. He had tried undoing the buttons on his shirts, but his fingers wouldn't work properly. He was tired out of his mind, feeling nauseous because he hadn't had anything to eat all day. Now, he knew what was about to come.

“Your mother signed a document today, releasing the Malfoy fortune at Gringott's into the hands of that – thing” the eudaimon had suddenly said quite softly. Draco had stopped to look at him in disbelief. “As from today you're penniless too. Not that it matters. You're as good as dead anyway. Your father's clinging to the Malfoy ring which is inevitably tied to the lands around the manor. What makes up the Malfoy estate. Piece by piece” the eudaimon had said through the earth-shattering silence with had ensued, “Lord Voldemort is crushing your family. A family which had stood by him for decades. So much for loyalty” the eudaimon stated, almost in afterthought. Draco had stared at his toes, only able to think about Harry. Where did Draco's loyalties lie in all of this? Which side was he now on? If he'd have anything to give – who would he give it to? And for what cause?

“Speaking of loyalty. Let's not forget that you're mine. What is that I smell?” the eudaimon taunted and bent his head to smell at Draco's abdomen. Draco dropped his pants and he had hidden his face in shame. The eudaimon had seized him by the throat, shoved his head backwards so it hit the brick wall with a thump sound. Draco had been unable to stop himself from thinking of Harry, and less than a second later, the eudaimon whispered his name. “Harry Potter, huh? He came to see you last night? How was it? Did you two kiss and make up?” the eudaimon had taunted his victim. Draco had trouble breathing, and the cold and rough of the wall behind his back was like a thousand sharp needles through his shirt which he had managed to undo halfway up. Anxiety was running off with his emotions. Draco had been on the verge of hyperventilating out of pure terror. “You slept with someone else but me. How's that for loyalty, do you think?”

Draco had tried to shake his head. He had wanted to explain to the eudaimon that it had been rape. But he hadn't opposed Harry either. “It was your fault, of course. You had it coming. Just like dying like this always has been intended for you. Apologies can only do so much. I totally agree with him. You are worthless. You ought not to meet his gaze again. And I'm sure he would take it as a great insult if you were to open your mouth and utter as much as a syllable to his face. And should I find that he's ever offended while you still live, you will be punished.”

in the present, Draco shut the door to Potter's cabin quietly. Though the eudaimon had later admitted that it was he – in the shape of Harry who had raped him that night – the threats still held. Speak to or look Harry in the eye, and Draco would pay the price. How many times had he not blundered, those next few days at Hogwarts? He could not for his life control the natural reflex which made him seek eye contact with whomever it was he laid eyes on as he turned around. By Saturday, his back was blue and black from encounters with a cane, and he had hardly been able to sit. He spent the Saturday and the Sunday in bed, feverishly reading up in old school books while his fellow slytherins had laughed and shaken their heads. Monday had gone good. Not once had he looked Harry in the eye. He had ignored him completely. Tuesday went great. Wednesday had been disastrous. He had been sitting at his desk. Class was over. He had been collecting his books, and in the bustle which ensued when everyone wanted to leave at once, a book had been toppled over. It had fallen to the floor, and Draco had leaned down and reached for it. An inch away from the book, someone's fingers had shot down and reached around it, picked it up and placed it back on Draco's desk. Because he had been kneeling, his head had been level with Draco's and Harry had stared directly into Draco's terrified eyes for about one second. Draco could still remember how his heart had begun to race and his hands had begun to shake almost uncontrollably. He had been in a hurry all of the sudden, and forced his books into his shoulder bag. He had made a hasty retreat to the great hall. But during lunch, Draco hadn't been able to eat anything. To make matters worse, he had accidentally bumped against Harry in the great hallway afterwards, shoulder towards shoulder, and Draco had mumbled a 'sorry' because Harry had let slip a slight moan at the impact. Draco had been distraught. Pansy had been tugging at his sleeve and Blaise Zabini had been staring at him with a quizzical look. He wanted to explain this to Harry, to fall unto his knees and again beg forgiveness but he also had wanted to run away and die. He had chosen to run.

Draco went back to the rudder of the Queen Eleonorah. They would soon land outside the Lighthouse farm. The place was protected by demonic magic. It was home to several eudaimons, to his friend Peter and his sons, and to Draco and Hermione and their little boys. They lived in one of the many houses at the farm. Each house had a name, and Draco and Hermione lived in the Dragon's lair. The main building of Lighthouse Farm was called Tortuga, after a famous pirate island in the Caribbean. And Draco's eudaimon Melchior and brother stayed in Port Royal.

Hermione had been prepared for their arrival. She had given Harry a black book – a journey book – and then she had a twin book herself, which enabled her to keep track of their progress. Or lack of progress. Through the book, she had learned that Ronald and Harry found a way to destroy the locket. She had poured all of her energy into helping them as best as she could, though she found herself short on time since she had suddenly become the mother of two. The boys had been fed by the time they got there, and they were laying on thick blankets on the floor where they were free to swivel around and play with toys. She crushed Harry in a long embrace, relieved to know he was safe. She did the same with Ronald and Neville. All of the sudden, her old life was right back into her living room. She embraced Draco lastly, kissing him. She urged them all to sit down and eat. Meatballs, boiled potatoes and vegetables. Drenched in a thick brown sauce. They boys ate in silence. Proper food like this was something they hadn't seen in ages. She remarked on how roughed-up and weather-beaten they looked. But no real conversation sprang up. The atmosphere between the three fugitives were clearly tense. After their meal, Draco sat down by his sons and picked them up in his strong arms. Knowing their father, they instantly lit up and began to babble away, stretching out their chubby hands at him. Blond and grey-eyed like Draco. They had Hermione's wavy and unruly hair. Hugo Abraxas, who by birth was Draco's and Hermione's, lifted his right arm up in the air. His small, pudgy fingers clutched a toy. Giggling at the top of his lungs, he dropped the toy and it flew across the room with lightning speed. It ricocheted off the wall and landed on the floor with a loud bag.

“Hugo, no” his father scolded him mildly. Draco had great trouble hiding how proud he was of Hugo, who at the age of four months displayed strong magical skills. Something suddenly touched the top of his head, and when Draco looked up, he saw his other son dangling in the air above his head. The child, who was no more than three months old, had tiny black wings. He resembled a cherub just out of his cradle. Draco put Hugo down on the floor and gently caught Ivory. The little baby boy put his arms about his father's neck and accepted being pulled down into his father's arms. By birth, Ivory Scorpius belonged to Draco and Melchior. Born within the same month, the boys were raised as brothers by Hermione and Draco.

There was a sudden and loud knock on the front door.

“It's Melchior” Draco stated with a tone which suggested that the guest wasn't particularly welcome.

“I'll get it” Hermione said and went to open the door. Rightly so, outside stood the eudaimon, tapping his fingers at the wooden door frame.

“May I? Please?” he said with a demanding tone of voice. Hermione nodded and Melchior entered. He was more casually dressed at the moment, with jeans torn at the knees and a loose linen shirt covering his torso. His long, dark brown hair cascaded over his shoulders, framing his sculpted face. He wasn't looking pleased, and he leaned against the door-frame to the living room while he crossed his arms above his chest.

“What did I tell you?” he told Draco before nodding in Neville's direction. Neville nodded shyly back.

“It was an emergency. They just need a hot shower, some fresh clothes and Hermione will pack some more food for them and then they'll be on their way.”

“Good, and let that be the end of it.” Melchior replied, sounding a lot milder. He caught Ivory with his arms. The boy had flown like an arrow over to him. “If it happens again, I won't be so forgiving.”

The eudaimon chose to stay. Hermione disappeared into the kitchen, where she began organizing a whole lot of food. Bread, sandwich spreads and cold cuts. She worked efficiently, and Ronald went to have a warm shower. Neville helped her out, and that left Harry, Draco and the eudaimon in the same room. Draco kept his attention on the children. Between work and his duties towards Melchior, he had little time with his two sons. Having Harry as a guest was also difficult, though he felt more at ease here in his own home. He wondered if Harry approved. Hermione and Draco had done what they could with interior decorating. He let her decide quite a lot, but always expressed an opinion when asked for it. And he was under the impression that she appreciated running her head against a wall now and then with him. They had often discussed, but never argued so far. Still newly-weds, they were unsure of each other's boundaries, and Draco feared deep down that she would some day tire of him and this life which she had been more or less pressed into. She had been very proud of Draco when he'd gotten himself a job. And she had been even prouder when she had the chance to tell her parents just that. The wages didn't make them rich, but they were able to lay aside some money every month due to the fact that they enjoyed a very low rent on the Dragon's Lair. Renting a cottage at the Farm was a temporary solution until the matter with Voldemort had been resolved. They had spent evenings drinking wine and talked about the future. Hermione was relieved to have a good communication going with Draco. She mentioned this swiftly to Neville as they arranged the food and wrapped it in foil.

Harry had decided it was time he opened his mouth. He sat down next to Draco and watch him handle the children. Melchior had gone into the kitchen in search of a cup of tea. He never demanded anything of Hermione, but held her in great respect, and the way he did that was by asking her politely if it was all right if he made himself cup of tea. He never talked that way to Draco. It was as if Draco had been born just for the purpose of serving Melchior tea, and it was something he would just blurt out with when it suited him. Draco had to smile as he overheard the conversation going in the kitchen. Melchior's sudden respectful tone. The way she replied, between the lines saying; I'm pleased you ask, for this is my territory.

“I wanted to say thanks” Harry suddenly told Draco. The small space between them went electrical. “If you hadn't come to my rescue, then …!”

“Neville fetched me” Draco replied quietly, not looking up to meet Harry's gaze.

“I'm glad to have you with us” Harry said, instantly regretting it. “What I meant is …!” but the words failed him, and the eudaimon came wandering back from the kitchen. Ronald also entered. He was wearing an old t-shirt of Draco's along with a pair of sweatpants. “I'm glad to have you as a friend, Draco” Harry finally got his head around and said. He put a hand on Draco's left shoulder, and only then did Draco look from the hand and up into his face. They locked gazes for a second or two, while Harry said: “Without you we all would have perished.” He left the living room, going for a shower while there were some hot water left. He didn't look back. He had seen the unspoken reply in Draco's grey-blue eyes. Had Harry really meant it? Was Draco considered a friend?

Hogwarts.

Severus Snape was glad to finally be able to leave the dinner table. He had finished his cup of tea which had accompanied the desert at Professor Slughorn's private dinner party, this time for professors only. It had been a drag. He was tired and wanted to retreat to his chambers. Wasting no time, he went over to professor Slughorn who was chatting away with professor McGonagall, expressed his thanks for the invitation and for dinner and made to the door.

“Professor Snape? I – I mean Headmaster?” the clear and crisp voice of professor Trelawney broke through the room. Snape turned to look at her. She had picked up his cup and now she was adjusting her glasses as she made her way over to where he was standing. “Did you see this – professor?!”she said with excitement. “Your innermost dream will come true” she continued and handed him his empty cup. She was one big smile from ear to ear, and so distracted by what she was going to show him that she nearly dropped it to the floor before he managed to get a hold of it. Snape glanced at Trelawney and then at his cup. What he saw in the tea grounds left him breathless, and he muttered a 'thank you' before returning the cup to her. Snape left the room with great haste. He came to his chambers, flung the door open and then whipped it shut with the use of his wand. He strode into his bedroom. He threw the wand unto the bed and undid the buttons of his coat with desperate manners. He peeled the coat off and threw it on the floor. Severus grasped at his impeccable white shirt and dragged it upwards. He pushed the hem of his trousers a few inches down, revealing his belly button. He had seen the blotch taking shape in the course of the last couple of days. It couldn't be a coincidence that Trelawney had seen what she saw at the bottom of his tea cup. The same symbol as on his belly: The swastika, with its four arms spiraling out from the centre which was his belly button.

Calm down, Severus told himself as he prepared for sleep. We must be calm, he told himself once more. What did he know about the Swastika as a symbol? It was more than 3,000 years old. It had been discovered on pottery dating as far back as from the city of Troy in ancient Turkey. It existed in all four corners of the world, and everywhere it was regarded as the symbol for the sun, for life and peace, balance, prosperity, good will and inner strength. The oldest good luck charm in the history of mankind. But it was more to it than that, Severus knew. It was also a rune in which impossible amounts of magic could be bound. Both dark and light magic. Which led to the most important question. Why had the eudaimon imprinted it on Severus' body, and which spell or spells did it contain?

Severus Snape sat down on his bed. He rubbed his palms across his face in an attempt to ward off the potpourri of conflicting thoughts in his head. To have a swastika tattooed on one's body was something anyone could do. But to have it imprinted on one's flesh by a eudaimon, now that was something that wouldn't go unnoticed. Especially not by someone like Voldemort who could smell magic symbols fifty miles away. And why? What sort of 'protection' was it meant to give Severus? Was there something Severus wasn't seeing? A detail or a plan? There wasn't any logic to the eudaimon's behaviour. His statement, that it was time Severus was being protected. That the eudaimon would come to him every night and mount him, thrusting into him with all of his passion. And that was that. No explanations, no plans, no nothing. And if the eudaimon had begun to use Severus as his night-time toy, what then of Draco Malfoy? Had the blond lost the eudaimon's favour? Severus felt sick. He laid down on his bed, flicked his wand one last time and the candles promptly extinguished.
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Dark Lord Rising