Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Intangible	By : ChimaeraChan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 9798 -:- 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
- 1-CH1
- 2-CH2
- 3-CH3
- 4-CH4
- 5-CH5
- 6-CH6
- 7-CH7
- 8-CH8
- 9-CH9
- 10-CH10
- 11-CH11
- 12-CH12
- 13-CH13
- 14-CH14
- 15-CH15
- 16-CH16
- 17-CH17
- 18-CH18
- 19-CH19
- 20-CH20
- 21-CH21
- 22-CH22
- 23-CH23
- 24-CH24
- 25-Ch25
- 20
- 21
- 22
Author's Notes: Hey, lovelies. I have two chapters for you this time around, and then things start getting crazy. Harry wakes up and he's... let's say grumpy... with Draco about certain events. It'll be good. ^__^

Rini Yamori: Lol, sorry, I've been juggling a couple of fanfics as well as some original pieces. It never works well for me to divide attention, I think... but I get bored. I'm still updating this fic one a week, or once every two, depending on my muses. Probably more sooner because I'm getting to action stuff and that writes itself.

Chapter Twenty-One

Hermione was out the bedroom door before Draco could respond to her dig. Two said injured pets peered at him from the doorway, each with their own version of wary on their faces. Draco huffed, trying not to feel awkward all of a sudden.
“Where's Matten?” He asked, the familiar shifter not there with Zyan and Haille.
“He is beyond controllable at the moment,” Zyan said, anxious eyes straying to the doorway as if Matten were right outside. “I did not expect him to actually crack but he has. Your call is very strong.”
“I warned him,” Haille muttered, not sounding pleased. “He insisted on bearing the responsibility alone and now he is suffering for it.”
Feeling uneasy, Draco shifted from foot to foot. “Is he alright? Will he be?”
“If you can shut down your call, he will be perfectly fine.” Zyan took a step towards Draco, looking at him as if he were a wild animal instead of a very confused halfling. “The girl told you as much, correct? That is why you have let us in?”
Draco nodded, forcing himself to stand still. “I had not realized... I had not understood what I was doing fully. I do not know how to stop it but I wish to.”
“Well, at least there is that,” Haille said, still frowning. “You are the first halfling of our generation. We were warned that the call could be... dangerous. But Matten thought addressing it would be too awkward for you. You are very skittish...”
Jumpy. Draco was jumpy and he damn well knew it. “What do I have to do?” The two shifters exchanged glances and Draco felt a flutter of unease.
“We will try to ground you,” Haille said, speaking carefully.
“Try? You don't know if you can?”
“It is usually... The Kalistar deals with the halflings. That has been the way.”
Draco made a pained expression while staring at Haille and Zyan, things starting to click together once again. “That's why you've avoided the halflings so long. Your Kalistar is sleeping.”
“Yes,” Zyan said, dark eyes stormy. “But you were too strong. You gave us little choice in the matter. It was either collect you or lose all our children to your castle. There would have been bloodshed. War. Absolute devastation. Matten thought to tell you would be to influence you unjustly.”
It would have. Maybe not while still at Hogwarts, a lifetime away from the Vesper. But here, in their village, seeing these people interact, talk and laugh, share and try to welcome him in... Draco did not want to hurt these people. His one life was hardly comparable to the generations growing up around him in this sheltered den.
“But now Matten has succumb from being too close to you. He took on the call to help shield the village,” Haille said sharply. “His need for morality has made him vulnerable, along with the rest of us.”
“What has happened to him?” Draco asked, his mouth gone dry.
Again the shifters exchanged looks, Draco wondering for the first time if they were communicating telepathically. Haille ran his fingers through his long locks, eventually nodding. “Come with us, halfling. Perhaps if you see what you do to us you will understand why you cannot leave here.”
Biting his lip, Draco hesitantly stepped forward, following them out the room and into the hallway. They didn't have far to go. Matten was in a room across the hall, Draco standing in the doorway while Zyan knelt feet away from his lover. The chains on the scarred shifter's arms and legs were thick and heavy looking, dull metal clinking against the floor while Matten snarled and jerked weakly.
“No, halfling,” Haille said when Draco tried to step in the room. “Do not approach him. He cannot control himself. His mind is nothing more than a beast right now.”
Draco hesitated on the threshold, watching Matten's pale blue eyes lock on him, glaring intensely with a spark of madness. It was familiar. Not the look. Draco had never actually seen what this looked like. But when he closed his eyes and felt the energy roiling around him, Draco recognized it well. It was the madness of Harry, aggressive, desperate, needy. That terrible, terrible power caressing over his skin, sparking energy and desire. The need to be needed.
Eyes firmly shut, Draco slipped into the room, bare feet seeking a path on the warm stone floor. There was a scuffle, as if Haille was gong to pull Draco away, but Zyan caught the other shifter. “You cannot touch the boy—the glow is blinding. You will just become as Matten is.”
“He cannot touch Matten! The halfling is still tied to that dying Kalistar. If Matten's beast wins and harms the boy, the Kalistar will kill us all.”
“He won't harm me,” Draco said softly, pressing against the wall of coiled power Matten was giving off.
“You think that but you do not understand us. Matten is lost, halfling. He is nothing more than instinct, violent instinct. He has lost himself and you are not safe.”
“I appreciate your concern,” Draco muttered, taking another step closer, only darkness greeting his vision. “But I am trying to concentrate and I need your silence.” That seemed to do the trick, the two shifters falling quiet, leaving only the sound of Matten's heavy breathing broken by guttural snarls. Draco didn't focus on the noise. He was keyed in to the flow of hot energy, even now rising up and lapping on his skin.
Draco carefully crouched, aware that he had reached Matten's legs. He edged closer, feeling the man's body heat, noticing the shift in behavior as all snarling stopped. Draco reached the man's face, a low growl brushing air across his own.
“Hi, Matten...” Draco whispered, smirking when all he got was a louder growl in reply. “I can feel you're trying to stay in control and I appreciate that. But... I think you can relax...” Draco inched closer, knees scraping on the floor uncomfortably.
“Halfling...” Matten growled. It was a quiet, tormented plea and Draco's heart broke to hear Matten so hurt because of him.
“It's okay, I promise. I understand what I did—I'm not sure how, but I know what. You're full of need, right Matten? Terrible, unbearable need that makes you feel like your soul is being torn from you.”
“Y-Yesss...” Matten hissed, jerking his head back as if afraid to be so close to Draco.
“But it's not your need and I'm very sorry for that,” Draco continued, tears stinging the corners of his closed eyes. “When I get angry, you Vesper get extra angry. And when I get aroused, you all get ridiculously horny. And I didn't realize—not really—what that might mean for this other feeling that I so inconsiderately filled you with. I've been ignoring this emotion for a long time, Matten, and I know that doesn't mean what I did to you was right. But I just wanted you to know that is why it happened. I was blind to it...”
“Touch...” Matten whispered, still trying to push away.
“Yes... I've been very lonely and I wanted to be touched,” Draco said, nodding in agreement. “Potter understood that. He and I are very alike in that regard. I never had to say a word to him about it. Or maybe he just felt it the way you do. Because it's been very loud, that small little voice inside.” Everything else in Draco had been quiet for such a long time, but somewhere deep within, where he had thought he was numb and already dead, something had been calling. The final muffled death cries of his childhood, begging for human connection. For the love his parents had withheld. For the touch Draco had feared would collapse what little was left of him.
“I'm going to touch you, Matten. And when I do that, it's going to be okay.”
“No,” Matten choked out, struggling against his bonds to get away.
“I know you're scared. I know... I'm always scared too.” Draco reached his hand up, feeling over the heat of the man's skin until he was at Matten's chest. Slowly, tentatively, he pressed his hand forward, fingers flinching slightly when he made contact. The shifter stiffened under his touch, breath caught in his throat. Draco could feel the frantic, wild beating in the heart beneath his hand. It made Draco want to cry, to know this sad broken part within him had lived a life in this man's body for short moments and this was what its heartbeat felt like.
Draco leaned his head down, resting it to Matten's neck and shoulder. Slowly he curled his arms around the unnaturally still man, holding the strong battle-scarred body as if Matten were a child. And even more slowly, more carefully, Matten slipped his arms around Draco and returned the hug.
Draco was not sure when it changed. He just knew he was crying and Matten was humming ever so softly in his ear, pulling him closer, wrapping him tight and rocking him. Haille at some point thought Draco was safe enough to touch again, fingers gently stroking in his hair while he and Zyan hummed as well and released Matten from his chains. Draco only felt mildly embarrassed to be hugged by three complete strangers that didn't feel remotely strange to him. The Vesper had felt his pain fully while Draco had worked hard to block it out. They understood why he was pouring out the last lonely years of his life along with his fear that his future was destined to be as bleak.
It was a groundless fear now. Draco had an entire village of Vesper. His cold mother, vapid fiancé, imprisoned father—they were gray, faded memories. Harry, the boy still burning bright and hot in Draco's body, was like him. He would come find Draco when he was well enough. They would have a family. A very large family. One with scales, feathers, and glowing pale skin. Harry would just have to understand.

Harry could not fully remember ever feeling so much pain. He could not fully remember pain at all. Somehow drifting in the echo of life for so long had confused his mind, his nerves and perception of things. This burning, excruciating agony shaking every cell of his body—he had never known this before. He had been reborn back into the full world again, screaming, bleeding and in pain.
His body was different. His tense, twitching muscles were much larger, fitting proportionally to his taller frame. There was a strange weight on his back, pushing him down into the cot that he found himself in while he snarled around the burning sensation throbbing through him. He was nearly lost in the sheets, dark feathers suffocating him, sweat dripping red, skin flushed unimaginably black. The bed had not faired well, the mattress torn from his claws, soaked in rust black splatters.
His bed was pushed from the wall, practically in the center of the hospital room. He understood why whenever he tried to lift his head. A new weight, his eyes catching out of the peripheral twists of bone—horn? Antlers... Like some dark stag. With each clench of pain something whipped behind him, thready and slashing. His tail, long and narrow with scales and feathers. Staring at his hands and wicked talons, Harry could see the dragon scales, so thin and delicate, glass clear coated with rainbow color over his dark flesh. He was different. Changed. Pained.
“You're awake.” It was a statement, less a question. Harry had not known there was anyone else there, so consumed still by the fire racing through him.
“Hurts...” he hissed, trying to turn his head towards the voice, only to have his antlers tear into the bed and snag. “Damn!”
“It's better if you don't move.”
It was Dumbledore. Harry could smell him now. The familiar dusty voice, the weight of power in the air. Harry wrenched his head to the side, growling at the pain and the way the sheets would not release him. Panting in frustration, he glanced as far to the side as his vision would allow. Half a chair. Long, aged fingers on the armrest, pale fingernails.
“Hello, Sir,” he greeted hoarsely. “Still alive, I see.”
“Yes... We are all still alive, Harry.”
When Dumbledore didn't continue, Harry went back to trying to free his antler. He reached up with his hand, struggling to get his shaking fingers to pry it loose. “God... damn... pain in the ass!”
“I have a question for you,” Dumbledore said, something in his voice making Harry pause.
Wondering why the man was refusing to help him, Harry waved his hand airily. “Ask.”
“I have it on good authority that you have taken a mate.”
Harry furrowed his brows, pulling himself down the bed, trying to free the blasted horn. “Right.” His hands were sweating in the sheets from the exertion, and he groaned when it still did no good. He body was burning. “S-So?”
“I can only assume that it has been Mr. Malfoy, given your inability to have contact with anyone else.” Stern perhaps. Terse.
Harry did not like the tone of Dumbledore's voice. But he also didn't like how his horn was caught and he was in pain and seemed to have little control of anything at the moment. “Malfoy is mine. What of it?” Harry snapped, snarling again as he wrenched his head back and forth, managing somehow to get his other antler caught in the sheets. “For fuck sake!”
“Be still and I will fix it,” Dumbledore said, not moving from his seat. Harry huffed in annoyance, trying to relax his body. It was harder than he had expected, the pain making him too tense and unwilling to soften. Panting, Harry waited, his body finally sinking painfully into the mattress as much as his caught antlers would allow. There was a creaking and then Dumbledore stood, deep blue robes coming into view. Harry watched the man raise his wand, directing it where the mattress and sheets swallowed the sharp protrusions.
“It is best if you stay still. You are too weak to move and there is no bed that will prevent this,” Dumbledore muttered, indicating Harry's antlers. Harry resisted the temptation to look up at the man, feeling something again heavy in Dumbledore's gaze. “How do you feel?”
“Terrible,” Harry said through gritted teeth, another wave of pain shaking his body.
“It is to be expected. They have healed nearly all of you. Your nerves are apparently highly sensitive since rejoining our realm. It will be some time before the pain fades.”
Harry grunted, wondering when the man would get to the reason he was here already. Harry doubted Albus had been sitting around to tell him he would be feeling some pain.
“You have a mate, Harry.”
It was an accusation. Harry couldn't help but grin, vicious against the pain. “The most beautiful, willful mate I could ever fucking hope for. He is damn magnificent in all ways.”
Sighing, Dumbledore slipped his wand back into his robes, a final spell tingling over Harry's form. “What does it mean?” He finally asked, sounding weary.
Harry blinked, brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”
“What does having a mate mean for you?” Dumbledore pressed, moving back to sit in the chair.
“I... I don't know. He's... he's my mate.” Harry groaned, pain lashing over him like a waterfall of stinging bees. There was a sudden wash of cooling over the burning pain, darkness settling in around Harry like a soothing blanket. The pain was numbing... slipping... Without the fire he was tired... very tired.
“Harry, I need to know the answer.”
“I don't know...” Harry mumbled, eyes drifting closed. “He's mine...”
“Think about it,” Dumbledore said, his voice full of exhaustion. “Because you will not be leaving here until I have the answer.”
Harry snorted weakly, sleep pulling him down into its comforting oblivion. Dumbledore couldn't hold him there. No one could.
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Intangible