Nova Cupiditas | By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 37321 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1 |
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Chapter Three—Third
Time’s the Charm
“But,
really, Harry. Malfoy?”
Harry
rolled his eyes tolerantly and turned back to cooking breakfast. Hermione
hadn’t said anything but variations on that line since she’d stepped through
his door. She hadn’t come over just to chat, either. She’d already heard that
he’d been seen with Malfoy at St. Mungo’s. Harry thought that ought to have
prepared her for the confirmation that Malfoy was here.
Or at
least, the first half-a-dozen confirmations. Harry hoped the smell of eggs
would summon Malfoy out of bed soon. Hermione seemingly wouldn’t believe this
until she got a look at him for herself.
“Yes,”
Harry said, and reached over to check the bacon, already cooked, that was
waiting under a Warming Charm. He smiled when he felt the heat against his hand
and started paying attention to the eggs again. “You know that he’s a
pure-blood, and that makes him a prime victim of Muggleborns who want revenge
for what happened during the war.” He gave Hermione an intense look.
Hermione
sighed and stared at the floor. “Can I help it that I sympathize with one side
over the other?” she asked. “No, I agree, using that incantation on any person
whatsoever is a crime, and it should be punished. But I can understand the
intense anger that might drive someone to use it.”
Harry shook
his head. “That’s the difference between us, Hermione. I don’t care about the
emotion and whether or not someone understands it. There’s still a difference
between feeling something and acting on it. If I think about bashing your head
in, fine. If I actually did it, then I would be brought up under a charge of
murder.”
Hermione
blinked. “That reference to bashing my head in wasn’t random, I take it.”
“No.” Harry
lifted the eggs’ pan away from the fire and began to arrange them on the three
plates he had standing ready. “He really is here, and he really is under the
spell that I said he was under, and I really am going to help him.”
“Fine,”
Hermione said, with a dubious look. “But I think it’s a bad idea.”
“Because of
the way we used to hate each other?” Harry yelped as he burned his finger on
the side of the pan, and cast a minor healing charm on the burn before Hermione
could fix it. She put her wand away with a disgruntled expression. “It’s
unusual, yeah, but the Healers had already given up on him. You could see it in
their eyes. If I hadn’t helped him, then probably no one would have.”
“I didn’t
even mean that,” Hermione said, and fell silent, forehead wrinkled, apparently
because she was trying to figure out what she did mean.
“Tell me
when you know what you’re trying to say,” Harry advised her, and looked down
the corridor towards the bedroom he had given Malfoy, wondering if he should go
wake him up.
Then Malfoy
appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, so it seemed that the smell of the eggs
had done its work after all. But Malfoy had clothes on only from the waist
down, and his gaze was fixed on Harry with a glaze that Harry had already come
to recognize from last night.
He raised a
hand to Hermione, who had risen to her feet with an exclamation. “Don’t,” Harry
warned her. “The spell seems to work like this, seize him the way that—I don’t
know, the way that you might suddenly come down with a bad headache. He wants
to hold back, but he has trouble doing it.”
“I want
you, Potter,” Malfoy said. His voice was strained, hard as marble, and Harry
thought he was working to hold back the anger that otherwise might have
prevented him from saying anything at all.
“I know,”
Harry said. He stepped towards Malfoy and flicked his wand once, draping a
thick barrier of blue light between him and Hermione. It still let her see a
bit of what was happening, so she wouldn’t panic and think Malfoy was murdering
him, but it also preserved Malfoy’s dignity. And Harry’s, for that matter,
though he wasn’t as concerned about that in front of a woman who had held his
head while he vomited. “You can have me if you need to.”
*
Draco had
to close his eyes when he felt the thrum of the relief traveling through him from
Potter’s words. The curse seemed to want willing compliance from the object of
desire, which made no sense to Draco. Given that it would drive him to rape
Potter if he resisted Draco’s advances, why should it matter whether Potter lay
back and thought of the wizarding world or not?
But such
questions became purely secondary considerations when Draco got his hands on
Potter’s flesh again. He pulled Potter’s shirt over his head at once,
disordering his hair and catching his glasses in the cloth, and pressed their
bare chests together. Potter made a small sound when their skin touched.
Draco chose
to take it as a whimper. He tugged the shirt up one more time, sending Potter’s
glasses flying, because he had to get to Potter’s mouth, too. The sweetness
that followed the meeting of their lips made Draco stagger. He wanted to bring
his groin together with Potter’s, but he didn’t think he had the strength right
now.
He moaned
and waited until he was sure Potter’s tongue wouldn’t flick out to touch his.
The curse needed more response than this. He trailed a hand down Potter’s chest
and found one of his nipples, pinching it.
Potter
jumped and tore his mouth free. “Malfoy, what the fuck?” he demanded. “Who thinks of doing that?”
Draco
smiled, and he had no idea whether the smile was his own or the product of the
curse, but it felt like his. “You
little innocent,” he said. “No one’s ever done that to you?” He touched his
tongue to Potter’s neck next, discovering what his soap tasted like and the
scent of his shampoo.
“No,”
Potter said, with a thoughtful tone that proved the academic side of the
question was seizing his attention again. “I wonder why the curse makes you
think things like that?”
Draco
snorted in disgust and tightened his teeth on Potter’s throat, worrying it hard
enough to make Potter gasp and lift a protesting hand. Draco moved back just
enough to breathe on the marked spot and murmured, “That’s something I always
knew about. Don’t put it in your files. I’ve had male lovers before, and I’ve
pinched their nipples. This curse can’t add knowledge I don’t have. It only
draws on the sexual instincts I do.” He looked around for a place to lay Potter
down. Speaking of sexual instincts, he badly needed Potter beneath him.
“That’s
important,” Potter said, and his hand twitched, apparently looking for the
notebook that was never far away.
Either the
curse or Draco was annoyed at the way Potter was disregarding his presence;
once again, he honestly wasn’t sure which one it was. If he had to make love to Potter, Potter could
pay him the tribute of acknowledging his existence. “Never mind that now,” he
said shortly, and this time slid down so that he had a knee propped on one of
the chairs. That way, he could take Potter’s nipple in his mouth.
Potter did
stiffen this time, and in more than one way, his breath quickening. Draco could
feel the chest beneath his hands heaving. He smiled and bit down.
Potter
cried out. Then he stepped away from Draco and lifted a barrier of blue light
between them when Draco tried to pursue.
Draco
swallowed. He noticed for the first time that another barrier of blue light
closed off the end of the kitchen and that there was someone pounding on it,
but the thought couldn’t cling to the surface of his brain. What mattered was that he was parched and
empty the instant Potter left him. He reached out, despite knowing that his
hand would rebound from the barrier.
“Potter,”
he said. He hated the way his voice frayed. He had to speak anyway. “Let me
through.”
“It was
getting to be too much,” Potter said. “Not for you, for me. I got distracted
and started thinking more about what I felt than about the process of observing
you and taking notes on your condition. I’m sorry.”
He sounded
so perfectly sincere that Draco knew he had
to be speaking the truth. It didn’t matter to his body. Draco had started
to make a series of unpleasant discoveries, which was how he learned that a
cock could be hungry, something he
had never known before.
“Please,”
Draco said. The faint sound of fists drumming on the other barrier reached him
again, and left. He touched the barrier between him and Potter with a hand that
he knew would form into a fist if he let it go long enough. He had to avoid
that if he could, avoid turning into the madman that he knew lurked just under
the surface of his mind. “Please, let me touch you. Just a few minutes more.”
Potter gave
him a level look through the blue light. Draco had never imagined that, either.
If he had ever envisioned something remotely like this situation—which he never
had—than he would have thought he would be the rational one, understanding the
limitations and meaning of the curse, and Potter the one who wanted to leap
impulsively into bed. Draco’s mouth watered the more, and he did end up
clenching his hands into fists. What else could he do?
“Do you
know what will happen if we sleep together?” Potter asked. “Do you remember?”
Draco’s
mind jerked to a halt, caught by the notion of sleeping together. It warped the
world around it, that idea, so beautiful and so radical that the ache between
Draco’s legs eased a little. “Could we?” he whispered. “Potter, please?”
He should
be disgusted that he was begging. The disgust hit his mind like raindrops
against glass and slid away again.
Potter
shook his head. “I thought you might not remember,” he said, which was cruel,
because how could he expect Draco to
remember anything so silly when Draco’s brain hummed with the vision he had
just summoned? “If we sleep together, then your hunger will get worse.”
Draco
flinched. “Worse?” he whispered. “How could it possibly—it can’t.”
Potter’s
eyes were full of compassion now. “I don’t know. I can’t feel it. But it will,
and I’m not willing to make that sacrifice. It would be rape, on one side or
both. I won’t let you.”
“Of course
I don’t want to rape you,” Draco said soothingly. Was he speaking with his
voice, or was the curse? He didn’t know. He began to pace along the barrier of
blue light, pretending to keep one eye on Potter, although he was really
studying the barrier. There had to be a weak spot somewhere. “I want to fuck
you. That needs your permission.”
“I would be a rapist if I slept with you
when you’re like this.”
Draco
halted in place and laughed aloud. Potter’s delicacy deserved no other
response. “You wouldn’t be,” he said. “I accept it. I invite it. I give you
permission to do whatever you want with my body.”
Potter’s
face half-crumpled. Draco didn’t know why. Wasn’t he capable of imagining, the
way Draco was right now, the beauty and the brilliancy that would come from
them sleeping together? Draco had never thought him that innocent. “You don’t—oh, Draco,” he said, and his voice was
soft with what sounded like tears. “You really don’t remember right now, or it
doesn’t matter to you.” He fell silent, frowning, as if he contemplated a
problem that had no solution.
Draco
decided that, yes, he was the more imaginative one at the moment, and that
meant it was his duty to show Potter the way. He leaned against the barrier and
smiled at Potter. “Step one. Remove the barrier. Step two. Get naked. Step
three. We fuck. You see, it’s very simple.”
Potter
didn’t pay attention to him, instead standing there with his eyes closed and
his lips moving. Draco studied a point in the barrier that looked like the edge
of a faceted jewel. He thought he could break it, that it was a weaker fold of
magic than the rest. And he had to break
it. He was so hungry. Potter wouldn’t expect him to stay across the room from a
loaded buffet table when he was starving, would he?
On the
other hand, Draco had already seen what Potter’s delicate and refined
sensibilities looked like.
Someone from
a distant room was crying out and hammering on a wall with their fists. Draco
could hear them, and he wished they would stop. He aimed his wand at the facet
and murmured, “Confringo.”
The barrier
shuddered, but didn’t fall apart. Draco cursed mildly. At least he knew he
could affect it. That helped to lower the anxiety thrumming through him. He
would get through it in a moment.
Then Potter
jabbed his wand at Draco through the barrier. Draco opened his mouth and
flapped his tongue back and forth, attempting to show how good he could make it
for Potter.
“Aqua alsia,” Potter murmured.
It felt as
though someone had just dumped a tub of freezing cold water right over Draco’s
head.
*
Harry
winced as he watched Malfoy spluttering and dancing on the other side of the
barrier. The Cold Shower Curse didn’t involve the literal application of water,
but it did force the victim’s libido into submission for up to seventy-two
hours. It was painful and disorienting, and it would surely contribute to the
embarrassment that Malfoy would already feel because of the situation.
The
dangerous, unstable, mad situation. Harry shuddered a little. He had seen the
look in Malfoy’s eyes. It went beyond the normal level of desire that people
focused on him because he had saved the world and so they wondered what fucking
him would be like. This was the level Harry had seen in the eyes of people who
really believed that they and Harry were destined to be together, and that they
had to kill anyone else who came near him.
There were
no words for the horror of that, for the fact that Nova Cupditas had already forced Malfoy that far in the direction
of insanity. Harry shook his head, avoided the other man’s eyes as he looked up,
and then turned and removed the barrier that kept Hermione away from him. He
knew that she had almost cracked it anyway, and that he would hear about it if
she had to smash through rather than have him lift it.
Hermione
stepped into the main part of the kitchen and looked at Malfoy where Harry
couldn’t. Her expression was tightly controlled, her voice low. Someone
listening to her from a distance, distinguishing the tone but not the
individual words, would probably think she was perfectly calm. “Harry. You have
to call St. Mungo’s. Now.”
“No,” Harry
said. He had known the conversation would go there when Hermione saw the
effects of the curse. He was prepared.
Hermione
didn’t look much less wild than Malfoy. “Harry. You have no choice. He’s dangerous. I saw you. If you hadn’t been perfectly
ready for him, he could have raped or killed you. And I would have stood on the
far side of that wall, helpless to help you.” Her hands clenched around her
wand. Harry winced again. He knew that not being able to help one of her
friends was her biggest nightmare. He’d inadvertently made it come true this
morning. “You have to—you can’t take care of him by yourself.”
“Do you
think the Healers at St. Mungo’s would be any gentler?” Harry asked her. “Do
you think that they’d use less than fatal curses to stop him, if they thought
him a danger? There are people there who have still never managed to forget
that some pure-bloods were Death Eaters, and plenty of others who think that
pure-blood means Death Eater. No,
Hermione. They’d lock him up in some room like an animal, or try to perform
experimental cures on him that won’t do anything to help—”
“Nothing
can help this curse,” Hermione interrupted. “I’m sorry, Harry. But that’s the
way it is. If you admit that now, to yourself and Malfoy, then you’ll be a lot
less disappointed when the time comes.”
Harry shook
his head.
“Harry.” Hermione was leaning over him,
using the inch or so of height she still had on him to good advantage. Her hand
would leave fingerprints on his arm, Harry knew. “I don’t want to see you get
your heart broken.”
“I know how
to take care of my own heart, Hermione,” Harry said, and turned to nod to the
door. “I’m sorry that I’ll have to send you off without breakfast, but I think
it’s best if you go now.”
“Harry.
No.” Hermione planted her feet as if she thought he might try to shove her out
the door by main force.
“I wouldn’t
have taken Draco into my house if I thought I couldn’t help him,” Harry said.
He would call Malfoy Draco now. There should be one person in the world who
thought of him that way, one person who hadn’t given up on him. “I’ll help him,
and in the end, if I really can’t, then I’ll ask him what he wants to do.”
Hermione
gave a glowering look at the barrier where Draco stood with his head in his
hands. “By then, he won’t want to do anything except fuck you.”
Harry shook
his head. “There are other things that can give the victims of this curse back
their minds, for a short time. I’ll give his back to him and ask what he wants.
And I’ll perform it, whatever it is.”
Hermione’s
gaze snapped back to his face as though someone had slapped her. “What if he
asks you to kill him?”
Harry took
a breath that rattled against the sides of his throat. “He might, I reckon.
Some of the pure-bloods are like that. Then I’ll do it.”
“You can’t,
you can’t, Harry, please—”
Tears were
getting into Hermione’s eyes, and Harry winced again. He knew that he wouldn’t
be able to discuss anything with her while she was like this. He put a hand on
her shoulder and pushed her gently but firmly towards the door. “You need to
go,” he told her. “I’m sorry, but you do. When we can speak about this
rationally, then I’ll come and visit you, all right? Go for now.”
He didn’t
think she would have if Draco hadn’t lifted his head then. Hermione was smart
enough to see into the open wounds that were his eyes. She bowed her head back,
in what Harry liked to think of as a nod of acknowledgment or tribute, and then
turned and opened the door, fleeing.
In a way,
it was what Harry would have liked to do himself. But he had promised that he
would see this through, and he intended to do. He stood there, rubbing his head
for a few minutes, and then took a deep breath and lowered the barrier.
“The food
should still be good, if you want it,” he told Draco, taking a quick glimpse to
the side to confirm his words. Yes, it would need Warming Charms, but it hadn’t
spoiled. He waved his wand, and the bacon hissed and spit again and the eggs
steamed. He nerved himself, to turn and meet Draco’s gaze. “Are you hungry?”
*
“Don’t ask
me that question, Potter.” Draco hadn’t known his voice could get that low. It
sounded as if he was speaking out of a tomb.
Potter
closed his eyes to hide what Draco thought was an upwelling of pain and
compassion, and then nodded. “Right. It’s not fair. Well, there’s food there,
if you want it.” He turned to get his own bacon and eggs.
It was a
long moment before Draco moved in to do the same thing, and then he limped. His
muscles ached with the suddenness of the curse’s leaving. The Cold Shower Curse
had done what nothing else could at the moment: given him back his capacity for
thought by taking away his capacity for lust.
It was
still a savage thing to do, and by the careful way Potter kept his back to
Draco, he knew that.
But what else could he have done?
Draco shook
his head. Now that he knew who had been in the kitchen—Granger, and why had she
stood so near Potter and touched him that way? There was a black whirlwind in
Draco’s chest when he asked those questions—he was doubly humiliated. Of all
the people to lose control in front of…
He had
heard what she said. The barrier didn’t prevent the passage of sound. He had
been sure Potter would agree with her. What kind of person could stand being
attacked by a crazed houseguest every day?
Potter’s
answers had filled Draco with humility. Unlike humiliation, that wasn’t a
feeling he was familiar with.
He watched
Potter’s back furtively as he ate. One thing hadn’t changed, although the curse
seemed to have left him alone, for the moment: the food still tasted
uncomplicated to him, or rather the taste didn’t matter. He was hungry for
other things, which was why it wasn’t fair for Potter to ask him about food.
Draco would eat because it would help him stay alive, and he was determined to
do that and beat his enemies. But asking him to take pleasure in it was
impossible now.
What kind
of person not only put up with the attacks, but asserted that he would do
anything possible to help Draco choose his own end?
If it comes to that. Draco swallowed a
mouthful of ashy eggs. Let us hope it
does not come to that.
But Potter…
Draco
experienced a strange blank feeling inside himself. It wasn’t the relentless
lust of the curse; it wasn’t the more familiar mixture of contempt and
impatience with which he thought about Potter; it wasn’t even that black
whirlwind, which Draco imagined was jealousy, urging him to strike and claim
Potter for his own against anyone else who might try to touch him. He didn’t
have a name for this emotion, because he had never before met anyone who would
help him in the ways that Potter promised to help him, except his family. And
that was expected and understood, and Draco had a place in his head to put the
emotions. They were family. They were
part of the same bloodline, the same tradition of glory.
What did he
have in common with Potter?
Nothing
except that they’d gone to school in the same year and been two terrified boys
in the midst of the same war.
Potter
turned around and saw him looking. He only nodded. “Do you want to begin
another experiment this morning?” he asked.
Draco
raised his eyebrows. Potter’s tone implied there was an alternative. “Or?” he
asked.
“I thought
we might begin to hunt for the people who did this to you,” Potter said
quietly. “No, we can’t stop the curse that way, but taking revenge would keep
us from feeling helpless, which in turn would make us able to keep fighting the
curse.”
Draco
stared at him.
“What?”
Potter reached up and wiped at the corner of his mouth. “Do I have some egg
there?”
“No,” Draco
said. He was—how had Potter known that revenge would help Draco?
The same way he seems to know that the best
way to handle my humiliation in front of Granger is not to discuss it.
Of all the
people his enemies could have cursed him to desire, he thought, Potter might
actually have been the best, not the worst, in a number of ways.
“Let’s
hunt,” Draco said.
*
luvlustblood:
Thank you!
Sara: Draco
will only turn to mutilation as the curse builds up, and as Harry frustrates
him.
Wölkchen:
Thank you!
As you can
see in this chapter, Draco, when under the curse, is starting to lose that
distinction between the curse and himself. The curse is taking over more and
more of his mind.
Harry
wouldn’t be satisfied with just getting rid of that compulsion. He wants Draco
to have a choice in who he sleeps with.
HeartStar:
Thank you!
SP777: I
did skip the scenes of them getting out of St. Mungo’s. I didn’t think it was
as interesting.
The
Devouring Curse is the name, but not the translation, just like the Imperius
Curse isn’t really a translation of the Latin command. Nova Cupiditas means “new desire.”
Thank you.
Caldonya: I
can see Harry never losing the taste for solving mysteries.
yami bakura:
Don’t worry about it. Thanks for reviewing now, and I hope you continue to like
it.
I_Will_Change_The_World:
Draco is starting to realize how lucky he is, in this chapter. Thanks for
reviewing.
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