Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Here, There Be Drackens	By : DonalGraeme Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 14655 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. I in no way profit from this. All characters that aren't originally mine were either created by J.K. Rowling or StarLight_Massacre.

Chapter List
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Hello, all. No, I’m not abandoning this story. I just hadn’t updated my other story in forever and I was making up for lost time. But now I feel in a good enough spot that I can start alternating which chapter I’m writing.

I hope everyone can find something to like about this fic. Of course, I accept that I can’t please everyone. My own bisexuality, which I’m giving to Harry, is one of those things that seem to polarize people. People seem to be okay with a character sleeping with EVERY girl or EVERY guy, but a guy AND a girl just squicks them out for some reason. That’s okay, to each their own. But, again, just to be perfectly clear, this is a BISEXUAL fic. Harry will have a female Dominant. She will sex him up just as thoroughly as his male mates will. If you can’t stomach that, feel free to leave.

So, here’s the chapter. Beginning with a special treat (edited from FF.net version, sorry)

Harry cooed at the little bundle of perfect warmth in his arms. His chick was indeed perfect, in every way. Perfect smile. Perfect skin. Perfect little fingers and toes. Perfect fat tummy. Perfect downy hair. Perfect eyes, nose, and chubby cheeks. Surely Harry’s chick was the finest this world had ever seen.

That cherubic face with the baby blue eyes looked up at him and let loose a little giggle. Harry felt his heart skip a beat. He never knew he could love something this much. His entire world revolved around this sweet, innocent little person. He would die to protect his chick, and would happily spend the rest of his life loving his precious baby. His chick would want for nothing, never suffering as Harry had. His chick’s life would always be happy and content, if he had anything to say about it. He’d cast the Imperious Curse on God himself to make it happen.

Harry heard a chorus of low growls and felt his blood quicken. His mates were here. The ones who’d given him his beloved chick. The ones who would always care and defend him. The ones that showed him what love really looked like, his partners in life and all things.

He gently placed his now sleeping chick down, hovering a bit to see that nothing was out of place. Then he straightened up and suddenly his mates were there. Rough yet gentle hands laid claim to every inch of his skin. Harsh lips captured his to eke out soft, delicious pleasure. Growls and murmurs and smooth words poured over him, assuring him of their utter devotion and desire to him and him alone. He was completely surrounded by bigger, stronger Drackens who could break him in half if they so wished, and yet he’d never felt more safe. As they pressed closer and closer to him, he felt as if he were being set aflame, and he eagerly gave himself over to the heat.

A spear of fire pierced into him, feeling like it reached his very entrails. The pain was so great, that it made him moan; and yet so surpassing was the sweetness of this excessive pain, that he could not wish to be rid of it. Over and over it plunged into the deepest parts of him, setting fire to every part of him, and he rejoiced in the burning. Harry leaned into the hard form at his back, seeking support as his limbs went weak at the unbearable assault. And yet that seemed to just make each thrust harder and surer, better able to thrust into him with such force and power he feared it would go clear through him.

Suddenly a new warmth was at his front. It was softer than the heat behind him, more like a candle’s glow than a bonfire’s glare. And then a blanket of honey and silk was wrapped around the most intimate part of him, soothing an ache he didn’t even know he had until it was gone, leaving nothing but peace and euphoria. Harry whined pathetically, overcome by how right it felt, as if he’d found some missing piece and was now complete, as if he’d come home after a journey so long he’d forgotten how great it was. His head rested on two perfumed clouds as the blanket seemed to adjust itself, wrapping around him again and again, curing every ill and weakness it found and replacing it with delight. It seemed to drain everything from him, and yet somehow give him strength.

He hung there suspended, his insides and outsides totally claimed. Gold hardness pressed into him, filling him and destroying him, pushing him deeper into silvery velvet, emptying and rebuilding him. And still hands roamed over him, stoking the blaze that infused every inch of him into an inferno that burned ever higher. Harry keened at the intensity of sensation so bright and sharp he could no longer tell if it were pleasure or pain. Too much, it was too much, and yet he never wanted it to end.

Finally he could take no more and he burst to pieces, exploding into light and energy and joy. He hung weightless and immaterial for an endless moment and then he was falling, falling, falling…

He hit the ground hard, forcing aches and damage back into a body that for too brief a time was clear of all that was bad. Harry scrambled on the cold ground, calling out in confusion. Where were his mates? Why hadn’t they caught him? With a horrible jolt, he realized something even more important. Where was his baby?

Harry looked up and screeched in terror. HE was there. Pale and purple, emaciated and bulging, eyes red and beady like a pig. His noseless, mustached face looked down on him with contempt and disgust. And HE had his chick! His perfect, delicate baby was clutched in hands both long and narrow as well as short and fat.

And with a cold, cruel, mocking laugh, HE let his chick go.

Harry screamed as he rushed forward, reaching desperately for his baby, but he was too far away, and his wailing chick came closer and closer to the ground…

Harry woke with a gasp. His breath shuddered as he tried to regain it. His face was wet, whether from sweat or tears he couldn’t tell. He moved around in his sheets and realized he was wet down THERE too. His cheeks burned in shame even as his heart raced with anxiety.

Well, that wasn’t a very nice way to start the day. The beginning had been nice, but the ending was his worst fear. Literally. Harry tried to recall the exact details of the dream, even as they slipped from his mind like water from a sieve. The monster that had his baby had been some awful blend of Voldemort and Vernon. Harry sternly reminded himself that Voldemort was dead and gone, by his own hand no less, and he would probably never see Vernon Dursley ever again. His body wound down from the panic it had worked itself into as he kept repeating those two facts to himself.

When Harry was at last calm, he tried to recall some of the, er, saucier parts of his dream before it had morphed into a nightmare. But alas, they’d sunk back into his subconscious. All he was left with was the vague impression that maybe his heats wouldn’t be QUITE the torture he’d imagined they would be.

Harry again was reminded of the ‘mess’ he’d made and blushed. Well, at least he didn’t sleep naked. He’d only have to change pajamas, not the sheets.

Harry had showered and dressed by the time Kreacher arrived with his usual tray. The elf seemed put out that his master had risen without first being fueled for the day, but he still made due by placing it at the small desk that had been moved in. Harry ate every bite under the scrutiny of his servant, feeling faintly amused. He remembered an idle thought from two days earlier, and expounded on it. If Kreacher, Dobby, AND Mrs. Weasley ever teamed up, he’d probably turn into a pudding. A very, very pampered pudding.

Harry checked his appearance in the mirror later, making sure not the slightest hint of his Dracken features were showing. He narrowed his eyes at the lightning bolt on his forehead. That was the only scar that hadn’t vanished with his inheritance. To be fair, a scar from the Killing Curse was unprecedented and unknown territory, but it still bugged him that his Dracken hadn’t gotten rid of it along with everything else. He was supposed to be unblemished, the better to appeal to potential mates! Then Harry realized he was mad due to his newly awakened vanity instincts and promptly swept them aside. He couldn’t care less about looks. If his mates couldn’t handle a tiny little scar, they didn’t deserve to be his mates in the first place.

Today was the day he was meeting his account manager at Gringotts, and Harry was nervous. His only interactions with Goblins had been that first, awkward meeting with Hagrid, and then only one-sided instructions to the cart-handlers to take him to his vault. He was about to have a prolonged conversation with one, and he had no idea how to behave. Should he be confident and commanding? It WAS his money, after all. Meek and humble? Or would the goblin see that as weakness? From what little Harry remembered from History of Magic, goblins were a very warlike people. Hell, he’d just go in polite and adapt on the fly.

Harry clung tightly to Remus as he apparated to the little courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron. He definitely preferred broomsticks, or even Floo travel. Still better than portkeys, but then maybe Harry was biased. Harry made a mental note to look into the process of getting an Apparition License. Maybe it wasn’t quite so unpleasant when you were the driver instead of a passenger.

Harry resisted the urge to huddle into Moony’s side like a small child as they walked down the Alley. This was the first time he’d been in Wizarding public since everything had happened. The award ceremony hadn’t counted, that was all Ministry brass. These were normal Wizards and Witches. Harry didn’t know whether to keep a look out for a riot of fans or an angry mob. The Prophet had been singing his praises for over a month, but they were just parroting a Ministry desperately trying to rebuild some of the bridges they’d burned over the last year. Harry had no idea how the general public viewed him. Was he a subject of even more hero worship now? Or were they like the students of Hogwarts, both disapproving and distant?

Luckily, Diagon Alley was all but deserted this early in the morning. Even in the summer, when families flocked to do their school shopping, 8:00 was pushing it. Harry and Remus made it to Gringotts with no issue. The door-goblins watched them stoically as they entered.

Remus went to the side and settled into a chair. Harry gulped. Protocol stated that private meetings with accountants could only have the owners of said accounts present. He’d have to do this on his own. Well, he was legally a man now, wasn’t he? He was a Gryffindor, wasn’t he? He could handle a one-on-one talk with a goblin. Or so he told himself.

Harry tried to keep his hesitance in check as he walked up to the closest teller. He had the mad thought that this might be taken as preference, since every one of them was open, but then he told himself to get a grip.

The goblin behind the counter regarded him with remote eyes. “Yes?” it asked gruffly. Harry couldn’t have said whether it was male or female for the life of him.

“I received a letter that my family accountant wished to meet with me,” Harry said.

“Name?” it asked.

For some reason, that total lack of acknowledgment, as if he were just another faceless customer and not THE Harry Potter, calmed him down. “Harry Potter.”

The goblin turned and said something in incomprehensible Gobbledegook to another goblin standing at attention behind the counter, who turned and walked away with efficient speed. Harry wondered how the hierarchy of the goblins worked. Were the tellers in a position of honor, or was it a punishment to be made to deal with unreasonable humans all day long? The goblin returned before Harry started to feel really awkward just standing there and said something to the teller. The teller nodded and turned to Harry. “Your accountant is ready for you. Follow Griphook to his office.”

Harry followed the diminutive creature into a warren of posh hallways almost as labyrinthine as the tunnels beneath them. Harry felt a distant bell ring as he looked at the goblin, before the name clicked.

“Oh, are you the goblin that took me to my vault for the first time?”

The goblin didn’t pause in his steps, but he did turn his head a little to regard Harry with narrow eyes. “Yes. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I just remembered the name.”

For some reason, that made the goblin look almost confused. But then he stopped and Harry realized they’d reached their destination, a black ebony door identical to all the ones next to it. Goblins apparently didn’t waste gold on name plaques or other identifying markers. Was it a sign that the offices saw a lot of turnover, or were their memories just that good? Given how they navigated the tunnels like it was just a walk down the street, Harry was inclined to believe the latter.

“Go in. He’s waiting for you.” That said, Griphook turned and walked away.

With a steadying breath, Harry raised his hand to knock, before realizing that it was pointless if he was expected. Damn it, why hadn’t he ever read a book on goblin culture? Though when would he have had the time for that, really? Until leaving Hogwarts, his life had been a whirlwind of homework, Quidditch, and preparing for whatever trial faced him that year.

‘Get a grip, Potter,’ he thought before opening the door.

The office was spartan, but what little furnishings there were spoke of obvious wealth. Two chairs, both leather-backed and richly carved. A mahogany desk, scaled for goblins but still quite intimidating. The floor was more of the marble that lavished the business section of Gringotts. A sort of bookcase made out of cubby-holes sat in the corner, rolls of parchment all but overflowing. And sitting behind the desk like a king in his throne surveying his kingdom was a goblin. The only distinguishing features Harry could make out was that his hair was white instead of the black he’d seen on others, and his nose was maybe a bit longer and sharper than most.

The goblin narrowed his eyes. “Mr. Potter. I am Warwick, manager of the Potter Family Vault. At last we meet.”

Harry tried not to gulp. This goblin distinctly reminded him of McGonagall, with an air of constant stern disapproval and no-nonsense. Harry couldn’t help but notice the stress Warwick had put on ‘at last’. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t free to come until today. Should I have sent a reply to that notice you sent me?”

Warwick looked at him like he was a particularly dull troll. “No, but there should not have been the need for a notice. You have been emancipated and thus had access to these accounts for over a month now. And even before then, you made no attempt to contact me. Heirs may not gain access until reaching majority, but as the last living Potter you have sole control and thus should at least have consulted with me on a basic strategy regarding these funds until you gained access to them. Had your grandfather not stipulated the vault be frozen in the event of his son’s death, it might well have been emptied from ongoing transactions by the point you inherited it. You should have contacted me sooner. The Potter Family Vault has existed since the founding of Gringotts, and I would rather not have had my honor and that of my house ruined by it going empty due to your lack of direction.”

Harry felt an inch tall as the goblin berated him. He had the mad urge to call out for help, but his throat wasn’t tensing the proper way. Realizing it might be a distress call, Harry suppressed the urge viciously. He didn’t need to announce himself to every Dominant in earshot. He might end up mated to the first one that found him. Gathering himself, he replied to the accusation. “My apologies, Mr. Warwick. But I was not aware of the existence of my family vault until you sent me the notice. I thought the only money I had was in my trust vault, which I did not even know was a trust. I thought it was my inheritance from my parents.”

The goblin’s mouth thinned in a very familiar way. “Did your magical guardian not explain this to you?”

“Magical guardian?”

Warwick barred his pointy teeth. Harry wasn’t sure if he were still upset with him or someone else now. “Each wizard has a magical guardian. Even Muggleborns have one assigned to them. They are meant to inform their charge of the workings of the magical world and handle any legal affairs until the child reaches maturity. You are saying you never met with yours?”

“I didn’t know I had one. Who are they?” Harry felt sucker-punched. He had a guardian? Someone who was supposed to look out for him and explain this confusing world to him? Why hadn’t they found him? Well, if it had been Sirius, that might explain it. His godfather had been in Azkaban most of his life, and when they had met, they didn’t really discuss a life after Harry graduated. Voldemort had loomed over them like a specter.

The goblin picked up a sheet of parchment on his desk and scanned it. “According to your file, your magical guardian before your emancipation was listed as Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Harry felt his mouth curl into a grimace. That explained it. “Ah, I see. Unfortunately, Dumbledore has a bad habit of trying to shelter me. He probably didn’t tell me because he didn’t want me to worry about ‘grown-up’ things while I was still in school.”

Warwick regarded him with scrutiny before finally nodding. “Very well.” He seemed to frown, before saying “My apologies for what I said earlier. I was… wrong.”

Harry got the sense that Warwick rarely had need to apologize. If he were a smaller person, he might try and rub it in. But if this guy was going to be handling his finances, presumably for a long time, then he ought to make sure their relationship was, if not positive, at least neutral. “No harm done. You didn’t know. Shall we… get on with it?”

Warwick nodded. “Yes. This meeting is meant for you to outline your general plan on how to handle your family’s gold, update the information based on any actions you’ve done which might have fiscal consequences, and answer any question you might have about your holdings. Which shall we do first?”

Harry tried to ignore the feeling that it should really be an ADULT doing this. Everyone had to start somewhere, right? It’s not like age magically granted maturity and experience with the real world. “Can we start with a simple statement for any and all accounts I have? I would like to know exactly what I have.”

“Very well.” Warwick flicked his hand and a couple rolls of parchment shot out of the shelf to land on his desk. He smoothed them open and read them with quick, birdlike movements. He muttered to himself in Gobbledegook as he did, which sounded a bit like a screwdriver in a pencil sharpener. When he seemed to have it all in his head, Warwick looked up into Harry’s eyes, his tone all business. “In terms of property, you own the Cottage at Godric’s Hollow, which has been made into a memorial by the Ministry. Should you wish to sue for wrongful use of property, I can get you in touch with one of the barristers we have on retainer.”

Harry gulped. Godric’s Hollow. The place his parents had died. The place Voldemort had tried to kill him and wound up attaching a piece of his soul to him instead. “Let’s leave it as is. I don’t plan on staying there any time soon.”

It was just a flicker, but Harry thought Warwick was disappointed. Maybe he’d been looking forward to getting some gold out of the Ministry. Given how they treated creatures in general, Harry couldn’t blame him it that were the case. “Noted. In addition to the Cottage, you own a modest beach house in the French Riviera near Le Lavandou outside Toulon. And, of course, there is Potter Manor, located in Stinchcombe, Gloucestershire.”

Harry felt his heart stop. Manor? He had a Manor? Remus said the Potters were old money, but seriously? Warwick paid no attention to the shell shocked look on his client’s face. “Also, pursuant to the will of Sirius Black the Third, you own a townhouse here in London, though for some reason I can’t recall the exact address.” The shrewd look in the goblin’s eyes told Harry that he knew EXACTLY why he couldn’t remember.

Harry shrugged. “Home should be a safe haven, no?”

“Indeed. Now, as for your vaults. Your trust vault began with the standard 100,000 Galleons the Potter Family bestow to all heirs. Over the past five years, you have withdrawn 351 Galleons, 11 Sickles, and 26 Knuts, leaving your balance at 99,648 Galleons, 6 Sickles, and 3 Knuts. The vault of Sirius Black the Third, bequeathed to you in its entirety after all other endowments, stands at 409,000 Galleons, 12 Sickles.”

Harry interrupted. “Before you go on, could you tell how much a Galleon is in pounds? Just so I have a frame of reference.”

Warwick’s eyes tightened, but gave no other sign he was annoyed. “Technically, one gold Galleon is valued at 5.12 GBP, but accounting for the conversion fee, it is actually 4.93, or 1 bronze Knut to a pence.”

Harry did some quick mental math. He already had a couple million to his name, and he hadn’t even heard his family’s balance. It was mind-boggling. He’d grown up with hand-me-downs and the bare essentials (from neglect rather than poverty, but still), and now he was easily a member of the upper class. He didn’t even know what he’d use all that money for. Kids couldn’t be THAT expensive, right?

Warwick interrupted his musing. “As for the Potter Family Vault, which has been left untouched since October 31, 1981 and all existing lines of credit cancelled, it stands at exactly 238,000,000 Galleons, or 1,173,340,000 British pounds sterling.”

Harry almost fell out of his chair.

“I’m… I’m a billionaire?” he asked, sure he’d misheard.

“In the Muggle world, yes. The only wizarding billionaires were Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel, and their fortune has since been split among their many descendants and various charitable organizations and trusts upon their deaths.”

“Billion? With… with a ‘b’?” Harry asked, still in disbelief.

Warwick narrowed his eyes. “The Potter family has patented several potions over the centuries. They have also earned a reputation as very clever investors and entrepreneurs. This has led to an accumulation of considerable assets. At present, the Potters are the second wealthiest family in Britain, and the ninth wealthiest in the world. You are here today to form a plan to ensure it stays that way, if not improves.”

Harry nodded, still not all there. Over a billion pounds. Even accounting for the fact it was there for the entire family, not just him, it was still a ridiculous amount of money. He couldn’t spend it all if he tried. And he wasn’t inclined to. At least he never had to worry about not being able to afford groceries. Unless it was all Kobe steak and lobster and caviar.

Warwick cleared his throat, getting the stunned Saviour’s attention. “Mr. Potter, have you made any business deals or investments that I should be aware of? If not, we can move on to those currently left standing.”

Harry tried to think, but only one came to mind. “I gave Fred and George Weasley 1000 Galleons a little over a year ago. They currently own and run Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes here on Diagon Alley. They call me their primary investor, and I’m not sure if they’re joking.”

Warwick’s eyes gleamed with predatory delight. “If you provided the seed money necessary to found this business, then you should own a controlling percentage of any and all voting stock, and therefore profits. I shall send an envoy to verify this with the Messers Weasley. Would you prefer to be declared chief executive officer or to take a silent role? Your grandfather preferred to be the power behind the throne, but it’s your decision.”

Harry balked at the idea of OWNING W3. That was the twins’ dream. “Um, silent. And I don’t want too much of the, er, stock. I just gave the gold, they’re the ones who invented all the products and were mad enough to make it work.”

Warwick nodded. “Very well. A silent investor it is, and your share shall be set at 51%. If you never exercise it, the company can run as it will, but when you do you can settle any dispute and decide without opposition.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, not really sure if he was okay with that. But Warwick probably knew better.

“Good. If that’s all, we can move on to your portfolio. Many of your family’s assets and deals were liquidated during the first reign of the individual known as Voldemort. This increased the gold on hand substantially, but now there is now no incoming profit of any kind. If you want to leave the vault to sit, you may do so, though I strongly advise otherwise. Gold left stagnant is a tragedy.”

“Right,” Harry muttered. Seriously, Warwick wanted him to make even MORE money? What was with goblins and gold? But you can never have too much of a good thing, he supposed. Besides, if investing meant helping people like Fred and George, maybe there was something to it. “What would you recommend?”

“You currently have a great many offers from many clothing and retail outlets, requesting the use of your image as ‘The Boy Who Lived’ and the ‘Saviour’. They would require nothing more than you posing for photographs, and the royalties and projected sales are quite promising.”

“No.” Harry didn’t even have to think about it. He hated being famous, he wasn’t going to make money off people buying into it.

Warwick hid a frown. “Very well. You also have a standing invitation from Flume Chocolatiers to have a Chocolate Frog card made for you. You would make a Galleon for every frog with your card sold. As one of the ‘Rare’ grade cards, it would be a small run of 10,000 a year, but it would add up over time.”

“Also no.” Harry sighed. “No to anything that involves my ‘image’ or whatever. No public appearances, no blurbs, no autographed merchandise. None of it. That goes for the future too. I refuse to make gold by being a ‘celebrity’.”

Warwick regarded him critically before finally nodding. “Very well. In that case, there’s the standard Wizarding Stock Exchange route. Also, if you so choose, you could purchase stock in the muggle world via an intermediary, given your current age.”

Harry just wanted to get out of there and try to absorb the truth of his dizzying wealth. He didn’t feel like he had it in him to really use it, let alone invest it. “Can you do that for me? I’m no good with numbers, and the thing with the Weasley’s was just because I knew them. I don’t think I’m really a financial kind of guy.”

Warwick resisted the urge to roll his eyes. One of THOSE kind of clients. “That is possible. I can add it to my general duties of looking after the vault. How much of your gold would you like to leave to my disposal, and what commission rate is acceptable to you?”

Harry thought about it. “Um… how about you have 20% of the Family vault, and you keep half of whatever you earn with it?”

Harry was treated to the sight of a gobsmacked goblin. It was quite disconcerting. Warwick quickly recovered himself, but he was eying him with something like suspicion. “That is… quite generous. Are you sure you’re comfortable with me having access to so much of your money?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. Was this a Wizard/creature thing? Was Warwick so used to prejudice that a good deal was automatically suspect? “Look, I know my strengths. Finance isn’t one of them. If I handled this myself, I’d probably blow it all or just leave it to collect dust. You, on the other hand, are clearly both trained and talented. You’d make much better use of it than I ever could. As for the amount, apparently I can afford to lose that much, not that I think you would. And if you make money making me money, well, that’s encouragement for you to try extra hard, isn’t it?”

Slowly, Warwick’s mouth spread in a smile. A smile that made Harry uncomfortably aware of a goblin’s capability to bite out throats. “I think, Mr. Potter, that I will enjoy working with you.”

Harry grinned faintly. “Good to hear it. So, is there anything else?”

Right, I’ll just cut it off there. This is really more of a side-project, so holding myself to the 10k minimum is just too much effort for a plot bunny that won’t leave me alone, as opposed to my true passion. Still, hope this proved entertaining for some. Au Revoir.
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Here, There Be Drackens