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Wolf in the Making	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8561 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

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Chapter Six—Night Terrors

            “Wh-what are you doing to him?”

            Harry rolled over with a yelp. He’d been half-asleep in his bed, drifting somewhere between dreams and plans of what he should do with Malfoy now that he had the upper hand with him—at least temporarily. He hadn’t expected the interruption.

            Oliver Hurston stood in the door, his eyes fixed accusingly on Harry. He was a small, wispy man, who looked as though a strong breath would cause him to collapse, but Harry remembered the way that Hurston had chased him during his flight from Malfoy, and he respected him well enough. He could summon Dementors, who he called his “darlings,” and set them on anyone he liked. So far, he hadn’t liked with Harry yet, probably because he knew how much Malfoy valued Harry, but that could change at any time.

            “I don’t know what you mean,” Harry said, deciding that the best course was to play dumb. Hurston was the only one who would be this upset about someone challenging his “master,” but Harry saw no reason to make it easy on him. He sat up and brushed at his hair as if he thought he could make it lie flat.

            Hurston actually stamped his foot. “You kn-know,” he said. “Of c-course you do. You’re s-seducing him! He walks around with his eyes on the stars and his m-mouth in this wide, innocent smile. He needs to be thinking about the Valley and the m-magic that keeps us safe. You shouldn’t do this to him.”

            His voice was edging towards hysteria, and Harry dreaded the thought that he would probably call to the Dementors. So he made his voice as soothing as he could. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to seduce him for very long. After all, he wants to seduce me.”

            Hurston stopped scowling and squinted at him instead. “Explain.”

            “He’s going to notice the game I’m playing.” Harry tugged at his hair again, and hoped that made him look sufficiently distracted and tense. “And then he’ll turn on me, and the game will end with me seduced instead of him. So you don’t need to worry about him. I know that he’s a lot more powerful than I am.” And if he’s spying on me right now, that ought to reassure him that he still has control over me.

            Hurston thought about it, then nodded. “I was a fool to worry,” he said, as he turned away. “You’re w-weak, and you need someone to shelter you the way that he shelters the rest of us.”

            Harry shook his head, but he waited to do it until Hurston had left the room. Out of all the Marked ones, the man who could control Dementors, probably the one who could best survive on his own, was the only one grateful for his slavery. Apparently Malfoy had offered him a home after he’d been chased from place to place because of his “gift.”

            The problem was, Harry was more on the side of the people who had chased him away than he was on Hurston’s.

            Even given that Robards did his very best to remove you from the Ministry in the same way, and the Ministry was full of people who distrusted your talents and thought you were Dark for the spells you picked up?

            Harry stood up. No, he answered himself. Malfoy took me against my will, and Hurston wanted to come here as a refuge. Our situations aren’t comparable.

            He did take a quick glance at the observation lens, but saw none of the glassy flicker that would suggest Malfoy was watching him at the moment.

            Hurston had woken him up effectively, and he wasn’t getting anywhere lying in the bed anyway, and he had limited things to do in his room. He should decide, once and for all, what he was going to do as he worked to seduce Malfoy and put him under Harry’s control.

            The problem was, he knew pretty much what he should do, based on the cool persona he had adopted at the end of their last conversation, someone unaffected by the kiss. He should wait for Malfoy to come to him. Malfoy, consumed by unchecked desire, would be thinking with his cock rather than his brain. And then Harry could—

            He paused, choked by disgust. It felt as if he had a throat full of clay. He made his way to the sink and spat several times. That felt a bit better.

            Then Harry could pretend to as much reluctance as Malfoy needed to believe that Harry hadn’t done this deliberately. It was absolutely essential that he prevent Malfoy from suspecting anything, because a Malfoy a bit on his guard could use the Mark against Harry in all kinds of debilitating ways.

            And then he could yield.

*

            Draco woke with a start, and touched the sweat forming on his forehead. He rolled over and stared at the far wall of his room, almost expecting to see windows there, but nothing appeared. In fact, he thought as his mind slowly worked through the last impressions lodged in his head from his sleep, he hadn’t had a dream about Potter at all.

            Or at least, not the kind of surreal, strong dreams that the Mark-bond between them inspired. He’d had a dream of another kind, as the aching, unsatisfied erection between his legs showed very well.

            Draco knew what the sensible thing to do was. He should lie back, close his eyes, and go to sleep. Or he could take a Dreamless Sleep Potion, although he hadn’t dared do such a thing since he had Marked Potter. He wanted to be able to wake in case of an emergency. But it was unlikely that Potter would make a move right now, after a day when he had just found out about the dreams and had that kiss from Draco.

            If the kiss affected him at all.

            Draco growled and punched his pillow. Of course the kiss had affected Potter. He had only pretended that it didn’t so he could have a speck of power in the situation. Otherwise, he had none at all. Draco knew that.

            But he could see the mocking smile Potter had given him before he left every time he closed his eyes. No, every time he blinked. It had scratched a wound in Draco’s pride that was still bleeding.

            He wasn’t going to be able to sleep. He could get up, go to the office, and work on his reports and the economics of the Valley. He could call Lisa or Thalia to help him, which was something he had done before he had started having the dreams and had roused in the middle of the night because of Potter. Asserting his power over someone might quell his unease at having failed to conquer Potter.

            But things were different this time. He wasn’t calming at the thought of exerting his mastery. His erection wasn’t subsiding. He needed to either wank or—

            Draco sat up suddenly, fingers curling into the sheets. There was no one there to see him, which made his growl less impressive, but no less necessary.

            Why in the world was he acting as though Potter was the victor in this situation? As if Potter had any power but that which Draco gave him! Potter couldn’t have disconcerted him or won anything this afternoon if Draco had simply snatched his shoulder and spun him into another kiss instead of letting him walk away.

            Potter had no ability to keep Draco out of his room or keep him away except on Draco’s sufferance. Draco was the one hesitating like a schoolgirl abashed that her crush might already have asked someone else to the dance. Sweet Merlin, he’d been bolder about asking Pansy to the Yule Ball when he was a fourth-year!

            He shouldn’t blush and doubt and stand on the threshold as if he were a child. He should—

            Draco rose from his bed. He knew that the smile curving his lips was vicious, and he didn’t care. Potter was free to think whatever he liked when Draco stepped through his bedroom door and confronted him, but not free to do anything else.

            He would take.

*

            Harry woke suddenly in the darkness to the grip of cool fingers on his neck. He thrashed and reached for his wand. The Aurors had taught him how to deal with people trying to strangle him. First you—

            “Hush,” said the voice above him, weirdly deep, causing Harry to wonder for a minute how a centaur had sneaked in here.

            And then he was being kissed.

            He gasped, but that only allowed more room for the invasion of Malfoy’s tongue. And it had to be Malfoy, of course it was Malfoy, Harry thought wildly, as he lay there caught between his pounding heart and the probing tongue and wondered what he should do. None of the Marked ones liked him well enough to sneak into his room and do this.

            Malfoy doesn’t like you.

            He had only moments to decide what he should do. Except it wasn’t a decision. He knew what he had to do.

            He let his flesh crawl with revulsion and his breath catch because of fear, but those were the only outward signs before he reached up, grabbed Malfoy’s neck, and dragged him closer, further into the kiss.

            Malfoy moaned as their teeth clicked together and their tongues slipped against each other. Harry found the whole thing slippery and musky and salty—the tastes he had noticed in Malfoy’s mouth before—and even coppery, because Malfoy had bitten him somewhere along the line. But not arousing.

            Liar, said an impulse in the back of his head.

            Harry didn’t have to listen to his fear, which was all this was, he thought savagely. He rolled over so that Malfoy lay beside him on the bed and tried to break free of the kiss so that he could lift Malfoy’s shirt. If he could get at bare skin and distract Malfoy sufficiently, then maybe he wouldn’t insist on touching Harry in return.

            But he hadn’t reckoned on the git’s strength. He caught Harry’s wrists just as they touched the hem of the shirt and lifted them both, kicking with his legs at the same time. Harry found himself on his back with his wrists pinned to the pillow and Malfoy straddling his hips, staring into his eyes. Harry could barely see him in the dim glow of the fire. That didn’t matter, though. There were a limited number of expressions Malfoy could have on his face, really.

            “I,” Malfoy breathed, “am going to fuck you.”

            Harry couldn’t help it. He gave a single, terrified buck, because he wasn’t ready for that yet, and it had never happened to him, and if there was ever a moment in his life when he thought he had a justification for acting like a shy virgin, it was now.

            Malfoy laughed deep in his throat and draped himself across Harry’s body, fingers feeling at his collarbone and neck. Harry turned his head to the side before he could stop himself, and then gritted his teeth and turned it back. He would be all right if he could just lie back and make himself accept this, but it seemed Malfoy was one of those bastards who required active participation.

            “Not fucking you in the way you think,” Malfoy whispered into his ear, and then bit it. Harry arched again, but it was for a different reason now, and shit, he was getting hard. “You’re not ready for that yet. By the time you are, you’ll be begging to fuck yourself on my cock, wanting it so much you’re drooling in your sleep.”

            The words helped give Harry some needed distance. This is a seduction, he told himself in a cold voice that could speak in his mind, while his audible voice just made stupid hoarse gasping sounds. That’s all. He’ll say what he thinks he needs to say to make you even more his slave. What you can do is say what you need to say back.

            “Then what do you intend to do?” he asked, and was pleased that his voice shook only a little.

            “Touch you,” Malfoy said, voice so guttural it took Harry a moment to work the words out, and then he slid his hand down Harry’s shirt and ripped at it.

            He didn’t rip it apart, of course. Harry thought it would have taken more strength than he could use from the position he was in, especially with one hand occupied holding Harry’s wrists. But he managed to cause an impressive tear, and Harry hissed at him and tried to wriggle aside. “This is the only bloody shirt I have,” he whispered, hoping Malfoy would get the point and roll off him.

            Except that Harry wanted him to stay in the same place, really, since he was fooling Malfoy about how much he wanted him. At least, that was what he thought he was doing. His mind was roiling and bubbling with confusion and hatred.

            And the fucking arousal that remained in the same place as always, his erection jabbing Malfoy in the hip.

            “I’ll give you all the shirts you need,” Malfoy said, his voice low, and then pushed Harry’s shirt up instead of trying to rip it and took Harry’s nipple in his mouth.

            Harry shut his eyes. The sensation pierced through him in a sharply unpleasant way, traveling straight to his groin and making him writhe despite himself. The only escape he had was not looking at Malfoy.

            “No one’s ever done this for you before, have they?” Malfoy asked, and the delight in his voice was obscene for more than one reason.

            “My lovers so far have been women,” Harry said, and began to fight his way to a position in his mind where he could handle what was happening to him, and what was going to happen. He had to be calm. He had to be as detached as he could. And at the same time, he had to convince Malfoy that he was enjoying himself, if reluctantly. That would spur Malfoy on and lull his suspicions. “There’s been no reason for them to do that.”

            Malfoy went still above him for a moment. Harry glared up at him warily, wondering what he had said to make Malfoy stop, and if it was something he should repeat or not.

            His mind wanted him to repeat it. His body didn’t.

            You don’t get a vote, Harry told his body, and wished he could see Malfoy’s expression better as Malfoy bent down to him again.

*

            The depths of the innocence and ignorance revealed in Potter’s statements appalled Draco on one level. What had Potter been doing with his life? There was no reason for him to have missed out on so much, when he was famous and fame could work just as well as any other aphrodisiac.

            But on another level entirely, those words intoxicated Draco. He was going to be first in many things for Potter.

            So many, he thought yearningly, and bit down on Potter’s nipple again. Potter’s little shudder and startled cry increased his intoxication.

            “You have no idea,” Draco whispered. “No idea how much I desire you, and how much you will come to desire me, in time.” He lifted Potter’s shirt up over his head this time, and bared his chest.

            There were scars there, and one long stretch of twisted flesh that Draco frowned at. A burn, or something else? Not that it mattered, not when he could run his fingers over it and make Potter flinch deliciously with sensation that seemed too intense for him to handle.

            “A hard life,” Draco told Potter, who had his head twisted away and his teeth bared. “Not so hard now, unless you want to make a pun.” He shifted his groin against Potter, and Potter lifted his hips to meet him.

            Draco smiled. Potter liked to think of himself as difficult, as tough, but Draco had conquered many people who thought of themselves like that over the years—if not usually in quite this way. It was one reason he used pain and pleasure through the Mark. People could tell themselves all the lies they liked, but in the end, their bodies were made to be responsive to certain feelings, their nerves to fire when they felt them. And someone like Potter, who had a myth of himself that he cherished, the Auror who would never break or back down, was particularly vulnerable. He hadn’t trained himself to resist or combat those feelings.

            Draco had already changed his strategy from the moment he entered Potter’s room. He had been going to fuck Potter whether Potter wanted him to or not, because he had to ease his own need. Now he was going to make sure Potter came with him, and in a different way.

            He spun Potter with his arms and legs, releasing Potter’s wrists so suddenly that they flailed uncertainly in the air. That was good. Draco didn’t want interference.

            He lay down behind Potter, erection resting in the curve of Potter’s arse, and set a furious pace of frotting against him, while at the same time plunging his hand into Potter’s pants and taking up his cock.

            Cloth scratched at him, Potter’s clothes and his own. Potter kept up a humiliating stream of tiny gasps—well, Draco would have thought they were humiliating if he was the one making them, but as it was, they fed his arousal. His sweat burned down his back, and Potter’s bobbing head connected with his jaw once.

            Faster. Faster. So hot. Draco was panting, his hair soaked, his cheeks as wet as though he’d been weeping. He bent closer in and smelled the sour scent arising from Potter’s body. He didn’t shower enough. The cock Draco was touching was probably crawling with dirt.

            That only made Draco more excited. He wrenched at the head of Potter’s cock and rocked himself, tight in the confines of Potter’s buttocks, only outside for now but inside soon enough, feeling the tight clamp as Potter clenched down in fear, in anticipation—

            The drag at his balls—

            The boiling feeling in the center of his chest—

            Draco bit Potter’s shoulder, because he didn’t want to speak or grunt aloud. Potter, though, grunted, and began to come.

            Draco followed, shaking, triumphant, gripped and pulled along, flung into the air, descending with a thump and a groan into near-immobility. His hand was wet, he thought distantly. Well, that wasn’t a problem. His crotch and his face were wet, too.

            He withdrew his hand slowly, dragging his fingers through Potter’s pubic hair as he went, dotting it with come. Then he turned Potter over and curled his fingers against Potter’s cheek, decorating him with his spunk.

            Potter’s mouth was hanging open. He was trying to scowl—Draco could see the twitches at the edges of his face—but he couldn’t. He was too spent.

            Draco leaned forwards and sank his tongue into Potter’s mouth again, marking his victory.

*

            Harry was shaking, as exhausted as though he had run miles on top of a night with no sleep. Well, he hadn’t had any sleep, except an hour or so before Malfoy had awakened him, but that wasn’t—that shouldn’t—

            Fuck.

            He hated the overwhelming bursts of electricity that seemed to travel through him when Malfoy’s hand or elbow brushed his groin. He hated the wetness that soaked him there. He hated the limpness of his muscles, the urge to roll over and nestle next to Malfoy the way he would have any ordinary lover. He hated the former stiffness of Malfoy’s cock, and he hated the way it felt now, limp and soft, against his arse.

            He hadn’t asked for this—for the slavery, or for Malfoy to find him attractive, or for this wank. Any of it. He ached and he burned and he hated.

            But it had happened, and he wouldn’t get free of the Mark by wishing. He would have to do the best he could with the circumstances he found himself in, a useful lesson for any Auror, and one that Harry had found easier to learn than a lot of others. It was what he’d had to do when he was fighting Voldemort, after all.

            So he gathered his scattered wits, and he inched his hand to the side, picking up his wand. Malfoy wasn’t paying attention; he worked his way with sloppy kisses along Harry’s back, now and then pausing to tongue the bite mark.

            Harry hated the fact that he’d come from being bitten, too, a violent tendency he’d never known about, just like the sensitivity of his nipples. But the point, the point of it, was what Malfoy was too distracted to realize what he was doing now.

            Harry’s wand was in his hand. He pointed it at Malfoy under the curve of his hip, where Malfoy’s hand was roaming greedily, absently, and cast the Forcing Charm nonverbally.

            The Forcing Charm was one of those spells he wasn’t supposed to know. Close kin to the Imperius Curse, it would render someone soft-brained and agreeable and prone to babbling everything they knew in response to questions. It couldn’t guarantee truth like Veritaserum; if someone had a lie at the forefront of their minds, they would speak the lie. And the things they babbled about weren’t always important or useful.

            Harry knew he was taking a risk, both with the spell and because Malfoy might notice that he was under a spell. But Harry was betting he couldn’t, that the flood tide of hormones would confuse him enough to make the spell indistinguishable from it.

            Maybe.

            In any case, no choice. Harry could at least try and use this chance to make up for Malfoy’s unasked-for violation of his body and take his mind off his own disturbing reaction, which was that he could have fought, could at least have taken the chance to shove Malfoy away, and didn’t.

            Malfoy gasped, and Harry, dropping his wand back into its former place, tensed, wondering if he had sensed the Charm. But when Harry tested him out with a glance, he saw only a confused, sleepy-looking Malfoy with a faint frown. He would have been a lot more outraged if the spell hadn’t worked or if he knew what was happening.

            Harry whispered, “What are your most powerful enchanted objects?”

            Malfoy gave him a smile as sloppy as his kisses. “Bracelets!” he chirruped. “Jade and silver. Stored magic. In a drawer in my desk. You take ‘em and you wear ‘em and you get a greater boost to all your spells.”

            Harry swallowed, feeling the tingle of excitement begin in his wrists and his ankles. He might be able to use them. He might be able to get free. “Is there any restriction on who can use them?”

            “No,” Malfoy said, giving him a superior look. “Because I might want to lend magic to people. To you.” He leaned in for another kiss.

            Harry let him take it, hiding a grimace. “How do you open the drawer?”

            “Threefold locking charms,” Malfoy said, waving a hand. “No trick for you.” Again a kiss, and Harry rolled his eyes but added some tongue when Malfoy whined sulkily.

            “What else?” he asked.

            Malfoy was happy to brag about his enchanted objects, and Harry congratulated himself for choosing the perfect time and place for his spell. Malfoy wanted to impress him, he had just come, and he was feeling the loopy kind of trust that people were prone to feel for people they slept with, however stupid the reason. He would probably remember he had spoken of this later—Harry didn’t want to try a Memory Charm—but he would only assume he had been under the influence of his desire to win Harry over.

            Finally, Malfoy curled up beside him and began to snore lustily. Harry lay awake, refining his plan, which wasn’t particularly subtle or complex but did rely on him getting away with those bracelets unnoticed.

            After they attacked Robards, of course, and made him pay.

            Harry carefully avoided any thoughts that would make him uncomfortable, such as the weird strength of his desire to make Robards pay.

            Or the way that he had yielded to that shattering climax, the long moments when he could have reached down and moved Malfoy’s not particularly tight grip off his cock, rolled away and put distance between them, how he had even considered doing that—

            And hadn’t.

*

            SP777: Draco won’t give up easily. On the other hand, there are two more stories in the series after this one, which will help.

            Yes, Draco notes that mirror-magic is the binding between them.

            Hopefully you approve of this chapter as far as Draco’s wanking goes!

            Yes, I’m female.

            Clau: Thanks! Harry will convince him, but in an unorthodox way, and without quite intending to.

            polka dot: Hmm, that’s interesting.

            thrnbrooke: Thanks!

            k lave demo: I think their contest can change from moment to moment, and certainly it will change as more things happen to them, such as their expedition to punish Robards. Although this chapter may have shifted them more permanently in one direction.

            mrequecky: Thank you!

            angelmuziq: Oh, there are ways I think one could do a plausible Dark Harry, but they would almost all involve, say, killing Ron and Hermione, and I think that’s overused.
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Wolf in the Making