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Wolf in the Making	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8564 -:- 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 Eight—Rising to the Occasion

            “Are you really his lover?”

            Harry, caught out of his ripped shirt and not yet in the new one that Malfoy had brought for him, yelped and struggled swiftly into it. It didn’t fit well, he thought, smoothing it down through the shoulders, or rather it was too tight. That was so much like Malfoy that Harry couldn’t even comment on it. “Does no one knock around here?” he demanded, turning to face Lisa.

            Lisa leaned on the door of his bedroom and simply gazed at him. She might never have heard the question. “Are you really his lover?” she repeated, like a Muggle doll that had just the one question to ask.

            Harry had already come up with a plan for this. It would be advantageous to have the other Marked ones off-guard and believing whatever lies Malfoy wanted to feed them. There was none of them Harry would trust to help him in his plan to escape.

            “Yes, I am.” He let his eyes meet Lisa’s for a minute, then flick away. He hoped that would convey enough of his shame and reluctance, assuming that the blush on his cheeks didn’t do that all by itself.

            Lisa moved further into the room, never taking her eyes from him. A moment later, her hand landed on his arm, above the Mark, and squeezed warmly. “It’s not so bad, being the center of his attention,” she whispered. “And I think you’ll find that lots of advantages come along with it, in the short time he remains interested. He can give gifts with an obsession that makes the most persistent suitors in the outside world seem uninterested.”

            Harry opened his mouth to say that he didn’t want gifts, but then scolded himself not to be stupid. There was a way to put Lisa on-guard instead of being that way himself, and maybe to get information in the bargain. He leaned forwards and demanded, “Were you his lover, once? How quickly did he get tired of you?”

            Lisa’s face flamed. She coughed. Harry kept his unrelenting stare on her, thinking she would be more likely to yield if he didn’t allow her a chance to recover her balance.

            “Yes,” Lisa said finally, her reluctance to speak seeming at least as great as Harry’s own to be Malfoy’s lover. “I was. He doesn’t stay long, but he did pamper me and spoil me, and the association between us didn’t end badly.”

            “Except for the part where you’re still a slave,” Harry couldn’t resist pointing out.

            “The life is better, in many ways, than the life that you may have led before coming here,” Lisa said, gently, and with a faraway look in her eyes that was not at all what Harry had hoped to provoke from her. “He slept with me before he Marked me. A while before. He’s a daring and ferocious lover. He takes you out of your body, and makes the whole experience so worthwhile that you don’t mind surrendering.”

            I don’t want to surrender, Harry thought, and clenched his fists in the shirt-sleeves, out of Lisa’s sight. “He hasn’t shown me anything like that yet,” he said, which was true. Malfoy had simply wanked him, and Harry had had better wanks before, some from his own hand. He could find plenty of lovers among people not wanting to maim him.

            “He will.” Lisa gave him a mysterious smile that Harry hated on principle. “You have no idea what he’ll make you feel and experience, what you’ll see as you writhe under him and open your mouth to scream, to cry. I wager you that we’ll be able to hear you all the way across the Valley when you give in and spread your legs for him.”

            Harry swallowed back his illness. He had to play along, pretend to be the grateful slave and the overwhelmed lover. “What if I don’t have a need for the gifts he sends me? What if he gives me useless things?”

            Lisa’s look was condescending, now. “Then ask him for things that you enjoy. He’s sensitive and perceptive.” Harry bit his lips to keep from laughing hysterically at that last word. “He won’t go on giving you presents you don’t enjoy. Tell him what you want. He’ll give you everything, and he’ll let you keep them when your love affair inevitably ends.”

            Harry nodded with a fake smile, while he mentally changed his perception of Lisa. She might be the smartest and strongest of the Marked ones, but slavery had still affected her to the point that she idolized her lord. Maybe that was the only way she could escape the dreariness of her daily life. Maybe it was how she dealt with the inevitable fact of her slavery. Whichever it was, Harry knew that he couldn’t count on her for an ally.

            Lisa made a few more stupid speeches about gratitude and wonder that Harry didn’t listen to, and left. That meant Harry was alone, staring at the pair of trousers Malfoy had waltzed in to give him that morning. They were some shimmery, shiny blue cloth that Harry didn’t think was silk, with slits in the back and front that weren’t pockets. Malfoy wanted access to Harry at any time, it seemed.

            Harry made himself take off his undamaged trousers and put on the new ones. He had to play along with this, up to the point where he could use the stored magic the way he had envisioned using it.

            He had to, no matter how sick it made him.

*

            Draco caught his breath, and didn’t try to hide his appraising stare, when Potter joined the strategy meeting he was holding with his Marked ones in one of the more pleasant squares of Fox Valley. The center of the square was a silvery fountain between low white stone walls, all of which could double as benches. The flowers planted nearby—roses, tulips, and others—were charmed to keep blooming at all seasons and shed the strongest version of their scents possible. The air around them curled and crackled with magic, the slight spells that Draco employed to keep the guests of Fox Valley caught up in drifting thoughts and languor if the magic-draining alone didn’t do it. Draco didn’t know about the others, but he enjoyed the feeling of magic sliding like feathers against his skin.

            And really, what did the opinion of the others matter, compared to his?

            Draco caught Potter’s eye as he walked up, clad in the new clothes Draco had sent him, green shirt and blue trousers that accented his movements and his dark hair and brought out the greenness of his eyes. Thalia mumbled something, and Draco caught her gaze sharply as he gestured for Potter to sit beside him.

            Thalia looked away, understanding the silent message: Potter was Draco’s, and no one else’s.

            Draco rested a hand on Potter’s knee, ignored his uncomfortable squirming, and raised an eyebrow at Mina Johnson, his Potions expert. “You were saying, Mina?”

            “I have potions that can get you through most of the wards around the Ministry.” Mina sat bolt upright, conveying without a word how undignified and unworthy of her she found this seat on a wall. Draco kept her mostly for her expertise, but also because she was funny to listen to and watch when he was bored. “My potions will make the anti-Apparition wards dissolve and remain down for half-an-hour’s time.” She paused and looked at Draco through lowered dark lashes above her violet eyes. Draco knew it wasn’t her way of trying to seduce him; as far as he could figure out, she had never tried that. Rather, she was trying to show her boiling excitement and build up apprehension in other people as she delayed her announcement.

            Draco allowed it, and even leaned in to listen with a little smile. Mina’s addiction to drama was a minor thing next to what she could have cost him in time and trouble if she was interested in open rebellion.

            Unlike someone else I know. Draco stroked Potter’s leg, slipping his hand closer and closer to the slit in the front of the trousers. Potter went stiff, but sadly not in the way Draco wanted him to.

            “I’ve discovered a potion that can make someone want to stay in a certain place, Lord Malfoy,” Mina murmured, when she judged that enough time had passed to enhance the drama of her announcement. “It will be used on the evening of the attack—pending your approval, of course—to convince Gawain Robards to stay still.”

            “What?” Potter blurted, leaning forwards so that Draco’s hand was practically on his cock. To Draco’s grave displeasure, he didn’t seem to even notice. “That’s impossible. How are you going to feed it to him?”

            Mina turned to face Potter, shaking her hair back and assuming a superior expression. “Only in the babyhood of Potions-brewing did one need to feed the potion to the subject,” she said. “I work with air and distance. Smashing one of my vials outside a building will work, as long as I direct the fumes.”

            “That’s impossible,” Potter said again, but he sounded more uncertain. Draco tried to gain his attention with a stroke. Potter gave him a single magnificent glare from bright eyes and then focused on Mina again. “How can you be sure that Robards will be caught by the fumes and not anyone else? It’ll be hard to sneak in if the entire population of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is there.”

            “That’s where the rest of us come in,” Draco said, and turned to Lisa and Victor with a nod. “You understand your parts?” He deliberately didn’t look at Potter again, though he kept his hand where it was. Instead of retreating, he would show off how intelligent he was to Potter, what he could do even if Potter wouldn’t willingly help him.

            “Yes, my lord,” said Lisa, with an inclination of her head and a burning glance at him that Draco didn’t find entirely out of place. It seemed that Draco’s taking of Potter as a lover had reminded her of her own time in his bed. Draco wondered if she would be jealous if she knew how long he planned to extend this association. “We are to invade the Ministry in the afternoon, in the guise of ordinary visitors. We are to secure a small hank of Robards’s hair or clothes that will attune Mina’s potion to him.”

            Draco smiled at her. She had not repeated his instructions exactly, but varied them enough to prove she understood. “That will do nicely.”

            “Lord Malfoy?” Victor wore a frown. “How long do we have to secure this piece of Robards?”

            “As long as it takes,” Draco said. “If we cannot manage this in one day, we will stretch it to two, and then ensure that Mina’s potion takes effect on the following evening.”

            He couldn’t risk sneaking another glance at Potter as he spoke, just to see what was going on there. Potter’s face was set in what looked like a permanent frown, and his eyes darted back and forth from one Marked one to another as if wondering what strange capacity they would reveal next.

            “Thalia,” Draco said, and made his voice more crisp, because you had to be when dealing with Thalia. “You understand your own part?”

            “To make sure that I attract the attention of anyone else who might be staying in the Department that night, and get them to chase me instead of remaining nearby as witnesses and distractions.” Thalia, on the other hand, didn’t vary her words, but that was all right. Draco would indulge the small quirks of his Marked ones as long as he wasn’t required to tolerate outright disobedience and insubordination. “I’m to reveal myself as a jaguar Animagus, and carry enough of the residue of Dark Arts to make them anxious to capture me.”

            “Even then,” Potter said, as if he was anxious to point out the problems with the plans they were making for the sake of his convenience and revenge, “how can you be sure that everyone will take off after you?”

            “The next part of the t-task is mine,” said Oliver, so pleased that he hardly stuttered at all. “I know that I can bring in my darlings and scare away the ones that still remain, or at least make them despairing enough that they won’t interfere.” He gave Draco a pleading look, like a dog asking his master if he had done well. Draco was happy to nod, and Oliver sat up straighter and looked around importantly.

            “Where does that leave us?” Potter’s mouth was tight with something Draco thought was disdain. It wasn’t fear, if the hard undertone to his voice was real. “What are we going to do?” He turned and stared at Draco.

            Draco smiled back at him, wondering if he had noticed that he had used the word “we” to refer to himself and Draco for the first time. Potter’s eyes narrowed, but before he could reason it out, Draco said, “We’re going to go in and make Robards pay for his crime, of course. We’ll undo the wards on his door, and get past those defenses that you told me about. We’ll make sure that he can’t do anything that would seriously inconvenience us with the help of the others, but the torture…” He extended his fingers. “That’s ours alone.”

            “Torture?” Potter was sitting up very straight now, and Draco’s hand had slipped down his leg. He put it back into place, smiling serenely into Potter’s eyes, and Potter gave a single nervous jerk, but didn’t let that interrupt the flow of his rant. “I never agreed to that! You said we were going to get revenge on him, nothing else!”

            “And this is the form of revenge that I prefer.” Draco bowed his head a little, never taking his eyes from Potter. This was the first serious challenge he had got from Potter—serious, because it was in front of other people and Draco had to win to keep his Marked ones’ respect—and he was ready. “If you want to do something else, then by all means, stand on the other side of the room and politely cover your eyes while I go through with this. Did you know that he’s spread the word you died on a secret mission, and so while you have a hero’s funeral, no one will know that you are still alive and attempt to bring Robards to justice for what he did to you? Your friends will doubtless believe him. Why should they not?”

*

            Anger scalded Harry. He hadn’t known that, no, and the idea of Ron and Hermione, who still read British newspapers in Australia, receiving the news that he was dead and having no reason to believe otherwise…

            Then he pulled himself up sharply and shook his head. He still should keep Robards from torture, because—

            The automatic answer to that question faded into silence inside him.

            Why? He wasn’t an Auror anymore; Robards had seen to that. No matter what happened, Harry wasn’t going to get his job back, because he wasn’t going to stand up in a court of justice and explain what had happened. Most people were going to believe Robards and not him, anyway, because he was the one who had made the disastrous mistake right before he disappeared, and because his story was mad.

            What reason did he have to spare the man who had done his best to get him killed from torture?

            Harry shivered and took a deep breath. He was tilting on the edge of a fall more profound than any he could come to as Malfoy’s lover, he told himself sternly. Something that would stain his soul if he gave in to it, something that would make him a worse person than he could be no matter how long he spent as a slave. Yes, he was a slave, but he still had the power of moral choice. He could have given in and gone along like Lisa, or he could have been pathetically grateful to be spared the “hardness” of life like Hurston, but he hadn’t. That was the point. He was different, and he was going to be different always.

            But the temptation was still there, solid and unvarying. And his conscience whispered that it couldn’t be his fault if Malfoy was determined to torture Robards and stopped Harry with the Mark when he tried to interfere.

            Harry wavered, reached out…

            And didn’t fall.

            “I don’t think it’s the best thing,” he told Malfoy quietly, meeting his look and holding them no matter how hard that was. The darkness staring back at him from those grey eyes was, at least in part, his own. “The more time we take over this, the more time we give people to come back and figure out what we’re doing. And Robards has defenses that I don’t know about. Maybe a ward that would alert others when he experiences a certain level of pain. It’s what I’d do.”

            For some reason, Malfoy only took a deep, almost purring breath instead of reacting with anger. He watched Harry with half-lidded eyes and moved his hand slowly up and down. Harry clenched his teeth as he felt himself respond.

            I could take you here and now.

            Harry started badly as the thought appeared in his head, Malfoy sending it to him with an ease that made Harry hate the Mark all over again. Malfoy smiled at him, kept his hand in place, and turned to the other Marked ones as he nodded. “Harry has convinced me,” he said. “It would indeed take too long and be too risky to stay in Robards’s office past a certain period of time. We will cause him pain, but he will die before he is tortured.”

            Thalia nodded in what looked like relief. Lisa was glancing at Harry with a new respect. Harry didn’t see the reactions of the rest, because he was staring at Malfoy, who looked back with perfect pleasantness, as he lost arguments like this all the time and didn’t resent the loss.

            What the fuck is going on in his head?

            Harry reminded himself a moment later that that wasn’t important, that he should be thinking about his escape plan and how he was going to implement it instead, but that was a moment later. He had been curious about Malfoy, had wanted to understand him, had been interested in him, if only temporarily.

            Just like he was only tempted to let Robards suffer for a short time.

            If those short times add up enough, they can destroy me.

*

            Draco had learned a new truth, a truth so astonishing and delightful that he was not sure it would let him continue to breathe.

            Potter struggling with temptation, fighting back the siren call of the darkness that Draco knew lurked in his soul, was even more delicious and beautiful than he was when stalking a wizard he intended to kill.

            Draco’s body thrummed with response. His cock thrummed with blood. He didn’t feel quite the same dizzy desperation that he had when he went to Potter’s bed the other night, but he was shaking with the same intoxication, the same desire to take Potter then and there.

            The darkness is in him, not far from the surface, and I might have encouraged it to rise further with what I’ve had him doing for me. I’ll encourage it further, and sooner or later it’ll be too strong and he’ll give in.

            From there, Draco reckoned, there would still be many tiresome steps. Potter was liable to accuse himself and to belabor his guilt in extensive monologues. But when a stubborn resistance was broken once, it was much easier to break again, and Draco intended to let no chances pass to break it.

            So he let Potter seem to conquer. He permitted Potter to “persuade” him, and even to do it in front of his other Marked ones. The important fight was not this one, where Potter had managed to force down his temptation one more time, but the next one, the one where Draco would hold out the temptation shining on his palm like a golden coin.

            He waited. He let the others add their own refinements to the plan, and he let Potter press him towards almost stating what spell he would use to kill Robards. In the end, though, he wanted that to remain a surprise, so he didn’t say it aloud, but gave Potter a mysterious smile and watched as the other Marked ones reacted. They knew what that smile had meant in the past for his enemies, even if Potter didn’t.

            When the meeting finished, his other Marked ones filed away to resume their administrative duties. Draco waited to see what Potter would do, curious which emotion would prevail with him, outrage or fear.

            Potter rose from the wall and turned to face him, face so dark with blood that Draco momentarily feared for his heart. Then he took a step nearer, and Draco wanted to laugh. The bulge between his legs was not well-concealed by the trousers that Draco had chosen for him, which was, of course, one purpose of them.

            “Why did you say that you were going to torture Robards?” Potter asked.

            Draco arched an eyebrow. Not the question that I thought he would ask, I admit. “Because I wanted to,” he said. “He has cost me some trouble and effort, and he could have made our introduction and our pathway to becoming lovers much smoother for both of us if he had advised me of the true extent of your capabilities. I owe him some pain for that.”

            Potter’s throat had a lovely soft, smooth motion when he swallowed. Draco wasn’t sure whether to watch that or his lips as he spoke. “Why did you give up the notion, then?”

            Draco rose and advanced to meet him. Potter’s eyes widened, but he didn’t back away. Draco smiled, pleased with his courage, and equally pleased with the fact that his erection hadn’t yet subsided. He gripped it and gave it a gentle squeeze as he halted in front of Potter and bent to his ear.

            “It was a gift to you,” he whispered. “I suspect that Lisa had told you by now how generous I can be with them, yes? This was something you really wanted, and I would not put you down in front of the others with a slap through the Mark so soon after announcing you as my new lover. I can give Robards a swift death because of you. Dear Harry.”

            He groaned the last word, and squeezed Harry’s cock at the same moment as he swayed forwards so that their groins brushed.

            Harry leaped back.

            But not until after a moment had passed.

            Draco stood where he was, letting his gaze linger on Harry’s face, taking in the wide dark eyes, the too-quick breathing, the too-red lips, and the stiff cock that would give him some trouble walking.

            Then he turned and walked away, his hand dipping briefly between his legs to caress himself.

            But no, he didn’t think he’d wank. The next time he came, he wanted the willing participation of Potter’s hand or mouth.

            Not much longer now. Slowly, softly, I can close in, and he’ll be mine.

*

            Harry wrapped his arms around himself. He hated how hard he was, how weak he was.

            But he hated Malfoy more, and he wrapped that hatred around himself until it was a shimmering cloak that covered his shoulders and shielded his body from any touch of warmth in his crotch.

            Not much longer now. Slowly, safely, I can work, and I’ll be free.



*

            polka dot: Not if Harry escapes first.

            k lave demo: Thank you! I suppose Harry does have power if you think he understands himself better than Draco understands himself. However, Harry doesn’t know everything Draco is thinking or the reason he does everything.

            Night the Storyteller: Draco being driven by lust and desire doesn’t change a lot for Harry, because what revolts him is just what Draco desires, and he can’t forgive Draco for making him a slave.

            Harry’s mind at the moment is on escape before defense.
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Wolf in the Making