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Nova Cupiditas	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 37320 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and I am not making any money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1
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Title: Nova
Cupiditas

Disclaimer: J. K.
Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun
and not profit.

Pairings: Harry/Draco

Rating: R

Warnings:
Attempted rape, issues of consent, violence, gore, sex, heavy angst, profanity.
Ignores the epilogue.

Summary: Nova cupiditas�the curse that makes the
victim desire someone they hate. There is no cure, and the consequences grow
increasingly violent the more the desire is denied. And now someone has cursed
Draco Malfoy to desire Harry Potter.

Author�s Notes: This
is a very dark story. It will probably be between twelve and twenty chapters.

Nova Cupiditas

Chapter One�First
Strike

�� They seized
him when he was coming out of a pub in Diagon Alley, turning back to shout over
his shoulder. Draco never remembered who he was with that night. The drink and
the shock of the curse drove everything else out of his head. Perhaps they had
been part of the plan, perhaps not.

Draco didn�t know that it mattered,
given what happened to him.

Someone hissed into his ear, and
then they draped a sack over his head. A wand hit him in the ribs, casting an
extraordinarily painful Stunning Spell that made Draco slump. He could still
hear and feel, but he couldn�t move, and of course no one would notice anything
unusual about someone who couldn�t walk on his own being escorted away from a
pub at this time of night.

�� Draco felt
the cobblestones lurch past under his feet before someone whispered something
harsh and disgusted, and he was heaved up and carried. His head dangled and
flopped. His neck hurt. His legs ached. Tears of pain rolled down his face and
collected against the sack, accompanied by a dribble of snot, and he couldn�t
even reach up to wipe them away. He just had to hang there and let himself be
carried.

�� They
Apparated, as he knew from the cracks nearby and the wrenching, whirling
sensation in his stomach. When they landed, he could smell, even muffled
through the sack, the strong scents of night-blooming flowers. The fingers of
his captors ran over his head and shoulders, then yanked the sack away.

�� Draco,
already starting to recover from the Stunner, squinted desperately about him.
Nothing. A fire burned in front of him, destroying his night vision. He could
make out grass and a tall tree, an oak. It could have been anywhere. Anything�a
garden, a manor house, a Muggle dwelling. He might even have doubted they were
in England if not for the fact that one couldn�t Apparate between continents.

�� Drop him.�
The voice was harsh and had the growling undertone of an auditory glamour,
masking it to the point that Draco couldn�t even tell if it was male or female.

�� His captors
obeyed with brutal efficiency, and Draco flopped to the ground. He gasped,
which alerted him to the fact that he could move a little now. At once he
whipped his hand down, reaching for his wand.

�� But his
captors were faster than he was, especially with the Stunning Spell still
partially in effect. One of them kicked his hand away; another pinned it to the
ground. Someone came near with what looked like a blunt saw in hand, and
Draco�s stomach tried to crawl out his throat as he realized that they meant to
cut his fingers off.

�� No!�

�� The harsh
voice created silence all around them. Draco could sense his captors turning to
look in its direction, and he knew this was the leader. He closed his eyes,
rejecting his sight as useless, trying frantically to learn anything he could
that might help him identify his enemy later. The scent of burning wood, yes,
but was there anything under or behind that, a fancy perfume, perhaps? He
thought he smelled something extra, but that could have been his own frantic
imagination making up clues.

�� But we
agreed that we could torture him,� said a more distinctive voice, not hidden,
from Draco�s left. He didn�t know it, but he thought he would recognize that
particular flat whine if he ever heard it again.

�� I have
thought of a better way,� said the voice, and there was a moment of furious
whispering. Draco tried to control his own panting and listen, but it was
extraordinarily difficult. The only good thing, as he could see it right now,
was that they probably planned to let him live, if they bothered to hide their
next move from him.

�� But
everyone is doing that.� The flat whine again. �I wanted some unique torture
for what his father did to my family.�

�� My father. Of course. Draco�s bitterness
swallowed his fear for a transient moment. It always came back to Lucius, and
the fact that he had sustained only a three-month sentence in Azkaban for his
Death Eater activities. Draco himself thought that he should have had longer,
but he didn�t see why he should pay
for his father�s crimes.

�� Not with
the recipient I have chosen,� said the disguised voice, and there was more
whispering, then sharp laughter. Draco knew he would hear that laughter in his
dreams to the end of his life, assuming they left him his hearing.

�� Perfect,�
said a different person, a woman, soft and low and eager. Draco might have
found her voice charming had they met under other circumstances. �May I cast
the spell? I would like to.�

�� No, I
should!� the flat whine disagreed at once. Draco counted his heartbeats and
told himself to remember that. This person with the flat voice was competitive
and wanted to torture him. It was information that could be used to find an
enemy again.

�� I am
afraid that she is more steady,� said the disguised voice. �You will have your
chance later. Be still for now, Abelard.�

�� Abelard. It was a fake name, it had to
be, but Draco still seized the name and sank it into the depths of his mind.
Let them take everything else from him; he would remember that name, and track
it to its source, as long as they left him alive.

�� Movement
above him. Draco snapped his eyes open and saw the woman kneeling over his body.
Of course, she wore such a thick cloak, with raised hood, that he caught no
more than a glimpse of pale cheeks and intense blue eyes. She held up her wand
and said, �Harry Potter,� in a clear voice, like an offering to Merlin.

�� Draco would
have looked around if his pride had let him. Potter was part of this
conspiracy? Draco wouldn�t have thought it of him, which was probably foolish.
Potter had always hated him in school.

�� The woman
began to lower her wand towards him. Draco tried to break free again, but the
hands on his wrist and body held firm. So he did the only thing he could, and
spat up into the woman�s face. She dodged neatly, and the spittle fell back to
coat Draco�s cheeks like the tears his eyes had already leaked.

�� The woman
didn�t appear angry. She only shook her head, like someone scolding a naughty
child, and said, �Nova cupiditas.�

�� The spell
caused no pain. There was nothing more than a flare of black light around
Draco�s body, which settled into his skin like a setting sun. And they released
him a moment later and picked him up, Apparating him to the gates of Malfoy
Manor, where they tossed him like rubbish.

�� But when
the house-elves found him, Draco was screaming.

*

�� Harry took
a few steps back, cocking his head, and then nodded. The ladle lay in the exact
center of the table, which wasn�t the complete answer to his problem but seemed
to help. He would try again.

�� Holding out
his wand, he whispered, �Videtur.�

�� His wand
spat a sullen spark. The air around the ladle seemed to congeal, and for a
brief moment, Harry made out an airy image of what looked like the map of
Europe. Heart leaping in hope, he strode forwards.

�� The image
faded at once, and with it, any sense of magic the ladle may have possessed. It
once again lay there, an ordinary object.

�� Harry
grinned anyway. That image was unique, and more than he had got any of the
other times he had tried to see this particular spell.

�� He whooped,
caught the ladle, and tossed it into the air in celebration. When he caught it
again, he stood there a minute holding the cool metal and closing his eyes so
that he could savor the triumph.

�� He had been
trying for months to see a Finite
Incantatem on an object that he�d enchanted and then removed the spell
from. He�d varied the speed with which he cast the revealing spell, the object
he�d cast it on�that, hundreds of times�the location where he tried the
revealing spell, and his emotional temper. This was the first sign of visible
success.

�� Harry
snickered. Visible. I amuse myself.

�� But the
ladle was an ordinary object, if a metal one, and it appeared that placing it
on wood and then casting the revealing spell as soon as he could was the best
method. That had got a better result than the one with the metal spoon, which
in turn got a better result than the one with the metal knife. Round objects,
or a degree of roundness, appeared to contribute to success, too, Harry
thought. He should try with a metal sphere next.

�� He carried
the ladle upstairs to his workshop, which was filled with everything from
blocks of blades to pegs that carried cloaks, scarves, and other clothes. On
one side was an enormous desk crowded with paper. Harry rooted through the
parchment, found the list of notes he was looking for, and began noting the
image that had appeared around the ladle down.

�� Harry had
drifted into his project of trying to learn to see spells by stages, at first
getting interested in the Dark Arts that the Aurors focused on, and then in how
one prevented them, and then in how one cured cases of rare curses where their
casters or inventors had been dead for years, and then in what one might do to
invent new spells. Inventing new spells was rare and difficult, and most people
believed that the best wizards created no more than one or two completely
unique ones in their lifetimes. Most of the spells in the margins of the
Half-Blood Prince�s book, for example, had turned out to be variations on
common curses. Harry had learned that at the very start of his investigations.

�� But if one
could see the spells, either by their effects or by an image they would create
that was like a magical signature, then one could start classifying them. And
by changing the image they produced, maybe you could create something entirely
new.

�� Harry had
to study revealing spells, and how those revealing spells worked, and the few
cases already recorded where people could see the signatures of spells, and
then he had to put all the knowledge together and push it forwards. It was
indirect, and Hermione, while she admired his dedication to the research (of
course she did), told him that he would be better off investigating the spells
that already varied a lot and learning how to cast different versions of them
than doing this.

�� But Harry
was interested, and intrigued enough to keep doing it. If he never did anything
else with his life, he was determined to reach this goal. He had only been
studying it for two years, and already he�d made a significant amount of
progress.

�� He stopped
collating the notes when the clock chimed noon, and took up his cloak. He
wanted to grab a quick lunch from the Leaky Cauldron and come back as soon as
he could, while the image around the ladle was still fresh in his mind.

�� When he
stepped into Diagon Alley, though, he knew immediately that something was
wrong. The air around him rang with that particular chill that meant Dark
curses had been recently cast, and there was blood on the cobblestones, he saw
a moment later. Harry drew his wand and crouched back against the wall of the
shop he�d Apparated in by, wondering what was wrong. The Aurors ought to have
been here by now if it was certifiable Dark magic.

�� When he
concentrated, he heard troubled breathing from a few streets away. That was the
only sound. Harry�s eyes narrowed, and he aimed his wand at the cobblestones
where the blood was. �Videtur,� he
whispered.

�� That spell
was reliable for rock, and, sure enough, created the glowing red half-dome that
told him there was a spell near the blood. Harry paused a second, gathered up
his strength, and cast a Finite directly
at it.

�� A
well-prepared Concealing Charm shattered with a noise like a glass bowl
overturning. Harry made out someone lying there under a grey cloak before the
person reared up and shot a curse at him.

�� Harry�s
legs still remembered they had been trained by Aurors, even when his brain didn�t.
He leaped sideways and down, and then rolled around the corner of the shop when
he heard the window above him shatter. Someone screamed and was silent again.
Harry winced. He hoped that his dodging hadn�t meant that someone inside the
shop was hurt.

�� But he had
tried to put such ridiculous guilt aside in the last few years. He couldn�t be
responsible for the safety of everyone in the wizarding world for the rest of
his life. He peered around the corner.

�� Either the
attacker had fled, or the Concealing Charm was back up. Harry could see nothing
on the cobblestones but blood now.

�� He started
to stand, and a hand thrust out from the air right in front of him and dragged
him forwards.

�� Harry
twisted his head to the side, using a different weapon because his wand was too
low and too close to his body, and sank his teeth into the arm that held him.
The person hissed instead of screaming as Harry would have expected and pulled
him closer, through the flimsy barrier of the charm hiding them, which felt
like mist sticking in his eyebrows when he passed it.

�� The person
jerked him up and held him there. Harry blinked, struggling to see past the
pounding blood in his head and the pain of his robe collar cutting into his
throat. They had to have cast a charm
for extra strength, too, he thought hazily. There was no way that an ordinary
adult man, which this bloke looked like, could just hold someone of Harry�s
weight aloft without dropping him.

�� Then he saw
the pointed face, and the wide, crazed grey eyes, and the telltale hair, and he
forgot his careful accounting of spells in his surprise.

�� Malfoy?� he choked.

�� The grey
eyes focused on him, and widened. Harry expected Malfoy to cast him back into
the street and run like hellhounds were after him.

�� Instead, he
put Harry on the ground and stood there staring at him. Harry shivered. He had
never encountered someone who studied him that way before. He was used to
hero-worship, lust, admiration, and any number of varieties of hatred from
people who had been Death Eaters, but Malfoy looked as if Harry controlled the
air he breathed and might cut it off at any moment.

�� Malfoy
lifted a hand that trembled and cupped Harry�s chin. His thumb stroked Harry�s
cheek. His eyes were dark with something other than fear now, and he breathed
out, causing the breath to raise the tiny hairs on Harry�s face that were all
that remained of his stubble at this time of the day.

�� Malfoy?�
Harry squeaked the name this time.

�� Malfoy
leaned forwards, eyes still fixed, and kissed him.

�� Harry had
never felt something so bizarre. Malfoy and he might have been lovers for
years. Malfoy�s tongue sought carefully along his lips, tapping now and then to
encourage them to open. His hand remained gentle and coaxing on Harry�s face.
He pressed close and shook.

�� Not just
lovers for years, Harry thought, but lovers separated by a shipwreck who had
stood no chance of seeing each other again.

�� He wrenched
himself back to the present when Malfoy pressed against him, moaning like a cat
in heat, reaching down Harry�s chest to his groin. �I don�t know what�s going
on, Malfoy,� he said firmly. He could have wished his voice was firmer, but
better soft than silent. He cleared his throat. �I think you�re the victim of a
spell. I need to get you to St. Mungo�s. We�ll decide what to do when��

�� Malfoy
pressed his mouth back into place, silencing Harry again, and thrust a knee
between his legs.

�� It was that
which fully convinced Harry Malfoy was under a spell. He couldn�t imagine
Malfoy doing something so crude and�and unsophisticated
in public of his own free will. Yes, he might have made a bet, but even
then, Harry thought the git would still have tried to lure Harry into a side
alley before trying this.

�� Harry had
never let go of his wand, and it was simplicity itself to place it against
Malfoy�s ribs and cast a Stunner. Malfoy�s eyes crossed and he slumped into
Harry�s arms, head dangling as if he were a slaughtered cow. Harry had no
choice but to catch him, trying valiantly not to yelp.

�� When he
looked down, he thought Malfoy�s eyes were watching him with wordless anguish.
But he was unconscious by then, so they couldn�t have been.

�� Harry was
disturbed anyway as he wrapped his cloak around Malfoy and prepared to Apparate
to St. Mungo�s.

*

�� Draco came
back to himself as if he was putting together a puzzle. Disconnected pieces of
grey and black, void and reality, floated into being and then joined each other.
Without being aware of when he started to make sense of his surroundings, he
realized that he was listening to a conversation about him.

�� worried
about him, I can understand that,� said one voice, harsh and impatient. It was
the kind of voice that made Draco want to reach down and make sure that his
robes were clean, just on general principles. �But it�s not your problem, Mr. Potter, frankly. You
can go home and not be troubled with it again.�

�� New pieces
joined the puzzle suddenly. Draco remembered what he had done when he was under
the influence of lust as powerful as drunkenness, and groaned.

�� He could
hear the people having the conversation turning towards him, but he didn�t
care. He�d resisted the compulsion to seek out Potter and drown the burning
thirst in his throat with a kiss of those lips for a week. What had changed? He
couldn�t even remember the moment when he had broken down.

�� Malfoy?�

�� He had to
face this, Draco thought dismally. There could be nothing worse than the first sight.
The disgust on Potter�s face when he heard the source of the problem wouldn�t
be greater than it was right now. He turned his head and opened his eyes.

�� Potter
leaned against the bed, arms folded, studying him. He looked mildly interested,
as if Draco was an academic problem, not disgusted. Draco shuddered and had to
close his eyes again after all. With one side of his vision, he could see
Potter as he was�scruffy robes and mangled hair and all.

�� With the
other side, he saw nothing but a feast. He could dream of licking those lips,
biting that throat, shutting those eyes with kisses, mouthing that hair. He dug
his fingers into his arms.

�� A
half-hysterical laugh bubbled up his throat. After all, digging his fingers
into his arms was where the spell was leading him.

�� Malfoy,�
Potter said, and it wasn�t accusing. �What happened? Do you want to tell me?�

�� The woman
fluttering behind Potter, who was the other person Malfoy must have heard
speaking, cleared her throat importantly. �You don�t need to tell him that,�
she said. �And you don�t need to listen, Mr. Potter. I told you. We�re the ones
who�ll have to deal with this problem.�

�� I think
Mr. Malfoy should tell me what it is if he wants to,� Potter said. He sounded
unmoved by the Healer, or mediwitch, or whoever she was. �I can think of a few
different spells that might make him do this, but I don�t know which one it
is.�

�� Draco
frowned with surprise. Potter sounded like a researcher, as if he had done work with lust spells in the past. It
was not at all the way Draco had expected to find him.

�� Then again,
he would have liked not to care if Potter was lost at sea. The spell didn�t
give him that option, though.

�� It�s Nova Cupiditas, Potter,� he said. �You
must have heard of that, since so many of your precious half-bloods and
Muggleborns have been casting it on people like me.�

�� Potter
caught his breath. There was a sound of movement, and Draco strained his ears,
expecting that Potter would retreat from the room now. Instead, a hand landed
on his shoulder that might have been intended as comforting, squeezed, and withdrew. Draco looked again, utterly
startled.

�� I�ve heard
of it,� Potter said levelly. His eyes were grim, but they had strength in them,
and Draco responded to that strength with a flutter of hope in his chest before
he thought about what he was doing. �It�s the curse that makes you lust after
someone you would usually hate, and if you don�t get the lust fulfilled, then
you start�mutilating yourself.�

�� Draco
nodded. �This curse is hunger, Potter,� he said softly. �If the hunger can�t be
fulfilled one way, then I�ll take it out another way.�

�� But if you
do�fuck the person you�re thinking of,� Potter said. He flushed, but Draco had
to give him credit for using the word. �Then the lust retreats, but returns in
a short time, and the time keeps getting shorter and shorter in between bouts
of sex, right? Until you end up going mad and tearing yourself apart anyway,
because you can�t possibly have sex with the other person fast enough.�

�� Draco
nodded a second time. He did wonder where pure, innocent Potter had learned
about that curse, but then again, it had been in the papers since the vigilante
Mudbloods started to use it as a means of punishment. It wouldn�t have been
impossible for Potter to gather the details. �And it�s usually not sex,� he
added, �since they�re using it to punish us by making us desire enemies. It�s
rape.�

�� Potter
nodded, eyes and expression distant. Draco rolled over on his side so that he
could stare at the wall and not reach out to satisfy the thirst with just one
kiss.

�� No one can
remove it?� Potter asked.

�� Draco was
sinking back into despair. He had the impression that Potter was trying to find
a loophole in the curse�s description, but there was none. Draco knew there
wasn�t. �No,� he said. �Not even the caster.�

�� Potter
gripped his shoulder again. Draco had to turn towards him, had to, because even that brief touch made him feel more real and clear-minded
than he had in days.

�� I use
experimental magic to let me see the signatures of spells themselves,� Potter
told him. �It�s not perfect yet, except for some of the more common spells, but
I could�I could try to find out what Nova
Cupiditas looks like. I could try to discern its shape. Once I can do that,
I usually know what it takes to banish a spell.�

�� Hope had
sharper talons than despair, Draco found. He clutched at Potter�s arm, and
said, �You can�t.�

�� I can
try,� Potter said. His face had a shadow of anger on it now, which Draco
thought was the distant edge of a storm. �It�s not right that you be forced to go mad or be made into a rapist because
someone thought you didn�t suffer enough during the war. And it�s not right
that I be made into a rape victim or a murderer�or a rapist myself, which I
would become if I had sex with you when you can�t really agree. We both deserve
to be fully human.�

�� Draco had
never called Potter a savior except in jest. He might be inclined to start
taking that title more seriously now.
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Nova Cupiditas