FTtSoL 12
Title: Faster Than the Speed of Love
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Draco/Charlus
Genre: slash, time travel, soulmate
CHAPTER SIX
It was strange how quickly time moved when he was happy. The days of
torture and despair had seemed to drag on forever, thousands of years
compressed in upon him until he couldn't breathe. But now that he was
full of the joy of living, time flew so fast it made his head spin.
Charlus had accepted a position at the Ministry and was quickly
climbing up the ranks. Something to do with his inherent Potter charm
and his sheer determination to succeed. It made Draco's chest warm to
realize that Charlus was doing everything he could to see him happy.
Hadrian was growing everyday, and at two years he was a laughing,
talking child. He was no longer a baby but a toddler, inquisitive and
full of Potter charm.
That Potter charm. Draco had completely fallen for it, and he didn't
even try to catch himself. He wanted to fall and fall forever, until
he was bound so tightly to Charlus that they could never be parted.
And that's how he knew he was in love.
The sex was literally magical, with his veela powers resulting in
scorch marks across the ceiling as he had some of the greatest orgasms
of his life. He and Charlus were quick to discover that his veela
affinity to flame manifested sometimes when he ejaculated. Charlus had
invested in flame-proof paint and furniture polish. He'd also learned
to duck when Draco's hair started whipping around in a metaphysical
wind storm. There were usually a few small fireballs that flared to
life just above Draco's head and shot off in unguided directions as he
released.
Draco had spoken to some healers in the veela community and he'd
learned a lot about his new species. Like that male veela were
extremely rare due to wizards hunting them for sport. Female veela
reproduced asexually in the wild, or if they mated with a human the
veela nature always bred true, so the loss of most of the males hadn't
wiped the veela out.
It was strange to read books about veela and think that they were
talking about him. He was a veela. He was one of the "creatures" they
wrote of like a wild beast or something to be studied in Care of
Magical Creatures. Charlus would hold him when he had his inevitable
bout of hysteria and Draco was so glad not to be alone in the world.
He had Charlus and he had Hadrian and Nigel was a presence that passed
in and out. He was unable to force himself to build much of a life
outside of Potter Manor, but he attended social events with Charlus
and he didn't become a complete shut in.
It was just that every time he saw a crowd of people, after a length
of time he began to see skulls where faces should be and his mind
insisted on flashing terrible memories at him. There were just too
many strangers wearing familiar features running around, and he simply
couldn't stand the thought that nearly every single one of these
people was going to die at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.
The only thing that protected him from his horrible visions was
Charlus' presence. As long as Charlus was there, Draco could gain
strength from their soul bond and hold his position without running
away in terror. He borrowed from Charlus' strength and it ate away at
his loneliness.
He was happy. Happier than he'd been since before he'd started at
Hogwarts. Before he'd been dragged into a war between two powerful men
and the society they nearly destroyed between them.
He'd gone weird the first time he ran across Albus Dumbledore. Even
with the auburn hair and the much younger face, Draco had taken one
look at the man and it had felt as though he were being squeezed tight
between two giant blocks of ice. Charlus had managed to extract him
from the situation and Draco had come back to himself in his bed at
Potter Manor. He'd noticed that Charlus purposely seemed to arrange
things so he never met Dumbledore after that, and he was quietly
grateful.
Then one day he was in Diagon Alley with Charlus, Hadrian dangling
between them by his little hands. He was happy to be lifted up and
down, his legs bunching as he pushed off with his small feet, jumping
as high as he could go.
They were a young family enjoying the beautiful weather. Two tall men
in expensive robes with a laughing child between them. They received
admiring glances wherever they went and there were many people that
wished they could know Charlus Potter or *be* him. He was one of the
most popular scions of any of the noble families and his husband was
said to be a legendary beauty.
The sun was shining and Diagon Alley was full of people. It was an
absolutely beautiful day and Draco was relaxed into his happiness, it
was something he had become used to. He'd stopped flinching at every
sound and peering over his shoulder. He'd begun to believe that this
wonderful life was real and his and the nightmare was over.
Then, the crowd seeming to split around him, Draco saw the face of death.
The man was the kind of handsome that effortlessly drew the eye, but
when Draco looked at that face it was something completely different
that he saw, humanoid and snakelike wrapped up in one, dark and cruel.
The Tom-mask he wore now wasn't real; Voldemort was real, blazing red
eyes and cruel hands that took everything good out of the world.
Draco gasped, the view of Diagon fading to shadow. In front of him
grew the image of the last time he'd seen Harry. The upended bed and
Harry's body still wrapped in the sheet he'd grabbed to cover his
nakedness, the shattered splinters of his wand peppering what was left
of his skin, everything else red-red and white chunks of bone and the
burned ruin of his chest still bubbling and steaming.
Sweat burst out all over Draco's body and he drew in a shuddering gasp
as he returned to the present and focused on the man down the street.
Or boy really, still just a teenager, probably a few years younger
than Draco and not settled into the evil that he would become.
It seemed strangely natural that a haze would settle over his mind,
staring at that beast in human form, and he felt something stirring in
his own heart. Something as natural as breathing that pressed back
against the metaphysical pressure that Tom Riddle exuded, that pushed
and pushed until something finally broke free and it was like tearing
the scab off of some infected wound, ripping it free and letting the
pus and sickness ooze out.
It hurt--oh *Merlin* did it hurt--but it was worth it to be able to
feel clean again.
There was a reason why male Veela, rare though they were, had been
Culled so heavily by the Ministry of Magic and why even in modern
Wizarding times they were still relegated to the Reserves. They were
dangerous, not just up close with fang and claw and fire, but from a
distance.
He could nearly see it rising up from behind him, a scorpion tail with
an acid dripping stinger, swaying side-to-side before lashing forward
effortlessly.
The stinger plunged into Tom Riddle's heart--a sharp impact--and Draco
felt a strange pulsing sensation as his Essence spurted into the man.
It was somewhat like an orgasm, a rush of pressure relief, but it was
an angry thing, angry and vindictive.
Voldemort raped Draco, Draco raped Tom Riddle. It was something like
justice, though twisted and sad.
Tom clutched his chest, and even through the crowd of people between
them, Draco knew down to the bone what he had done and it felt
perfectly right. And when Tom raised his head and his eyes came
naturally to Draco's own, Draco bared his teeth in a fierce grin of
victory. Those blue eyes were blown wide and there was a shattered
expression on that handsome face as he looked at Draco, silently
begging.
Then Draco turned away, reaching down to pull Hadrian's small body up
into his arms and smiled at Charlus. "It's too busy here today. Let's
go home," he breathed.
Charlus looked surprised, but gave him a smile. "All right. If that's
what you want."
Draco let some of the darkness creep into his eyes and his smile went
a bit quirky. "It's definitely what I want." He could feel desire
coiling in his belly and through their Bond he knew Charlus felt it
too, a tinge of pink crawling up Charlus' neck as his breath went a
little fast.
They Apparated home and Draco didn't spare a single glance back at the
ruined Tom Riddle.
* * *
It was strangely easy to fall completely in love with a person like
Draco. To love him so much that it felt right to protect him at all
costs, even from himself.
Two years they'd been together. Two entirely wonderful years where
Draco had slowly but surely begun to heal from his traumas and the
light had returned to his eyes. There'd been a few bumpy spots along
the road, but they were all things Charlus could deal with.
He ensured that Draco was never alone in a crowd of people, knowing
that it could result in one of Draco's panic attacks. It was wrenching
to see the animal madness fill Draco's eyes as he gave into his terror
completely. Sometimes Draco hurt himself in his desperate attempts to
escape, and Charlus refused to see him hurt.
It was the same reason why he kept Professor Albus Dumbledore away
from Draco. He figured the teacher reminded Draco of one of
Grindelwald's followers or something, someone that had hurt him
terribly. Because Draco had taken one look at Dumbledore and his face
had gone dead white, his lips bloodlessly gray. He'd stood there,
staring, then all the light had faded out of his eyes and it was as
though his mind completely fled his body.
Charlus had never been so terrified in his life as he was that night.
He'd gotten Draco home and called in a healer, but there had been
nothing physically wrong with Draco. He'd simply been reminded of
something so traumatizing that his mind had shut down. It had taken
nearly a week for him to come out of it, and he'd blinked and started
talking and it hadn't taken Charlus long to realize Draco hadn't even
realized how long he'd been "gone" for. To Draco it had only been a
few hours.
Draco had been damaged. It was a fact, one that Charlus well recognized.
Draco had been damaged, and somewhere inside he was still bleeding,
still an open wound. He was slowly healing, slowly filling back up
with spirit and life, but his was a very fragile state. Charlus *had*
to protect him.
So when they were walking through Diagon Alley on their way to buy
Draco a new cloak, Charlus knew from Draco's quick changing expression
that something had happened. But he'd agreed with Draco and they'd
gone home and the evening had progressed as usual and he thought that
maybe he'd been wrong.
Until he was working at the Ministry late one evening and he'd
overheard a group of secretaries gossipping in the break room. They
were all young, a few of them just out of school, and it was their
younger member reporting that she'd gotten an owl from her sister and
something terrible had happened to the Head Boy.
He'd been granted special leave to visit Diagon, and someone had hit
him with a mysterious spell while he was on his trip. It was almost
like Amortentia, but it had seemingly driven him mad. He was a
gibbering wreck and they'd locked him away at St. Mungos.
"And the strangest part is what he keeps yelling," the young woman
said. She was encircled by a fascinated group.
"What's he yelling?" a male Ministry aid asked.
"He's yelling that he needs his silver haired god. And he keeps trying
to cut out his own heart to give to him."
There were gasps and murmurs. "Who ever thought that Tom Riddle could
fall for someone like that."
"He's always so cold!"
Charlus moved away from the group before he could be noticed. He was
much too senior to be caught listening in on their conversation, never
mind that some of them were older than him.
He felt chilled to the bone, a dark forboding rising up in his chest.
He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that whatever had happened to
Tom Riddle had something to do with Draco. He *knew* it
He didn't know what tied Draco to a schoolboy, but Charlus would find
out. Then he would protect Draco from anyone or anything, including
Draco himself.
He wouldn't allow Draco to be thrown in Azkhaban. If Draco was
becoming a danger to the public, then Charlus would take him away to
the country and they would live a quiet life. He would find a way to
be happy.
He refused to lose Draco.
Author: Feygan
Fandom: Harry Potter
Character: Draco/Charlus
Genre: slash, time travel, soulmate
CHAPTER SIX
It was strange how quickly time moved when he was happy. The days of
torture and despair had seemed to drag on forever, thousands of years
compressed in upon him until he couldn't breathe. But now that he was
full of the joy of living, time flew so fast it made his head spin.
Charlus had accepted a position at the Ministry and was quickly
climbing up the ranks. Something to do with his inherent Potter charm
and his sheer determination to succeed. It made Draco's chest warm to
realize that Charlus was doing everything he could to see him happy.
Hadrian was growing everyday, and at two years he was a laughing,
talking child. He was no longer a baby but a toddler, inquisitive and
full of Potter charm.
That Potter charm. Draco had completely fallen for it, and he didn't
even try to catch himself. He wanted to fall and fall forever, until
he was bound so tightly to Charlus that they could never be parted.
And that's how he knew he was in love.
The sex was literally magical, with his veela powers resulting in
scorch marks across the ceiling as he had some of the greatest orgasms
of his life. He and Charlus were quick to discover that his veela
affinity to flame manifested sometimes when he ejaculated. Charlus had
invested in flame-proof paint and furniture polish. He'd also learned
to duck when Draco's hair started whipping around in a metaphysical
wind storm. There were usually a few small fireballs that flared to
life just above Draco's head and shot off in unguided directions as he
released.
Draco had spoken to some healers in the veela community and he'd
learned a lot about his new species. Like that male veela were
extremely rare due to wizards hunting them for sport. Female veela
reproduced asexually in the wild, or if they mated with a human the
veela nature always bred true, so the loss of most of the males hadn't
wiped the veela out.
It was strange to read books about veela and think that they were
talking about him. He was a veela. He was one of the "creatures" they
wrote of like a wild beast or something to be studied in Care of
Magical Creatures. Charlus would hold him when he had his inevitable
bout of hysteria and Draco was so glad not to be alone in the world.
He had Charlus and he had Hadrian and Nigel was a presence that passed
in and out. He was unable to force himself to build much of a life
outside of Potter Manor, but he attended social events with Charlus
and he didn't become a complete shut in.
It was just that every time he saw a crowd of people, after a length
of time he began to see skulls where faces should be and his mind
insisted on flashing terrible memories at him. There were just too
many strangers wearing familiar features running around, and he simply
couldn't stand the thought that nearly every single one of these
people was going to die at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.
The only thing that protected him from his horrible visions was
Charlus' presence. As long as Charlus was there, Draco could gain
strength from their soul bond and hold his position without running
away in terror. He borrowed from Charlus' strength and it ate away at
his loneliness.
He was happy. Happier than he'd been since before he'd started at
Hogwarts. Before he'd been dragged into a war between two powerful men
and the society they nearly destroyed between them.
He'd gone weird the first time he ran across Albus Dumbledore. Even
with the auburn hair and the much younger face, Draco had taken one
look at the man and it had felt as though he were being squeezed tight
between two giant blocks of ice. Charlus had managed to extract him
from the situation and Draco had come back to himself in his bed at
Potter Manor. He'd noticed that Charlus purposely seemed to arrange
things so he never met Dumbledore after that, and he was quietly
grateful.
Then one day he was in Diagon Alley with Charlus, Hadrian dangling
between them by his little hands. He was happy to be lifted up and
down, his legs bunching as he pushed off with his small feet, jumping
as high as he could go.
They were a young family enjoying the beautiful weather. Two tall men
in expensive robes with a laughing child between them. They received
admiring glances wherever they went and there were many people that
wished they could know Charlus Potter or *be* him. He was one of the
most popular scions of any of the noble families and his husband was
said to be a legendary beauty.
The sun was shining and Diagon Alley was full of people. It was an
absolutely beautiful day and Draco was relaxed into his happiness, it
was something he had become used to. He'd stopped flinching at every
sound and peering over his shoulder. He'd begun to believe that this
wonderful life was real and his and the nightmare was over.
Then, the crowd seeming to split around him, Draco saw the face of death.
The man was the kind of handsome that effortlessly drew the eye, but
when Draco looked at that face it was something completely different
that he saw, humanoid and snakelike wrapped up in one, dark and cruel.
The Tom-mask he wore now wasn't real; Voldemort was real, blazing red
eyes and cruel hands that took everything good out of the world.
Draco gasped, the view of Diagon fading to shadow. In front of him
grew the image of the last time he'd seen Harry. The upended bed and
Harry's body still wrapped in the sheet he'd grabbed to cover his
nakedness, the shattered splinters of his wand peppering what was left
of his skin, everything else red-red and white chunks of bone and the
burned ruin of his chest still bubbling and steaming.
Sweat burst out all over Draco's body and he drew in a shuddering gasp
as he returned to the present and focused on the man down the street.
Or boy really, still just a teenager, probably a few years younger
than Draco and not settled into the evil that he would become.
It seemed strangely natural that a haze would settle over his mind,
staring at that beast in human form, and he felt something stirring in
his own heart. Something as natural as breathing that pressed back
against the metaphysical pressure that Tom Riddle exuded, that pushed
and pushed until something finally broke free and it was like tearing
the scab off of some infected wound, ripping it free and letting the
pus and sickness ooze out.
It hurt--oh *Merlin* did it hurt--but it was worth it to be able to
feel clean again.
There was a reason why male Veela, rare though they were, had been
Culled so heavily by the Ministry of Magic and why even in modern
Wizarding times they were still relegated to the Reserves. They were
dangerous, not just up close with fang and claw and fire, but from a
distance.
He could nearly see it rising up from behind him, a scorpion tail with
an acid dripping stinger, swaying side-to-side before lashing forward
effortlessly.
The stinger plunged into Tom Riddle's heart--a sharp impact--and Draco
felt a strange pulsing sensation as his Essence spurted into the man.
It was somewhat like an orgasm, a rush of pressure relief, but it was
an angry thing, angry and vindictive.
Voldemort raped Draco, Draco raped Tom Riddle. It was something like
justice, though twisted and sad.
Tom clutched his chest, and even through the crowd of people between
them, Draco knew down to the bone what he had done and it felt
perfectly right. And when Tom raised his head and his eyes came
naturally to Draco's own, Draco bared his teeth in a fierce grin of
victory. Those blue eyes were blown wide and there was a shattered
expression on that handsome face as he looked at Draco, silently
begging.
Then Draco turned away, reaching down to pull Hadrian's small body up
into his arms and smiled at Charlus. "It's too busy here today. Let's
go home," he breathed.
Charlus looked surprised, but gave him a smile. "All right. If that's
what you want."
Draco let some of the darkness creep into his eyes and his smile went
a bit quirky. "It's definitely what I want." He could feel desire
coiling in his belly and through their Bond he knew Charlus felt it
too, a tinge of pink crawling up Charlus' neck as his breath went a
little fast.
They Apparated home and Draco didn't spare a single glance back at the
ruined Tom Riddle.
* * *
It was strangely easy to fall completely in love with a person like
Draco. To love him so much that it felt right to protect him at all
costs, even from himself.
Two years they'd been together. Two entirely wonderful years where
Draco had slowly but surely begun to heal from his traumas and the
light had returned to his eyes. There'd been a few bumpy spots along
the road, but they were all things Charlus could deal with.
He ensured that Draco was never alone in a crowd of people, knowing
that it could result in one of Draco's panic attacks. It was wrenching
to see the animal madness fill Draco's eyes as he gave into his terror
completely. Sometimes Draco hurt himself in his desperate attempts to
escape, and Charlus refused to see him hurt.
It was the same reason why he kept Professor Albus Dumbledore away
from Draco. He figured the teacher reminded Draco of one of
Grindelwald's followers or something, someone that had hurt him
terribly. Because Draco had taken one look at Dumbledore and his face
had gone dead white, his lips bloodlessly gray. He'd stood there,
staring, then all the light had faded out of his eyes and it was as
though his mind completely fled his body.
Charlus had never been so terrified in his life as he was that night.
He'd gotten Draco home and called in a healer, but there had been
nothing physically wrong with Draco. He'd simply been reminded of
something so traumatizing that his mind had shut down. It had taken
nearly a week for him to come out of it, and he'd blinked and started
talking and it hadn't taken Charlus long to realize Draco hadn't even
realized how long he'd been "gone" for. To Draco it had only been a
few hours.
Draco had been damaged. It was a fact, one that Charlus well recognized.
Draco had been damaged, and somewhere inside he was still bleeding,
still an open wound. He was slowly healing, slowly filling back up
with spirit and life, but his was a very fragile state. Charlus *had*
to protect him.
So when they were walking through Diagon Alley on their way to buy
Draco a new cloak, Charlus knew from Draco's quick changing expression
that something had happened. But he'd agreed with Draco and they'd
gone home and the evening had progressed as usual and he thought that
maybe he'd been wrong.
Until he was working at the Ministry late one evening and he'd
overheard a group of secretaries gossipping in the break room. They
were all young, a few of them just out of school, and it was their
younger member reporting that she'd gotten an owl from her sister and
something terrible had happened to the Head Boy.
He'd been granted special leave to visit Diagon, and someone had hit
him with a mysterious spell while he was on his trip. It was almost
like Amortentia, but it had seemingly driven him mad. He was a
gibbering wreck and they'd locked him away at St. Mungos.
"And the strangest part is what he keeps yelling," the young woman
said. She was encircled by a fascinated group.
"What's he yelling?" a male Ministry aid asked.
"He's yelling that he needs his silver haired god. And he keeps trying
to cut out his own heart to give to him."
There were gasps and murmurs. "Who ever thought that Tom Riddle could
fall for someone like that."
"He's always so cold!"
Charlus moved away from the group before he could be noticed. He was
much too senior to be caught listening in on their conversation, never
mind that some of them were older than him.
He felt chilled to the bone, a dark forboding rising up in his chest.
He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that whatever had happened to
Tom Riddle had something to do with Draco. He *knew* it
He didn't know what tied Draco to a schoolboy, but Charlus would find
out. Then he would protect Draco from anyone or anything, including
Draco himself.
He wouldn't allow Draco to be thrown in Azkhaban. If Draco was
becoming a danger to the public, then Charlus would take him away to
the country and they would live a quiet life. He would find a way to
be happy.
He refused to lose Draco.