Chapter Seven of 'Keep This Wolf'- Resist The Temptation
Chapter Six.
Title: Keep This Wolf (7/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Warnings: Creaturefic (Harry is a werewolf), violence, some gore, angst
Rating: R
Summary: Draco knows full well that he’s being set up. There is no other reason to pull an Unspeakable out of the Department of Mysteries and assign him to negotiate with a werewolf pack. But when he learns the werewolf leader is Harry Potter, Draco wonders if the setup isn’t a different kind than he anticipated.
Author’s Notes: A fic for enamoril, who asked for a story like my “Business Meetings,” where Draco is the leader of a group of vampires and Harry their Ministry-appointed negotiator, but reversed, with Draco as the negotiator and Harry as the werewolf. This story will be updated every Tuesday until it’s finished. The title comes from the poem “Wilderness” by Carl Sandburg:
THERE is a wolf in me … fangs pointed for tearing gashes … a red tongue for raw meat … and the hot lapping of blood-I keep this wolf because the wilderness gave it to me and the wilderness will not let it go.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Seven-Resist the Temptation
Draco raced into his guest quarters and locked the door behind him with a charm. Then he took one of his artifacts from his belt, a glass key that would only look delicate to undiscerning eyes, and aimed it at the door. When he murmured the trigger word, Invisible Heldeson’s name, the key glowed. A second later, the door glowed in answer.
There. Anyone who tried to break in now would have some surprises so nasty that they wouldn’t persist.
Draco flopped back on his bed, shaking. Then he buried his head in his hands and wrestled his emotions back under control. He could do this, he could. He knew he could. He had been through similar exercises in Unspeakable training, where the instructors would inflict intense illusions on them to stir up anger or fear or excitement, and then see how fast they could get themselves calm again.
A few deep breaths, a few soothing rubs of his hands over his temples, and Draco knew that his face had stopped flushing. He could speak steadily, if someone asked him to. He could fold his hands in his lap, and they weren’t shaking.
But the reaction of his body below the waist was harder to get back under control.
Draco closed his eyes and counted breaths. He knew he was hard, but that did not matter. What mattered was the passage of air in and out of his lungs, the way that his chest heaved, the precise placement of the creases in his robes beneath his hands.
Slowly, slowly, both his excitement and his erection shrank. He could still think of Potter forcing the young werewolf to her knees and looking into her eyes; he had to. That might be important to the way that Potter intended to tame Thornsberry, and thus to the report Draco had to make to the Unspeakables. But he had to handle this without undue interest on his part.
There should never have been interest in the first place, except the cool kind that any Unspeakable would show on encountering a new branch of magic for the first time. The ability of werewolves to tame werewolves was new. Draco could admit that. It was interesting. He could admit that, too. Until now, he had thought that only a werewolf who bit someone could tame and soothe them like that, and that was if they made a Scion the way Greyback had made Thornsberry.
Potter’s ability to tame a werewolf he hadn’t turned-as far as Draco knew-did make it more likely that he could take charge of Thornsberry. But he wouldn’t make assumptions. He would turn the matter over in a report to Invisible Heldeson and see what she thought of it.
Someone knocked on his door.
Draco sighed. He wanted to leave the locking charms up, but the magic he had used through the key could harm the werewolf who tried to open the door, and the last thing Draco wanted to risk was a diplomatic incident. “I’m here,” he called, and used the key to reverse both kinds of magic he had cast on the door.
He didn’t get up to open it, and after long seconds, as though the person on the other side was waiting for him to do that, it swung open on its own. Draco made sure to render his expression as bland and indifferent as possible.
That became a little harder to do when Potter entered the room and leaned against the wall, gazing at Draco as if he was the most interesting thing in the universe.
Draco lifted his chin higher and higher, showing off his throat. Wasn’t that supposed to be a submissive gesture? Potter might pay attention to that instead of the quickening of blood in Draco’s body, or the hormones surging through it.
“I thought we were trying to get over acting like our childish selves,” Potter said. “Running away without saying a word, just because you were disgusted by what you witnessed, isn’t acting like much of an adult.”
Draco felt himself flush again, and he opened his mouth, not sure whether he would speak with absolute politeness or not. But at the same moment, he saw Potter lift his head and sniff.
He gave Draco an incredulous stare.
Draco’s flush had deepened to the point where his cheeks hurt. But he would still try to save what little face he could. “I agree that it was unprofessional,” he said, and thank Merlin, his voice was calm. “But that just makes it all the more obvious I shouldn’t have been chosen for this task. Let me go back to the Ministry, and they’ll choose someone else to send instead, someone who will be better for it.” He made to stand up.
Potter reached out and touched his arm. Draco winced. The hand felt hotter than it should, and he knew it wasn’t because a werewolf’s skin was always warmer than a human being’s. The extra heat shimmered in Potter’s eyes, as well. Draco dreaded the words that would come out next.
“Wait.”
Draco waited, glad to have a clear course to follow. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so fucking relieved to hear an order; Potter wasn’t Invisible Heldeson and shouldn’t have any right of command over him. But this day had gone from bad to worse, and all within the span of one hour.
“I was trying to show you, through Lisa, that I have the magic to make a werewolf feel calm and cooperative and part of the pack,” said Potter, taking his hand back and prowling a short distance away. He didn’t look as though he was leaving, though. “That’s the magic that will tame Thornsberry.”
“Ex-expecting me to believe that, when you have people like Ninian running around who disdain you, is ridiculous,” Draco said. “If you really had it, you’d use it on them, and break through the opposition.”
“I won’t use it on someone who’s not willing.”
“And you expect Thornsberry to simply be grateful about it?”
Potter smiled a little. “No, but I do think that he would welcome a place in a pack, and that’s enough reason for me to try. If he challenges me or argues with me or can’t be overcome by my power, then I’d allow the Ministry to take him back.” He shrugged when Draco went on staring at him, as if he didn’t understand what the problem was. “I don’t know for sure if I can work. I’m just mostly sure that it will.”
Draco shook his head. “This is bigger than me. You need to get someone from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement here, someone who can tell you if that’s even legal-”
“But I thought you were supposed to persuade me out of keeping Thornsberry, or trying to claim him.” Potter took a single, intent step forwards. “Why would the reason I think I can control him matter?”
“Stop,” said Draco. Potter hadn’t actually taken another step towards him, but he knew what would probably happen if he did.
“I wasn’t moving.”
Draco flashed Potter a glance that he knew was hostile. He didn’t fucking care. He had already been embarrassed and cornered often enough that he was thinking about walking away from the whole thing. Some of the Unspeakables received training similar to the Aurors’; they could figure out from their knowledge of intrigue in the Ministry who would have suggested Draco for this ridiculous negotiation. They could talk to Potter. They could figure out whether Thornsberry would be susceptible to his magic. The only thing Draco knew for sure was that someone else could do this.
“I don’t know why you reacted to my magic,” Potter continued, calmly. “Only werewolves are supposed to, and it works best with werewolves who’ve already joined the pack and accepted my authority.”
“Then I wonder why you’re so confident that it’ll work with Thornsberry,” Draco had to interrupt.
“But I didn’t mean for it to embarrass you,” said Potter. “You’re not the first to react that way, either, even if you are the first non-werewolf. That’s one reason Lisa didn’t want to do it in front of you.”
Draco stared at Potter with unblinking eyes, but only ended up blinking himself when Potter continued being blandly uncomprehending. “Then why did you ask her to do it in front of me? Do you enjoy subjecting your pack to tests of their loyalty or something?”
Potter shook his head. “Of course not. But I did want you to see what weapon I’m going to use against Thornsberry.”
Draco closed his eyes. “And it also turned out to be a weapon you could use against me.”
“I never meant to embarrass you. I won’t use it against you.”
Draco opened his eyes at once, hearing those words. And yes, it hadn’t been his imagination. They came from closer. Potter had moved towards him and was standing there with heavy-lidded eyes, staring at Draco.
“Stay away from me,” Draco whispered, and waved his wand in a single half-circle, a variant of a Summoning Charm he’d stumbled across in an old book and perfected. Every single thing that belonged to him flew over to him, except the belongings he’d put in the locked and warded trunk. That only rattled. With a muttered hiss, Draco cast the Dissolving Charm on the side of the trunk, and then he really did have everything he’d brought with him. “Stay the fuck away from me,” he added, when Potter looked as if he would take another step towards him.
“Such harsh words.” Potter put a hand flat on his chest in what looked like mockery, but he was watching Draco with surprising intensity. “I’m wounded.”
“You’re not,” said Draco, and discovered that there was bitter saliva on his lips. He shook his head and turned away from Potter. “You can call someone else out here to explain your theories to them. I’m done.”
As he moved past Potter, Potter raised a single hand and said, “Please. Listen to me. I didn’t mean to embarrass you. I never had a reason to think that you would have that reaction to my magic because only werewolves do. Will you please listen to me?”
Draco glared at Potter. Potter glared back.
And the scent of his magic still hung around him-it must be strong if Draco’s unsophisticated nose could smell it-laden with some of the same darkness and warmth and power that had hit Draco earlier. He had thought at the time what it would be like to be held, to be soothed, the way that Potter was holding the werewolf. He had been excited, of course he had, but the possibility of understanding and comfort was even more attractive.
He didn’t know what he would do if he stayed here another moment. He was being unprofessional and rude by running, but that was nothing next to the damage that might otherwise result. He bolted for the Apparition point.
*
Harry lowered his hand, blinking hard. It felt as though Malfoy still stood in front of him. Well, scent could do that, and Harry had learned in the last few years to use his nose almost as much as his eyes.
What was he so afraid of?
Harry shook his head. He was sure that it went back to what he had thought before: that the Unspeakables had sculpted Malfoy, formed and used him for their own ends. And deformed him. They had made him so embarrassed and uptight that Harry found it hard to see any trace of the boy he had once known in him.
Well, okay. So both the young Malfoy and the present one were easily embarrassed. That was one way they were similar.
But Harry didn’t think most Unspeakables would have fled from his magic, even so. They would have lingered to talk about it, capable of analyzing their own responses and wondering why they’d had them. Then again, most Unspeakables would have been either volunteers or here for a discernible reason. It did seem that Malfoy had no idea why he might have been chosen, and no desire to stay here and find out.
“Are you being unfaithful to the attraction between us, Harry?”
Paracelsus was clinging to the roof of the guest quarters, and tilting his head down so that Harry could see him through the window. Harry rolled his eyes. “You know that you’re still the only one I would invite to drink my blood, if I ever invited anyone.”
“I know that. I only wanted to confirm.” Paracelsus scuttled a bit closer, his fingers clinging to the wood and stone with an ease Harry thought only centipedes could match. “Why did the young Malfoy flee, then, if he didn’t fear my retribution for his infidelity?”
“I don’t know exactly,” said Harry. “I only have theories, and all of them are too young to be shared.”
“I love tender young things,” said Paracelsus, and paused hopefully. When Harry didn’t respond, he sighed and went on. “That may be the kind of thing I can go to the Ministry and find out. Including who assigned Malfoy to the Thornsberry case?”
“You heard that, too?” Harry shook his head. “I should give up on anything remaining private in this pack, I suppose.”
“You might want to consider cleaning yourself a bit before you venture back among your followers. They’ll smell the scent of arousal.”
“I only touched Malfoy once,” said Harry, and sniffed at his hand a bit. No, none of the scent clung there.
“I was referring to the arousal that belongs to you.”
Harry stared up at Paracelsus, eyes narrowed. He had been too focused on Malfoy and Lisa to think much about what he was feeling himself, but it was true that his body felt focused, his senses narrowed, the way they did when he was hunting. He normally didn’t feel it when he was human.
And, well, he wouldn’t have expected to feel it with Malfoy, either. He never did with Lisa or the other werewolves that he had soothed and gave a sense of home with his power. Why for a non-werewolf?
He was still musing about that when Paracelsus struck.
Harry leaped aside, muscles functioning better than his brain at the moment, and Paracelsus, who had torn through the window of the guest quarters, slammed into the opposite wall, the one behind Malfoy’s bed. Harry pictured Malfoy lying there for a moment, trying to deal with a suddenly intruding vampire. He growled.
“I do prefer your smell when your blood is up.” Paracelsus crouched on his haunches, eyes dilated and nostrils working hard enough that Harry was a little revolted. Then he moved in one of those blurs of speed that vampires were famous for.
Harry had already chosen where he wanted Paracelsus to go, and simply activated the trap with a sweep of his wand as he sprang aside. The wards on the inside of the guest quarters, not usually active because they would seal a guest into the room until a pack member released them, engaged with a hiss. Paracelsus cried out as they formed in a net of white light between the bed and the wall, curled around his limbs and his neck, and bound him to the floor.
“I don’t appreciate your offer of help when it comes with conditions like this,” Harry told him, sauntering over to inspect him. Showing the weakness of fear would only cause Paracelsus to attack again. “I’ll investigate Malfoy on my own. They probably do have a strange reason for assigning him to this case, but I think we’ll find out easily enough.”
Paracelsus twisted his head and hissed at him. “I have friends in the Ministry who could obstruct your search.”
“That you do,” Harry agreed. “But I’m willing to overlook this attack. It’s just your way. However, if you block me, you’ll never taste my blood.”
Paracelsus went motionless in that way only a vampire could, as if he had suddenly become stone. Harry waited. He had nothing to lose by holding still, and in the meantime, he could inspect the wards and make sure they didn’t need to be renewed.
“You are pretending that you still have a serious offer for me?” Paracelsus whispered.
“Yes,” said Harry. “If you’re strong and clever enough to take it, then I’d let you. But if you block my investigation into what’s going on with Malfoy, then I’ll be happy enough to just kill you.”
Paracelsus bowed his head to the floor, between his spread hands. “Forgive me, great master. I did not mean to presume.”
“You’re an idiot sometimes,” said Harry. “Do I have your promise that you won’t interfere with anything I do in the Ministry?”
“You have my promise that I’ll go back to the Ministry and bring you the true information on Malfoy that it might take you months to get.”
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“I will,” said Paracelsus, and his eyes were as soft as the forest. “For a chance to taste your blood, I’ll do anything.”
Harry considered it, then shrugged. At least he thought that Paracelsus had taken his threat to deny him his blood seriously, and so he was unlikely to interfere with the questions that Harry asked. Whether he would actually help was a different matter. “Fine. I’m going to let you go now. Attack me again right now, and we’ll consider the promise null and void.”
He lifted the wards by drawing his wand down in front of him. Paracelsus rose to his feet, bowed, and leaped through the window. Harry listened until he was sure that the faint creaking of branches marked him leaving the pack’s territory altogether.
Then he settled back on the bed in the guest quarters and shut his eyes. The lingering scent around him was addictive, dark, warm-the same way that Lisa had described Harry’s own power being.
Aroused? Maybe so.
And that just doubles the amount of questions I have to ask.
Chapter Eight.
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