FEST FIC: Draco Malfoy and the Amazing Dancing Bear - Harry/Draco (NC17)

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Title: Draco Malfoy and the Amazing Dancing Bear
Author: quill_lumos
Prompt:Prompt #75 - Inspired by: Snow White and Rose Red.
Pairing(s): H/D
Summary:Draco is lost and lonely, until, one day he meets a creature who will change his life
Rating:NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter, related nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. It all belongs to JK Rowling. Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Brothers and any other entity involved.
Warning(s):a brief scene of attempted non-con
Word Count:14,500ish
Author's Notes:This story is dedicated to someone I know, who’s rather fond of bears. He’s been having a rough time lately so this will (hopefully) make him smile. All my thanks go to my beloved C, without whom this fic would not have been written. All possible remaining mistakes are completely and utterly my own. I hope that whoever made this prompt likes it and that it is something like you were hoping for!


Draco Malfoy and the Amazing Dancing Bear


It was on a Wednesday, at about 3.20 in the afternoon when Draco found the bear. If anyone asked him about it later he maintained that he hadn’t run from the creature, screaming like a girl. He would tell anyone who asked that he might, just might, have let out a small but controlled manly yell. The bear would probably have said something quite different about Draco’s behaviour but, of course, bears can’t talk.

They can make noises, though, noises that sound suspiciously like moans and even Draco, with his well known antipathy to the larger animal-kind, couldn’t ignore a creature in pain – not after everything he’d been though, everything he’d seen. The animal seemed to be tangled in something, something that looked suspiciously like a length of wire, a snare.

He’d go back to the house, that’s what he decided to do. After all, he couldn’t help a bear; it was a large and fierce creature and could tear him to shreds as easily as look at him. He hated big beasts such as this one. They reminded him of that hideous hippogriff, the one that had attacked him in third year. He turned away. The bear would live or not; it was little to do with him.

He walked briskly away for several yards and then he stopped. He didn’t want to go home. The Manor was awful these days and he hated spending any time in it. The Malfoy family had been under house-arrest for over a year and the house felt dead.

His father was a broken man who rarely spoke anymore. Instead he merely shuffled from room to room, his head down, hair unwashed, shoulders bent with guilt and sorrow. Though still beautiful, his mother had definitely lost weight, and her once sparkling eyes were now most often dull and lifeless, her beautiful face slightly gaunt and shadowed in sadness. He couldn’t even blame the house arrest they were under because he knew, and at this thought Draco visibly shuddered, how much worse it would have been had they ended up in Azkaban. They hadn’t, thanks to Harry Potter’s testimony.

Instead, their punishment was confinement by magic to the manor-house and grounds only, and severe curtailment of their own magical abilities – these conditions to be adhered to for a period of two years. They could only perform very simple spells, certainly nothing to defend themselves or to hurt others. This state of affairs would not have been too awful to endure (indeed it hadn’t been too awful at all until a couple of months ago) but for the unexpected presence of Draco’s uncle Rabastan.

Rabastan Lestrange was one of a very few Death Eaters who had somehow escaped capture immediately following the death of Lord Voldemort at the final battle. Too drained of magic by the fighting to Apparate, he fled on foot and had somehow evaded capture for months. Finally he’d hid himself in secret at Malfoy Manor. Caught in the wards that kept the Malfoys in place, Rabastan could no more leave the premises than his family could – the difference being, his magic flowed freely, whilst their magic was bound.

The binding had taken place in a small room in the lowest reaches of the Ministry. A stigil had been wrought on their wrists, knots interwoven in a Celtic design, each one in turn. They had then been returned to their home to serve their sentence alone and essentially forgotten. No one bothered to check on them, nobody cared… as the old saying went: out of sight, out of mind and Draco suspected that if anyone did think of them it was with satisfaction that they’d been removed from society. Thus, isolated from and ignored by the outside world, the Malfoys were left completely to the mercies of mad Uncle Lestrange.

At least the twisted bastard would take care of the bear, Draco thought. He’d kill it. Probably. After he’d made Draco crawl and grovel enough. Draco closed his eyes and tried not to imagine what his uncle might do to a poor defenceless creature, and wasn’t that a very uncharacteristic thought.

Then the bear let out another moan and Draco couldn’t do it… he couldn’t fetch his uncle to kill the bear. At the same time, he couldn’t leave the creature to die either. The bear moaned once more and this time it sounded almost human.

“Alright!” Draco ground out. “Alright. I’m coming. You can stop your bloody whining.”

He stomped over the grass, returning to the hollow in the trees where the creature was tangled in the wires of a vicious snare. His hand shaking with trepidation, Draco approached the bear and took out his wand. He knew he couldn’t cast any strong spells, but he could probably manage to cut the wires trapping the animal in place.

The bear made a sound very like a human whimper and then opened amber eyes to look pleadingly at Draco. Surprisingly, his heart constricted with pity for the creature, an emotion that would until quite recently have been totally unfamiliar to him.

He shuddered, remembering the scenes of people being tortured, seeing his school mates die, especially Vince. So much had happened in the last year, so much had gone wrong, so many people had been hurt, and Draco had coped by switching off his emotions, burying them deep inside where they could no longer hurt him. He swallowed hard and moved closer to the distressed animal. He couldn’t save Vince, he hadn’t been able to protect Hermione Granger, or the Lovegood girl – though he had tried very hard to protect Potter (by not giving him up to the Dark Lord). But there were so many things he hadn’t done, and far too many things he shouldn’t have done. Maybe helping the bear was a step toward ameliorating his intense feeling of guilt?

The bear’s whimper was weaker this time.

“Hey,” Draco said, feeling unbelievably stupid. “Hey… erm… bear?” He moved a little closer, although not so close that the animal would be able to reach him should he manage to free it. “I’m going to try and free you now, okay? So… erm… don’t worry.”

He thought that had probably been enough, for the moment at least. He remembered from Care of Magical Creatures that speaking to animals in soothing tones went a long way towards reassuring and calming them, and Draco desperately wanted this bear to be calm. He just wished he’d had a few more lessons with Professor Grubley-Plank; at least she hadn’t been trying to get her students killed. Unlike that oafish Hagrid, whom Draco normally refused to even think about. He’d never quite forgiven the half-giant for allowing that awful, flying monster to take a chunk out of his arm. And here he was, now, wading in to save a much larger (well much hairier, anyway), slavering beast.

His arm was trembling when he extended it to cast the spell and his mouth was dry. He had always struggled to cast wordless spells, but not this time. The magic worked and the first wire parted as easily as if the trap were made of gossamer. Draco sighed with relief because he knew there was no way he could have formed the words.

The bear rolled itself into a ball and continued to whimper softly to itself. Only when Draco cut the third wire holding it in place did it begin to react. It lifted its head and looked Draco right in the eye. Its own eyes showed white, a sign of fear in animals – something Draco remembered, though he couldn’t have said from where. The fourth wire sprang free and the bear threw back its head and roared showing huge yellow teeth in a gaping red maw.

Draco squeaked, unable to move. He was frozen in place, although his wand arm was still extended, ready to hex the bear should the need arise (providing, of course, he could make his brain unfreeze enough to utter the curse). At that moment the bear pushed itself up and shook its head, the remaining wires falling away as if they were made of cotton thread. Then the bear began to move towards him.

Draco’s world went dark.

He awoke to the feel of something warm and furry wrapped around him, something cold and insistent nudging his cheek… seemingly trying to wake him up. He didn’t know what it was, but he was determined not to open his eyes – because then he would see that he was in the stomach of a bear.

But he didn’t hurt anywhere, so perhaps the bear had swallowed him whole. He moved his hand, whilst keeping his eyes tight shut, trying to feel where he was, if he truly were, in fact, in the stomach of a bear.

“So,” Draco thought to himself, “this is what death is like. It feels like cool grass and... and...

“A cold wet nose?” Draco’s eyes sprang open.

He was lying on his back on wet grass and above him he could see blue sky. Not dead then and not inside a bear either, at least, not for now. He couldn’t move. He’d heard somewhere that bears didn’t eat dead things, they preferred to kill their meals themselves.

He couldn’t remember where he’d heard a thing like that. He’d certainly never deliberately read anything about bears, why would he? There weren’t any in Scotland, even in the Forbidden Forest, and as far as Draco knew there were certainly no bears in Wiltshire. Perhaps it was in one of those Trivial Pursuit games that Millie had made them all play. They’d teased her for her background calling her Muggle Millie, but that had been when they were much younger, before the Dark Lord returned. Before they’d all pretended to forget anything about Millie’s background, because it was safer not to have a Muggle background, they’d played quite a few of her games.

There was something heavy on top of him, pinning him down. He tentatively moved the hand that had discovered the grass as part of its explorations and felt along the object. Whatever it was (the bear?), it was warm and furry and his stroking seemed to please it. The bear made a sound that could have been happy or contented or could have meant it just realised its dinner had woken up. Draco shivered.

“Hello, bear,” he managed to squeak out, patting its arm with shaking fingers. “Thank you for looking after me, but you can let me get up now.”

At his words the bear released him and rolled over to sit a short distance away, staring at him through small amber eyes, as if he were a particularly tasty morsel. Its fur was a deep, dark brown and from this distance it looked like a giant dog. Not that its resemblance to a dog helped Draco very much, he didn’t like dogs either.

In fact, Draco told himself, he hated animals, all animals, and he didn’t know how the heck he’d got himself into this position.

“It’s my own fault I’m in this mess,” Draco told the bear. “You’ve taken advantage of my generous nature and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with you now?”

The bear said not a word. Which was hardly surprising, as it was after all…a bear.

“Right,” Draco told the silent creature. “I’m going to go now and you’re going to stay here. I’ll find you something to eat and I’ll bring it back.”

The bear still didn’t make a sound, it just calmly regarded him, perhaps wondering if Draco had a screw loose, was a few sandwiches short of a teddy-bear picnic. Draco emitted a short laugh at his own internal musings, he couldn’t help thinking the bear might have a point.

“Okay?” he queried, just in case it hadn’t understood.

He was beginning to get worried about himself – after all, he hadn’t had a conversation with anyone who wasn’t his mother, his father, or his mad uncle Lestrange for more than a year. He missed his friends. Heck, he even missed his enemies. He would happily sit down and have a conversation with Granger right now if she happened to wander by, though he would definitely draw the line at Weasley. He wasn’t even sure one could have a conversation with the Weasel. In this respect the bear was definitely better company and that was what was starting to worry Draco – although, right now, the bear didn’t look like it was about to tuck in to a nice chunk of Malfoy.

Tentatively he stood up, ready to make a run for it, just in case. He really wished he could Apparate, but the restrictions wouldn’t allow anything that sophisticated.

The bear didn’t move and Draco let out a sigh of relief. Maybe it would just stay here and he could go back to the Manor and everything would be absolutely fine?

But whichever god had decided Draco’d had things too easy for too long, obviously still had his celestial knickers in a twist because the bear decided to follow him.

He’d scarcely turned around before it had crossed the somewhat scrubby grass till it stood only inches away.

“Nice bear,” he said, patting the air in front of him as if desperately hoping to keep the wretched creature away.

The bear didn’t move, so, carefully… very carefully… he turned around and started to slowly walk away. But the bear didn’t seem to be having any of that, it followed him, like some sort of large shaggy hound; once again Hagrid came to mind, but Draco refused to think about him. Draco stopped and the bear stopped, exhibiting no obvious intention to touch him or attempt to harm him. Did he have some sort of bear charm on him, he wondered? He stepped forward again and, once again, so did the bear. What the hell was he going to do now? The bloody creature was insisting on following him, nose close to his behind, not allowing itself to be shaken free.

Meanwhile, Draco was desperately trying not to think of its slavering jaws and what they might do to him if the creature became hungry enough. He could almost feel his bones crunching beneath huge yellow teeth.

Finally, he’d had enough. He didn’t know how he was going to shake the blessed thing lose. It seemed determined to follow him, warming his heels with its hot, fetid breath. But he had to get rid of it. He dreaded to think what might happen to them both if his uncle found out about the creature? He would torture it, make it suffer, and Draco really couldn’t take any more suffering – not even from a dumb beast.

He whirled round on it, lifting his wand arm to hex the creature, thinking that if he stunned it he could hide it and come back later, maybe bully the house elves into giving him some honey – oh, no, wait a minute… there were no more house-elves (the Malfoys were not allowed any during their confinement). Maybe he could sneak some from the kitchen. He thought he’d read somewhere that bears liked honey. But as he turned around the bear opened its enormous jaws again and Draco whimpered.

But the bear just yawned and sat down again, seemingly happy to watch and wait and see what Draco would do next.

“For Merlin’s sake!” he exclaimed. “Don’t you have a home to go to, you horrible creature?”

The bear’s eyes seemed to sparkle a little and he shook his head, as if to dislodge an annoyance of some sort; he couldn’t be answering Draco’s question… he wasn’t magical, was he? What if he were an Animagus? Though what an Animagus might be doing in deepest, darkest Wiltshire, following a disgraced wizard around the countryside, Draco didn’t have the remotest idea.

“Are you an Animagus?”

The bear just sat and stared. He really was suspiciously tame for a bear. If he’d had his magic, his proper magic, instead of this week as water crap they had left him with, Draco would have forced a reveal. No, his only option was to find someone who would link magic with him, thus boosting the spell and allowing him to check whether or not the creature was magical. Draco sighed, put his wand in his pocket, and went in search of his mother.

He found her in the rose garden surrounded by the intoxicating scent of the flowers. He approached from the woodland walk, the bear still hard on his heels, but Narcissa, intent on her roses, did not notice him approaching. He stood on the edge of the shrubbery and simply watched. Her hair was tied back in a simple chignon and she wore an oversized shirt, one of his father’s he thought, and a simple blue robe. When on her own, and thinking herself unobserved, his mother seemed happier than he’d seen her for a very long time. Happier and more relaxed.

She was dead-heading the roses, trimming them with tender care using a pair of secateurs; she didn’t have the magic to keep using spells. The day had been overcast but the sky was clearing and whilst Draco stood in the shadow of the shrubbery his mother was illuminated by sunshine. She was humming a song he knew well from his childhood, one that had helped keep the bad dreams away.

He stood watching her for the longest time, the bear curled somewhere behind him. He felt strangely unable to call her name, thus bursting the bubble of her obvious contentment. Eventually, however, she turned and saw him.

“Hello darling,” she said, brushing a stray tendril of hair away from her cheek.

She’d already bent and picked up the trug and was heading towards him with a long-legged stride. Although Narcissa’s face became pale and careworn upon seeing him, the relaxed contentment vanishing as if it had never been, Draco still marvelled at how astonishingly beautiful a woman she was… despite all the stresses and horrible pressures they’d been under during the past several months.

“Did you have a nice walk?” she asked, both of them completely ignoring the fact that Draco, at nearly twenty, should not have been wandering the Manor grounds, but, away, living his own life. He should not be trapped in his childhood home, paying penance for crimes far worse than his own.

“Well, I did...” he began, but didn’t get any further because his mother suddenly halted and her eyes widened.

“Goodness, Draco,” she said, obviously astonished. “Is that a bear?”

The bear was sitting in the shrubbery, half hidden by a sweep of leaves, but the creature made no move to come towards them, it sat and watched them warily.

“Er... yeah. I found it, back at the boundary of the property, tangled in a snare.”

His mother raised one of her immaculate eyebrows. “Is it an Animagus?”

“I wondered that too, but I can’t do the diagnostic spell very well, I thought we could do it together.”

“Good idea. Come closer then.”

Draco moved away from the shrubbery so that he was standing close to his mother and covered her wand hand with his own. This was a magical procedure few Muggleborns knew of, this sharing of magic. Pariterus could only work if you had a really close relationship with the person with whom you wished to link. He couldn’t do it with his father, as much as he loved him, but he and his mother could merge their magic quite easily. It was the only reason they had kept Rabastan at bay so far.

Pariterus had at one time been widely practiced, so much so that it was just assumed everyone knew about it. Consequently, over time, the knowledge had somehow become esoteric, a secret known only to very old, pure-blooded families. It had fallen out of general use because it could only be used for short periods of time, and these days many Half-bloods and Muggleborns knew nothing about the possibility of linking magic. Therefore, many professions, such as the Aurors, which could have benefited from such knowledge, were it known, didn’t. Draco couldn’t help thinking this was just as well, because the Aurors who had stoppered their magic would have somehow prevented this too, if they’d thought of it.

He reached over and took his mother’s hand into his own. At the moment of contact his whole arm tingled with power and warmth. It was like coming home. Linked as one, they didn’t need to speak. Draco could feel their intentions merging, as deeply and intensely as he could feel their love for each other. Narcissa extended her wand hand towards the bear; it was sitting watching them suspiciously from its place in the bushes.

Together, without needing to plan or speak, they cast Stupefy.

The bear gradually sagged in place. He was so large that even their combined Stupefy seemed to work in slow motion, but it did work. They waited a few seconds to be sure the bear was helpless and then moved closer. Normally, when creatures were stupefied, they looked smaller. Unlike Petrificus Totalis which left its victims rigid and unable to move, Stupefy seemed to leave them curled protectively as if they were foetuses. But not the bear. Whilst it obviously couldn’t move, it didn’t look any smaller; in fact, it looked even bigger than before.

“Draco, darling!” Narcissa exclaimed, now able to examine the bear more closely. “You could have been in so much danger! The creature looks vicious!”

Draco bristled. He had found the bear to be deeply scary. He’d been both thrilled and terrified when he’d found it. But the animal hadn’t hurt him; it had been quite exciting, in fact, which just showed how sad his life had become.

“It didn’t hurt me,” he felt bound to say.

“But it might have done. We need to test the animal before we do anything else.”

Draco’s stomach churned. He didn’t know why, but he had become attached to the creature. It hadn’t hurt him and he’d never had a pet… and he was so lonely. But his mother was right, they did need to check things out.

Together they performed Faetorus, Animagus Desiit, Exhibio, and several other spells, but nothing worked. The bear, it seemed, was simply a bear.

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be magical,” Narcissa finally said, “but that means I have no idea how it came to be here, or what on earth we are going to do with it. Perhaps we should simply banish it?”

“No!” Draco spluttered. Narcissa raised her eyebrow again.

“I mean, it didn’t hurt me, Mother.”

Narcissa stared at him. Then her gaze softened. “I’m so sorry, darling,” she said, as she reached out and brushed a hand against his cheek. “What we did to you… with our foolishness.”

Draco’s eyes felt gritty and his throat tightened.

“You should be going to parties, starting university, taking a place on the Wizengamot. You shouldn’t be here, stuck with us. I’m so sorry my son,” her voice was soft and sad. Turning her gaze back to the bear she continued, “But I have to do something. This is a wild animal, Draco, and there is no telling what it might do to you if we let it go free.

“It won’t hurt me!” He didn’t know how he knew that, but he did. He’d never been more sure of anything in his entire life. He’d been alone with the bear for almost an hour and the creature could have broken him in two, and yet it hadn’t.

“Nevertheless, Draco, we cannot risk your safety. We don’t know where the thing came from or why it is here.” She lifted her wand and pointed it at the animal, at which precise moment the bear stared deeply into her eyes and a curious expression passed over Narcissa’s face.

“No!” Draco blurted again, ripping his hand away from his mother’s, causing a cold feeling of loss to cascade through him at the sudden loss of contact. “Please, Mummy?” Draco begged.

He never asked his mother for anything. He never needed to for she always seemed to know what he desired before he did. But Draco had rarely wanted anything as much as he wanted to let the bear go, as much he wanted the creature to have its freedom, a freedom he wasn’t likely to see for a very long time.

Narcissa’s eyes filled with tears. Draco hadn’t called her “Mummy” since he’d been six-years-old. She nodded, trying to compose herself, then reached over and took his hand again.

“Finite Incantatum” she whispered.

As soon as the spell was lifted the bear sat up and shook itself looking stunned and somewhat comical.

Draco smiled at it and their eyes met. The bear was glaring at him, accusingly, then it shook itself again and turned and walked away.

Draco felt bereft. He wanted to run after the animal and ask it to come back, beg it not to leave him, but it had vanished into the undergrowth and wouldn’t have heard him if he’d tried.

**********

The Manor seemed even more bleak than usual that night.

Lucius sat opposite Draco, his place at the head of the table being taken by his brother-in-law, or rather the brother of his sister-in-law’s husband. Lucius was not the man he’d once been, probably never would be again. His head was down, thin, grey face framed by lank, greasy hair. He didn’t eat properly anymore and hardly spoke. Draco ached for his father, despite the fact the man had brought it upon himself; he was just so broken, broken beyond mending.

“Eat up, Lucius,” Rabastan said in snide tones, “I’m sure Narcissa worked very hard to make this meal. Such a pity you no-longer have house-elves. It must be such a trial for your dear little wife… cooking and scrubbing and cleaning, ruining those aristocratic hands of hers. And to think, you promised her so much, didn’t you, dear boy?”

Lucius didn’t speak, but his head hung a little lower and he sagged a little more; yet another chip at his self-esteem, not that he had much left these days.

“I am perfectly content, Rabastan. And my hands are just fine.”

“I’m sure they are, my dear,” Rabastan oiled, “and very beautiful, too. You’ll have to show me how talented they are… sometime very soon.”

If Draco hadn’t known his mother as well as he did, he’d have missed her almost imperceptible shudder. She didn’t speak, instead she paid attention to her food, delicately cutting a piece of braised lamb.

“Of course, Draco has hands very similar to yours, does he not? I wonder if he is as talented as his mother?”

Draco’s shudder was harder to hide and Rabastan chuckled at his discomfort, hopefully satisfied for a little while at least.

Draco kept his head down and focussed on his own food. He cut a mouthful sized piece of the lamb that his mother had cooked, pushed it onto his fork with a chunk of potato, dunked his forkful into the thick, rich gravy, and concentrated totally on the process of eating. It tasted like cardboard on his tongue. He was suffocated here, by his father’s grief and his mother’s despair, by the sheer, stark terror that blanketed him in his uncle’s presence.

Rabastan controlled them. He removed their wands whenever they were together; they had to hand them over as if conceding a dual. His uncle knew about Pariterus. No Muggleborn, he was a pureblood, cruel and heartless like so many others had been to Draco in the last year or two. When Voldemort died, and the world rejoiced, the Malfoy’s had merely exchanged one lunatic torturer for another. And the worst of it all, there was simply no one left to care.

Snape might have helped them, if he had lived. Potter… perhaps, if Draco had not alienated him. Bella and Rudolphus would have been worse, actually acting on their threats, something Rabastan hadn’t done as yet. But one day soon… Draco was sure… the innuendo and not-so-subtle little touches would escalate; a circumstance he refused even to think about.

He couldn’t bring himself to think about the past, either, because it was tainted beyond redemption. He dared not think about the future because he wasn’t sure he had much of one. The only time he’d felt even half alive in the last few months had been earlier, in the woods, with an untamed creature, wild and free. He closed his ears to his uncle’s taunting and focussed all his energies on the plate of food in front of him and, as he forced himself to eat, he wondered what had happened to his bear.

**********

It was another three days before he saw the bear again. Once or twice he’d seen evidence of it foraging; he stumbled across a fruit tree that had been stripped bare and the mangled remains of a rabbit. Once he thought he saw its shape in the Himalayan garden, moving slowly amongst the Rhododendrons and the Azaleas. He ran after it, not thinking, just wanting to no longer be alone. He had shouted out apologies and pleas, but it ignored him, if it had ever been there at all.

The bear was not restricted by the wards as they were so, in all probability, it had moved on. Draco had allowed himself to speculate about where it might have come from, perhaps it had escaped from a Muggle circus or zoo; maybe the Muggles had been hunting it? If so, it would have been safe within the boundaries of the Manor, for what restricted them also befuddled Muggles and kept them safe.

He’d never realised just how much land surrounded the Manor until he had to walk around it. Before, he used to be able to fly or Apparate, now he had to walk. He hated seeing all the scars on the landscape, the damage. It was far worse nearer the house: the crater in the front lawn, where there had once been a sunken garden, the broken statues, the fractured sundial. His mother had replanted her roses. That’s why she tended them so carefully, apologising to them for the scars they were still growing out. Sometimes, however, her care seemed almost futile to Draco when there was so much damage everywhere else.

Nothing was the same at it had been when he was a child. The peacocks were gone the way of the house-elves, the formal gardens ravaged; so many parts of the gardens made him sad, achingly sad. But better the gardens than the house, the house was just too bleak these days, soaked in its own despair. Draco gave thanks that it was summer and he could roam free. He didn’t allow himself to think about what winter might bring, when he would be trapped in the mausoleum that had once been his home.

Maybe that was why he felt such a childish glee when, on the third day AB (after bear, as he’d come to call it) and while exploring the grounds near the lake, he rediscovered the small summer house. He’d forgotten it, forgotten it was there, down on the lake, hidden from view by an enormous weeping willow. He’d had picnics there one summer when he was a little boy, with Theodore and Pansy and Greg and Vince.

Poor Vince, Draco tried not to think of him and the awful way he’d died. He tried not to think of others, either, or where they might be now; were they under house-arrest as he was? Or worse, were they in Azkaban? Blaise would be okay, and Daphne. They had been on the winning side – Daphne, openly against Voldemort, had fought alongside Gryffindors at the battle for Hogwarts, and Blaise had helped in the infirmary. But Draco wasn’t allowed to contact any of them. The family Malfoy were allowed to send no more than three owls per week and they used them to order supplies.

Sometimes, in his more churlish moments, he felt like cursing Potter for landing them here, wondering if he would have been better off in prison. When he felt less despairing, he admitted the comfort of the Manor was more than he expected and probably better than he deserved. But he didn’t like to think about it often, so he pushed those thoughts away, too, and packed them in that place in his head marked “not-to-be-considered-not-now-at-least-and-perhaps-not-ever-thank-you-very-much!”

As he approached the summer house he was very conscious of not having his wand and he felt bereft without it. Rabastan had taken to keeping their wands for longer and longer periods each day. Even with the limited amount of magic it was able to perform, it was considerably better than nothing and Draco’s fingers itched with the loss of it. He sighed and locked that thought away, too, because, although he missed his wand, it was useless to pine over it. Besides, he didn’t really need it to enjoy his explorations.

The summer house was built on a little platform in the lake, it was like a crannog, an ancient dwelling that long ago kept people safe. Draco remembered reading about them when he was younger, how wizards used them because they could easily hide their dwellings from Muggles if they were situated on water – a simple disillusionment charm, a little low-lying mist and no-one would know they were there. Draco had found the little house during the summer of this tenth year. The charms, most likely set by his father or perhaps his grandfather, had presumably dissipated over the years. At least they were gone and the little house seemed like a miracle find.

Draco’d had a play-house, of course. It had been a miniature Hogwarts, built within sight of the Manor by demand of his mother. But the summer house had been his secret, his and Pansy’s and Greg’s. They’d forgotten about it the next year because they’d gone to Hogwarts and summer houses seemed childish and not important.

It seemed very important now, though. It could be critical, in fact, a place of safety when the summer ended.

He took a deep breath and moved aside the long, trailing branches of the willow. It had grown a lot since he’d last been here. Once inside the willow curtain, he could see the bridge and his heart began to beat a little faster. He could hide here, the lake couldn’t be seen from the house, large though it was. It was also surrounded by trees and the willow hid the house almost completely from view. From land it could only be seen from one particular spot, and the chances of his uncle standing in it were extremely narrow, particularly as he never left the house if he could help it. In a few more years it would be completely hidden, but for now, the willow branches almost covered the structure as if pulling it closer into its protective embrace.

The bridge still felt sound as Draco tentatively stepped onto it and began to cross, his footsteps deadened by the swishing of the leaves. The windows were dark and gleamed dully and the door lay open wide. For a brief second Draco hesitated, not knowing might what be inside, but then he straightened his shoulders and marched into the house, his house.

Inside it was dusty and a little dirty, painted a dull, creamy white. Windows surrounded him on all sides, green shadow on one side, bright sunlight on the other, and a bench seat topped by a gingham cushion situated to make the most of the views. The house was mostly empty, apart from some cobwebs and a pile of dusty books, but only mostly empty because curled in one shadowy corner, where he’d presumably been dozing, tucked in upon himself as if seeking comfort, lay the bear.

Draco gasped and the bear opened its eyes, which in the gloom were tinged with a greenish glow. In the confined space of the little room, it looked far bigger than it did outside.

The bear growled, a low trembling sound and Draco whimpered, “Oh, shit!”

He should have waited, watched the summer house for a while. He should have known this was where the creature would end up, such was his luck after all.

The bear growled again and stumbled to its feet. Slowly it shambled in his direction, but Draco couldn’t move… he was frozen to the spot.

“I-I’m sorry, bear,” he began, because his spells had driven it away and, Merlin, stupid idiot that he was, he’d missed the furry giant and how pathetic was that? “I wasn’t going to hurt you. I just needed to check you out that’s all.”

The bear was within a couple of metres of him and it sat on its haunches and looked at him, steadily.

“Look,” he continued, grabbing the lunch his mother had made him from its place in his pocket and holding it out for the bear to see. “Are you hungry? I have food.”

The creature tilted its head to one side and continued to regard him, as if Draco were the anomaly here and not the bear. When the animal didn’t move Draco carefully edged closer, still holding out the sandwiches, parchment wrappings curling away.

“P-please.” His voice broke a little. He didn’t know why it was important that the beast took his offering, he just knew that it was. “Please, bear.”

The bear grunted and moved forward to sniff the proffered parcel. Then, surprisingly gently for such a large animal, he opened that huge mouth of his and took the edge of one sandwich before jerking it away and swallowing it whole.

Draco was shaking and he plopped onto the floor right where he stood, ignoring the seating that surrounded him. His legs, it seemed, were not strong enough to keep him standing any longer.

For a long moment he tried to calm himself, concentrating on slowing his breathing. It was a technique Snape had shown him, after they had escaped from that dreadful night on the tower. It helped, a lot, but it didn't to stop his trembling. He couldn't seem to stop it, the paper in his fist rustling madly along with his palsy. Then the bear reached over and brushed its paw against his hand.

Draco squeaked and he closed his eyes; was this it? Was the bear going to eat him? When he thought about it later he was shocked at his feelings, because there had been a part of him that would have welcomed it if the bear had killed him, and how sad was that?

But it didn't. It didn't try and steal any more food, it didn't harm him or make any sudden moves. The low sound it made in its throat was more like a purr than a growl and it struck Draco the creature was trying to comfort him. He swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the hard, cold lump that seemed to have settled in his throat.

"W-Would you like some more?" he finally asked, breaking off a piece of sandwich and holding it out to the animal, palm outstretched, as steady as he could make it. And there was no way he could subdue the smile of triumph that crossed his face when the animal leaned closer and gently took the treat from his hand.

**********

He spent every day with the bear after that. Sometimes the animal wasn’t there when he arrived and then Draco would worry that it didn’t want to see him anymore, that perhaps it had left for good. But if he waited long enough the bear would always reappear, dwarfing the bridge with his sheer size as he crossed to the little house. The house Draco had transformed into a cozy den, a sanctuary for them both. He had raided the attics for quilts and pillows and pictures to hang on the walls and had searched the library for books. He had several of his favourites from when he was a child, some books on magical theory and a dusty battered copy of a book called Mugglamilia, which contained several pages about bears. Draco’s bear seemed to be a European Brown Bear, which was apparently the same species as the American Grizzly and for some bizarre reason there were lots of books about them in the Malfoy library.

He wasn’t totally sure, but he thought his bear was male (he wasn’t planning to do the physical exploration necessary to find out for sure). The book said that males were far larger and his animal was huge. Bears, it seemed, were omnivores and ate just about anything. Draco could have told it that, as it had yet to turn its nose up at anything Draco shared with it, having a particular fondness for sticky buns and tuna sandwiches.

Draco thought they were similar in many ways, he and the bear. Both of them were outside of normal society. Draco had been rejected by the magical world and the bear was indeed (according to the book) a long, long way from home.

“What am I going to call you?” he asked the bear a few days into their new relationship; the bear as usual said not a word. “As you’re a boy, perhaps I should call you Ursus? What do you think of that? Or Bruin? No? Well how about Hairy? Because you are, you know, all hairy and fluffy. You know, you remind me of someone, with that messy fur of yours.” He chuckled to himself. “I know… I know who you remind me of! I have a name! What about Hairy Botter?”

The bear glared at him with an oddly greenish glint in its eyes, surely a reflection from the viridian light of the summer house. Draco dissolved into laughter and the bear cuffed him lightly on the back of his head.

The bear kept him sane. Each night he went back to The Manor and the strained atmosphere, replete with his mother’s worry and his father’s deep shame. He never saw his wand anymore, Rabastan having confiscated it permanently. Somehow his mother still retained possession of hers, although how she managed this he didn’t know. His uncle rose late every day and made inroads into Lucius’ wine cellar and whisky collection, so his mother still seemed safe enough, though Rabastan’s innuendo became less ‘innuendo’ and more ‘blatant insult’ every day. He was constantly making crude comments about Narcissa and brushing up against Draco whenever they passed each other. Draco felt sick to his stomach when he thought about it, but rather him than his mother.

“I hate it so much, Bear,” he told his companion one day. He’d tried a number of names but none of them seemed to fit, so in the end he kept it simple. Bear seemed to approve.

Draco decided he had become quite good at understanding the bear’s funny grunts and snarls. There was the “Yeah, all right then.” and the “Merlin, you are such a wanker!”and the “You have got to be fucking kidding me!”. He wasn’t a huge conversationalist, but Draco reckoned they got by. He was a good listener even if he hadn’t a clue what Draco was on about and he never, ever seemed to judge.

Weeks passed, pleasantly by day, achingly slowly by night and then, all at once, the summer was almost over and there was an autumnal chill in the evening air. Great big shrubs in the borders began to tinge with yellow and gold and the late summer flowers were looking somewhat ragged as they dozed in the heat of the afternoon.

“I think we should run away, Bear,” he said one day when they were laying on the grass, gazing up at the blue August sky.

The bear was lying in a heap not far away from Draco, who had managed to smuggle out a huge picnic basket from which they had stuffed themselves with goodies, including a couple of bottles of beer, leaving Draco feeling delightfully silly. Draco suspected his mother knew exactly where he disappeared to every day and what he was doing – she normally did. But he also reckoned she knew how sad he’d been, how sad he was, except when he was with Bear. In years gone by he’d be getting ready to go to Hogwarts at this time of year. Sadly, Draco couldn’t help thinking he’d never be welcome there again, so he tried hard to ignore thoughts of excited students, not much younger than himself, readying themselves for another term.

“Maybe, if I stayed really close to you, we could fool the wards and escape. Then we could join the circus. You’ve been in one before, haven’t you? Either that or a Muggle zoo. Well, it’ll be better this time, because I’ll be with you. I could teach you some tricks and we’d headline as Draco Malfoy and his Amazing Dancing Bear. What do you think?”

The bear grunted and Draco was sure it was his “Yeah, all right then.” grunt.

“I’m glad you agree; we’ll run away tomorrow. Shall I tell you a secret?” he continued, his words slurring just a little. He’d told the bear lots of secrets over the summer; this bear probably knew more about Draco Malfoy and his sorrows and wishes than anyone else. “Can you keep it safe? Not tell anyone?”

Bear grunted, ”Merlin, you are such a wanker!”

“Sorry, Bear, I shouldn’t be casting aspersions on your integrity.”

“Quite right, too!” the bear growled.

“I’ve not had a friend for so very, very long. And I’ve never had a friend that I chose for myself. Isn’t that stupid? All my life my father decided who were the right people for me to be with. Then, when I was eleven, I met this boy.” Draco could feel himself smiling. “He was so different from anyone I had ever met before and I really, really liked him. He was really scruffy and he didn’t seem to know anything about the magical world.”

“Well, most people don’t!” the bear insisted.

“True,” Draco agreed. “But I blew it, you see. I insulted his friend, though I didn’t know it at the time. Come to think about it, you’d like his friend. He loves animals. He’d love you.” Draco rolled over and ticked his bear’s furry head. “I tried again, just a bit later, but I was a stupid brat and I just expected him to want to be friends with me. And I insulted another friend of his… you think I’d have learned, huh?”

“I don’t blame you insulting that ginger git,” the bear commented. Draco grinned when he imagined the bear saying that.

“No, but it was stupid. I mean, I’m supposed to be Slytherin. The trouble is, Bear, that I’m still obsessed with him. For years I did my best to make him notice me. I was really horrible to him, Bear, because if he hated me then at least he wasn’t ignoring me; he knew I existed.

“The he saved my life. There was this fire and my f-friend, V-vince, he died. He was one of those friends I told you about earlier, one that my dad chose for me, and he really was a bit of a nasty git, but he didn’t deserve to die like that. Neither did I, and I thought I was going to, but this boy flew in on his broom, like a story-book hero, and saved my life.”

Draco burped loudly and felt something gently brush his cheek. It was only then he realised his cheeks were wet with tears.

“I dream about him, Bear. In my dreams he doesn’t leave me behind, in my dreams he takes me with him.”

“But he wouldn’t want me, even if he didn’t hate me. He’s straight and enamoured of that Weasley brat and he’d probably hate me even more if he knew that Draco Malfoy, ‘likes to take it up the arse!’”

He scrubbed crossly at his damp face and choked back a sob. Suddenly he was being smothered by bear, as the animal wrapped him in an embrace and hugged him close. Draco dissolved. He sobbed and sobbed, wailing his sorrow against the huge furry chest of the animal who’d become his only friend. He cried for Vince and for the people he’d seen die, for the losses and for his terror, and for the fact that he felt so alone.

He must have slept, curled against the bear, because when he awoke it was dark and cool. The grass on which he was lying, felt slightly damp.

“Oh Merlin!” he gasped. “Oh Bear, what the fuck am I going to do? Rabastan will go mad.”

He was breathing fast, his breath hitching, his heart pounding in his ears. He didn’t stop to smooth his rumbled clothing or collect the remains of his picnic; he simply ran. All he could think was what might happen to his mother if he wasn’t there. Rabastan had been getting worse and worse with every day that passed. Draco feared what the consequences of his extended absence might be.

The sun had long set and it was pitch black, the clear skies of earlier, were now filled with dark, angry clouds. Draco could hardly see where he was going and several times he slipped and fell, twisting his wrist, on one occasion, as he tried to break his fall. He sobbed again as he rounded the corner of the gravel path, falling for a final time and then staggering into the entrance hall.

“Ah, Draco, there you are. My goodness, gracious, what have you been up to? Look at the state you are in.”

Rabastan was standing in the large foyer, waiting for him. In his hand he held a glass of whisky, a very large glass. He moved over to stand close to Draco, too close. Draco backed against the wall and Rabastan leaned against it, his arm pinning Draco in place… his hot fetid breath on Draco’s cheek, the stench of alcohol filling his nostrils.

Breathing hard, Draco knew he looked a mess. Maybe he could use that to get away? “I’m sorry that I’m late, uncle,” Draco panted. “I fell asleep. I’ll go and take a shower.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” his uncle purred, leaning closer and sniffing his neck. You smell of the woods and I like that, Draco. You are such a dirty little boy. I do like dirty little boys.”

At some point in his journey across the hall, Rabastan had deposited his whisky glass onto a convenient piece of furniture, because his hand was free to cup Draco’s balls and squeeze. Draco whimpered.

“Please.”

“Oh, yes, Draco. You are going to please me. You’re going to please me very much. I’ve been looking forward to this for a very long time.”

“M-mother? What have you done with my father and mother.”

“Don’t worry about them, pretty boy. I’ve taken care of them. They won’t be objecting to anything I might choose to do to you, my pet.” He drew his wand along Draco’s cheek, cutting a very thin line into Draco’s skin. Draco whimpered again.

“I’m going to make you even dirtier than you are now,” he whispered, his voice low and menacing. “You’ll be so very, very dirty that you’ll never be clean again.”

Draco gasped as his uncle squeezed his balls again, tightly. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see what was going to come next… only to open them seconds later at the sound of splintering wood and breaking glass, immediately followed by an enormous crash. His uncle let go of him and spun round in alarm. Standing in the space where the door had once been there was an enormous and very enraged, huge brown bear.

The animal barged into the room, standing incredibly tall on its hind legs, and Draco later swore it was roaring, so loud was its growl. He had always known his bear was a big animal, but now it looked like a giant, mythical creature… terrible in its rage.

The bear lunged towards Rabastan and then, with one swipe of the animal’s huge clawed paw, Draco’s uncle was flying back against the far wall. He hit it with a crunch and slid down to the floor leaving a glistening red trail along the cream panel against which he landed.

Draco couldn’t move. He stood frozen watching as the creature, with another ear splitting bellow, surged forward in pursuit. Then it seemed as if everything was moving in slow motion. The bear, still on its hind legs, was almost upon Rabastan where he lay crouched in a heap, shaking with terror. The man’s eyes were wide with horror, but he was obviously capable enough to react, because he lifted his wand in a trembling hand and pointed it at the bear.

Time seemed to slow even further and Draco saw the man’s lips moving to form the words </i>‘Avada Kadavra’</i>. Draco screamed. It was torn from him without him being conscious of it, leaving his chest numb and his throat raw. He started to move, although his legs felt leaden, not wanting to obey him. He had barely pushed away from his place against the wall when a green light shot from Rabastan’s wand and hit the bear... square in the chest.

Draco screamed in agony, “NO!”

There was a flash of light, brilliant white and blinding, and Draco was thrown roughly back against the wall. He must have lost consciousness for a brief period because when he regained his senses he saw the room, filled with dust and debris and part of the crown moulding, that ran the circumference of the hallway, was lying broken on the floor. He also noticed the plaster was cracked and chipped in several places, a number of paintings were damaged, and all the windows were broken – not to mention the destruction of the front door. His uncle lay where he had fallen, twisted and distorted, eyes frozen wide-open in horror. Draco could tell, even from the other side of the rather large entrance hall of Malfoy Manor, that the evil man was very dead indeed.

With some difficulty, he achieved a sitting position and then pulled himself up until he was standing. He was dirty, stiff, and sore. His wrist ached something fierce and he discovered he had wrenched his leg in the fall. These things hardly registered, though, in his desperation to find his bear. But Bear had vanished.

However, sitting across from him, surrounded by rubble and covered in dust, was a bewildered and very dusty looking, very naked Harry Potter!

He turned as Draco stood and smiled widely, then scrambled to his feet and carefully picked his way through the scattered debris.

“Bear?” Draco said as the other man stood before him, naked and totally unashamed.

Harry grinned and looked down at himself. "Yeah, am a bit bare," he chuckled, his voice sounding growly and a little rusty with disuse.

Draco had to stop himself from groaning at the dreadful pun, but then he laughed – probably just relief more than anything, because he certainly wasn't going to find anything Harry Potter said funny.

“What the fuck happened, Potter?” demanded Draco, feeling totally nonplussed and very disgruntled.

Potter shrugged, standing beside Draco as if they were in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, having a conversation, only they were being far more civil than they ever had at school… and, of course, Potter was starkers.

“He cast </i> ‘Avada Kadavra</i> and it... er... bounced off. That spell still doesn’t seem to work on me.”

Draco scowled, trust Potter to be immune to that particular spell, it wasn’t supposed to be possible. He glanced down at the Gryffindor’s unclothed and somewhat delectable chest. A chest which was firm and strong, with pert, pink nipples and well defined pectoral muscles. A chest which he absolutely did not long to reach out and stroke, just as he might have done if he had still been with Bear. A chest which now had a lightning shaped mark, which was red and puffy, but otherwise seemed to have healed, it would be a twin for the one on the git’s forehead. Draco had to restrain himself from reaching out and tracing the shape that the scar made, it looked so enticing.

Then he was hit by a wave of sadness and loss, Potter was here, standing beside him but his companion of the last few months was nowhere to be seen.

Even though he had already guessed the answer, Draco couldn’t help whispering, “What happened to Bear?” His voice sounded so sad and broken, even to his own ears, and his throat began to close up; his friend had gone.

“I’m here,” Potter said, his voice still sounding strange to Draco, so gravely and unlike how he used to sound. “It’s me. Didn’t you realise that?”

He had, of course he had, but he didn’t want it to be true… he wanted Bear.

Dumbly he shook his head.

Potter’s expression softened and he tilted his head to one side, just as he used to when he was a bear. All at once Draco knew it was him, had been him all along. He could see it in those dark green eyes.

"I came back for you this time," whispered Harry. "I didn't leave you behind."

Draco’s chest hurt; it felt constricted. “Oh, Bear!”

“It’s alright,” Potter continued, even as Draco shook his head in denial. “It really is.” Then he moved forward and took Draco in his arms, pulling him close against his body, a body that still wasn’t wearing any clothing.

Potter had always been the smaller of the two, but Draco discovered this was no longer true. At some point Potter had grown, and he was now half a head taller and felt very strong. Part of Draco wanted to bury his head against Potter’s chest and sob. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around how much everything had changed and how quickly. Then, like a heavy weight settling on his chest, Draco remembered his parents.

Draco darted around Potter and went in search of his mother and father. He found Lucius and Narcissa in the dining-room, seemingly frozen in place, under a spell which Draco didn’t recognise, some bizarre combination of Stupefy and Petrificus Totalis. His parents looked like statues, sitting rigidly, their hands were spread out in front of them, apparently stuck to the table.

Potter, now loosely wrapped in one of his mother’s cream damask curtains, resembling nothing so much as a Roman Senator or something equally bizarre, entered the room behind Draco. Sparing a thought for the sight, the he doubted they’d ever seen anyone quite like Potter in ancient Rome. Potter raised his hand in the direction of Draco’s parents and instantly the spell holding them in place dissolved. Then he swung his arm towards the wall of windows and something white and magnificent shot from the tips of his fingers. It was a stag, Potter’s Patronus. He remembered it from third year. Draco narrowed his eyes and stared at Potter; since when had he been able to cast wandless and wordless spells?

All at once Draco remembered why he hated the other man and he desperately wanted to hit him. For a moment, back in the foyer, Draco had really wanted to sink into Ha-Potter’s embrace, but then, along with the realisation that his parents might be suffering, came the similarly unwelcome realisation that Potter had been his bear. For several months he had followed Draco about, been Draco’s only friend, spent time with him in the summer house and shared buns and secrets. Well, to be completely accurate, Draco had shared secrets and bloody Potter hadn’t said a single word. He was not even going to consider the fact that Potter actually hadn’t been able to say a word. If he’d wanted to avoid humiliating Draco, he could have left a sign couldn’t he? Draco was sure he could have fashioned a message out of leaves or twigs or something.

The speed with which the four-eyed menace had released his parents from one of Rabastan’s fiendish spells meant that Potter must have been pretending all along. He would no doubt hasten off and spread Draco’s secrets and current predicament far and wide for Gryffindor delectation.

Bastard.

He had no more time to think about Potter though, because his mother had circuited the table and thrown her arms around Draco and, even more surprisingly, so had his father.

“Oh, darling,” his mother whispered, gently kissing his hair, “are you all right? We heard everything that awful man was trying to do to you, everything he said. Oh, Draco, he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

Draco didn’t quite know how to respond. He wasn’t actually badly hurt; he had a few bruises and scratches, and his wrist and leg were aching, but he’d had much worse than that before now. Rabastan had groped him and threatened him, but he had suffered just as badly when Voldemort had been camped out at the Manor. Draco’s blond looks had always attracted unwanted attentions, especially from many of his father’s friends. Rabastan had just been a little closer to success than most, that was all.

“Oh, you are hurt. Just look at your face. He’s hurt, Lucius, look.”

She was stroking the cuts that Rabastan had made on his cheek, touching the tears in his clothing, healing him with the tip of her wand. His father placed a hand on Draco’s back, a comforting weight. Draco looked at him in astonishment. Lucius still looked terrible, with filthy clothes, lank and greasy hair, and hollow cheeks. But his eyes showed intelligence once again and his stance showed dignity and alertness.

“Father!” Draco breathed. “You’re you again.”

Lucius smiled. “I am.”

“How?”

“Rabastan is dead. He had me under the Abscido Substantia hex.”

“Cut off essence?” Draco mused. “He took away your essence.”

Lucius smiled at him and Draco thought he looked a little proud that his son had translated the Latin so easily, though it wasn’t a spell he’d ever heard of before, and Draco knew a lot of spells.

“That’s right, it’s a very esoteric spell, even I hadn’t heard of it until Rabastan told me what he’d done to me. Every time Rabastan cast a spell he used my magic. It took my energy, my will, everything. It was worse than being in Azkaban. It’s Dark magic, very dark; once cast, it cannot be broken until either the wizard who cast the spell or the victim dies.” He turned to Potter and nodded. “By killing my ex-brother-in-law, you have set me free. I thank you, Mr Potter.”

Draco sneered at Potter. His father, however, seemed completely unfazed by the fact the Hero-of-the-wizarding-world was standing in his dining-room, wrapped in a curtain. Potter seemed totally unfazed as well, but then he always dressed like he’d fallen out of a laundry basket.

“Thank you, Harry.”

It was Narcissa who’d spoken. She was smiling and there was no guile in her smile, none of the aristocratic tightness that was normally present when she was in the company of others. Narcissa never let down her barriers like that, not for anyone except him and his father and a select few others. Draco stared at his mother in astonishment, since when had she come to be on first name terms with Harry Potter?

“You’ve saved my son yet again,” she continued, “and I cannot thank you enough. I knew, from the second I realised it was you, that he would be safe.”

“Why didn’t you do anything?” Potter asked softly.

Narcissa frowned. “I couldn’t work out what was happening, initially. Draco and I were checking you for hexes and spells and I was going to stun you. Then he pulled away and when I pointed my wand again, you looked at me and I felt something. It felt familiar. I just knew it was you.”

Potter nodded. “We did form a connection at the battle, didn’t we…”

Narcissa smiled and continued, “But there was nothing I could do. Even with linking magics we didn’t have the power to turn you, even if we knew how. I was very afraid Rabastan would find out about your being here and I had no idea what he would have done. As you might have gathered by now, Rabastan was very good at locating spells or twisting them to create others. He was even better than Severus in some ways. I see now it was most probably he who turned you into the bear, Harry, because his death seems to have set you free, too.”

Potter smiled back at her and Draco wanted to slap the git. She was his mother. First he’d got rid of Bear and now he was moving in on Narcissa.

Then it hit him, his mother wasn’t surprised to see Potter draped in a curtain either. His jaw dropped open; she had known all along.

Draco pulled away from his mother. “You knew?” he hissed at her. “You knew my bear was Potter all along and you didn’t tell me?”

“Of course I knew, Draco. You don’t seriously think I’d have let you wander around with a real bear do you? They are frightfully dangerous.” She smiled at Potter in quite a kindly way, Draco thought crossly. “Mr Potter and I connected at the final battle. I sensed it was him and from then on I knew you would be safe.”

“Then you should have said something,” Draco all but bellowed!” His mother looked somewhat taken aback. “He lied to me!” Draco screeched.

“No I didn’t,” Potter protested.

“YOU DID! YOU PRETENDED TO BE A BEAR!”

“I didn’t PRETEND! I was a bloody bear!” Potter shouted back. “All sodding summer. I was itchy and smelly and I had bloody fleas. I ate ants and I crapped in the woods! I was not trying to upset you. You, bloody, prickly, bad-tempered git!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry that being in my company was so awful for you! It must have been terrible, poor little Potty!”

“Don’t call me that!” Potter shouted, face close to Draco’s, too close. “I’m your bear, if you can’t call me Harry, at least call me Bear!”

“I’m not calling you Bear. You are not my bear, you bloody wank-mmph.”

Harry had kissed him. For a brief second Draco resisted; he tensed up, clenched his fists, and tried to pull away, but Harry was having none of that. With one hand he buried his fingers in soft blond hair and with the other he pulled Draco in tighter, holding him close in a firm embrace.

As Draco’s body reacted and melted into Potter’s embrace, all of his anger melted away as well. He’d been so confused, so very confused. But this felt right. Suddenly, Draco knew this was what he had always wanted, what he had been waiting for, whom he’d been waiting for, whom he’d been meant to be with.

“Harry,” he whispered when the other man released his mouth for a moment to gasp for breath.

Harry smiled. He was so close, so very close, and Draco could feel soft breath on his cheek. He stared into those amazing eyes, startling green eyes that were gazing deeply into his, and Draco was lost.

Suddenly they heard a pop, followed by several more and all at once they were surrounded by about fifty wizards and witches wearing dark blue Auror robes.

**********


“Harry, oh god, Harry.”

“Where have you been?”

“What’s been going on?”

“Was it you? You filthy Death Eaters, if you’ve hurt him.”

“We thought you were dead.”

“Oh fuck!” Harry groaned.

For a moment there was nothing but chaos, so many people shouting all at once. Draco hadn’t seen anyone except his family and his bear for months. The Manor had been almost silent and all these people, all at once, were just too much. He would always insist ever afterwards that he’d fallen against Harry, but he couldn’t deny how safe, how very, very safe he felt with his head pressed into Harry’s shoulder.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, ALL OF YOU!” Harry must have cast Sonorous, because his voice, magnified, rose above all the others. Suddenly there was total silence. A shocked silence. “Thank you,” Harry said in a far more normal voice.

“Just what is happening here, Mr. Potter?” a deep voice, which Draco didn’t recognize, asked in measured tones.

“Well, if you all back off and give me some space, I’ll tell you,” Harry said reasonably, and then he began to explain.

Draco was exhausted by the time Potter finished his tale – the tale of how Harry and several other Order members had been sent to Kent in search of a fleeing Death Eater, had been ambushed by Rabastan (who in his panicked flight had no idea whom he had hexed), and had woken up as a bear; how he had trailed the Death Eater till they reached the Manor; and how he had then been rescued by Draco. Draco didn’t remember much rescuing, but the way Harry told it, he seemed to be quite the hero.

Harry was holding his hand and Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about that but, as it was seriously pissing the red-head off, he wasn’t going to protest. Weasley sat scowling at him from across the room, his expression bordering on hatred and disgust. Granger looked astonished at the proceedings and several of the other people present were glaring at Draco with varying levels of unease, distrust, and disbelief. His parents sat amidst all the mayhem looking calm and collected. He supposed they felt as relieved as he did that they were finally free of the evil presence his uncle had cast over their lives. It helped that Harry made their innocence very clear and that most of the Aurors had been banished by Kingsley Shacklebolt, the owner of the voice he hadn’t recognised.

“Why did Lestrange turn you into a bear, though, Harry?” Granger asked, when Harry had finally finished the story. “I mean, there aren’t any bears in Britain, he must have realised you would stand out and be easy to find.”

“Except he wasn’t, was he?” Draco sneered. “Otherwise, you’d have been here months ago.”

“That’ll do, Draco,” his mother said, coolly. “Remember your manners.” Draco scowled at her but she turned in Granger’s direction, pointedly ignoring him. “The only conclusion I can make, Miss Granger, is that Rabastan and his brother spent a number of years in Romania, where bears are comparatively common. He probably didn’t realise the animals have long been extinct here.”

“Oh,” Granger said. “That’s a good suggestion, Mrs Malfoy. I think you might be right.”

His mother smiled at her. “Thank you,” she replied.

Granger smiled back, somewhat tentatively, but it was a smile none-the-less. Draco felt a lightening in his chest. The last time Granger had been here... well, he didn’t want to think about that, but she didn’t seem antagonistic and he truly wouldn’t have blamed her if she had been.

“How the fuck did you get here then, Harry?” Weasley asked, with a sneer in Narcissa’s direction. Draco wanted to hit him.

“I followed Rabastan,” Harry said simply. “I wasn’t going to let him out of my sight.”

“Right, well. We’ve found you now. Let’s get you out of this place,” Weasley again.

“Nah, you’re alright, Ron. I need a shower and I reckon I can borrow some clothes from Draco.” Draco nearly choked.

For a fraction of a second Draco almost told him to fuck off, but the look of horror on Weasley’s face stopped him. Instead, he squeezed the other man’s hand and smiled at him. “Of course you can, Harry,” he trilled sweetly.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, then?” Shacklebolt said, standing up, obviously preparing to leave.

“Wait!” Weasley hissed. “You’re just going to leave him here? What if they hurt him? They’re Death Eaters.”

“Ron, I’ve been here for months, nobody has hurt me. Besides, Draco and I have some serious talking to do.”

“We do?” Draco asked in a somewhat squeaky voice.

“Oh, yes,” Harry replied firmly. “We really do. Now where is your room?”

Draco felt very disgruntled. Harry had practically ordered him upstairs and his parents hadn’t said a word. When Harry ushered him away Lucius and Narcissa were standing in their wrecked hallway talking to the Minister of Magic. He seemed to be assuring his mother and father that they would not be left alone as they had been, that far more care would be taken of them in future, that he would talk to Harry and see if he would consent to keeping an eye on things for the next few months until their enforced house-arrest was completed.

Draco was aghast, Harry would be here for months, was nobody going to object? He turned back in the direction of the hall in order to protest, but Harry grabbed him firmly by the wrist.

“Oh no you don’t!” Harry growled, sounding strangely reminiscent of Bear. “I’ve had enough bloody interruptions for one night; you are coming with me.” Then, with one easy gesture, he swung Draco up into the air and draped him over his shoulder. “Right, which way is your room?”

Too surprised to protest, Draco simply gestured in the direction of his bedroom and let Harry carry him there.

By the time they arrived, he was angry again, angry and uncomfortably hard. He told himself it was just the friction of his groin rubbing against Harry’s chest, though the image of that chest, firm and naked, assuredly didn’t help.

“Put me down, you fucking oaf,” he finally managed to croak, pounding his fists hard into Harry’s back.

Harry took absolutely no notice. Instead, he barged through Draco’s bedroom door, which slammed shut again without a word from Harry… bloody wordless, wandless magic again.

"Fucking traitor," Draco hissed at the door, which continued to ignore him.

Harry strode across the room and unceremoniously dumped Draco on his bed, stripping off his curtain and clambering on top of him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he continued, uncomfortably aware that Harry was naked again, naked and far, far too close. “Get off!” he snarled, punching Harry’s shoulder as hard as he could.

Harry sat up. “Do you really want me to, Draco? Because I think you want this as much as I do. I can smell your arousal. It’s delectable that smell, I think my senses are still enhanced, from my time as a bear. I know you want me as much as I want you.” Harry brushed his hand gently across Draco’s chest sending another spark of arousal through his veins. But he wasn’t giving in yet, he might be very aroused, but he wasn’t fucking easy.

Draco threw his head back and huffed in annoyance. Potter shifted position a little, sending what felt like an electric current surging through his groin.

“I don’t know what the fuck I want! I want not to be here. I want Bear, not you. You know all my secrets, all of them, and I don’t trust you not to share them. You don’t like me!” He sounded whiney now and he felt like smacking himself out of it. Merlin knew what Harry thought. “I don’t know what I want to do! I sure as shite don’t want to be so fucking aroused by your presence that it hurts!”

Harry moved, so he was lying beside Draco. He placed one hand squarely on Draco’s chest and pushed himself up so his other hand fisted against his cheek and he was propped up on his elbow. “I won’t tell anyone your secrets, Draco. I’m honoured that you shared them with me.”

Draco smacked his hand away and then immediately regretted its absence.

“I DIDN’T share them with you, you GIT! Remember? I SHARED THEM WITH BEAR!” he cried.

“Draco,” Harry said, patiently, as if talking to a very small, very stupid child. “I. AM. BEAR.”

“Well, you smell like him, that’s for certain!” Draco commented snippily, whilst realising, belatedly that Harry did actually smell just a tiny bit of Bear. He smelt of warm grass and sunshine and happiness.

“God, you are such a grumpy little bastard! I don’t know why the fuck I love you so much.”

Draco sprang up, ready to push Harry off his bed. It was his bloody bed after all and he didn’t want his covers all messed up. He had to sleep here tonight. “Who are you calling little? You... wait... what did you say?”

“I said that you are a gru....”

“No, not that bit, the other bit, the last bit,” Draco told him imperiously.

Harry sat up too. His face was close to Draco’s, close enough to kiss. He grinned and it was as if someone had opened a window and flooded light into a gloomy room. Harry glowed when he smiled; why on earth had he never noticed it before?”

“I said, I love you.”

“Oh!” Draco said, after a moment or two, when he had simply gaped like a fish at Harry’s words. “Oh!”

“Can I kiss you now, then?” Harry asked in that low, husky voice of his.

“Um, yes. Yes please,” Draco pleaded in return.


**********


Harry’s touch on his cheek was gentle, but his kiss was demanding and Draco returned it with passion. Harry was pulling at his clothing, fumbling with the buttons, seemingly desperate to touch his skin. Draco didn’t have that problem with Harry as he was already naked. Harry finally managed to undo Draco’s robes, tugged them off his shoulders, and pulled him close. He rubbed Draco’s nipple with the back of his thumb sending a frisson of pleasure through the young man’s body. Draco shivered at the sensations surging through him, surrendering to his lover’s demands. Still kissing him passionately, Harry pushed him back against the pillows and started pulling at the zip of his trousers. Stubbornly it refused to cooperate. Harry sucked tenderly on Draco’s bottom lip for a moment, then pulled back and frowned at the offending zip, leaving Draco moaning and desperate to re-establish contact. Suddenly, Draco’s trousers were gone; Harry had vanished them.

“Wow,” he breathed, staring at Draco in open admiration. “You are seriously fucking gorgeous. Do you know that?” He put his hands on Draco’s thighs and gently pushed them apart. “Gorgeous!”

Harry gently dragged his thumbnails along the inside of Draco’s legs sending a thrill of pure lust cascading through his body. He shivered deliciously and grabbed Harry’s shoulders, though whether to pull him closer or push him further away, he didn’t know for sure. But Harry wasn’t to be stopped. He eased Draco’s legs further apart and moved down purposefully towards his groin. And when he mouthed the tip of the proudly jutting cock he found there, it was all Draco could do not to come there and then.

The heat and wetness of Harry’s mouth was like nothing he’d ever felt before. He couldn’t think or react; he was a mass of sensation. Draco threw back his head and yelled. Harry continued sucking him for a few moments longer and all Draco wanted was to give in and be drowned in a rush of carnal fulfilment.

“Fuck!” Draco ground out, tightly.

Harry chuckled, released Draco’s cock and blew a trail along Draco’s throbbing prick, seemingly pleased with his lover’s reaction.

Draco felt as if he had melted. He moaned and flexed his hips, silently begging Harry to continue, to do more, much more. Harry was licking and nibbling his way up Draco’s body, back towards his mouth. His fingers were brushing Draco’s skin, scratching carefully, deliciously. He circled Draco’s right nipple with a finger and took the left one in his mouth, sucking lustily. His other hand was carefully playing with Draco’s balls, his fingers gently squeezing and teasing his testicles. Draco couldn’t remember how to speak – he had known how once upon a time, he was sure of it. But right this second his brain cells had gone into meltdown mode and were only paying attention to Harry’s fingers and Harry’s delectable, talented mouth.

“Can I make love to you, Draco?” Harry whispered, his breath huffing against Draco’s jaw. “I want you so much.”

Draco whimpered. He was supposed to say something, something affirmative but he couldn’t remember what the word was.

“Hhmmp!” he squeaked.

Harry chuckled (even his laugh sounded dead sexy to Draco’s ears). “I think you mean yes… you certainly smell aroused, taste aroused.” He sucked at Draco’s neck, eliciting a strangled sound from his lover. “Hmm, yep, that’s arousal alright,” he whispered, licking along Draco’s jaw.

“Can I have you?” Harry asked again. Draco just nodded this time; he couldn’t manage more than that, not right now, possibly never again.

Something brushed against Draco’s entrance and he nearly arched off the bed with the sensation of it. Harry’s finger, slick with a conjured lube, demanded admittance and slowly pushed inside. Draco whimpered again, a series of strung out little whimpers that made no sense but were all he could manage. Another finger and Draco began undulating with need, his whimpers higher in tone and closer together. Harry continued to pepper his skin with kisses. It felt like bolts of lightning, or hot fire, were shooting up Draco’s spine… it had never been like this before. Draco remembered a word, just one, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease.” It became a litany, a plea.

Suddenly, Draco felt something bigger being pressed into him, something blunt-ended and thick, something that breeched him, forcing its way into the slickness, slowly, so slowly but inevitable, unstoppable. Draco moaned.

“Are you alright, beautiful?” murmured tenderly against his skin. “Am I hurting you?”

Draco didn’t know how to answer because it did hurt. It burnt as his sphincter expanded, but he didn’t want it to stop. Ever. He used his word, the one that he could still remember. “Please.”

Harry pushed, slowly but irrevocably, until he was fully sheathed in Draco’s arse. Briefly Draco struggled for breath. ‘Harry was huge’ the thought flitted momentarily flitted though Draco’s brain as his passage stretched wide to accommodate his lover.

“Please,” Draco begged again, as the need for Harry to move rose in him. “Please.”

Harry moved in answer to his plea and Draco was washed away. There existed only sensation, Harry’s cock inside him, Harry’s fingers, Harry’s mouth against his skin. Heat built up rapidly inside him, heat and burning need… and sensation… building towards a crescendo, an avalanche that drowned out everything else. Harry pushed into him again and again, pounding him into the mattress. Draco fisted the bedding, which was rumpled all around him, his toes curled. And then… and then the avalanche broke and Draco was swept away in a flood of pure pleasure and sensation… overwhelmed, drowned, subsumed.

Draco gradually regained his ability to think but discovered he couldn’t move. He was physically incapable of moving at that moment. Draco was not a virgin; he’d fooled around at school one drunken night in fifth year with Theodore Nott and a number of Ravenclaws and even Seamus Finnegan – before his life went to hell. But it had never been like anything like this.

“You okay?” Harry peered down at him, concern evident in those deep green eyes.

Draco tried to nod but only managed a sort of wobble in the end. His lover smiled and brushed the wet, clammy fringe from his eyes. He placed his other hand on Draco’s abdomen, possessively, spreading the abductor muscles wide so that his fingers were splayed.

“Wow,” he said, “just wow! I don’t know about you, Draco, but that was the best, the very best.” Draco nodded, still lost for words. “It’s weird,” Harry continued, “really weird, I’ve never felt like that before, that possessive, that desperate. I had to have you, make love to you and, well… I’ve just never felt like that before.”

“Not even about Weasley?” Draco asked in a tiny voice, not quite sure why it should matter…

“Nah, what Charlie and I had was just a bit of fun.”

Draco choked. “You and Charlie Weasley? What about the female Weasley, the youngest one?”

Harry was playing with Draco’s hair, It felt wonderful. “Ginny’s like my sister,” he said simply. "We both realized that soon after we started dating sixth year. Last summer, Charlie was about all the time and he helped me explore my feelings. He was great, but it was never gonna be more than a fling, even Ron was alright about it in the end. He realised we just needed to let off some steam and relieve tensions. I’ve spent a lot of time since Riddle died working out what it is I really want out of life; turns out not to be what I once thought it’d be. Charlie Weasley helped me find that out.

Draco had been under house arrest since the Dark Lord was vanquished, awaiting trial, so that he could be sort of pardoned and put under house arrest. Not that he was complaining; he thought he'd got off rather lightly, all things considered. Not that he hadn't been desperately lonely or self pitying, of course, but he reckoned that was only natural, especially taking into consideration everything that had happened. He hated Charlie Weasley, though. He should have been the one to teach Harry everything.

“I’ll bet he did,” Draco managed, dryly. He was snuggled against Harry and he thought that, if he could, he was going to stay there forever.

“But it wasn’t like this,” Harry told him, applying balm to Draco’s damaged soul. “This was bloody fantastic!”

Draco knew he was grinning like a loon, he simply didn’t care.

“I haven’t forgiven you yet,” he lied.

“Yeah, you have. I told you, your secrets are safe with me and they are, will be.”

“Thanks.” Draco’s throat seized-up, feeling tight and scratchy. It sounded to him like Harry was pulling away, distancing himself.

“What happens now?” he finally managed.

“Well, I don’t know about you but I fancy a shower.”

“I don’t mean that...” His voice sounded so vulnerable.

“I think we wait and see. I think we get to know each other.”

“But if we don’t like what we see.”

“I’ll like you, Draco, very much. I already do. I learned so much about you when you talked to Bear, to me.”

Draco turned his head away, to hide the suspicious wetness.

“There’s a lot against us ever working out.”

Harry shrugged. “And me killing Voldemort was impossible, but I did it. Didn’t I? Our relationship won’t be harder than that.”

“But it might.” Draco wanted to say, it just might.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Harry said, before he leaned over and kissed him. “I fancy a bit of a snooze first, come to think of it.”

“But...”

“Draco,” Harry said, and Draco loved the way his name sounded on Harry’s lips. He belatedly realised Harry had been calling him Draco since he'd transformed. What he couldn't remember was when he had started calling Harry Harry? It just all seemed so natural.

“Yes?” he finally managed.

“Shut up and go to sleep. You’re replete, I’m replete, get some rest for the next session.”

“What? What next session?”

“Well, you didn’t think that was it, did you? I’ve been fancying your arse for months and been unable to do anything about it, cause that would have been...” Harry shuddered. “So I’ve got some catching up to do. I’ve got to show you that my arse isn’t hairy for a start.”

“What?” Draco said again.

“Hairy Botter, I’ve got to make you pay for that remark. Oh, and plenty of others in the last few months, all those little gibes and comments. I've got plenty of ideas.”

Draco shivered deliciously at the low growl in Harry's voice. “You remembered that. You heard that?”

“I heard everything you told me; though, I would never have said those things about Ron, you know. It was a bit unfair of you, putting such words in an innocent bear’s mouth.”

Draco closed his eyes trying to remember exactly what he had said to Bear.

“You told me everything,” Harry said, in answer to the question that he hadn’t asked. “All your hopes and fears and dreams. I got to see the Draco Malfoy that nobody sees and I fell in love with him and as far as I’m concerned, that’s enough for now, isn’t it?”

Draco nodded. Because it was, it truly was. Suddenly he felt warmed and it had nothing to do with the fact that Harry had pulled him closer and wrapped his body around Draco’s. It was because this was what he’d have wanted, if he’d ever dared to wish for it. Maybe Harry was right? Maybe they could be together? Perhaps sometimes fairytales really did come true.

He snuggled closer, his half clothed body nestled against Harry's naked one. Harry was warm and Draco felt safe. His lover drifted off to sleep and Draco couldn't help thinking that his gentle snores sounded just like the growls of a bear.


finis

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