To Die In Love
You think you are alive
because you breathe air?
Shame on you,
That you are alive in such a limited way.
Don't be without Love,
So you won't feel dead.
Die in Love
and stay alive forever. (Rumi)
In a perfect world.
In a perfect world I would have never had this creature triggered into dominance inside of me because of mental torture inflicted by my own Aunt.
In a perfect world, I would have survived the war, whole, with some scars and a lot of shame.
In a perfect world my parents would still be alive. A little battered, but alive.
In a perfect world, I would have gone on and gotten married and have children of my own.
But this is not a perfect world.
And it has different rules now.
Rules that allow you or bring you down enough to cherish a choice between death and life.
Rules that allow you to bask in your own glory for the shortest of time before it all falls apart.
Rules that take you away from those who love you and those whom you love.
Suppression and agony is the way of this world.
But it's all consensual
It is the way you choose for yourself.
To go down in glory and impossible conviction.
In the end it is simpler.
If love for one thing that is instinctual and your genetic coding does not exist.
You have a capacity to give it for other causes.
And other causes need it too.
As much as they may deny it or tell you otherwise.
There is a quota when it comes to love.
You just never realize it until you can't find it in yourself anymore.
Or when you realize that at the end of the tunnel there is no light and just void.
The vessel screams. The pain is worse than I imagined it would be.
But the mind, cruel mind, is the last to go.
It fights tooth and nail to remain intact. It fights tooth and nail to not fall into the void of oblivion.
Crushing its hold on light.
But light is something you can never grasp.
Light is something you can only behold.
I can feel it coming. Death, void, oblivion.
Arrogant and glorious. With all the pomp and show it can possibly manage.
Bringing down a creature like me to the edge of my endurance.
'Let go' it tells me.
I don't know what I am waiting for. But I am waiting for something.
Against all expectations there is still hope.
'Let go' it says again.
"Not just yet…"
It feels like going insane rapidly and slowly at the same time.
So many dead-ends in a foreign land.
I check the spidery writing on the card once more and match it with the small English Caption that is written under the imposing Turkish.
It looks deceptively like English at the first glance when written down, but is of course as far from it as perhaps Russian. A 'c' can sound like a 'j' but not really.
I should have brought Victoria with me, I think for the hundredth time. But I could not bear to take her away from her Grand-children in holidays.
Not for my sins.
My daughter has suffered enough for them.
You would think that for a wizard this wandering would be far less gruesome.
To this day Portkey remains my most dreaded channel of travelling.
Yet this day…
Oh this day.
I would face death rather than face failure on this day.
But then, one might say that perhaps facing death would not be the most excruciating of punishments for someone like me.
And I deserve something as excruciating as this day.
More than 30 hours and still no leads and I am almost stranded in this country.
Istanbul has to be the most confusing city in the world. And I started in Anatalya
I look down at the address again.
And look up at the dingy looking almost deserted Coffee house that sits smack in the middle of the extremely crowded Bazaar.
By rule, which applies to all coffee houses everywhere in the world, it should be jam-packed.
Yet it stands there quiet and undisturbed and totally ignoring the promise of providing the public with a wonderful warmth from the Frosty weather.
It's just stopped snowing an hour ago.
I take a deep breath. There is nothing to it I decide and with a roiling stomach reach for the entrance that does not have a door.
It is as if I have stepped into a different world altogether.
The Café is indeed a counterpart of Leakey Cauldron.
Only it is at least three times bigger
And five times more Jam-packed.
I am actually surprised at how thick the disillusionment on it should have been and yet I did not feel it at all.
I feel like crying with relief.
So many wizards and witches. Someone has to know of Draco, or Yardim Eli.
Someone stumbles into me.
"Dost, afedersiniz! …I just need…"
I am startled by the British accent of the wizard.
And he is startled by me.
"Blimey! Either I have had too much Coffee or it's really Harry Potter…"
I have never been happier to be recognized by strangers.
"Yes, yes…" I smile at him a smile that feels so foreign on my face it's almost painful.
"Burada Ali Kim bak! Bu Harry Potter!"
It is as if the whole café has turn to look at me.
And then all hell breaks lose.
It takes a better part of an hour for me to actually be able to explain the purpose of my arrival.
And it seems that my luck is finally changing.
The wizard I had stumbled into at the entrance is actually the public relations manager of the British Wizarding Counsellor in Turkey. And after his initial excitement and pride dies down, he does not only has the answer to my query, but also decides to accompany me to the Yardim Eli head office.
The city is growing quite due to the snow, as we trudge across the bazaar and onto the main road.
"I know it's probably confidential, but I make donations to Yardim Eli myself. I wonder what has happened that the great Harry Potter himself had to come down to investigate."
It takes me a few moments to understand what he is trying to say. My mind is placid with worry it seems, I remember feeling this before. It happened before I managed to gain my so called biggest victory, but very few knew at what cost.
Very few know that it is costing me still, because if this isn't a cost of what I was shaped to be and shaped to think, then I do not know what is.
The man is shooting me sideway glances and I realize that he is waiting for an answer.
"Oh, no, the matter I am here and looking for Yardim Eli is personal. It has nothing to do with…my work."
He manages to look relieved and disappointed all at once.
"I am actually hoping to find some information about the whereabouts of an old friend from Yardim Eli, I have heard that he associates with them every now and then."
"If he is a British national, then your best bet would be the British wizarding consulate office. We do keep official records…"
"I have already tried that. My assistant floo-called ahead of me to inquire but it was of no use."
He grows silent though reluctantly. I know it well when the silences are pregnant with brewing and teasing question, and I sincerely have no bloody idea how long I will be able to keep my cards close to heart, or function like a normal human being for that matter. Just to distract myself from slipping too much, I finally take the measure of the man who is accompanying me. Maximillian Howell. He looks a pleasant sort of bloke. Intelligent and confident. I like the fact that he has not shown me that certain kind of deference most wizards show me in London. It's that particular kind of subtle sycophancy, which I can smell from a mile off. I hate people who pretend to respect me. They remind me of Dursleys. And of Malfoys…
No, can't think about that right now.
But it is a fact, my mind promptly points out, that Draco was never really good at sycophancy. He talked tall and a lot, but he respected no one. Even when he threatened others with his father's name. There was always propriety in his expression, never deference. Draco was too proud, and the way he was raised he had all the rights to it. But fate had not played the cards in his favour.
Suddenly his pale young face flashes across my eyes. Half of it illuminated by the green light of the floo. How did I not see his suffering at that moment? Why had I not just looked? Really see…
Now I can't seem to unsee it. I condemned him to a fate that I would not have condemned Voldemort to had there been a way. I know the desperation I have felt over the years. The suffocating feeling of having a mouth, nose and lungs, but not knowing how to breathe. And his suffering has been a hundred times that.
And yet. And yet he had come to me when I was most desolate. He had saved Lily's life. And embraced her death.
How can anyone deal with that? How can anyone pay that back and with what?
I only have my life to give.
But even that is not a pure sacrifice, because I myself desire to be with him. I want him. And in giving myself to him I would still be fulfilling a desire of my own.
If I save his life, I would save it for myself.
And this impurity in purpose makes me look so cheap.
He had no hope, no practical redemption, no expectation, no gain.
And yet he gave a willing sacrifice.
You win Draco Malfoy. You have defeated me and have come to own all my victories.
But it's not over yet, you can have the victory a thousand times over, but I will not let you go for the sake of glory.
Both of us were never noble when it came to each other.
And we are not changing old traditions for anything.
"I apologize in advance, but I do wonder, who would be important enough to warrant a visit from you to Istanbul…"
I am broken out of my thoughts, but I am unable to answer. My emotions are still too close to surface. I don't know what he sees in my face when he next glances at me due to my silence, but he quickly turns away, and it seems like he has finally given up on questioning.
A few minutes pass and now we are walking toward a relatively new block of buildings. This time I do feel the secure ring of disillusionment and repellent charms as we step into an alley. It's strange how the snow in this new block also seems all managed and even as if it has fallen in order that matches the orderly concrete landscape in contrast with how chaotic it seemed in the old city. As old as Istanbul is and as mighty a city as it has been for so long a period, it would not be too much if the forces of nature respected the city just as its inhabitants seem to do.
The Building that houses Yardim Eli seems inconspicuous from outside. Inside is a whole different case though.
With not a small grain of salt does the reception witch puts us up for an appointment with the director. And keeps shooting me glances from behind her counter.
"It's not often that they expect Harry Potter to come strolling into their offices… They don't know what to make of it." Howell it seems is a much keener observer than I expected him to be.
"I mean, if you were on an official tour my boss would be falling all over the place to make things perfect for you. You come into that class of people for which most liaisons have procedures and process training, yet here you are sitting with a lowly public relations guy."
"Right now, the lowly public relation bloke is perfect for the reasons I am here. I don't know if I have said it before, but I would like it to not be common knowledge that I am here and for what exactly. Mr. Howell, it is a matter of utmost importance to me and it's extremely personal. So you have to promise me…"
"Not a word. I will keep this close. It will be an obligation for me to inform my consulate that you are here, but I promise you Mr. Potter, they will only know of your visit to Istanbul, not a word more. I promise it on the honour of my family who supported the Order the first time it was formed. My parents were informers for Professor Dumbledore inside Wizengamot."
I realize, he does look familiar. It must show on my face, because he smiles.
"Yes, you are guessing it correct, I did go to Hogwarts when you were there. Only you were in your 6th year and I was in my first."
"You were not in Gryffindor…" I say trying to place him…
"No, I was in Hufflepuff. My older brother was in Gryffindor though, just a year above me."
"Tristan right? Tristan Howell. I remember him, he had a good swing with the beater's bat for a second year."
"Yes! And he would not shut up about the fact that you promised him a bench position as soon as the main beaters were out of Hogwarts."
"Wow.. it's a small world… Where is Tristan now?"
"Oh… He is in Australia. Met a nice Australian Muggle-born witch and got settled. has four little ones now."
"That's brilliant! Good for him! What about you?"
A small shadow crosses his face. Had I not been an Auror for more than twenty years I would not have caught it.
"I have a son. Five year old. Wife died a year ago. Dragon pox."
"I am sorry mate. Does he live here?"
"Oh no, with his Grandmother in Derbyshire. I get to see him most weekends though and Thank god that I still have him, if it wasn't for…"
We are interrupted at that moment as a tall Turkish man suddenly is in front of us.
"Mr. Potter! I am so sorry for keeping you waiting. I am Yilmaz… Ah! You have Mr. Howell with you."
We are led into a modest office space with comfortable furniture and a humungous cabinet shelf filled to the brim but strangely enough well-arranged, taking a third of the room.
"I will cut to the chase , because my quest is of utmost importance and with a sensitive time frame. I am looking for someone I am sure you can direct me towards. He is a healer who has worked in association with Yardim Eli for quite a few years. He is known here according to my understanding as Ustad Beyazlamak… Though I know him as Draco Malfoy…"
The pin-drop silence in the room makes me want to scream. I am surprised I am not yet screaming.
Mr. Yilmaz looks at me startled.
"May I inquire as to the nature of your interest in finding the whereabouts of Ustad Beyazlamak?"
"It's nothing to do with law, or with my Job. It's an extremely personal reason. His life might be in danger if I don't reach him in the next few hours. I have already wasted 36hours and I cannot dare…"
My voice breaks most horribly as I feel an almost audible pull in my gut, and I feel as if all my organs will jump out of my body. Nausea, it takes me a moment to recognize for what it is. Its hard for me to remember when it was when I had last eaten. Only some Turkish coffee at the café in the bazaar. Even the thought of food makes me feel sick.
I can't fail now. Every minute is added torture for Draco. Luna had explained. Luna had explained on my insistence what Draco had done exactly and how he has been suffering and would suffer in his last few hours. And oh how I wanted to hate her, but really only I ever am responsible. Luna is only guilty of assuming that a secret would want to be kept when perhaps it was should not have been. But who was to know?
How many more deaths of my loved ones should occur before I understand to harness my impulses?
But then again, how many lives and homes has that same impulse saved in this endless life?
I notice that I am somehow holding a mug of warm and very generously milked tea.
As I bring my hands up to sip they are shaking horribly enough to embarrass me.
I want to cry and scream at my impotency.
If Draco dies.
I am sure that I will not be able to live with that.
If Draco dies…
"If something happens to him Yilmaz, I assure you this will be a diplomatic disaster of a magnitude that the likes of you cannot even imagine. My superior and I will make sure that Yardim Eli is uprooted and destroyed. There are hundreds of other charities that we can bring to the level of Yardim Eli. So you will give this man the information he is asking for. You do that and you forego some small protocol that you have in place inside your private organisation and save another man's life who is one of the most brilliant and exceptional healers in the known and unknown wizarding world and have forever the support of Wizarding Common Wealth association. OR you don't give Harry Potter what he is asking of you, and a man who's privacy you are allegedly guarding dies because of policy and I don't want to repeat what may happen then…"
"I will…"I push myself to speak. "I will do everything in my power to protect his privacy as you have for years . I am ready to provide you with any kind of reassurance you might need to that end."
The man looks much paler than he did before. His eyes narrowed at Howell as if assessing the truth of the threats and then turns to look at me and his expression goes blank. He stands up with a certain determination on his face.
"Please Mr. Potter have the tea and biscuits while I go and pull out the information you are asking for." He simply says before swiftly walking out of the office.
My chest is trembling now. I turn to look at Howell.
"Is his life truly in danger?" Howell asks me.
I can only nod.
"Oh, I do hope you will save him. You see, he saved my son. He saved my little Victor or he would have gone with my wife. He caught the Dragon Pox from my wife too, and then someone got me in touch with… it does not matter. What matters is that he came and worked relentlessly for three days and nights and saved my little boy. You know they say that if a child younger than Seven years catches it…"
"Is impossible to save." I complete for him.
"Yes, and my boy is fine, every time I go home and he comes running down to greet me I thank heavens above for Ustad Beyazlamak. And I know, if anyone can save someone, it is you. You are Harry Potter. It will be out of form for you not to. So please don't give in to despair."
I look long and hard at the man who sits next to me. His earnest belief in me should weight me down. It would weight me down in normal circumstances. But, it does not. Somehow it makes me fight back against despair. I sit up straight. And I can feel the foreignness of my weakness and draining despair.
It's not mine at all.
And If I can feel it so acutely at this moment.
It means two things.
He is still alive, but dire.
He is closer than before.
I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of despair, where it infects my psyche.
I have no idea if it will work but I have to try.
So I send a feeling back.
A plea, a prayer for him to listen to.
'Hold on! Don't go! Wait for just a little longer! Don't let go my love! Not just yet!'
And I feel as if I have reached through. By some miracle I have reached through.
Time gains a strange sort of quality then. A strange sort of desperate calm.
The man, Yilmaz comes back with a crisp parchment.
It's a floo address for an office in Nicosia.
Max Howell insists of accompanying me as far as he can even though his authority means nothing in Cyprus.
We floo directly from Yilmaz's office, into what seems not be an actual office, but a complex of them. Private offices. All closed and Muggle. And I want to kill something.
The sun is already set, and though it is not snowing here, its pouring cats and dogs with winds that can knock a man off his broom. It is the most unfriendly weather imaginable at this moment.
Max Howell suggests that we just break into every office till we get to the right one.
I have a simpler trick up my sleeve, just because I am an auror.
I pull out Draco's strange wand from the inner pocket of my coat.
And simply cast an energy signature charm on it and the whole block of offices.
It is the same technology that has lead to the formation of Magical Monitoring Authority.
And as far-fetched it was, it works.
Though the magical signature is 10-11 days old. It is still there and the office is at the end of the line.
We are bound to find something that will lead us to Draco's whereabouts.
We break in as easily as if it was a muggle office. Though I admit that if my first alohamora didn't work I had full intention of blasting the bloody thing open.
The office is meticulously kept. Everything in its place. Books and journals and papers and correspondence. I can find no clue. I close my eyes when tears threaten to come. And I feel for him again. And realize that he's closer. Not very but closer by leaps and bounds than he was in Istanbul.
I am moving in the right direction.
My eye catches a picture frame on the wall.
It's Draco. In all his beautiful glory, smiling and standing next to a scowling teenager who's scowl switches to a smile when Draco looks towards him to his side and bumps him behind the head in a small but loving rebuke. They both seem to be standing on some kind of terrace and behind them is a view of downhill, and what seems like an old ruin.
Under the picture in the frame is a small caption printed in English.
"Bellapais, Summer of 2017"
He crosses the few steps and come to look at the picture in my hands.
"Bellapais? Do you know where this is?"
"It's not a magical district. That much I can tell you… but that old ruin does look familiar."
He frowns a little for a moment, and then pulls out his mobile phone.
It occurs to me that if it's muggle then I can ask Hugo too, he is the expert in all things muggle. But Howell is already talking to someone.
"Bellapais', I think it's pronounced Bellapay, because it has one of those fancy French 's'es' with the sign on top."
He pauses for a moment as if listening to the otherside.
"Oh Jem! I could kiss you! Thank you so much! I'll explain later!" he hangs up abruptly and turns to me.
"It is a place. It is a small settlement just on the outskirts of Kyrenia in North Cyprus. That ruin, in the picture is why the place is recognizable and popular in the first place. It's the Olive Tower Bell Monastery. One of the only sanctuary and school for orphaned magical people in all of Cyprus and Greece too."
"So it's North of here?"
"Oh my dear Auror Potter! North Cyprus is a different country all together in the muggle world, It's a Muslim state under partial Turkish control. Though it might be one of the most obscure countries, because it is not recognized by most of the world, I don't know why he would go and hide there."
It's like a punch to the nose.
One of the most obscure countries…
"If you know what is good for you Malfoy, you will stay out of trouble and die a nameless death in an obscure part of the world Malfoy! Do you understand?"
The cruelty! I condemned him to this. I confined him even after I banished him. Howell is saying something behind me but I cannot make out his words. Because it's obvious to me now. It's obvious where he would be. Where he would make his home.
"He is there. He is in Bellapais'."
"It does look rather like a picture taken at home. Those are not decorative plants behind him and that towel on the ledge…"
"Max… I think I need to go the rest of the way alone. I have already trespassed on your time a lot."
He is a wise man. I can see it in his eyes. If it was anyone else he would have insisted on coming with me to the end. But he understands the impossible.
"I don't want you to be offended, but if you would like, I would like to put in a word for you at the foreign Ministry for a nice and equivalent Public Relations post at London HQ. I think you would like to see your son more often than every other weekend."
He blinks at me owlishly for a few seconds before a smile spreads on his handsome face.
"I would like that a lot Auror Potter."
He takes my hand and shakes it with vehemence.
"Thank you so much for all your help today. You don't know what it means to me."
"Just save him Auror Potter."
"I will!" I simply say. Taking the picture frame in hand.
It comes easily. Even though I am exhausted. The disapparition comes easily.
I apparate precisely in the right place and into a wet hell.
The pitch-dark and the harsh cold rain are my welcome.
I deserve no less.
But it's the pull. It's Draco. I can feel him. I can't suppress it any longer it is so strong.
It is like a scream in the wind that is surrounding me on all sides.
I trudge out from under the tree where I have apparated and look up at the dark sky that is firing down icy rain.
I only have one direction singed on to my heart.
Aren't all worthwhile battles uphill.
I start walking. Wand lit. Rain drumming down.
I can taste the agony Draco is in. I can feel the heat of it. It feels like someone is ripping apart his nerves.
And it pours as the wind howls around me.
The ground is slippery and so I instinctively search to my right. I can see the flattened surface of a road in the few flashes of lightening the sky graces me with.
It gets easier when it has no business to. It's surprisingly not a dirt road but a winding asphalt.
I start running.
I run, with all the strength I have left in this useless body of mine. I run. I look to my left and at some distance I can see the Monastery from the angle in the picture there must be some kind of junction that leads to the place where Draco is standing in the picture.
I look behind me to see a wall of sea thrashing and dangerously pregnant with rain and storm at the horizon. And then I don't look anywhere anymore because I can see a clear patch of land and Magic.
Yes. There is clearly an obscuring charm on the clear patch and I swish my wand with all my strength to break it.
Break it does and I can see the lights ahead. Uphill. Lightning strikes and now I feel as if the nature is with me. I see the house situated about two hundred meters up the small tough-tiled road.
I break all rules and disapparate to the front of the house.
I can feel the shield charms that lay on the house but they have not harmed me.
I try to knock, but at that moment thunder crack decides to follow up the lightning strike.
I blast the door open.
I will repair it for Draco soon.
I can feel him vibrating in the walls of the house. Still alive! That is all I can recognize.
I shed my drenched gloves, coat and my drenched scarf. And remove my ruined shoes and socks on the seemingly warm marble floor and I let my instincts direct me. Stairs. Up the stairs.
My wet feet slip on the polished marble floor as I try to climb up the spiralling stairs two at a time.
The silence I notice for the first time is eerie.
And then I recognize it.
There is heavy silencing spell all over the house. I hardly reach the first floor when a young girl steps out of a side room and freezes.
I know what I must look like. But I can't care less. Draco's presence and pain is so potent now that I can't make heads or tails of it.
"Where is he? Where is Draco?" My voice comes out much rougher than I intend. And she startles and I see her hand instinctively go to surround her swollen belly.
She is heavily pregnant and I am scaring her.
"Where is Ustad? Where is Beyazlamak?" I ask her as politely as I can.
She blinks at me and it's as if in that moment she comes to a decision.
She moves towards a door at the end of the corridor and I follow her before she opens it to a sitting type area. I enter and notice the young lad in the picture stepping out of a door at the far wall of the room a bowl in his hand and his appearance dishevelled. And brilliant green eyes blood-shot.
He stares at me frozen on spot.
"You are Aali… You are Aali aren't you?"
And then it occurs to me. The door that is still half open behind the boy.
He crosses the room so fast that I can't catch up to him until he is upon me and his fist is in the air to hit me. I can stop him I am trained to, but I feel like I deserve it. I deserve the pain, so I let it come against my instinct. He clocks me twice in quick succession in the face and in the ribs. The pain is delicious through the agony. Pain is perfect.
He grabs the collar of my shirt to pull me upright and perhaps punch me again, but I grab hold of him this time. He struggles valiantly in his rage. There will be plenty of time afterwards for all the punches in the world and I do deserve them all, but for now. My love is suffering and I need to get to him.
"I promise you that I will let you punch me all you want later. But I need to get to him right now and you don't want to stand in the way of that. You are his son and I don't want to hurt you even a little but I will stupefy you if you don't stop delaying me."
He calms a bit, but there is despair in it. I let go of him carefully and step towards the door from which he came.
"It is useless." He whispers.
I look back at him and see the anguish in his face.
"He is almost gone."
I steel my heart.
"Remove the spells and take the girl out of here."
"Who the hell do you think you are…" He is interrupted by the said girl's hand on him and his shoulders droop again. She nods at me in assent on the boy's behalf and drags him out of the room.
I stand frozen in front of the door that contains him.
And it's a blink and all of a sudden sound rushes in from all sides.
The thunder outside, the racket of fast-falling rain…
And a song of despair.
Heart-wrenching and nerve-mincing song of despair.
It is beautiful, unbearable and ultimate.
It's a music woven out of sheer pain and my chest is throbbing as I open the door so fast that I almost break it off its hinges.
I cannot see anything but the creature that lies at the far end of the room on the cold marble floor. Facing the junction of two walls, as if it's trying to hide. It's the wings though white as the purest snow, that hide most of his body, flapping uselessly as of that of a dying majestic bird that has been struck down. The way they are folded around him I can tell they are huge. A majestic bird, meant to fly in the highest reaches of the sky.
"Draco?" I hear myself say almost a whisper.
The song stops abruptly.
I can hear the sharp inhale and a moment's pause later. I see a hand with glassy nails shuffle out from somewhere between the wing and waving in the air.
No, it's not waving.
It's reaching for me.
I scramble forwards and grab hold of the hand. It's cooler than mine. And then I descend on the floor to grab hold of his broken and shaking body and turn him as delicately as I can to face me in my lap.
Even in this state he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
The silver eyes are familiar. It's Draco still.
"You found me…" he whispers. Eyes almost gone glassy.
"No thanks to you…" I cannot help but say as I try to gather as much of him as possible in my arms without harming the wings.
His dry and ravaged lips spread into a smile.
"Lily?" he asks.
"She is fine, she is perfectly fine and sends her love."
"She is mine too you know. She is mine too now." He says as a tear escapes his eye.
"Yes! She is, and she knows it too, and I want you to be a part of her life Draco. I want both of us together to be a part of her life."
He sobs weakly at that as his body tremors.
No, it's not too late. It can't be. I know that this is a chance. It is a risk too. It might be too far gone, but Luna had told me that if I properly bond with Draco's Veela there is a 20% chance that he might survive. But there will be consequences she told me. There will be consequences and to bond with a damaged Veela…I have worked with worse odds and live to tell about them.
At this point I don't care anymore.
I cannot let him go when I have just found him.
It takes much strength and Draco is unconscious by the time I am able to pick him up and move him to the bed situated in the other corner of the room. I straighten him on to his back and even like this helpless and unconscious he is a sight to behold in all his naked and pure glory. I want to kiss every inch of him. Despite the despair, desire washes into me and I add another prayer on top of my other endless prayers.
They call rejected Veelas, tainted Veela in some culture, though in Draco's case I cannot figure out why? Despite his almost ravaged form, I can see the strength that might come into him and what a formidable figure he will cut. Majestic, beautiful and dominant. I spread out his wings properly.
Luna had taken me through the ritual painstakingly. The ritual of formal and complete bonding between a full-male Veela and his human mate.
I scramble across the room searching for it before it occurs to me.
"Accio Draco's wand"
The wand flies from the desk and into my hand.
As I start removing the rest of my clothes I notice that they are still wet. I remove my shirt and undershirt too. I feel a little hesitant before removing my pants and under-pants, but at this point there are more important things than my modesty.
This is marriage, I realize. This is marriage in its most primal and raw form. This is the only marriage I should have had, with both of us conscious for this. But as it is. This will have to do because the consequence of failure would be devastating.
'The pulse point in the neck of a Veela is their biggest triggering point. Only their chosen mates are allowed to touch them there, which is why it is sort of an awakening point for the bonding ceremony.'
I straddle his legs on the bed. Feeling the coolness of his skin acutely. And at the same time something whispers in my head.
This is all going to be mine.
I lean forward and move his head towards the right and I can feel his heart beating furious under my hand on his chest.
His scent hits me first just as I am about to lick the pulse point on his neck. And then his skin is under my tongue and his scent is in my head. Like a long draw of coolest and sweetest spring water to doze the parching summer thirst. Like an unknown and unrecognisable yet most delicious and satisfying flavour bursting on your tongue.
I can feel his breath catch in his throat on the inhale. As I reluctantly detach myself from his neck and sit back up. His eyes are open and staring at me and it is hauntingly beautiful. There is no grey in them anymore, only pure molten and glittering silver. I have to keep in line and not get lost in him. I have to complete the ritual.
I put the wand in his hand and then guide it to my neck holding it steady. The wand thankfully responds to the mixture of his raw and my own magic and sparks into life.
'You have to then offer your blood and accept his magic, you can integrate the two steps into one and cut yourself in the same spot, just near your pulse point on the left side with his wand and offer him your neck. This will be considered blood offering. And once he accepts, the bond will be half complete. I think you know what is necessary from there on. My only instruction to you would be total surrender. It is scary, but full-male Veelas are very considerate as lovers, especially because their imperative in sex is not reproduction but bonding with their mate. Physical, emotional, spiritual…Try not to use word commands too much during the first bonding.'
The cut is small and precise and I feel a drop of warm blood ooze out of it.
His eyes are fix on my neck but he doesn't move. I can feel his skin warming rapidly under my thighs and his wings straighten slightly as if they have just gained new life.
He looks up at my face and inhales once more as if bathing in my scent. And perhaps he is. I can't tell. He is not the Draco I know. He is something very different A true mythical creature and just as beautiful.
He is still not moving, only looking at me eyes wide and desperate and desirous. From my eyes, to my lips to my neck to my eyes and lips and neck again, he looks and deeply inhales with a strange but pleasant vibration in his chest.
Perhaps he is confused. Consent is important to the Veela Luna had told me.
I move my head to the opposite side and lean towards him. Offering now. Here is my consent. Have it and have me and be mine and safe.
He lets out a small choked whimper and then his arms come around me in a vice grip. And his wings flutter as if in pleasure as he crushes me to him mouth finding the spot accurately and…
He is singing again.
Deep and resonating.
He is singing and his song is that of complaining..
As if he is saying to me.
Why did you torment me so long? Why did you put me through so much pain? I missed you, I've wanted you and needed you. I looked for you and waited for you and it was so long and so hard and so painful and you did not come to me. And you put yourself in so much pain. And why did you hurt yourself so? You were mine, then why did you go to others? But you are here now and I will never let go. I will never ever let you go.
I can't bear its beauty. The song is too much and I am sobbing. As thunder strikes again and again outside. I cling to him. Lips finding any part of him I can reach, shoulders, hands, neck, hair and face. He is soothing me. Cool hands warming now as I am surrounded by white. I want him so much and with such passion that it makes my heart stutter. I can feel his desire pressing into me too. We are bonded now, belong to each other. This bond supersedes every other legal or civil bond that I might have been involved in. No one can challenge it and nothing comes before it in any court of law.
The first kiss when it comes is all-consuming. His tongue and teeth ravage my mouth the way it was always supposed to be ravaged. He tastes every nook and cranny it has to offer. By the time the ravaging is done I can hardly think straight. He is hard and throbbing under me and I know that it's only a matter of seconds when the levee breaks between us.
And when it does, it's pure ecstasy. I lose my mind somewhere in between and all I can see is white and silver.
He sleeps so peacefully, my unbridled mate.
His dark hair is chaos and his skin is endurance.
His perfectly rough lips a ruddy shade and his stubble roughened face full of life and experiences.
He is mine at last. All of him. I wait for him to wake entwined around him like a vine around a tree.
His hard strong body and his sheer power.
His smiles and his frowns.
His heart beat and his breaths
All mine. He makes me burn. Sates my hunger and yet lights my desire.
So wild and perfect and beautiful he is. Like a wild stallion. Indomitable. But I will try. Every single day for the rest of our lives. It shall be our little game.
I wish you were here old friend. To see our lover in all his glory after the night we have had to stale all pleasant nights of all the creatures in the universe.
But you are gone now aren't you? And he will grieve you.
I always asked you to share this burden of incompletion, but you never trusted me.
You separated us. You build a wall between the human and the being.
And now the human is gone and the being remains.
And in the end you destroyed yourself just as he finally came to us.
You loved him just as much as I.
You desired him just as much as I.
But you separated yourself from me.
He is mine, but I fear I will never be enough. I fear he will always look into my eyes looking for you.
Our unbridled mate.
I will love him as me, and love him as you.
One sacrifice you gave.
One sacrifice I will have to give.
To know that I will only be a part of what he desires.
To know that I am his punishment too as much as I am his salvation.
To know that though he has me, he will always want you.
That he will always hear my song but think of you.
You were such a fool.