Chapter Text
Soul magic was inexorable; impossible to resist or ignore. It had to be, reaching and seeking across realms to forever rewrite the path of the souls pulled together by the call.
Yet this scream, no less powerful than those that came before, reached the borders of the realm called Earth and faltered. The magic twisted and warped as it sought an exit until only fragments remained to echo through the stars.
Everywhere, nowhere, unseen but very much present, Lady Fate exhaled, the great gust scorching with her irritation. The patience of an immortal was near limitless, and yet-
She would not stand for yet more interference from the feathered fool who sought to tip Earth too far from balance. The pieces must be nudged into place.
Her sister Lady Death agreed, and quietly began making plans of her own. One way or another, her Chosen would land in Neverah. The nevermore realm. The sanctuary where her most ardent followers dwelled. Ardent but still foolish. Death frowned and pulled her attention back from the plane below. Her Court had grown complacent of late and that must be rectified immediately.
Lady Luck merely smiled and quirked a finger, plucking a string in her loom. On the balance of things this turn of events might yet work out in the little one’s favour.
***
The magic summoned by a soul scream was not gentle, for the circumstances that triggered the scream rarely were. Crackling white energy flared and faded in the shadowed woods as portals spat out their passengers to face the unknown.
Brown wings ripped through his Hogwarts uniform as Theo stumbled forward into a low crouch behind a tree, clawed hands digging into the earth and acting as an anchor. No spellfire greeted his sudden appearance though dark magic and blood hung heavy in the air. There was danger in the stillness his instincts screamed, muted groans of pain and confusion originating from the shadows, danger and-
Temporary claim marks began burning into his skin, and Theo gritted his teeth against the pain. Soulscream then, and whatever danger had triggered the scream still lingered.
Theo let the soul energy pull his focus inwards. He could feel three separate claims, three fledgling bonds originating from where the soul magic still writhed in his chest. Only three? Something about that felt wrong. An emptiness that echoed even as the magic tethered three souls to his. Three was more than you ever thought you’d have. Theo exhaled slowly and pushed it all aside to tug on the new bonds, careful to keep his touch light and questioning. One belonged to his new submissive, silver filigree laced with fear, the others- he staggered as two separate shockwaves of pain ricocheted through his mind, razing the defences he had painstakingly built since his inheritance.
A heavy, all-encompassing pressure unfurled from Theo as the spasms of agony echoing from his bonded forced his alpha aura to the surface. Rage and terror warred within, instincts and control clashing as Theo fought to keep control over his magic.
It was the kind of magic that levelled buildings, indiscriminate destruction forged from wrath.
No, not now. Focus Theo. Breathe. Reel it in. How can you help them if you can’t help yourself!
“Terris Makindor. Brindus. Terris Sukey. Brindus. Terris Alomath. Brindus. Brindus. Brindus,” Theo pressed a hand to his temple and hissed out the familiar binding phrases. Over and over until gold light flared around his wrists and ankles as the ancient binding activated, anchoring his power with burning intensity.
The storm passed and still no attack landed to take advantage of his distraction. Was he even still on Earth? The portal had lasted only seconds, but if he had crossed realms then time meant little.
A crooning hum filtered slowly into his awareness, the soothing notes dulling his rage and pulling his focus outwards. The world sharped around him once more, and he carefully extended his senses as he crept around the tree to fully take in the situation.
The hum originated from the centre of the clearing where two dark heads were bowed together, peach and silver wings raised protectively over the pair. Charred earth extended out from the centre, paths of destruction culminating in figures cloaked in black strewn across the ground, twitching and groaning from what must have been a mighty blast of energy. On the opposite side of the grassy space Theo could see two more bodies curled together, with blood coated wings splayed awkwardly beneath them. Theo frowned. His other two bonded perhaps?
A flash of metal diverted his attention. One of the cloaked figures was starting to rise to their feet, metal mask catching the light of the rising sun as it filtered down through the spring growth.
There was no mistaking that mask.
His alpha aura snapped out fully this time.
There was no room for mercy here.
Theo reached out a hand and twisted, calling the earth to obey him. Mud and rock surged with the motion, snaking around the Death Eater in the imitation of tightly bound ropes. His fingers curled into a fist and the man began sinking into the earth, yelling and cursing spouting from behind the mask. The words did not matter, nothing mattered other than making sure these cretins were unable to carry out their mission.
His other hand pressed lightly against the still burning claim mark.
The gold bands fluxed in and out around his wrists and ankles as the bindings strained against the spike of power. These wretches had dared to hurt his submissive until his very soul had cried out in protest. Even now the pain of it lingered in the back of his mind, setting his fangs on edge and demanding blood.
He stepped forward, a cruel smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. Death was too quick, too easy. His Dragel self roared for their utter destruction. The earth split open with a thunderous crack before he could carry through that urge and a familiar stifling power fell across the clearing.
A scarred and tattooed hand closed around his wrist.
“Let go.”
Theo sucked in a sharp breath at the command, holding it for one, two- The hand on his wrist flexed.
The Death Eater collapsed to the ground half buried in rock and earth, heaving and choking on dirt.
Ilsa Gorgens surveyed the scene with piercing eyes, scales rippling along her skin in response to the blood in the air.
“Greta love, finish that off will you.”
A whirl of silver armour and static energy passed him as the Storm Blood Title advanced on the hapless fanatic, daggers already drawn.
“Aracle, there are two dragels on the far side. Not moving. Possible soulscream-” Theo tipped his head in confirmation, “-so could be their inheritance.”
Ah, several things reordered themselves in his mind. He let out a concerned whine and received several answering chirps and clicks in reassurance. The crooning hum from the centre of the clearing stuttered before continuing.
“Aracle knows what to do Theo.”
A tall man with wings raised protectively brushed past, shield spell held ready at his fingertips.
“Theo.” Ilsa released his wrist with a final squeeze, “Go on. We’ll take care of this.”
The bloodlust waned to a more manageable level and relief flared in its place. His teacher had answered his desperate wordless request. Ilsa was here and she would help, she was already assessing the situation he had dragged them all into and stepping up to do what he could not. That was the nature of the bond between them.
“Thank you, Oretta.” The words were heavy with his gratitude. Theo bowed his head in acknowledgement and turned to approach the shielded submissives in the centre. His soul-bonded submissive needed him, the yearning threads of his newly formed bond stretched out between them, urging him forward.
***
Gold eyes bled black as a silver blade sliced through the throat of the nearest enemy.
Ilsa flicked her own sword out as more of the cloaked figures began to stir awake and gather their wits. With practised eyes she assessed the state of the assailants. Some sort of blast had knocked them off their feet not too long ago.
Her eyebrow quirked up as she studied the singed ground. The magic put into the action had been enough to disable the wizards temporarily, long enough for help to arrive and stop them permanently.
It would not be a fair fight. These wizards were far too addled to offer much resistance. Ilsa didn’t care.
There was at least one submissive under threat, maybe two from what she could sense. And Theodore had asked for her help. She had done far more with far less provocation.
The aftermath of a soulscream was often bloody.
“Greta.”
Glittering eyes flicked in her direction and Ilsa smiled her permission.
With that the gheyo pair descended on the remaining Death Eaters with savage grins and vicious claws. This was a dance they had perfected over decades.
None offered them much of a challenge, none were left living.
Aracle weaved his way through the fight with well-practised ease, giving the centre a wide berth as he strode towards the wounded dragels on the far side.
With timeless grace he knelt beside a pair of red haired twins who lay curled around each other, wings only half out and coated in blood.
A quick diagnostic spell elicited a muted frown. The second, fuller diagnostic an outright scowl.
Large wings flared out fully, held protectively over the young ones as he touched fingers flickering with a pain dampening spell to their temples.
“Ilsa, need you here when you’re done love,” Aracle called over the carnage, “And you’re not going to like it.”
***
Harry woke surrounded by pleasant warmth, contentment washing through his body. There had been no nightmares or unwelcome visions, just peaceful rest. Lazy blinks punctuated his rise to full consciousness, granting him a glimpse of sunlight glinting on peach and silver scales.
Dimly, he was aware of a soft steady voice rising and falling in time with a rhythmic thumping sound.
He timed his blinks to the thump, thump, thump, making a game of it. It was a dull sound but comforting. Very different to the racket his Aunt Petunia made to wake him every morning. The thumps weren’t evenly spaced and every second blink followed quickly after the first.
Slowly his brain shed the cobwebs of sleep and sense trickled in.
Thump thump. Thump thump.
Over and over, the steady beat of someone’s heart echoing through bone and skin.
Harry flinched and squeezed his eyes shut.
The arms cradling him against a warm chest flexed and the voice paused for another thump thump, thump thump, before continuing.
This time Harry could make sense of the words.
“-You’re safe now. I promise you’re safe now. They’re gone-“
Harry wrinkled his nose before his mind caught up and urged him still once more. They may be gone but Harry was still lying in the arms of a stranger after one of the worst nights of his life. Or he was pretty sure it was a stranger. The voice was certainly unfamiliar. Not Hermione or Ron come to rescue him then. Unease swooped through his stomach.
But he wasn’t dead!
That was the important part. Probably.
Firmly pushing down that train of thought, Harry swallowed, gave himself to the count of 3, and peaked one eye open. Flashes of forest and silver in sunlight greeted him. The chest behind him continued to rise and fall steadily. Somehow though, Harry knew the man was amused at him.
Harry squirmed until he could tip his head enough to see who was holding him. The man was slight, with dark sorrowful eyes set into a pale face edged with scars. One scar curved wickedly along the man’s cheekbone towards his ear, while another led from the corner of his mouth down to his throat.
Words of reassurance and safety turned into a soft crooning hum as dark eyes met green.
Safety was relative as far as Harry was concerned. Nothing about this man looked safe. Despite that, Harry could sense no lie in the words and for the first time since he was grabbed in a Hogwarts corridor, Harry did feel safe.
Actually, he felt much better than he should after the night’s ordeal.
The last thing Harry remembered was the torment of the Cruciatus curse and Bellatrix’s sneering face as she cast it again and again. Harry also remembered fearing he would die, that his heart would burst or his brain snap from the prolonged torture. As slowly as possible he twisted his ankles and clenched his fists. Neither movement provoked the expected firestorm of pain.
Harry frowned and repeated the motions. There was an ache from overused muscles and a shakiness that was probably the shock setting in, but he felt remarkably whole.
The crooning hum cut off and the man watched him, exasperation faint but still discernible on his scarred face.
“Try not to move too much. Your inheritance took care of a lot, and I healed what I could, but my healing is very rudimentary. I expect there'll be some aftershocks to such a nasty curse,” The man advised, “Not to mention the delayed inheritance.”
Gentle hands steadied him as he leaned a little further away from the man. There were so many parts of that sentence that he needed to question and-
“...Wings?” Harry stared at the pale appendages, finally connecting the glinting scales he’d been fixated on earlier to the delicate wings rising from behind the man’s shoulders.
“Ah, yes. I was wondering when you were going to ask,” A tiny spark of amusement coloured the man’s voice. “As you are an Earth-born dragel I wasn’t sure how much you’d know.”
“How much of what?”
“Do you know what a dragel is, Harry?”
Harry shrugged, attention already drifting away again. The irritation of moments before abruptly vanished, replaced by a wave of fatigue. He was safe and warm, a novelty for the teenager, and sleep pulled insistently at his eyelids. The smooth steady strokes of Maurice- no, Maury’s hand only lulled Harry further into a semi-conscious state.
Surely whatever a Dragel was could wait. Even the wings only received one more cursory glance before Harry let the tension fully drain from his body and relaxed against Maury’s chest. Faint tremors still wracked his limbs from the exposure to the torture curse but the longer he rested here, the more they faded. Harry was used to not knowing much about the magical world. At eleven he had met a three-headed dog and assured that centaurs and werewolves really did exist. At fifteen, the discovery of winged people could wait until after he slept some more.
A light flick to his temple banished the sleepy weight from his eyes, drawing a muffled whine in protest as he tried to burrow into Maury’s shirt. “
“Pay attention young one. We have a time limit.” Maury hid a smile in the new submissive’s unruly hair, taking care to soothe away any sting with gentle fingers.
Harry let out a low whine in apology, fingers tightening around soft cloth as he cuddled closer.
“Shh, you’ll be fine little one. I know you’re tired but there are things you should know before the others intrude.” A wave of magic washed over the pair and the ground trembled in response. A shiver of anticipation travelled down Harry’s spine. Maury hummed in consideration, “The direct method then.”
“What-?”
Fingers pressed against Harry’s temple carrying the faintest spark of magic from the old mentor to his first and only student.
A Dragel was-
Human to dragon to human but not quite, elemental magic weaving around each form, within and as a part of the creature- A Dragel is pure magic, blessed by magic and by fate, (a deeper and stronger connection than any wizard Harry has ever met) - A flash of scales, of swords, armoured wings glinting in sunlight. A circle of Bonded, submissive (Maurice, Harry. Me?), alpha, beta, pareya, gheyo, merrow, healer- a circle is family, is home, is acceptance-
A terrifying growl echoed around the forest, forcing Harry back to full awareness. Hard earned instincts had Harry reaching for his wand, ready to roll to his feet and assess the danger.
An odd weight pulled at his back -wings, I have wings now, Harry realised- and instead of springing easily to his feet, Harry found himself half sprawled out of Maurice’s lap, hands planted in the dirt. Maurice’s wings barely twitched, still obscuring their surroundings.
Harry let out another low whine, frustration and fear surging back to choke him.
“Shh, Harry.” Maurice eased the submissive back against his chest, ducking down to press a kiss to matted black curls, “Deep breaths ok. You’re safe. The Gheyo’s are just taking care of business.”
It was strange, how his emotions seemed to ebb and flow. One minute the fear was overwhelming. The next, all he could summon was a dull sort of curiosity.
“What’s a Gheyo?” Came Harry’s muted reply even as a dozen or so images rose to the forefront of his mind. A warrior? Protector? Fierce, deadly and born to fight.
Maurice hid a smile against the top of his new student’s head. “Really bad news for your enemies.”
The answer seemed to fit but left Harry with a dozen more questions. Now more aware of the pressure and weight attached to his shoulder blades, Harry carefully twisted around to meet Maury’s eyes, “I don’t…I don’t understand! How can I suddenly be a dragel? What did you do just now? How are you here? Why now? Why not-“ Harry sank teeth into his lower lip to halt the flow of words, blinking rapidly against the burn of tears.
Why did no one help me before?
Within the safe cocoon of Maurice’s pale wings there was silence. Sadness clouded the older dragel’s face, eyes soft and glistening in sympathy.
“The truth is Harry, I don’t know,” Maurice started, rushing on as Harry began shaking his head in denial, “I’ve been looking for you for several months now. None of this has worked out as it should but I received notice that your inheritance had started and the last known details of your whereabouts on Earth-”
His earlier indifference to the situation was beginning to fade. Perhaps he had died earlier, or was still dying now. And this was just an elaborate daydream , conjured from his broken, dying mind, suspended in a moment on the edge of death. That felt more likely than rescue or the promise of true safety. How often had he longed for an adult to sweep in and save him, only to be left bitterly disappointed and desperately fighting to survive.
However, if he were to conjure a protector to comfort him in his final moments, Harry doubted his mind would produce Maurice. Scarred, a little broken, and unfathomably sad (somehow, Harry could feel the sadness, like a worn cloak hanging unevenly about Maury's shoulders), yet his every word and gesture was layered with gentle, constant love. Even in his most outlandish daydreams, Harry had never imagined that sort of love.
The question turns itself over and over in his mind, and he only gives half an ear to Maury’s explanation about mentors and the courts and different realms, trusting that either this was real, and he was safe and could ask to hear it all again later, or he was dying and then it didn’t matter anyway.
Harry sucked in a sharp breath as a new, burning sensation travelled through his veins, as if every heartbeat pumped liquid magic around his body instead of blood. He strained against Maury’s arms, trying to seek out- there was something…someone-
Maurice stiffened, flattening Harry against him with a wing.
Boots crunched on brittle grass.
A moment passed . Harry pushed carefully against the wing, seeking to follow the insistent tug at his core, mostly ignoring the tense exchange happening overhead.
“-How many?”
“Two others, Earth is not-“
“-you the Al-“
“-not mine.”
“He doesn’t know anything-“
“-called for me.”
The wing lifted away, exposing Harry to the pale winter sunlight. An involuntary whine slipped from his throat. It had been warm under the wing, but he needed to, to…what? What did he want right now?
Two identical soothing rumbles answered him. He could feel the vibrations through where he was still resting against Maurice’s chest.
“Someone’s here to see you Harry.”
"Potter?!"
Gold eyes met his own with such intensity that Harry drew back for a moment. Maurice smoothed a hand down his arm in reassurance.
Harry distantly recognised the boy as a Slytherin in his year. That was slightly concerning. Except now, like Maurice, this boy had wings rising over his shoulders and patches of brown and gold scales on his skin.
“Go on little one.”
Maurice nudged him forward and his wings flared out as he struggled to his feet, unsteady as a newborn but newly determined. What did it matter really, if he was alive or in the process of dying, if this was reality or an oddly comforting hallucination, Harry wanted it to keep going. His very soul yearned to be cradled in the comfort of those pretty brown and gold wings.
The dragel before him reached out to catch him under the elbows, dragging him that one, two steps closer until they were breathing the same air. It wasn’t enough. Harry surged forward, sinking fangs into willing flesh. A mouthful of hot, sweet blood dripped down his throat and some of the haze finally lifted from Harry’s mind. Fuelled by instincts Harry released his bite and licked over the wounded skin, content in his claim.
Long pale fingers trailed under his chin, lifting his head up.
Gold eyes met green.
“Alpha.” Harry purred, “Mine.”
Twist. Shift. Click.
***
Maurice rose gracefully to his feet and stretched out a hand. A green edged sword flew across the clearing, only to dissolve into shadow when the grip touched his skin. He stretched out his wings, taking a minute to assess his body. Protecting, well cuddling really, the little submissive had been no trouble but he might have overdone it when he landed.
Sparing a glance at the newly bonded pair to ensure all was well there, Maurice pasted a genial smile onto his face and went to greet the newly arrived Gheyos.
“Maurice Elswood, assigned Mentor to the new submissive.” Maurice tipped his head in greeting, taking care not to break eye contact with the Gheyo. It was a risky move perhaps, all Gheyo, but particularly ACE rank were finicky. It didn’t take much to tweak their scales, but Maurice was well accustomed to the rougher sort. His heart clenched at the reminder, but this was not the time nor the place to indulge in the well of sorrow at his centre. There was no flare of recognition in the stocky female’s eyes. Maurice took it for the blessing it was. Those who knew him either greeted him with pity or more rarely, suspicion.
“Ilsa Deveraine, Earth Blood title. My student, Theodore,” Ilsa waved over to the Alpha-Submissive pair, “called on me when the scream began. Though there wasn’t much left for my bonded and I do when we arrived.”
A dangerous smile tugged at the corners of Maurice’s mouth. He let the unasked question hang in the air for a minute. It had been many moons since he had indulged in the ebb and flow of dragel society. Still, even in his isolated corner whispers had reached him of the Earth Courts’ Blood Title. Power radiated from the female dragel. No wings though, and wasn’t that interesting. Something to poke at another day, since they would no doubt be meeting often in the future given their students and their less an auspicious start to building their circle.
“The rest are all dealt with then I presume?”
A muscle ticked in Ilsa’s jaw.
“Of course.”
“Good.” Grim satisfaction was evident in Maurice’s countenance and he turned fully from the ACE. “Now we can leave this cursed place.”
The ground gave the faintest tremor. A full smile bloomed, stretching the scar tissue along his throat. It would never not be fun to tease and poke at Gheyos.
Theo looked up from the weary submissive in his arms, “I have somewhere we can go. The wards will need to be dealt with, but no one should look for him there. We need to regroup before deciding if off-realm is the answer.”
Ilsa raised a brow as if to say ‘Really? Now?’ but tipped her head in acknowledgement of what she saw in Theo’s eyes.
“Prepare for a portal.”
***
He gripped the sword-shaped pendant and spoke the password.
A familiar tugging began under his navel and he gave in to the portkey magic. It was not exactly a pleasant experience, to feel space twist and squeeze around you. But convenient, and most importantly, secure.
It was also the only way out of the hidden pocket realm of the Arena, where the shadows crawled and the stench of dark magic never fully went away.
Anything was preferable to that.
He counted down the seconds until he hit the landing point, already anticipating falling into his plush mattress after a steaming hot bath. Respite from the blood and chaos and debt, of another Friday night fight series in an endless string of Friday nights, stretching before and behind him. Even a Gheyo could grow tired of fighting.
There was no use dwelling on the permanence of his situation.
Blaise shoved it down, down, down and devoted his mind to the steps he needed to take to reach his dorm unchallenged.
Of course, that is when the white light erupted around him, tearing him from the portkey’s passage and into the unknown.