s it is the fastest and most direct route to the last ingredient that we need and I for one want to get to bed.”

“Draco, you don’t understand. There are thousands, millions even, of giant—”

“Spiders? Yes I know.”

“They enjoy eating flesh—did you know that?”

“I had assumed so. They don’t bother with a Veriae, so I never tested my theory.”

Harry looked pointedly at Draco, and Draco realized that he had overlooked the slight problem of Harry not being a Veriae. He rolled his eyes, only slightly visible in the darkness of the wood.

“Fine. You stay here. I’ll go get the an’s Hair.” Draco spoke as if he was very annoyed by the injustice of all this. “But you have to carry everything back.”

Harry didn’t point out the fact that he already was carrying the other two ingredients, and nodded, watching the aristocrat disappear into the cave-like structure ahead of him.

Harry waited and waited…and finally figured that time was relevant. He was sure that he was counting the seconds when he first heard the sounds, like wheezing only in a very regular breathing pattern. And then he heard the somewhat silent sound of slitheringing towards him. And something that he had forced himself to memorize for Snape’s second test clicked in his head.

Wyvern! His mind screamed. Winged, legless dragons that breathed a yellow fog which gave humans a nasty cough that wouldn’t go away for years, and made their eyes burn and blur. Damn. And what’s more is that their hide repelled magic of all sorts. Double damn.

He half twisted to see three pairs of eyes watching him. Bloody. Hell.

The creatures slowly emerged from the brush, speaking to each other in the language of dragons. It was what Parseltongue had originated from and Harry could catch a few words…words that by themselves formed a very disconcerting picture. Unintentionally, Harry began to back towards the cave which would lead to the spiders’ nest.

Draco emerged from the cave to just avoid running into Harry, who had leapt back to avoid the fog of three wyverns. What were they doing here? The wind of the forest rustled through the trees and told him. Draco saw red.

They.

Wanted.

To.

Harm.

His.

Harry.

Draco did not like that. AT. ALL. Something nagged at the back of his mind that told him that he shouldn’t care if the wyverns hurt Harry…but that nagging disappeared when he caught a glimpse of the emotion boiling in Harry’s eyes.

Helplessness.

Nothing.

Hurts.

His.

Harry.

Something inside of Draco snapped. Wings unfurled, sparkling in the dim light. Harry half turned to see Draco standing there, and began to back away from the Veriae slightly. Draco shoved the last ingredient into his hands and attacked. The first wyvern never saw what hit it as wings seemed to wrap around its body, shredding the skin and spilling critical amounts of blood. It fell to the ground dead within seconds.

The other two wyverns looked at Draco suspiciously, then turned to look at Harry with a strange expression…surprise, if it was possible for a dragon descendant to show surprise. Harry frowned as they spoke to each other.

“Lucky—hiss—too bad—growl—intended—snarl—Veriae.”

They left, obviously not wanting to invoke the already angry Veriae, and Harry didn’t blame them, but what had they been talking about? Harry suddenly wanted to find a way to learn to speak Dragontongue. It was possible to understand it with a bit of studying, just another dialect of Parseltongue after all.

Draco stood in shock after he had entered his rooms and closed the door. What had he done? Why had he done it? He had protected Harry? He had willingly protected Harry? He had been angry that Harry-bloody-Potter had been attacked by wyverns. Why should he even care?

Because Harry’s aura matched his—no he didn’t know that. He only thought that, only had the slightest suspicion of thinking that maybe that could have the slightest chance of being the case…

Yeah right. And if Draco Malfoy hadn’t resigned himself to the fact that Harry Potter was his intended, Draco the Veriae Malfoy certainly wasn’tplaining. In the name of all things magical…why him? Why couldn’t it have been someone—anyone—else?

Draco groaned and threw himself down on his bed in a very unMalfoyish bout of depression (because one, Malfoys never be depressed, and two, Malfoys do not throw themselves onto their beds while, three, wearing clothes that they wore into the Forbidden Forest). Was there even a bright side of this problem? Oh yeah, if he ever wanted tomit suicide for some reason he could just go have a little chat with Harry Potter.

Hi Harry. Just so you know I still hate you, but you’re my intended life partner, so can you hurry and reject me because I want to die because Voldemort just announced that he’s gay and wants to be my bride.

Draco shuddered. Yeah, if he ever wanted tomit suicide, that would definitely be the way to go. Now all he had to do was pray that Harry didn’t figure it out, or if Harry did figure it out (more like if Granger ever figured it out) that Harry had enoughmon sense to avoid him at all costs.

Yes, that was all…and then there was that little fact that he had to start controlling his emotions more now, just to make sure he didn’t go mental when someone tried to hurt Harry…like sending a bludger at him in the Saturday Quidditch match this week…oh damn it all!

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