InsaneJournal

Concubine
Title Concubine
Author Quill Lumos
Prompt 74 - Draco finds out that he is fated to be a concubine. Not happy with his fate, he tries to escape it as best as he can. But fate/destiny/prophecy (whichever) are tricky things...
Which round it comes from Round Four Slavery
Your summary The magical world is not kind to those who are different, to the creatures who share the magic. Only cruelty and prejudice await those whose blood is not utterly pure or completely human.
DisclaimerI 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.
Genre Hurt/comfort
Warnings. Swearing and some mention of rape
Rating R

Word count – 6,773

*Waves sheepishly* Hi there. This fic is now officially no-longer on hiatus. As long as life hangs back on those curve ball it keeps tossing my way I plan to update this every seven to ten days.

Many thanks to my darling Claudia who betaed and the lovely laylee86 who crawled out of her sick bed to beta this story. I love you ladies ~ Lucie





BTW the gorgeous icon was not made for this fic it is by lillithium made an icon by gossymer. I just snaffled it and hereby credit as promised.

Concubine

Written for thematic_hp

Prologue., Part One.,
Part Two.,
Part Three.,
Part Four.,
Part Five.









Six – the influences of the past. Part two

Draco was curled up on a rug in a corner, hidden in a section of the book-shop that had floor to ceiling shelves. His dark purple robes spilled all around him onto the floor and because he had been here for ages now and nobody had bothered him he felt safe enough to push his hood back so that his face could be clearly seen. Of course a glimpse of white blond hair was also visible to anyone that might wish to look.

He was surrounded by books. Two great piles of them stood precariously on one side of him, on the other side there was a bare patch of floor. If Draco liked a book he put it on the bare patch of floor and the book vanished only to be processed and added to Harry’s ever growing account and thence presumably to reappear at home.

Draco wondered when he had begun to think of Grimmauld Place as home. He had no idea. But it did feel like home; it felt like Harry.

Harry seemed to have regained some of the equilibrium that he had lost at Ollivander’s. He would disappear off for a while and then come back with yet another selection of volumes that he thought Draco might like. There were books on everything from Quidditch to Potions with a vast array of titles in-between.

Harry’s hood had fallen off completely and his hair was in disarray. Every so often someone would come up to him and ask if he was Harry Potter and brandish a quill and something to sign. Harry would oblige whoever it was with a signature. All the time looking totally bewildered as to why anyone would possibly be interested in him.

Draco smiled to himself.

Harry was so endearingly sweet sometimes. When they were at Hogwarts Draco had believed, sincerely believed that Harry loved his fame, encouraged it. But really, he could not have been more wrong.

Harry didn’t understand. He didn’t have a clue, did he? Harry Potter could have the world at his feet and yet he seemed to want none of it. None of the praise, the adoration that was surely his due. He seemed perfectly content instead, to live in a battered house with a psychotic sofa and a cow shaped milk jug and little balcony with some cast iron chairs and a pot of lavender.

Harry was obviously very wealthy indeed and yet he didn’t flaunt his riches. He had in fact lived very frugally up until now, his mind presumably occupied with other things

Harry was coming towards him again and he had even more books in his arms. Draco could see the spines of the books; red, blue, green edged in gold, he wondered idly what the titles were, surprised that Harry had managed to find anything that Draco had not already seen. A small girl stopped him in his progress back to Draco and Harry smiled and bent towards her.

Draco thought that Harry’s smile was like the sun, it was brilliant, warming. Harry had turned his gaze on the little girl and then he spoke. Draco couldn’t hear what was said but he could see that all of Harry’s attention was on the child and he wondered if this was part of Harry’s charm. The ability to look at someone as if they were the centre of his universe, as though when he were with them nothing else mattered.

The little girl nodded. Her red plaits bounced, emphasising the movement of her head. Draco was reminded of Ginny Weasley and wondered what had happened between her and Harry. There had been no sign of her in the last few days, not even with the tide of Weasleys that had invaded the bedroom the night before. He wondered if he dared ask Harry one day?

Then Harry was looking at him, smiling at him, and Draco found that he could not breathe. His heart felt like it was being squeezed, for a brief second the world stood still and then Harry turned his attention back to the little girl and time moved on once more.

Draco forced himself to turn his attention back to the book held open in his lap. Another potions volume. One that he thought Severus might enjoy. And then the sun was gone, as if chased behind a cloud, the room grew cold and a shadow fell across him, one that echoed dark malevolence.

“So, your master has abandoned you, has he?”

Draco looked up.

A woman was smiling down at him, but Draco did not like that smile. It was evil, toad like. It belonged to someone who liked to see others in pain, Draco knew it all too well, the look that she was giving him, he had come across it often enough in the past few months.

He thought he knew her. She was wearing a pink suit; a tweedy jacket and matching skirt. Her iron grey hair was obediently curled, she could have been kind, caring, she looked like everyone’s idea of a favourite maiden aunt, but those eyes told the truth, and her smile.

She had an umbrella tucked beneath her arm. That was pink too and it seemed that the pattern was of kittens. Kittens in various colours, mewling to eachother piteously. Draco found that he could not look away.

He did know the woman. He remembered her from Hogwarts, she had been nice to him then and he had revelled in her cruelty to Harry, rushed to carry out her bidding. Oh Merlin, what had he done!

Dolores Umbridge smiled even more widely, but her eyes stayed cold

Draco looked away from her regard with difficulty and stared down at his lap instead

Then the handle of the umbrella that she carried was beneath his chin and his head was being forced upwards to meet that remorseless gaze.

“I asked you a question, concubine, you would do well to answer me.”

Draco opened his mouth, and then closed it again. Those eyes seemed to understand immediately what he could not say.

They sparkled with malice.

The mouth turned up at the corners again, this time in a satisfied smirk.

“Someone rendered you mute, hmmm? Quite right too. What would an animal need with speech.”

The question was rhetorical, she wasn’t speaking to him after all. “You don’t seem to be wearing a collar, though, and that is against the law. I think I’ll have to take you into custody.”

Draco began to tremble. Was he meant to wear a collar? Did Harry know? Draco did not want to go back to a cage like the one at St Ignatious’

Draco’s trembling increased. The very floor seemed to be moving, the books wobbled dangerously on their shelves. A large red volume crashed from its position on a nearby shelf and landed mere inches from Umbridge

Draco looked around now, beginning to panic, what was happening? What was going on?

“If you do not remove that umbrella from under Draco’s chin then I shall take it and wrap it around your neck.”

“Potter.”

“Move away from Draco and do it now.”

Harry was speaking through clenched teeth. He was trembling, rubbing the fingers of one hand over the back of the other. The very air about Harry seemed to bend and bow; another book flew past Umbridge’s head. It was Harry’s doing, Draco thought. Was he losing control of his magic?

Draco noticed that Umbridge had to look up at Harry now. Back in school they had been about the same size, but it seemed Harry had grown. The witch’s eyes were wide with panic now. She flinched as another book flew past her head, but she did not seem willing to acknowledge her instinctive fear.

Her chest was puffed out, her stance firm. She was full of self-righteousness, determined not to be beaten and Draco thought that she supposed that she would win this battle.

“You have a dangerous magical creature unfettered in a public place. Don’t you realise that that is against the law? I shall have to take this animal into custody.” Umbridge was saying in a tone which seemed to suggest that she had already won the argument.

“He is not going anywhere with you and I find your tone offensive.” Harry said, “Draco won’t hurt anyone but if you push me you will find that I am far more dangerous than any magical creature you could imagine.”

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move at all. But Umbridge backed away, then stopped and puffed out her chest once more. The temperature of the little corner in which Draco had been sitting dropped by several degrees and the pages of the books that sat all around him began to move wildly in a phantom breeze.

Umbridge’s nostrils flared her mouth twisted is apparent disgust
“You don’t scare me, Potter!” she snarled.

“Don’t I?” Harry said quietly. “Do you think I care how you feel? Draco is not harming anyone, we were just getting ready to leave. I suggest that you move out of the way and let us.”

They were at an impasse.

Neither moved for a moment and then a tall, thin man joined them.

He turned to Harry and extended a hand. “Mr Potter, My name is Frederick Flourish, so glad to finally meet you. You have done so much for the wizarding world.”

Harry turned his attention to Flourish and shook the hand that had been offered to him. The books that surrounded them, that had become ever more animate in their frenzied protest, were suddenly still

But Umbridge was obviously determined not to be distracted.

She grabbed the thin man by the arm and started shouting at him, gesticulating in Draco’s direction as she spoke

“This creature should not be allowed to roam free in a public place! I found him here, sitting in this corner, bold as you please. It is not right, it should not be allowed! He should not be unfettered without the permission of the owner of the shop.”

Flourish had slate black eyes, he stared steadily at Umbridge until her diatribe was finished.

One or two books jumped a few inches into the air, as if in protest at the woman’s words.

“Mr Potter has my permission to bring his pet here any time he wishes,” Flourish said calmly.

A larger book than Draco had yet seen appeared from nowhere and crashed to the floor beside the man.

Draco felt like he had been bathed in ice water. Umbridge was spluttering, she was obviously enraged that the man seemed to be taking Harry’s side. But he wasn’t really was he? He had called Draco a ‘pet’ not a companion or friend but a pet.

Harry’s eyes were flashing he looked enraged, he opened his mouth as if to speak. But all at once Draco knew that it didn’t matter what Harry said. He might be the hero of the wizarding world, but the wizarding world was not going to back him in this. They might defend his right to own Draco, to take him where he wished. They might prefer Harry to the Ministry but their prejudices ran deeply, very deeply. He should know, he had lived his life surrounded by bigotry, and if he had not been what he was then maybe he would still have been in that world, would have been one of those people. He had never questioned his parents beliefs after all.

Draco realised that there was nobody who would defend them, even people who seemed to understand, like Ollivander, would not speak out. Madam Malkin had indulged the two boys, had offered disguises, but had not used Draco’s second name. This man, this book shop owner, who was obviously trying to be kind, he had unintentionally dealt the cruellest blow of all. He was obviously defending Harry to the Ministry in the shape of Dolores Umbridge, but he was not challenging the status quo.

Draco looked at Harry. Really looked at him. Harry was a hero but he was also a seventeen-year-old boy with dark circles under his eyes, whose face was drawn, whose cheeks were hollow. Something was happening with his magic; he was losing control. A small crowd had gathered, looking on. This wasn’t the time to fight, Harry needed to recover and Draco didn’t think that these people were truly ready to hear whatever it was that Harry might have to say.

Harry, take me home please?

Those gorgeous eyes were focussed on Draco, they were filled with concern, tenderness.

Please Harry?

Then Harry was bundling Draco into his robe, pulling his hood up and Draco felt that he could hide safely away that Harry would protect him. He tried to close his ears to what was being said.

“Harry Potter’s pet!”

“It’s a concubine!”

“The one that pretended to be human? Pretended to be a pureblood then?”

“It was just sitting there, it could have turned vicious!”

“No I think Potter has it tamed, look how it’s burrowing against him.”

“Lucky bastard, fancy inheriting a concubine!”

Bitter tears were stinging Draco’s eyes, his throat felt sore and scratchy. He felt Harry’s hand pressed against his head, holding him close and tried hard not to sob.

He heard Umbridge’s cold, clipped tones, berating Harry and Flourish for endangering the public. He heard Harry telling her to leave them alone. He heard Flourish telling Harry that his books would be sent on and Harry’s gentle thanks and then he heard nothing but the sound of rushing air as Harry disapparated them back to the relative safety of Grimmauld Place.





Draco was being sick. Violently sick. Harry sat beside him and tried to keep his damp hair out of his eyes, away from the vomit. Stroking the blond locks gently, rubbing idle circles on Draco’s back.

He didn’t know what to say. What could he say? As far as Harry was concerned the whole world had gone mad. Draco was human, he was a wizard. That seemed blatantly obvious to Harry. But it had also seemed obvious that Remus was a good man, like Hagrid and he hadn’t been able to protect them from senseless hatred either.

He couldn’t help but wish that Dumbledore were still here.

The old man had had his faults, huge ones in some cases. . Yet bigotry had not been one of them. Prejudice had no place in Dumbledore’s world, but even he had been hard pressed to defend those causes that he had supported at times. He had lost the battle to keep Remus at Hogwarts, he had been unable to free Dobby from a life of torture, Harry had had to do that with a trick.

If Dumbledore had still been here, they would have had somewhere to go. He would have been able to give them advice. He would have tried to help at least. But right now Draco seemed almost broken and Harry was at a loss about what he should do. What should have been a simple shopping trip had turned into torture for both of them, but especially for Draco.

Draco was sobbing now. He had curled himself around the toilet bowl as if it were sanctuary, reluctant to release it.

Harry dampened a piece of flannel and used it to clean the bits of Draco that he could reach and tried to decide what he was going to do.

A gentle knock surprised them both.

The bathroom door opened and Hermione came in. She walked over and sat on the edge of the bath.

“Was it bad?” she said gently

“Hermione,” Harry said, welcoming the chance to talk to vent to someone who would understand, “it was shit! The whole day! People didn’t use Draco’s surname and they didn’t talk to him and then when we were at Flourish and Blotts, Umbridge came and treated Draco like he was some sort of animal, and then,” Harry didn’t like the way his breath hitched, hated the fact that he felt like he might cry. What right did he have to cry after all? It wasn’t him that had been treated like an interferer being.


Hermione reached over and gently patted his shoulder, Harry swallowed “Then Mr Flourish came,” he continued, “he was defending me, trying to help I think, but he called Draco my pet!” Harry couldn’t help the shudder that came as a reflex, at the thought of Draco’s face when that word had been used.

Draco had looked so happy for a while, contented. Sitting with his pile of books humming away in his head.

“It’s not right Hermione, it’s unjust. it’s ...” words failed Harry, there was just no way to describe how wrong the situation was.


Hermione sat on the floor beside them. Draco had moved away from the toilet bowl and buried his head on Harry’s shoulder. He was shivering slightly so Harry wrapped his arms around him. Harry couldn’t feel any coherent thoughts, just waves of sadness coming from the man he held so tenderly.

“Prejudice is never right, Harry.” Hermione said quietly. “It is rarely rational either. Voldemort didn’t exist in a vacuum; he had plenty of supporters, plenty of people who thought he was right about blood purity. I doubt that that has changed, simply because he has been defeated. They might keep quiet about Muggleborns for a while, cause the sentiments that some people were spouting aren’t acceptable right now. But it seems like magical creatures don’t have the same protection.”

“The more I read about concubines the harder I find it to equate what I am reading with Draco. He isn’t an animal; he isn’t an unthinking creature a mindless thing. But the books all oppose that view.” Hermione looked puzzled that she might have found books that she disagreed with; she had always found her knowledge in the library. Harry thought that it was probably very disturbing for her.

“Each book that I read references others, and I research those, but it is as if book after book is constructed on misinformation, on propaganda,” she shook her head in disbelief.


“ History is written by the winner.” Draco’s thought echoed in Harry’s head. Harry looked down at him. Draco was peeking out, he was obviously following Hermione’s words avidly. Harry wished that the two of them could have a conversation, that he could simply let them talk without having to be there, but for now Harry was the only one who could hear Draco, who could let his thoughts and feelings be shared.

“Draco says that history is written by the winner.” Harry said. Hermione snorted, a bitter sound.

“You are right of course Draco,” she said. “There has to be a way to change things though. You are articulate, you are living proof that the existing knowledge on concubines is wrong. Maybe we could work together, your thoughts and experiences, my observations. We won’t change the world overnight, but we could make a start.”

She reached over and then stopped. Her hand hovered close to Draco’s cheek but she didn’t lay a finger on him. Their eyes met and Draco nodded, giving Hermione permission to touch him. She brushed his damp fringe out of his eyes and smiled at him.

“I don’t think that anyone has ever listened to a concubine before, Draco. Maybe it is up to us to change things?”

“Erm, Hermione,” Harry said, “there is something else that happened today.”.

She looked at Harry steadily, waiting for him to elaborate.

“Er my magic, it went a bit wild, um I sort of lost control for a minute or two.”

“Did you really, Harry?” She asked, but she did not seem terribly surprised.
She spoke as if she was trying confirm a theory. “How did you feel?”

“How do you think I felt?” Harry snapped, “I felt bloody furious!”

“Yes, Harry,” of course you did, I expect that had a lot to do with things,” Hermione said calmly.

Harry narrowed his eyes, but he didn’t reply. He knew Hermione well enough to know that something had set her thinking, but she would take herself off and read and investigate and nothing would get her to discuss her suspicions until she was ready.




They sat there on the cold tile floor for a little longer, each wrapped in their own thoughts and then Hermione spoke again.

“Fleur is downstairs,” she said, “she has come to see you Draco, Ron asked her to visit, but he stayed away, he thought you might prefer that right now. Are you up to talking to her?”

Draco had stopped shaking. Somehow Hermione’s words, her suggestion of writing it all out in detail again, for others to read seemed to have calmed him. Perhaps it was the fact that she was ready to help him tell his story, perhaps it was because she had been one of the few people in all that long day that had treated Draco like a human. Harry didn’t know and Draco had dampened down his thoughts, almost as if he did not want to be heard right now, and Harry wouldn’t dream of intruding.

Whatever the reason, Draco seemed calmer. He looked at Harry as if searching for permission, but Harry was so not going down that road. “It’s up to you, Draco,” Harry said.

Draco looked back at Hermione and eventually, after what seemed like forever he nodded again.




Fleur was sitting at the well scrubbed kitchen table, she held Bill’s hand in her own and rested her other hand on her swollen belly.

Draco stopped dead when he saw the eldest Weasley and Harry ended up crashing into the back of him.

Draco’s eyes were huge in the half-light of the dark kitchen and they glittered with a sheen of tears. Harry could not think what was wrong.

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked, coming around to look at Draco’s stricken face.

“M’sorry, so sorry,” Draco’s voice was a shadow, no more than that.

“He says he is sorry,” Harry repeated, puzzled.

Bill flushed a bright brick red, underneath the scars that still marred his features. Hermione, who had entered just behind them, blushed too.

“Oh I am sorry, Draco. I thought you’d realise that Bill was here too.”

And all at once Harry knew why Draco was so very upset. He didn’t even notice Bill’s scarring anymore. The once handsome features were permanently marred, but it didn’t seem to have stopped Bill from getting on with life. He had married his Veela; she was carrying their first child. Harry had forgotten that it had been Greyback, long since dead, who had attacked Bill. Forgotten that Greyback’s entry into a school full of innocent children had been Draco’s fault. Draco had not been expecting Bill, they hadn’t warned him that the man would be there as well as Fleur.

For a second or two, an awkward silence dampened the cheerful warmth of the kitchen, but then Bill stood and walked over to Harry and Draco and to Hermione.

He held out a hand to Draco. Firm, strong and steady. “ I reckon you have had a far harder time than I have, mate.” He said quietly.

For another second Draco did not move. He stared at the hand in front of him as if he did not know what it was, then he took it firmly and held on tight and allowed himself to be led gently to the table and to Fleur who was now standing just beside a battered kitchen chair awaiting their approach.
.




Draco couldn’t stop trembling as he got closer to the blonde woman, he wasn’t attracted to her, not at all. But she smelt so wonderful, she smelt like roses and warmth, of camomile and safety. He wanted to bury his head against her shoulder, against her bosom and just be held. She smelt right.

He had never really had much to do with her at Hogwarts. She had been a champion at the Tri-Wizard Tournament and he had remained un-noticed, in the background. Part of him had been delighted because he had not wanted to meet anyone who might recognise his heritage, especially someone with Veela heritage. But part of him had hated Harry for the adoration that he had received. The thought of those dratted badges came back to him again and he blushed a deep scarlet.

Fleur put her head on one side and gazed at him as if he were something that she could not quite understand. But then he thought to himself, perhaps he was strange to her.

“Do not blush, little one,” she said. Draco may not have talked to her when she had been at Hogwarts but he had definitely heard her speak. She had changed a lot since he had seen her last and now there was just a gentle accent, a softening of some words, nothing like as strong as it once had been.

Draco opened his mouth. He wanted to tell her that he was not blushing because of anything that she had said, or because of their close proximity. But then he closed it again. Just for a second he had forgotten that his voice had been taken and the remembrance of the loss was as painful as it had ever been.

“Oh, little brother,” Fleur said, her eyes filling with tears, “Poor little brother!”

All at once Draco’s eyes had filled with tears again. He had managed not to cry all day, the casual dismissals of the people that he had met, the delighted cruelty of Umbridge. Even in the bathroom, he had not cried, he had been close once or twice but he hadn’t cried. But a little kindness had almost undone him, just like it had with Snape.

Then he was enfolded in Fleur’s embrace and he was sobbing quietly, whilst she ran gentle fingers through his hair and shushed him with a song that he had never heard before but felt that he had known for all of his life.

One that was very low, whispered, that he suspected was only for him

Once the song was finished, she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him gently away. She was smiling at him.

“Better?” she asked.

Draco nodded, he wasn’t sure quite what had happened but he did feel better somehow, less frantic than he had felt even moments before.

“Good, because I am afraid little brother that I must sit.” The smile grew somewhat wry, she was laughing at her condition.

“I have come here today, because Ron asked me. He said that you have been through hell. He said that he thought you needed someone who might be able to help you learn a little about yourself. My brother-in-law has not always been the most understanding of people, but I think that he was right in this?

“He thought that you were lost, alone and that you needed someone who could help you, who might understand some of your feelings, to share with you what you should always have known. You have been very badly treated, but you must have courage, little brother, you come from a noble line.

“Concubines and Veela are close relatives. Not everyone realises how close, even Ron and Arthur did not realise how close till Hermione told them. We have a lot that is the same about us, and some things which are different, but then not so many. Veela are bound like concubines are, we are,” she lowered her eyes at this point and whispered, “submissive.”

Bill squeezed her hand, which he was holding once again, tenderly, gently and Draco was under no illusion that he would have given her the moon had she asked for it.

“But we do not change like concubine do,” Fleur continued. Her accent was less strong but sometimes the way she phrased things sounded a little strange. We do not have the blood of the Metamorphmagus, we transform only into the shape of birds when we are very angry, otherwise we always stay the same. Both of us can ensnare the senses of those we wish to conquer. Nobody has shown you this little one have they? But not our mate, he – or she is not ensnared, they are immune. Once we are mated it is for life.”

Draco wanted to speak again he opened his mouth but could only make a little huff of frustration. Harry spoke for him instead.

“But what about Voldemort?”

“I do not think that Draco and Voldemort were mated,” Fleur said. “ I think that Draco was raped and enslaved, not mated.”

Draco stared at her.

She looked calmly, directly into his eyes

“Draco when you find your mate, the person that you will love for all of your life, you will know, you will feel it here!” She made a fist and held it to her chest, near her heart. Your mate will mark you, anyone who takes you will mark you, but if you have choice, if you are not forced to bond, if you feel love too, you will mark your mate in return.”

Hermione made a small squeaking noise, she sounded deeply satisfied with something.

Harry gasped.

“But then that means that I am Draco’s mate!” He extended his arm to show Fleur his wrist, he was sitting alongside Draco, as close as he could get really, his legs touching Draco’s, hard Windsor chair right beside Draco’s mismatched one.

Draco held his breath, he didn’t want to hear anger in Harry’s voice or sadness or regret.

Harry sounded astonished but he did not seem unhappy.

“He is not cross, little brother,” Fleur said, gently squeezing Draco’s knee. She seemed to understand him so well that he didn’t need to speak to tell her how he felt, but oh how he wanted too. “He speaks to you all the time of his feelings, Harry does, but no one ever taught you how to listen. I will teach you to open your heart little brother.”

“Did you think I might be angry Draco?” Harry asked urgently, “Because I’m not!”

And then more softly, like a caress.

“Draco?”

“I am frightened Harry! I do not understand.”

“He is very erm… anxious, Fleur,” Harry said, “Erm I don’t think that he knew any of this.

Fleur’s eyebrow’s were raised at Harry

“I can see that,” she said coolly. “He should have known all of these things, since he was a child. But they hid him away, they told him nothing but half truths.

Draco felt astonished, not at Fleur’s words, but at the way she spoke to Harry. It wasn’t Harry’s fault that he had been treated so badly.

But then he realised that Fleur was angry, she was restraining her fury but the anger was there, anger on his behalf. He had apparently found yet another champion, when just a little earlier it had thought that there was no such thing. She had snapped at Harry it seemed because she was suppressing her feelings. Harry for his part seemed totally unfazed by her coolness.







I must go now. But I will come back soon, you need to rest.” He lifted his gaze to hers, giving her his full attention once again. We need to talk little brother, talk much more, we have much to share, but not today.”

She extended her arm, and just above her pulse point was a small mark, a crest. Bill still sat close to her. He had held her hand again, Draco had watched how the red-haired man had stroked it gently whilst they had been talking, then he too showed Draco his wrist, on his pulse point, stark against the pale freckled skin there was a tiny mark. A crest of blue and silver.

Draco couldn’t bear it. Bill was Fleur’s mate, she had chosen him above everyone, she had, had a choice. When had he had a choice? He had been forced by his father, given to Voldemort. His eyes stung again at how different it had been for Fleur, loved and admired by everyone, because she was part Veela and Veela’s were acceptable.

But then he felt a strong arm snake around him. An arm that was lightly tanned, that was sprinkled with fine dark hairs. The arm pulled him closer to a firm torso and wrapped him in a comforting embrace.

Harry.

“Today you have been battered by the world I think,” Fleur continued, her eyes were tender, sympathetic, “and now you must get some sleep. But first I have something for you, something that will help answer your questions that will help you understand more about yourself until we can talk again.

“Young Veela, young concubine, they are given this book.” Draco had not noticed that Fleur had been holding something, but in her hands extended towards him was a slim volume.

He had had enough of books for one day, but something about this one called to him.

Draco reached out and took it tentatively and as he touched it, his hand felt almost as if it had been burned, yet he could not draw away.

The cover had been worn smooth by the touch of countless fingers. It was mottled in places, faded in others. Under the many centuries of grime there was a hint of the books original colour, was it purple perhaps?

He turned it over hungrily, enraptured,

He looked at the woman in front of him, desperately wanting to speak, but it seemed that he didn’t need to right now

“It is the book of Yang Guifei.” she said.

“Her name means ‘precious princess consort’. Yang Guifei or ‘Pinyin’ was one of the most beautiful women who ever lived.

“Her mother was a veela and her father a Metamorphmagus. Even Muggles know some of her story though not the whole truth.

“She was the beloved of the Emperor Xuanzong, fifteen hundred years ago. The Emperor supposedly abandoned his duties because he was besotted with her. Many accounts tell of her family who were gifted positions of power because Xuanzong could refuse her nothing. Some accounts say that they were corrupt, others say that Pinyin was too. There was an uprising and many of her relatives were killed; the Emperor was threatened and according to legend Pinyin was killed because, she had to be stopped, but this is not so.

“Near Xianyang city, there is a tomb. It is venerated in Xi’an, young girls have for generations gathered soil from around her grave, hoping that if they use it as a face powder it will make them beautiful too.

“There they know the truth. That Pinyin took her own life so that the man that she loved would be safe. So that the fighting would be over and peace would come again.

“Pinyin, is our equivilant of Merlin. She is reverred amongst our kind, for her magic and her goodness as well as for her beauty.”

Draco shivered again. He had been listening avidly to Fleur’s story. He could imagine Pinyin, so long ago, desperate for the sfaety of her lover, wanting to save both him and her country. But the mention of Merlin! Maybe that was what the prophecy was hinting at? He ask Hermione about it as soon as he could.


“This book tells of her secrets.” Fleur continued, “secrets that we share, concubine and Veela. A copy of this book should have been yours from when you were a very small child Draco. You should have always known these things, just as you should have heard our song.

“This book is not a copy, it has been in my family for a very long time. But I think you should have it. I want it to be yours.”

Draco looked up sharply, he wanted to say no, to give it back, but she closed his fingers around it and squeezed gently.

“It is yours!”

She reached into her pocket and brought out a blue, glass sphere. She set it in the centre of the table and turned it a quarter turn to the right. A soft blue glow appeared in the centre and began to pulsate slowly. “A music globe!” Hermione breathed, reverentially.

Harry said nothing, he just stared at the globe as if he had never seen such a thing before.

“This holds the music that is our heritage.” Fleur said, “I will play it for you.”

As she spoke, a voice of unsurpassable beauty began to sing. The song echoed, clear and beautiful through the room in which they sat, it seeped into Draco, deep into his bones. The clear true soprano sang in Italian, she sang of loss, of love. She spoke to him alone of all that he knew and had always known but which had been locked away for him from far too long.

As he sank into the music he could feel Harry beside him, really feel him, as if a barrier had been removed, a veil lifted. He could feel Harry’s heart beat as if it were his own. His breathing became attuned to Harry’s, he felt each movement that Harry made as if it were his world. When Harry blinked it was as if thunder had awakened, Harry’s tears at the glory of the song sounded to Draco like torrential rain and he felt as if he had been bathed in delight and sorrow.

At last there was silence.

For a very long time, no one spoke or moved, each wrapped in thoughts that they could not share.
.
“That’s Puccini.” Hermione finally said, “Madam Butterfly.”

“Yes, it is from an opera, a Muggle Opera. Puccini did not know of magic, he based his opera on a fictional tale of a Japanese woman tricked into “marriage” to a man who did not want her. But the music, oh the music. That is the song of the concubine. So somehow, at sometime, he must have heard our songs.

“Of course, this singer is a Muggle, there is no magic in her voice, but her voice is truly beautiful is it not?”

Fleur stood awkwardly for she was very pregnant indeed, but her hand still held Draco’s. He looked up at her, totally bewildered. He didn’t know what to say.

“We still have much to discuss, little one, she said softly, but not tonight. Tonight you must rest and do not let yourself be overwhelmed by these new feelings that you have, you control them, they do not control you. She leaned over and placed a kiss on Draco’s head and then leaning heavily on Bill, allowed herself to be led from the room.

Draco looked down at the book in his lap, he ran his fingers over the characters that were etched into the cover. He could not read them but he knew what they said all the same.

Pinyin’s Story.

He felt utterly overwhelmed. How could he control this? He could feel Harry, truly feel him, almost as if he were subsumed by him. Draco could almost taste the maelstrom of emotions that were coursing through Harry, emotions which currently seemed dominated by confusion, tenderness and a germinating seed of love.

Fleur had nearly left the room when Draco felt a surge of intense curiosity, and knew that it was not his, but Harry’s

“Fleur! Do all concubines sing?” She stopped and turned to look at Harry, her expression was sad and Draco realised then that all the time that she had been there she had hardly acknowledged Harry’s presence, all of her concentration had been centered on him.

“They sing for their lovers, Harry, they do not share their voices except occasionally with their own kind.”

“Draco, um, he would have sang beautifully wouldn’t he?” Harry asked, a wave of sadness surged through Draco as Harry spoke.

“Draco would have had the voice of an angel,” Fleur replied, “if it had not been so cruelly destroyed.” Then for the final time, she took Bill’s arm again and turned and left the room.




The piece of music that was captured in Fleur’s magical globe was Un bel di vedremo from Madam Butterfly by Puccini. Click or copy and paste the link below to listen to it. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7Z3-yBlDckY

Yang Guifei was real, there have been poems and plays written about her go to these links if you want to know more http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yang_Guifei or http://www.radio86.co.uk/explore-learn/china-facts/history/452/yang-guifei-her-beauty-brought-down-a-dynasty