It was strange how quickly time moved when he was happy. The days of torture and despair had seemed to drag on forever, thousands of years compressed in upon him until he couldn't breathe. But now that he was full of the joy of living, time flew so fast it made his head spin.

Charlus had accepted a position at the Ministry and was quickly climbing up the ranks. Something to do with his inherent Potter charm and his sheer determination to succeed. It made Draco's chest warm to realize that Charlus was doing everything he could to see him happy.

Hadrian was growing everyday, and at two years he was a laughing, talking child. He was no longer a baby but a toddler, inquisitive and full of Potter charm.

That Potter charm. Draco had completely fallen for it, and he didn't even try to catch himself. He wanted to fall and fall forever, until he was bound so tightly to Charlus that they could never be parted. And that's how he knew he was in love.

The sex was literally magical, with his veela powers resulting in scorch marks across the ceiling as he had some of the greatest orgasms of his life. He and Charlus were quick to discover that his veela affinity to flame manifested sometimes when he ejaculated. Charlus had invested in flame-proof paint and furniture polish. He'd also learned to duck when Draco's hair started whipping around in a metaphysical wind storm. There were usually a few small fireballs that flared to life just above Draco's head and shot off in unguided directions as he released.

Draco had spoken to some healers in the veela community and he'd learned a lot about his new species. Like that male veela were extremely rare due to wizards hunting them for sport. Female veela could reproduce asexually in the wild and a first generation cross breed with humans was mostly veela, so the loss of most of the males hadn't wiped out the veela race, but it had been a near thing.

It was strange to read books about veela and think that they were talking about him. He was a veela. He was one of the "creatures" they wrote of like a wild beast or something to be studied in Care of Magical Creatures. Charlus would hold him when he had his inevitable bouts of hysteria and Draco was so glad not to be alone in the world.

He had Charlus and he had Hadrian, and Nigel was a presence that passed in and out. He was unable to force himself to build much of a life outside of Potter Manor, but he attended social events with Charlus and he didn't become a complete shut in.

It was just that every time he saw a crowd of people, after a length of time he began to see skulls where faces should be and his mind insisted on flashing terrible memories at him. There were just too many strangers wearing familiar features running around, and he simply couldn't stand the thought that nearly every single one of these people was going to die at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.

The only thing that protected him from his horrible visions was Charlus' presence. As long as Charlus was there, Draco could gain strength from their soul bond and hold his position without running away in terror. He borrowed from Charlus' strength and it ate away at his loneliness.

He was happy. Happier than he'd been since before he'd started at Hogwarts. Before he'd been dragged into a war between two powerful men and the society they nearly destroyed between them.

He'd gone weird the first time he ran across Albus Dumbledore. Even with the auburn hair and the much younger face, Draco had taken one look at the man and it had felt as though he were being squeezed tight between two giant blocks of ice. Charlus had managed to extract him from the situation and Draco had come back to himself in his bed at Potter Manor. He'd noticed that Charlus purposely seemed to arrange things so he never met Dumbledore after that, and he was quietly grateful.

Then one day he was in Diagon Alley with Charlus, Hadrian dangling between them by his little hands. Hadrian was happy to be lifted up and down, his legs bunching as he pushed off with his small feet, jumping as high as he could go.

They were a young family enjoying the beautiful weather. Two tall men in expensive robes with a laughing child between them. They received admiring glances wherever they went and there were many people that wished they could know Charlus Potter or *be* him. He was one of the most popular scions of any of the noble families and his husband was said to be a legendary beauty.

The sun was shining and Diagon Alley was full of people. It was an absolutely beautiful day and Draco was relaxed into his happiness, it was something he had become used to. He'd stopped flinching at every sound and peering over his shoulder. He'd begun to believe that this wonderful life was real and his and the nightmare was over.

Then, the crowd seeming to split around him, Draco saw the face of death.

The man was the kind of handsome that effortlessly drew the eye, but when Draco looked at that face it was something completely different that he saw, humanoid and snakelike wrapped up in one, dark and cruel. The Tom-mask he wore now wasn't real; Voldemort was real, blazing red eyes and cruel hands that took everything good out of the world.

Draco gasped, the view of Diagon fading to shadow. In front of him grew the image of the last time he'd seen Harry. The upended bed and Harry's body still wrapped in the sheet he'd grabbed to cover his nakedness, the shattered splinters of his wand peppering what was left of his skin, everything else red-red and white chunks of bone and the burned ruin of his chest still bubbling and steaming.

Sweat burst out all over Draco's body and he drew in a shuddering gasp as he returned to the present and focused on the man down the street. Or boy really, still just a teenager, probably a few years younger than Draco and not settled into the evil that he would become.

It seemed strangely natural that a haze would settle over his mind, staring at that beast in human form, and he felt something stirring in his own heart. Something as natural as breathing that pressed back against the metaphysical pressure that Tom Riddle exuded, that pushed and pushed until something finally broke free and it was like tearing the scab off of some infected wound, ripping it free and letting the pus and sickness ooze out.

It hurt-oh *Merlin* did it hurt-but it was worth it to be able to feel clean again.

There was a reason why male Veela, rare though they were, had been Culled so heavily by the Ministry of Magic and why even in modern Wizarding times they were still relegated to the Reserves. They were dangerous, not just up close with fang and claw and fire, but from a distance.

He could nearly see it rising up from behind him, a scorpion tail with an acid dripping stinger, swaying side-to-side before lashing forward effortlessly.

The stinger plunged into Tom Riddle's heart-a sharp impact-and Draco felt a strange pulsing sensation as his Essence spurted into the man. It was somewhat like an orgasm, a rush of pressure relief, but it was an angry thing, angry and vindictive.

Voldemort raped Draco, Draco raped Tom Riddle. It was something like justice, though twisted and sad.

Tom clutched his chest, and even through the crowd of people between them, Draco knew down to the bone what he had done and it felt perfectly right. And when Tom raised his head and his eyes came naturally to Draco's own, Draco bared his teeth in a fierce grin of victory. Those dark eyes were blown wide and there was a shattered expression on that handsome face as he looked at Draco, silently begging.

Then Draco turned away, reaching down to pull Hadrian's small body up into his arms and smiled at Charlus. "It's too busy here today. Let's go home," he breathed.

Charlus looked surprised, but gave him a smile. "All right. If that's what you want."

Draco let some of the darkness creep into his eyes and his smile went a bit quirky. "It's definitely what I want." He could feel desire coiling in his belly and through their Bond he knew Charlus felt it too, a tinge of pink crawling up Charlus' neck as his breath went a little fast.

They Apparated home and Draco didn't spare a single glance back at the ruined Tom Riddle.

* . * . *

It was strangely easy to fall completely in love with a person like Draco. To love him so much that it felt right to protect him at all costs, even from himself.

Two years they'd been together. Two entirely wonderful years where Draco had slowly but surely begun to heal from his traumas and the light had returned to his eyes. There'd been a few bumpy spots along the road, but they were all things Charlus could deal with.

He ensured that Draco was never alone in a crowd of people, knowing that it could result in one of Draco's panic attacks. It was wrenching to see the animal madness fill Draco's eyes as he gave into his terror completely. Sometimes Draco hurt himself in his desperate attempts to escape, and Charlus refused to see him hurt.

It was the same reason why he kept Professor Albus Dumbledore away from Draco. He figured the teacher reminded Draco of one of Grindelwald's followers or something, someone that had hurt him terribly. Because Draco had taken one look at Dumbledore and his face had gone dead white, his lips bloodlessly gray. He'd stood there, staring, then all the light had faded out of his eyes and it was as though his mind completely fled his body.

Charlus had never been so terrified in his life as he was that night. He'd gotten Draco home and called in a healer, but there had been nothing physically wrong with Draco. He'd simply been reminded of something so traumatizing that his mind had shut down. It had taken nearly a week for him to come out of it, and he'd blinked and started talking and it hadn't taken Charlus long to realize Draco hadn't even realized how long he'd been "gone" for. To Draco it had only been a few hours.

Draco had been damaged. It was a fact, one that Charlus well recognized.

Draco had been damaged, and somewhere inside he was still bleeding, still an open wound. He was slowly healing, slowly filling back up with spirit and life, but his was a very fragile state. Charlus *had* to protect him.

So when they were walking through Diagon Alley on their way to buy Draco a new cloak, Charlus knew from Draco's quick changing expression that something had happened. But he'd agreed with Draco and they'd gone home and the evening had progressed as usual and he thought that maybe he'd been wrong.

Until he was working at the Ministry late one evening and he'd overheard a group of secretaries gossiping in the break room. They were all young, a few of them just out of school, and it was their younger member reporting that she'd gotten an owl from her sister and something terrible had happened to the Head Boy.

He'd been granted special leave to visit Diagon, and someone had hit him with a mysterious spell while he was on his trip. It was almost like Amortentia, but it had seemingly driven him mad. He was a gibbering wreck and they'd locked him away in St. Mungos.

"And the strangest part is what he keeps yelling," the young woman said. She was encircled by a fascinated group.

"What's he yelling?" a male Ministry aid asked.

"He's yelling that he needs his silver haired god. And he keeps trying to cut out his own heart to give to him."

There were gasps and murmurs. "Who ever thought that Tom Riddle could fall for someone like that?"

"He's always so cold!"

Charlus moved away from the group before he could be noticed. He was much too senior to be caught listening in on their conversation, never mind that some of them were older than he was.

He felt chilled to the bone, a dark foreboding rising up in his chest.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that whatever had happened to Tom Riddle had something to do with Draco. He *knew* it

He didn't know what tied Draco to a schoolboy, but Charlus would find out. Then he would protect Draco from anyone or anything, including Draco himself.

He wouldn't allow Draco to be thrown in Azkaban. If Draco was becoming a danger to the public, then Charlus would take him away to the country and they would live a quiet life. He would find a way to be happy.

He refused to lose Draco.

* . * . *

There seemed to be a question hovering around Charlus. For long weeks it seemed as though he desperately wanted to ask something. But he never voiced the question and Draco never had to answer and their lives moved on.

Draco realized that he had done a terrible thing. It would have been a kindness to have just killed Tom Riddle, rather than to have Ensnared him in such a manner. Riddle would sink into the madness of his Longing and eventually he would fade away like a bug drawn too close to the light. And for every moment he was without Draco, Tom Riddle would suffer unspeakably until he would be begging for death.

It was cruel, and Draco felt satisfied that he had done it. For all that he would do, Lord Voldemort should suffer. And in the end, lives would be spared.

"Are the muggles losing their war?" he questioned one morning at the breakfast table.

Charlus was reading the newspaper, a plate of buttered toast forgotten before him. "It seems so."

"I heard that the Dark Lord is helping the Germans. I don't think it's right that he's able to do that unopposed. Isn't there anyone that can stand up against him?"

Charlus lowered his newspaper enough to look at Draco. "You're very interested in this. I would have thought you would have just seen it as a muggle war."

Draco shrugged and lifted his fork. "It was fine when it was simply a muggle war, but when wizards are involved... It's not just a muggle war then, is it? It just doesn't seem fair the way the muggles can't stand against weapons charmed by wizards." He took a bite of sausage and chewed with his mouth closed, his eyes locked on Charlus.

The thoughts were visibly moving behind Charlus' expression as he worked his way through his mental processes. Then he grunted and gave a little nod. "You are absolutely correct. The muggles deserve a level playing field against those, what are they, Nazis. I'll discuss things with some people."

Draco smiled and went back to eating his breakfast. Charlus was good about making things right again. He wouldn't know what he was doing, but he would correct the mistake Draco had made with the timeline and get Britain's wizards back into the fight against Grindelwald.

Because Charlus was a good man and he would always try his best to make the world a better place.

* . * . *

Life was too good for him to ask questions he really didn't want to hear the answers to. He refused to open his mouth and ruin everything, not when Draco had looked so peaky.

Charlus refused to do anything to remove Draco's smile.

So he had run a few careful queries about Tom Riddle. Nothing to catch anyone's attention, but there were just some things he needed to know to satisfy his own curiosity. He promised himself he would stop if there was any chance that Draco would be found out.

Not that Draco had done anything bad. There was no way he could have done anything to see him sent to Azkaban.

Charlus winced away from the thought of Draco being tormented by dementors. It was never going to happen. *He* wouldn't let it happen.

It scared him sometimes. He would be going along perfectly fine with his life, so happy that his heart felt about to burst, then it would be like the whole world flipped sideways. It was as though he were looking at his life from the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help realizing just how fragile it all was. How easily it could be taken away.

He would become terrified of losing Draco. Something would happen, and everything that made him happy in the world would be ripped away. He would be left wailing and writhing in the dirt with nothing to hold him up and no one who could help him.

He was wrapped tight in Draco. There was no doubt about that.

Soulmates. Two halves of one whole, or perhaps a Yin and a Yang; and if that were true, then Draco held all his strength, because he felt weak to the idea of being alone. Just the thought made him want to crumble into pieces.

He loved Draco and could not lose him. So Charlus would do anything he had to, to keep Draco in his life. He would rob and kill and change the laws of the world around just to keep Draco safe and with him. Because he was too weak to be alone and refused to even consider it.

Charlus quietly made his inquiries about Tom Riddle's condition, and to distract anyone from noticing what he was doing, he made a patriotic speech here and there. He stirred up ideals of wizarding pride and handling their own kind. And somehow the mood of the people shifted, and Britain's wizards went to war against the Dark Lord because it was the right thing to do. Justice for all.

And the world changed, but all he cared about was what he was going to do to protect Draco. Because Tom Riddle had been veela struck, and it wouldn't take long for someone to put things together.