Harry honestly couldn't believe to have fallen in love with the young thing known as Draco Malfoy. Of all available humanoid species in the universe, working from Heaven all the way down to Hell, his Magic just had to pick a human wizard of all things.
Make no mistake, the Demon wasn't racist or anything. Only, humans were tricky things to handle, much less love. They had more emotions than necessary and the concoctions of chemicals in their brains even made them do things.
Typically, Demons weren't ever emotional beings. Not in the way that wasn't irritating in the eyes of others. They acted coy most times, and expressed amusement through scamming a person off their souls during rituals- but by Lucifer's ruffled wings, demons were essentially incapable of having anything more than the basest emotions.
They knew anger, but not to the point of rage; they felt sadness, but never sorrow nor heart wrenching grief; happiness was never beyond warm fondness. This made demon-kind utterly vexing to be with sometimes because they often came off cold and apathetic due to the impeccable control over their emotions.
Empathy was a poor department of demon-kin as well. To the point of being on the spectrum of psychopathy, if anyone actually bothered to find out.
Having a mate was fated, much to Harry's disdain. Due to his past, it wasn't an exaggeration to say that he hated anything to do with anything but the present and a self-made future. It also didn't come off as much of a surprise to Hermione that when Harry finally learned about the concept of a soulmate, Hell was made unsuitable for visitors for a while.
Nobles were really something else, sighed the humble-borne demoness. Harry distinctly remembered his best friend of a woman sipping a teacup of blood from her enemies when she said so.
In response, the teen (at the time) felt something akin to mild irritation when he'd personally experienced Hermione do just about the same amount of damage when someone had gone within 10 unsupervised feet of her precious tombs.
Draco Malfoy was one of the most emotional beings ever. Period. Even at the first meeting. And he was Harry's soulmate.
Draco's moods fluctuated worse than a pregnant female, Harry meant minimal offense. One moment, the boy was ecstatic about summoning a prince of Hell, and then the next, Draco (despite having not known the name yet at the time) was screaming into his palms about disappointing his father and getting his family killed or something.
Weak, had been Harry first thought and impression. The demon had killed his foster father without much emotional toil. Bonds made by first-sight imprints were said to be the most painful to break, but Harry felt nothing but satisfaction.
Dumbledore made a terrible caretaker anyway. The old goat wasn't interested in teaching Harry anything but to fear the Ex-Demon King Voldemort. Obsessed and a horrid mentor was what Dumbledore was, not powerful or worthy or wise enough to raise properly any breed of demon, much less one from royal blood.
The old demon had one job- teaching the next generation to take over the throne by overthrowing the current ruler. Yet he rose a private party instead! Power came from the individual, not a party. They'd only pull you down, or so Harry's next mentor taught him once Dumbledore died.
Tom Marvolo Riddle was a good demon, Harry recalled with a smile (Draco still screaming in the background). It never really registered to Harry why the Demon King Voldemort ceased all activities once Harry killed his mentor though; even when Riddle knew, he said so after all.
(Pride flooded Tom's ruby eyes, the closest imitation to love etched on the kiss he gave his younger charge's right temple before he passed away peacefully with a wound to the heart. "Remember, Harry, there is no good and evil, there is only power…and those too weak to seek it.")
Harry still kept Tom's soul in him. His mentor wasn't ready to come back to life just yet.
The boy with glittering grey eyes and hair the colour of unpolished pearls was truly a paradox to the Harry who had known nothing but growing stronger to take and take and take. Grey areas were a given, Harry always moved forward without looking back.
Walking straight ahead without hesitation or doubt, pace ever so steady. Slowly, half of Hell had belonged to him before the emotional wreck known as a 17 year-old Draco Malfoy summoned him to defeat the current Dark Lord of his world.
"Stop it with your incessant whining." Harry said darkly within the boundary of his summoning circle. The ritual always gave him a little vertigo. The boy froze immediately, slender fingers halfway ruffling through his messy blond locks.
"I did it." the teen mumbled to himself, pacing once more. "I did it and He-who-must-not-be-name can finally be defeated but…" A glance at Harry's direction.
"But Father will kill me! or worse, disown me!" He screeched.
Shaking his head, Harry pulled in his chin, fangs showing with the way he bared them with a pull of his lips. The demon growled to get the attention of his newest 'owner'.
"What's your name, ferret?"
The teen's eyes widened in shock. As if he couldn't believe the pink demon in the room could talk. "D-Draco. Draco Malfoy." He sputtered on at first, but corrected the misstep with false confidence right after. The fear in him was quite obvious when the blond momentarily forgot to take offense to Harry's name calling.
With the flick of a finger, the soft glow that came from the runes that feebly trapped Harry in its circle diminished. They were in a spacious bedroom, fancied with a luxurious emerald carpet and a large poster bed; a dark and well-aged wooden table placed against the wallpapered walls.
"Well, c'mon now. Make a wish." Harry chirped mischievously. This would be his third? Fourth? Summoning; thankfully, he remembered what Tom taught him about these. To put it shortly, get the soul and scram as soon as possible. The living plane was a messy and boring place.
Taking a frightened step back, Draco almost fell backwards on accident. It wasn't unusual, Harry was stained with an aura of haunting darkness. Death was practically weaved into his Magic at this point and Harry was a being made from Magic.
Most demons scrambled or outright died in his presence; yet, Draco was taking this considerably well even if his eyes were rimmed slightly red. Secretly, Harry thought it was kind of adorable. Draco reminded Harry a lot of the hellcats back in Hell, rather than the draconian namesake.
Puffing out his chest, determination filled Draco. The wizard's own Magic flared, tinged with a type of purity that smelled like the sharpness of rain before a downpour. "I want power." He said clearly. The fear abandoned.
Harry laughed, deep and soulful. "Granted." He purred. "But you understand the price of your wish, I believe?"
He received a hesitant nod. "Smart of you to not mention the reason behind your need for power. It will only fix you borrowed time. But I will have the soul of Draco Malfoy once he dies. By all means. Now, give me your hand." Harry ended sharply.
The wizard reached out, trembling fingers betraying the brave front. Harry raised the given hand and bit it. Soft tongue sucking on the sweet taste of blood. Draco was cradling his hand preciously when Harry finished, a flush on his pale cheeks.
"My name is Hadrian, a Demon Prince of the seventh Royal Blood. I promise immeasurable power to one Draco Malfoy in exchange for his soul. May Magic bind us and witness our union until the end of Time itself. So mote it be."
"So mote it be." A thick coating of darkness flooded the room and Draco fell unconscious into Harry's arms after sealing the deal.
Lucius Malfoy's expression had been priceless when the Demon prince came knocking upon his front door requesting entry. So what if Harry might've wanted a holiday at the most unconventional time? It wasn't as if Hell was going anywhere without him.
Ever since her mate's death, Hermione was always holed up in up in her library anyway. Time didn't move as fast without the three of them together. Yet, both understood in a way only Demons could- that neither Hermione nor Harry felt regret over Ron's passing.
They were sad, for an extended amount of time. Pity swelling up from both their hearts at the loss of a mate and long-time friend, but Demons never made strong connections by genetic design. Hermione and Harry's relationship was the same.
The two of them met up once every half a decade to catch up, and it was considered the best and strongest friendship a Demon could get yet. If, let's say, either one of them died just like that, each of the demon’s respective reactions wouldn't differ much from when Ron passed.
Quiet and accepting, with a hint of pity in their hearts.
The fact Harry attached himself to Draco would be a cause for concern for his retainers back in Hell. But what they didn't know wouldn't cause any drama; so Harry continued to take morbid pleasure in seeing the Malfoy head have a mini seizure on the spot.
Ancient wizarding families were always well-informed and updated on Hell's hierarchy. The Malfoys weren't any different. Prince Hadrian was particularly infamous in the underworld- renowned to have only made three contracts in his entire life, it shouldn't be anything special. Only, each time he came about the surface, chaos was sure to follow.
Instigator of the first world war aside, Lucius panicked and thought about their family being the cause of the first wizarding war now in England because someone was foolish enough to summon the Prince.
To rub salt to the wound, Lord Grindelwald was sure to find the summoning as an act of betrayal. Spiralling down the bout of insanity as deep as the dark lord was. Reason simply wasn't a word in his book anymore. The pointless search for the Deathly Hallows was often used as a testament to that by his followers.
The Malfoy head carefully, wearily, and (most importantly) politely invited Prince Hadrian in and bowed slightly. "It is an honour to be in the presence of one as great as yourself, your highness."
Harry nodded, hiding a creeping smile behind the cup of tea prepared by the house elves as he took a sip.
"If you may be so kind as to answer. Might I know why exactly are you here, Your Higness?"
The gold rimmed teacup was set down with an elegant 'clink!’
"I'm here for your son, Lucius." Harry said, cutting right into the father's heart. He heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by an uncomfortable sounding cough belonging to that of a choking cat. "He asked for power, so I gave it to him."
"W-what?" the long blond haired man gaped. Disbelieving.
"Hell isn't as interesting as it once was anymore. Your son, however, is. Forgot about me being in the same room as him, twice." Harry lifted two fingers, as if the wizard couldn't understand basic English. "He had been afraid of disappointing you. Sweet, pretty little thing, isn't he?"
The father of one stupid, loveable- but stupid- son wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. He started to sob instead. "DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY! YOU COME DOWN HERE THIS INSTANT!" the man yelled from the living area.
In his room, the son in question almost jumped out of his skin. Father rarely yelled, and he certainly hasn't done so much as raise his voice since news of a war descending upon England's wizarding world started rising its head over the horizon.
Father always got quiet during troubled times. This one wasn't any different.
Draco immediately made his way down the elaborate stairway, refraining from the glass of milk he tended to drink when he felt particularly guilty about something. No need to implicate himself so soon, the Slytherin in him shrugged.
Shoulders squared and back straight, the air escaped from Draco's lungs involuntarily when he spotted the Demon Prince relaxing on the couch as if he owned the place. "Little dragon." Harry purred. "Did you have a good time in my arms?"
While Lucius was busy holding in a heart attack once more (but not the last), Draco saw the voiceless motion of Harry lips saying "I did."
Living with the seventh generation Demon Royalty was quite the experience, Draco internally winced to himself. The man could be fickle and eerily polite most times, but his nature showed when Harry wasn't bothered to hide it.
Cold emerald eyes and a thin smile was all he needed. Once, as Harry, Draco and his family were having dinner together a month after Harry settled in, came a large 'pop' sound in the midst of their dining room.
By that time, the family and Harry had settled in a comfortable routine. Harry never stayed on Earth for more than a day or two, so he'd been curious about many things. Draco brought him to Diagon Alley, but felt secretly ashamed during their trips there. The place wasn't as lively or aesthetically well-maintained anymore, Grindelwald's frequent bombings made sure of that.
Harry didn't seem to mind, the two of them strolled the cobbled streets as the Demon Prince walked in zig-zags and entered them into shop after shop like an excited child. The thought was endearing, the two of them were smiling after they'd finished dessert at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour.
The pair had chosen the equivalent of a 'surprise me' option. Draco and Harry got durian which the latter hated and former loved. The Demon's face was precious, with his tongue out and eyes squeezed in disgust. Draco tried to stifle his laugh, but failed miserable. Harry only swatted him playfully, amusement coated through his golden rimmed glasses as he chuckled along.
Draco learnt later that day of Harry's touch-starved inclination. When the atmosphere between them warmed, it wasn't anything strange for Draco to find himself taken by the hand as Harry dragged him into another interesting sounding shop once more.
A year of the wizard's savings were flushed from that one trip alone, but the blond couldn't find it in himself to regret it. It'd been the most fun he's had in years! Harry, in a rare moment of sympathy, noticed that; and with a casual wave of his hand, Draco's bottomless pouch refilled itself.
“I'm a Demon Prince, Draco. Earthly riches are the least of my worries." Harry offhandedly said before they apparated back to Malfoy Manor.
It didn't stop Draco from stuffing the pouch into Harry's arms before saying, "I don't need it, Prince. I bought all those things voluntarily. Take back your money." Busy pouting, the wizard missed the surprise look flashing past Harry's face.
Harry's sudden increase in hugging Draco by the waist while resting his head on the wizard's shoulder didn't bring about as much shock as it initially did anymore. Lucius wept every night, though. Narcissa whispering soothingly as she kept her husband close to her ample chest.
Yet, on that special night, after they've somewhat forgotten of Harry's true nature, reality came storming in like the impact of a well-intentioned blasting spell.
The deep voice that came from the well-built and humbly dressed physique sounded almost seductive. The Malfoy couple were more concerned for the state of their table cloth, however, seeing the stranger chose to land directly on the dining table.
(It'd been a Sunday, so the household were using the best of their dinner collection. Tableware included. With the current Dark Lord dwindling at their money, the Malfoys weren't as well-off as they once were. Harry took note to fix that.)
"Your highness," the distinctly husky voice greeted respectfully. Harry nodded, mouth occupied by the tenderly seasoned steak. Eaten rare, of course. "Your presence is required back home; we ask that you please return immediately.”
Harry looked up to the now kneeling figure who was still on the table. The scent of sulphur heavy in the air. "Leave." Harry responded coldly after swallowing his bite of meat. "Hell can kiss my ass. Charlie, you can tell those old coots that I refuse to see another inch of our black sun for another 40 years. If they want to take over Hell, they can do it without my help."
Panicking, the high-demon floundered about in tiny fidgets. There wasn't much space on the table. "Get off the table first, uncultured thing. You're dirtying the table." Draco bravely said beside Harry, coming off endearingly arrogant.
(Supported by large and rough hand that started playing with Draco's own, invisible to others hidden beneath the tablecloth, the teen technically had all the right in the world to be.)
Honestly, it was only because the pure-blooded wizard found his pride hurt by the blatant disrespect the retainer demon showed by not bothering to even acknowledge his family. Harry's support only encouraged the impulsive anger to be expressed more vocally, rather than in sharp glares.
Draco wasn't arrogant, only a stickler to pureblood manners.
Charlie grunted, his electric blue gaze observing his leader's. Seeing Harry's attention on Draco's, and not at all on him, Charlie wisely got off the table to stand obediently at his master's side. His Highness seems to have gotten attached. As much as he denied it, the Prince was one of the most eccentric of demon-kin.
Briefly nodding to the Malfoys, Charlie proceeded to try and persuade Harry to return to Hell. Draco felt a pang of anxiety, would Harry go back to Hell? It wasn't as if Draco liked him or anything, but the manor would go back feeling so lonely.
While Harry remained silent, knife cutting through yet another piece of steak, Draco recalled the fond memories of Harry's awkward kindness. Teeth chewing on his lips uncharacteristically as something ugly inside Draco wished that Harry wouldn't actually go with Charlie.
But what right had Draco to even think it, much less say? The Prince of Hell was bound to no one and listened to no one. He lived freely and untamed; back straight with wide shoulders, an undecipherable smirk on his lips.
The same as he was doing right now. Harry's slit pupils were expanded slightly, a rush of ruby mixed into forest green- full of bloodlust. Draco suddenly found it very difficult to associate the Harry he's come to know and the Harry that looked minutes away from tearing apart anyone from limb to limb.
During his stay here, anyone could tell that the Demon Prince was awkward around basic acts of kindness. Or manners, despite walking, talking and eating like a proper born pure-blood.
Yet, when Harry imitated Draco when the wizard offered him a cup of tea only to receive one in return, hands touching, a light tint of red could help but appear to colour his ears.
It was like watching a cat trying to imitate their owner in the way they understood. Harry wasn't trying to please, nor was he softening. He simply thought that it'd be nice to see Draco happy at the most pointless of things.
Cold emerald eyes and a thin smile was all he needed.
The ginger-headed demon cowered, hands instinctively caressing the scars on his freckled face. "Charlie." Harry said, letting the air thicken with his Magic. The retainer found it hard to breathe, yet he didn't look surprised.
"Present." The Noble nodded. Trying to control his breathing.
"Leave. You know what to say once you're back.”
Charlie jerked with a hoarse scream, dropping forward on his knees. Gradually, when the surroundings stopped feeling like thick sludge, the Demon only shivered subtly. Face drawn back into a stoic expression. "As you wish." He said before he left with a crackling 'pop'.
"Little dragon." Harry said softly afterwards, body posture shrugging in a helpless motion, "I want to see your school tomorrow."
Draco didn't know why the Demon King's voice sent something akin of a pleasurable thrill shooting up his spine. At the same time, Harry couldn't help but contemplate why his insides felt unfamiliarly empty at the thought of Draco feeling afraid of him.
It hadn't been like this when they first met. But then, even at the start, Draco hadn't truly felt fear when he met Harry, so why would he start now?
Only time would tell why Draco's mind chose to have that night to have one of his rarer, more serious night terrors. Squirming in bed, sweat beaded down his wet temples, soaking his skin. The teen hugged his comforter tightly, exposing a leg as he curled around it.
Muffled whimpers filled the room.
A storm had been brewing outside; instinctively, the Demon Prince chanted shortly to hasten the process. He thought it might wake Draco up without the teen having to know of his involvement.
Yet, Mother Magic nagged from within his core. Draco, he heard Her say. Draco, Draco, Draco. Or had that been him all along? Harry threw caution and basic privacy into the wind and appeared by his summoner's side.
He placed a hand on the wizard's sweaty head, playing with the blond locks. Humming, Draco was changed out of his soaked nightwear and into a pair of dry, clean ones. Lightning flashed from beyond the manor, thunder booming like the beat of Draco's heart.
The wizard keened, and Harry slipped into bed with Draco. Carefully, as so not to startle the younger male. Draco visibly relaxed, soothed by the Magic Harry cocooned just for him. Conjured by the softest and gentlest intentions he'd ever tried before.
He thought back to Draco's love for durian ice-cream and the way he laughed when they went about exploring the wizarding and muggle world. Terrible at directions, the two of them took 3 days to relent on their ban of apparition.
Harry probably didn't feel as much as Draco did, but it was like the teen carried enough emotions for the two of them. With the pure-blood mask broken, Harry learned that Draco felt with his eyes and words. With the way his hands waved about widely and his unhesitant laughter and tears.
Briefly, Harry felt strangely uncomfortable at the thought of swamping through unfamiliar territory. Then, as Draco huddled closer into his warmth, it didn't seem to matter as much.
Emotional, sweet Draco- who loved his family to the point of willingness to sell his soul; fighting a war that did not belong to him. Who didn't cower at Demon Princes that could snap his neck with one finger, and laughed when Harry made his disgust very apparent when they tasted durian ice-cream.
Who offered Harry tea while half-awake one morning, like it was the most natural thing ever. For Demons, mates were fated. They paired for life. As much as Harry didn't want to admit it, he seemed to have found the Magic given One.
Gallert Grindlewald would not die by Harry's hand, he'd offer that gift to Draco instead. May their courting be full of toil, but true.