Disclaimers: I do not own either Gundam Wing or Harry Potter. I am making no money with this. This story is purely for
entertainment purposes only.
Notes: Quatre is taken to see Professor Snape as his mental barriers once again disintegrate.
Soldiers of Sorcery
Quatre sighed as Harry led him down to the Potions Classroom. ‘I’m doomed,’ he thought to himself, staring down at the stone
floor as they walked. ‘There’s no way I’ll be able to stay in the same room with Snape for very long. His emotions just tear
away at my walls.’
Harry rubbed Quatre’s shoulder gently. “Calm down, Quatre. It’ll be all right. Professor Snape may be a miserable bastard
sometimes, but he’s not a bad man.” He smiled encouragingly. “Just try and block him out as best as you can until the potion
can get brewed.”
Quatre shook his head. “We don’t even know if the potion can be altered.”
Harry smiled, but looked worried. “It might be wishful thinking, but at least I’m offering hope. Once we find who it is that’s
after you, we won’t have to worry about the potion at all.”
Quatre wished that he could reassure Harry, but his heart just wasn’t in it. He was so tired and all he wanted to do was close
his eyes and sleep. The problem was, he couldn’t do that without putting himself in danger. If he were to fall asleep without
taking the potion, he’d fall under the influence of the wizard, walking in his sleep to an unknown destination.
As they approached the potions classroom, they spotted Draco Malfoy sauntering down the hall toward them. His grey eyes
fixed on Quatre briefly. Quatre swallowed and waited for the verbal assault, but Draco simply scoffed slightly and walked on
by, not saying a word to either Quatre or Harry.
Quatre turned, watching the retreating form and felt a slight burst of relief. Then he allowed his gaze to linger, his vision trailing
along the lean body, wishing the contours weren’t hidden by the robes that the Slytherin wore. He knew that he was channeling
Professor Snape’s feelings because he normally did not harbor any desire for the blonde Slytherin. Without realizing it, he licked
his lips and tried to follow.
Harry’s hand settled on Quatre’s shoulder, firmly holding him in place. “Quatre?” he spoke, his voice tinged with confusion.
Quatre turned, a shudder moving throughout his body. He backed away from the young professor, raising his hand to swat
away Harry’s arm. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, retreating until his back hit a cold, stone wall. He wrapped his arms around
himself, shivering, his blood pulsing with the remnants of Snape’s lust for Draco.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Quatre breathed, digging his nails into his arms and fighting the desperate urge to chase after Malfoy and
pounce on him. How he wanted Draco right now. There were no words to adequately describe just how turned on Quatre was
by the mere thought of feasting his eyes on every curve of the Slytherin’s pale body. He shook his head, willing the thoughts
away. He knew they were not his own. This was not his lust, not his yearnings to stroke and fondle Malfoy in sinfully
decadent ways. No, these were Snape’s desires, Snape’s wants and cravings.
Harry’s hands gripped his shoulders and the dark-haired youth gave him a shake. “Quatre, what’s wrong?”
Quatre shivered, taking shaky breaths, fearing how Harry would react to this. But never once did he think about keeping this
from him or deceiving him in any way. “Professor Snape . . . he has some . . . feelings . . . for Malfoy. They’re very strong
and I’m too tired to fight them off.”
Harry blinked and reached forward, wrapping his arms around Quatre’s trembling frame. He pulled the pale blonde close, his
arms tightening. As Harry held him snugly against his strong body, Quatre quickly became aware of another effect caused by
the sensations sweeping through his body and mind. He flushed, biting back a moan as his hardened shaft came into contact
with Harry’s body. He couldn’t help himself as he pressed himself forward, grinding his aching length against Harry’s hip. He
bit his lip, clutching tightly to Harry’s biceps as he buried his face against the Professor’s shoulder, fearful of the other young
man’s reaction to this.
Harry gasped loudly, his entire body going rigid in shock. He pushed Quatre to arms’ length, looking at the blonde quizzically.
Quatre found that he could not meet that curious gaze, ashamed of himself and the way his body was responding. An instant
later, Harry had yanked him close again, his arms a soothing place to take refuge in.
“I’m sorry.” Quatre shuddered, closing his eyes.
Harry hushed him with a gentle voice and simply held him. In that one embrace, Quatre found all the reassurance he could ever
need. He opened himself to Harry, accepting his calm and collected emotions into his own consciousness. There was worry
present in Harry’s mind, a spark of jealousy as well, but they were overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love and comfort in
Harry’s good soul.
Quatre wasn’t certain of how long they stayed like that, standing in the empty hallway and holding on to each other. But he
reluctantly took a step back when Harry urged him to. Gentle fingers swept across his cheeks, then combed through his hair.
Quatre smiled, enjoying the affectionate contact.
“Feeling better?” Harry asked, worry glinting in his vibrant eyes.
Quatre nodded. He did feel somewhat better. At least his blood wasn’t demanding that he chase Malfoy down and hump him
like a dog in heat. He was still partially erect, but that was passing as the seconds ticked by.
“Yes, slightly,” he answered honestly.
“We’d better get to Professor Snape,” Harry said with a sigh, cupping Quatre’s cheek with one hand. “You’re looking tired.”
“I am tired.” The blonde glanced away, not truly knowing why he couldn’t look at Harry.
Harry’s arm curled around Quatre’s shoulders, pulling him close. “Come on then.”
Quatre obediently followed. As they neared the classroom, more of Professor Snape’s emotions filtered through Quatre’s
mind. He took in a shuddering breath, steeling himself and trying to mend the breaks in his mental barriers even as they
crumbled. It was a futile effort. He knew that. But he feared finding himself in that cold and violent place again, the part of his
own mind filled with suffering and memories best forgotten. Harry’s arm tightened around him and Quatre turned to look up at
him as they continued to walk. Harry smiled at him in that wonderfully loving way of his and Quatre’s fears faded into the
background. Hope welled up inside the shivering blonde and he saw a glimmer of salvation before him. Harry could help him,
could offer more than just simple comfort.
Taking the focus of his mind away from his withering defenses, Quatre stretched a tendril of empathy toward Harry, taking a
flickering taste of his mind and spirit. A great light, full of love and hope returned through Quatre’s tentative link. Beneath the
goodness he could sense of sea of unyielding pain and darkness, a childhood filled with torment and trials. But Quatre moved
beyond that, deepening the link so that he could find a safe haven, something to anchor himself to, a memory which would give
him the strength he needed to hold Snape’s mind at bay.
“Quatre?” Harry’s voice was distant, sounding as if it were miles away.
Quatre was drifting between realities. He was split in two, trying to stay in the present, while he sought to protect himself in
Harry’s past. With difficulty he managed to turn his head and look up into endless pools of green.
“Quatre, what are you doing?” he asked, a flicker of worry and fear in those wonderful eyes.
His hand quivering, Quatre reached up and settled his palm against Harry’s cheek. “Please . . . please, let me hide myself in
you. It’s too tiring to try and hold on any longer. My walls have shattered. Nothing holds Snape’s mind back, save for the fact
that I’ve tied myself to you.” His hand slipped away, falling weakly to his side once more. “Please, I need your strength.”
Harry was silent for only a moment. And in that moment, he stared deep into Quatre’s eyes, keeping and holding his spirit
steady with that one fixed look. “What do you need me to do?”
“Everything and nothing at all. Simply be yourself. Remember happiness, dwell in the warmth of a pleasant memory so that I
may focus on it. I need something good to give me strength. Pain will only weaken me.”
Harry nodded, his brow furrowing in thought. Slowly, Quatre leaned closer and wrapped his arms around Harry. He held his
ear against the young professor’s chest, listening to the steady thrum of his strong heart. “Open yourself to me. Don’t fight,”
he said, closing his eyes and rallying his concentration to focus on Harry’s mind.
He allowed his consciousness to sweep outward, traveling along the road, the link between Quatre and Harry’s minds. The veil
dividing them diminished and Quatre smiled to himself, seeing now the memory that Harry had chosen to focus on. As if
looking through Harry’s eyes, Quatre saw himself standing in the Astronomy tower. Zaki was perched near to him and in
Quatre’s pale hands was his much-loved violin.
Quatre drew back, his smile firm, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He felt flattered and loved, strengthened by the
memory that Harry cherished so deeply.
“I love you,” Harry said, laying his hand against Quatre’s cheek, the tips of his long fingers sifting through the blonde’s soft
Quatre said nothing in return, didn’t need to say anything. Harry took hold of his hand, keeping his clasp on it as he led the
blonde away again. Before Quatre knew it, he was standing outside the Potions classroom.
Harry knocked and Snape bade them entrance. Quatre held himself close to Harry as he was guided inside. He was thankful
that there were no classes. At least he wouldn’t be laughed at for the helpless way he was being led around.
Professor Snape spoke, but Quatre did not have the clarity to comprehend his words or to offer any sort of reply. He merely
went as Harry directed him to, sitting when a weight landed on his shoulders to push him down. Feeling that he should know
what was going on around him, Quatre carefully extricated himself from Harry’s peaceful mind, only enough so that he could
think for himself once again. As it was, Snape’s mind still plagued him, the echoes of his darkness taunting the edges of his
“What is going on?” Professor Snape demanded, glaring at the way Harry tended to Quatre’s well-being.
“He’s experiencing side-effects to the potion,” Harry responded. “He’s having a difficult time focusing. And . . . and his mental
walls have crumbled.” Harry swallowed. “He’s hiding himself, protecting himself in my mind.”
Professor Snape snorted. “A scarce amount of coverage in there, I’m sure.” He swept forward, dropping to one knee in front
of Quatre. He reached out, cupping Quatre’s face in either of his palms.
Quatre opened his mouth, only to close it when no sound issued forth. He was still having difficulty thinking clearly. Though
he could understand what Snape and Harry were saying to each other, it was a completely different matter altogether to coalesce
his own thoughts into coherent speech.
Snape narrowed his eyes, looking carefully into Quatre’s eyes. Quatre tried again, wanting, needing to speak. Professor Snape’
s tangled web of thoughts and emotions began to seep across the ties linking him to Quatre’s mind. Shivering, feeling himself
further weakening in the presence of the Potions instructor, Quatre finally managed an utterance. “Please, please help me,” he
barely whispered, reaching up with faltering hands to grasp his teacher’s robes.
Professor Snape drew in a breath and let it out slowly. He took his hands away from Quatre’s face and awkwardly patted the
boy’s head. “I’ll do what I can,” he said, rising to his feet. “A loss of mental control. I didn’t anticipate this.” He went on to
mutter about ingredients and possible reasons for the cause of the side-effect. Quatre didn’t listen all that much.
“Tell me, is there any Veela blood in your family line?” Snape suddenly asked, effectively catching Quatre’s attention.
“Veela?” Quatre asked, blearily rubbing at his eyes. “What’s a Veela?”
Snape never looked up from his task. He continued mixing his potion, effortlessly combining the ingredients. “Never mind.”
He shook his head. “There is a quick way to determine if you do.”
“Is it that important whether he has a Veela heritage or not?” Harry asked.
The professor nodded. “Veelas have a natural immunity to one of the ingredients of the potion I prescribed to Mr. Winner. If
he isn’t a Veela, then the problem lies elsewhere. So I must know whether or not he is a Veela before I can correct the potion.”
He bottled the potion he had just brewed and cleaned away the remainder before he stepped around the table and approached
“Here, drink this,” Snape said as he knelt. He held a slim bottle to Quatre’s lips and helped him to drink it.
Quatre licked his lips as Snape took the bottle away. He blinked, trying to remain in the here and now, but not having much
success. After a moment, he began to feel somewhat dizzy and nauseous. He lashed out and gripped Snape’s arms, fear
mingling among the curtains of emotion that clouded Quatre’s senses.
“What are you feeling?”
“So much. Too much,” Quatre responded.
“Here, give me your hands,” Snape said with a soft sigh. Quatre reluctantly allowed his hands to be pried away from Snape’s
robes. Snape held his hands, simply staring down at them. Quatre didn’t know if he was supposed to be doing something else
or not, so he simply sat there and waited.
It was Harry who finally got impatient enough to inquire. “What’s supposed to happen? What was that potion for?”
Snape didn’t turn, or otherwise give Harry any sign that he had heard him. Then he spoke, calmly and cooly, without giving
professor Potter his attention. “If Mr. Winner here does in fact have a Veela heritage, the potion that he drank will cause a
physical reaction in his body.”
“What kind of a reaction?” Harry asked, moving closer and resting his hands on Quatre’s shoulders. “It won’t hurt him, will
“Of course not,” Snape snapped. “It will only turn his fingernails blue for a few minutes. The darker the blue, the more Veela
blood he has.”
Harry gave a soft sound of acceptance. His hands never left Quatre’s shoulders, offering the blonde reassurance and comfort in
his presence. Quatre still didn’t know what a Veela was though. But, sure enough, as they watched, Quatre’s fingernails began
to turn blue. Darker and darker it grew, going from a pale baby blue, to a deep cobalt.
Snape made a strange sound deep within his throat and nodded, running the pads of his fingers idly over Quatre’s hands. “I’d
say you are at the very least one quarter Veela, Mr. Winner. And your Veela side heavily influences your body. From the
shading, I’m guessing your Veela heritage stems from the maternal side of your family.” He said nothing more on the subject.
Fluidly, he rose to his feet and returned to his cauldron. With ease, he once again began to brew a potion. It was amazing to
watch him work.
He sat there, waiting and watching. Hoping that this potion would be able to help him. Harry was close, a solid strength beside
him. But Quatre was weary and Harry’s attention was focused solely on the magnificent way that Snape worked. Quatre tried
to stay awake, he truly did, but he was so very weary. His voice failed him when he tried to call out to Harry for help.
Fear enveloped him, driving through his chest like a spike in his heart. He jerked himself from his seat, standing on shaking legs
as he staggered away from the chair. It was dangerous here, he could feel it in his bones.
“Quatre?” Harry called, his hand once again on Quatre’s shoulder.
The blonde panicked, seeing only danger and death in the future if he remained. He would surely fall asleep here. Neither Snape
nor Harry could prevent it. The last shreds of his mental control were wavering under the pressure. The link he shared with
Harry was falling apart despite his fervent efforts to keep it going. He could no longer hide himself in the warm embrace of
Harry’s mind and keep his own body awake. The strain was simply too much for him. And there was a danger to Harry. If
Quatre pushed too hard to save himself, he could very well cause harm to Harry’s psyche.
Quatre saw no other alternatives. If he remained, he could end up hurting Harry and lose his own mind in the process. He
would fall into unconsciousness and his body would betray him and take him to some maniac bent on kidnaping him for
unknown purposes. He had to get away from this room, away from Snape. If only to rebuild his defenses again, to recollect
Swaying, Quatre made his way to the door. Harry called to him, but Quatre didn’t hear his words. The blonde turned, drawing
together all of his strength. Snape was still focused intently on the potion, but his eyes did stray to watch the scene playing out
before him. Harry, on the other hand, was steadily approaching Quatre.
The pale blonde could not risk Harry getting any closer. He would not endanger his dearest Harry. This was a danger he felt he
should face in solitude.
“Stay back,” Quatre said, carefully withdrawing the last strands binding his mind to Harry’s. “I can’t remain here any longer.
It’s too dangerous.”
Harry took a step forward, opening his mouth to reply. But Quatre would not listen. He turned away, heading swiftly to the
door. As he reached it, Harry’s hand gripped his arm. Closing his eyes, Quatre drew together the last vestiges of his strength
and expelled it as a wave of pure energy. If asked, Quatre would not be able to explain how he had done it. It was merely
instinct, an inborn strength and knowledge that he had unknowingly called upon to protect himself.
Harry fell back and to the floor, holding his hand close to himself. Curls of wispy smoke drifted from his singed fingers, his
skin beginning to blister in places. Quatre felt nothing but regret and loathing toward himself for causing Harry harm. However,
he knew he could not remain.
Just as he ran from the room and fled along the hall, Quatre heard Snape’s snide voice echo in his ear. “Damn Veelas.”
To Be Continued . . .