Disclaimers: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. This story is purely for entertainment purposes only. I am
making no money from this.
Notes: Draco tries to run away from his problems and ends up in serious trouble, not to mention quite a bit of danger. Some
lime in this part.
He was running. Running from his father, from his problems. Draco didn’t want to have to deal with any of it. He wanted to
get away, to forget the troubles that were caused by his father. If the elder Malfoy had only told Draco of his heritage, Draco
wouldn’t have had to suffer all this time. He would have been able to stop it early, to have made a friend in this place and
resolved the issue privately with him. But no, Draco was hated by most of the school now, for the arrogant jerk he had been,
for the stuck-up snob he was . . . no one would do this without wanting something from him afterward. Whether blackmail or
torment, whoever he chose would probably find some way to make Draco’s life miserable as soon as the effects of this heat
Draco knew that he was causing all of those reactions in his fellow male students . . . it was the Veela part of him, the fact that
he was in heat and emitting a strong amount of pheromones. He remembered reading about Veelas once before, although he
hadn’t read all too carefully. Maybe he should have, then he’d know exactly what he was . . . he’d have to find that book
again, after he worked out the troubles in his mind and body.
So he ran. He cared little where he was going, not paying all that much attention to anything around him. The absence of
students or teachers in the hall told Draco that it was probably mealtime . . . perhaps lunch. Draco didn’t know how long he
had been in Professor Snape’s private rooms, but he didn’t feel like it could have been long enough for it to be time for dinner
yet. So lunch was most likely being served now.
Draco had no plans to eat, so it truly didn’t matter. He just wanted to get away from this, to find some peace and quiet if only
for a few fleeting moments. Apparently, luck was not on his side today. His running was abruptly halted when he crashed into
Draco lay on the cold stone floor for a few moments, catching his breath, trying to suppress the tears that burned in the
corners of his eyes. Then he pushed himself up, looking on in shock when he saw Ronald Weasley getting to his feet and
dusting himself off. Draco’s mouth went dry, his overactive hormones quickly inflaming his senses.
Weasley was quite attractive. That mop of flaming hair, those beautiful eyes . . . Draco found himself captivated with every
facet of Weasley’s body, his eyes hungrily trailing over the tall young man.
“Watch where you’re going, Malfoy.” Weasley muttered, breaking Draco from his musings.
He hadn’t looked down at Draco yet, hadn’t noticed him . . . so he hadn’t been affected yet probably. Besides, a long deep-
seeded hatred of Draco probably kept him from getting aroused by Draco, at least temporarily. It would be inevitable for
Weasley to succumb to the effects of the pheromones that Draco was putting out. He was male, he was young, he was a
prime candidate for mating.
Draco pushed himself to his feet, quickly wiping at his eyes. “S-Sorry.” He whispered, then pushed past the red-haired
youth. He didn’t want to do this, not with Weasley . . . he didn’t want to do this with anyone really. He knew that Weasley
wouldn’t waste an opportunity to tease him if he found out that Draco was a Veela. Undoubtedly, he’d use this information to
his advantage, a weapon to humiliate the Malfoy family. The Weasleys and Malfoys had never gotten along.
He took off running, ignoring when Weasley called out to him. He couldn’t allow himself to be stopped. No, he had to get
away from here, to find some peace. Unfortunately, Draco didn’t notice that he had run right into the forest, until he was
surrounded by the looming branches of the trees. Still, he ran . . . at least until he was forced to stop. He tripped, his foot
catching on the root of a tree. He fell, landing hard on his knee, his palms burning as he scraped them open during his fall.
Draco lay there on the ground, on the cool forest floor. He shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself as he finally allowed
the tears to spill forth. He was confused, lost as to what to do, ashamed of himself and of what he was. He couldn’t deal with
all of this, with the sudden news of his heritage, with the knowledge that he had to mate with someone or go insane. It was
too much, too soon.
His tears slowly abated, his breathing returning to a more normal pattern, his heartbeat slowing to a steady pace. Biting his lip,
Draco tried to push himself up, only to crumble as pain shot up his one leg, not only from his knee, but his ankle as well. He
must have injured himself, he thought, condemning himself for the fool that he was being. To just run off into the forest like
this . . . it was nothing short of idiotic. He could get into trouble for this . . . students were forbidden to enter the forest.
He should have known better, should have watched where he was going. Now he was hurt and lost, not sure exactly which
way he had come from. He couldn’t even stand, let alone wander around to find his way back to the school. And on top of
that, he didn’t have his wand. Professor Snape still had it. So there was no way that Draco could signal for help. Things
were just getting worse with each passing moment.
Fear enveloped Draco with the sound of a branch breaking. He spun around, his eyes darting wildly into the darkness
surrounding him. Even in the daytime, this place was dark . . . the thick, leafy trees blocking out most, if not all, of the
sunlight in places. He saw nothing, but he could hear the approaching footsteps and that scared him. He attempted to train his
sights on where the sounds were coming from, but couldn’t quite manage it . . . they seemed to echo all around him, perhaps
just a trick of the forest or of whoever was out there, or maybe this was only in his overactive imagination. Either way, Draco
didn’t like it.
“Who’s there?” Draco called out, his heartbeat increasing in tempo.
“Pretty, pretty.” A whispered voice laughed, a distinctly masculine voice.
Draco shivered, reacting despite his own will. A male . . . Draco bit his lip, hoping that whatever it was couldn’t be affected
by Draco’s nature. “Who are you? W-What do you want?” Draco asked, attempting to keep his voice from wavering. He
His eyes widened when the figure of a strange creature emerged from the dark shadows. It was a Satyr . . . a half goat, half
man creature. Mostly human in appearance, Satyrs had goat legs and hooves and small horns on their heads . . . this Satyr was
no different. He had dark curls of hair, both on his head and his chest . . . and what a strong looking chest he had. A dark
smile curled his lips, his eyes glinting with a strange gleam. It was a look that sent shivers along Draco’s spine, making his
body warm, his skin tingle.
Draco shook his head, clearing it. No, this was wrong. He couldn’t want to have sex with a Satyr . . . it was wrong to want
that. He struggled to stand, forcing himself to rise despite the pain in his ankle and knee. However, he didn’t move quite fast
“Going somewhere, pretty?” The Satyr asked, his hand grabbing Draco around his throat. He shoved Draco back, forcing
him up against a tree. “I didn’t say you could leave.”
Draco groaned, although he had fought the urge to do so. He reached out, running trembling hands over the Satyr’s chest, his
body uncontrolled by his common senses. No, he was working purely on instinct now, his urge to mate overpowering his
“S-Stop.” He gasped, even as he twisted a leg around the Satyr’s waist, pulling him closer with insistent fingers.
His body wanted this . . . the Satyr wanted this. Draco could feel the creature’s arousal digging into his hip, knew that he was
affecting the Satyr. He ground his hips forward, stimulating the both of them with the same motion. Forceful hands gripped
his trousers, all but ripping them from his body and throwing them to the side. The Satyr tore the front of his shirt off, leaving
his robes on, although pushing them aside.
Draco moaned appreciatively, feeling as the Satyr touched him. He leaned toward it, craving more contact, wanting those
hands to do more. And they did. The Satyr took hold of his erection, pumping it slowly. Draco threw his head back, his
mouth falling open as a gasp left his lips. It felt so wonderful.
Still, he knew that it was wrong. He wanted to say no, to push the Satyr away. But he couldn’t manage it. No matter how
much his mind protested this, he couldn’t get his hands to push the Satyr away, couldn’t get himself to scream for help.
Draco grabbed the Satyr, pulling him closer. He licked the creature’s lips, encouraging his actions. The Satyr responded
quickly, ravishing Draco’s mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue in and out of Draco’s eager mouth. Draco wrapped
shaking arms around the Satyr’s body, pulling him closer, rubbing himself against the Satyr’s erection and making him moan
into his mouth. There was nothing Draco could do to stop himself.
Abruptly, the Satyr pulled away, leaving Draco to groan in disappointment. Barely a moment later, Draco was spun around, his
chest forced against the trunk of the tree. His robes were pushed to the side, his back exposed to the cooling autumn air.
An instant later, the Satyr’s body was pressed along the length of Draco’s body, the creature’s thick erection pushing between
the cheeks of his ass and settling there. Forceful hands gripped Draco’s thighs, spreading them slightly, a mouth descending
on the back of Draco’s neck. Draco shivered, bracing his hands on the tree trunk, his last conscious thought hoping that this
wouldn’t hurt too terribly.
To Be Continued . . .