Sixth Year at Hogwarts-1996.


How the Snape Circle (Draco and Severus and Terius) met, mated and bonded and the glimpses of them missing from the original SLASH version of the fic, There Be Dragons, Harry. Threesome pairing at present.


Side pairings: Harry Potter x Theodore Nott x Charlie Weasley x Quinn Kalzik.

MAIN PAIRING: Draco Malfoy x OMC(Terius) x Severus Snape

Hermione x OMC


I do not own any Harry Potter anything. That belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just like playing with her characters in my own little world of storyville. I make no money by writing this fanfiction. All original characters are my own.


M – Not suitable for children or teens below the age of 16

Author's Notes: To celebrate reaching 1000+ reviews for the original There Be Dragons, Harry. I am starting up this little mini-side-fic for the Snape circle, so those interested in how the Snapes came about and to see more glimpses of the dragel interaction can enjoy it. It will feature mostly Severus, Draco and Terius-the other side characters will be mentioned in passing.

WARNINGS: Mature themes. Contains mentions of slash(m/m), moments/mentions of femslash(f/f), and Het (m/f). Scenes are not explicit as per FF guidelines. Full scenes are found in the version posted on AO3, when I get there. There will be slight hints of citrus. Use of Blood as a magical medium in generous portions. D/s Themes. Possible gore/torture in future chapters. Angst. Fluff. Perpetual Mystery. Abuse. Mpreg. Suicide. OC's. OOCness. Very AU. Other warnings will be added as I see fit.


"…that bloody miserable, manipulating fool!" Severus snarled. "Bastard of a-!" The rest of the curse was muttered beneath his breath in latin, as he stalked down the corridors in the Riddle Mansion.

The Death Eater mask chafed along the side of his face, particularly along one sensitive spot near his left ear, where he'd been in a hurry with the shaving spell. He was loathe to cast any healing spells as he knew fully well that a certain, sadistic dark lord, took great satisfaction in undoing any spells reeking of healing energies, just to see his followers squirm, if the urge struck him.

The Potions Master fairly few through the corridors, his robes billowing impressively behind him as his mind worked in overdrive, a singular goal in mind. He was sure, somehow, that he could tie this all back to that meddling fool by the name of Albus Dumbledore—sodding bastard!

Severus whirled to a halt outside the boundary for the far left wall. He could see the sentries exchanging whispered words, apparently news traveled quicker than he'd liked. His heart clenched painfully tight as he recalled a certain conversation he wished he hadn't been present for.

Lucius, you bloody idiot….

His friend hadn't dragged Narcissa into the mess, but Severus strongly suspected it was because the vain witch was just as smart as she was vain. Meaning, she would have secreted herself away and begun to put together a contingency plan of sorts.

Begun, he was sure, because if it had been complete, then Draco never would have been dragged into the meeting along with potential new recruits and forced to stand in line to wait for that wretched mark. Narcissa was vain, vapid and vicious—when she had a mind to be. Draco and Lucius were her sole reasons for existing at all, if it were within her power, then she never would have allowed Draco anywhere out of her line of sight, no matter what Lucius said.

Severus knew the blond well enough to note that no matter what Lucius said and did, his wife and son were everything to him—sort of. Lucius had always been something of the self-serving kind and if giving up Draco would let him keep his own miserable life and possibly Narcissa, then he'd give up Draco. After all, he was a wizard barely into his mid-life moments and there would be time and opportunity to produce another heir and romance his temperamental wife again, if Draco was a necessary sacrifice—then that was all there was to it.

Well, for Lucius anyway.

Severus knew a few things that his stupidly brilliant friend didn't. Something that Narcissa would certainly kill him for daring to breathe a hint or hair of such things. Something that meant that if he didn't use every single one of his little grey cells—his favored and only godson would die.

Lucius would be as good as dead if Narcissa still lived to know what a cowardly way out he'd taken. Severus swallowed the bile welling in the back of his throat. No, he took it back, Lucius hadn't been that weak, but at the business end of a wand—his strength or weakness hadn't mattered a whit. His only protest in Draco's defense—albeit late and half-hearted—had earned him a bloody death.

The talking guards at the far end separated and Severus drew himself up. He still held a high enough ranking that he could take his leave as he pleased, so as long as he had a good reason for doing so. His chest clenched tight, painfully so—he did have a good reason—the kind of reason he most certainly could never tell them.

When they looked up at his approach, he weighted his words with a touch of old magic he hadn't accessed in decades. "I am searching for a runaway recruit." He made as if to pass.

One of the guard's hands snaked out and caught him by the arm. "There are orders for no one to leave the grounds during-"

Severus calmly pulled away and walked past. He heard them draw their wands and he felt the words hanging in the air, the ones that would be spoken to give life to the spell that would certainly take his. He drew in a breath and blew it out.

He stepped over the boundary.

No alarms went off.

Two bodies fell to the ground in synchronized sound.

Severus did not turn back.

The thing about old magic was how it was more than just an old friend. The Potions Master relished briefly in the feel of drawing his natural talents around him. It fit like a glove, well-worn and perfectly sized, curling around him easily with every breath he took.

It was a half-gulp of air before Severus transformed into a swirling mass of blackness, stretching out and snaking through the bleak greenery. Draco had always been quick and light on his feet and of his wit. Severus hoped that was a talent that had continued to serve him well. Narcissa probably had something to do with it, but the secret shared between them was so deep and precious, that he never spoke of it and neither did she.

He could only hope for Draco.

He had yet to see him since the boy's sixteenth birthday—to see him properly, that is.

Lucius had seen it fit to drag him off as soon as possible.

Severus hadn't been able to determine what exactly his charming godson had become. If he'd had a little more time, he would have known, but a five minute chat via floo, was not exactly helpful nor productive. He'd sent his gift ahead of time as Albus had refused to give him the day off. Draco had called to offer his thanks—right as his father had dragged him off.

It was scarcely a handful of minutes later before Severus had received the summons for the meeting. Summons that he was both glad and horrified to have answered. Glad, because then he had been present to witness the reigning Malfoy both at his best and worst—and because he'd been able to see Draco. Horrified, when he'd learned why both Malfoys were present and then when he'd realized what would happen.

With a flicker of his mind, Severus cast his senses out, as far as he could safely manage in his altered form. He drew on the winds to bring to him any snippets of sound, scent or magic and closed his eyes while disjointed images filtered through as the spell searched frantically according to the castor's orders.

A blur of white-silver-blond caught his eye and Severus felt his breath catch in his throat, along with several swiftly approaching dark shapes. The Potions Master came back to himself as the spell abruptly ended and he redirected the magical energy into propelling himself forward and faster towards the spot he had seen.

He willed himself to move like the element that was burned into his very being.

Lucius, you bloody, selfish fool…

Draco was injured, clutching his wand arm, his eyes wild and wide. He could not run and hide, it was much too late for something like that to happen now. He had run as far as he could manage, before the blood loss had begun to register.

He'd cast healing spells hastily and clumsily as he tromped through the woods, aware that he knew nothing of where he was and that appartition was out of the question unless he had a plan beyond where he wanted to pop into.

Of course, Severus was his first choice, but he could have sworn that he'd sensed his godfather's magic somewhere nearby in the Riddle Mansion. His hands shook, his wand arm hanging uselessly at his side. He'd either broken it or dislocated something, the pureblooded heir grimaced. Whichever it was, it hurt a great deal more than he'd bargained for.

But the exchange of his arm for his life was not a trade he was about to question—granted that he could think his way out of this newest mess. Severus had always taught him to use his mind in every situation, no matter how trivial or complicated—constantly reminding him that his mind was his best weapon, even before his magic and money.

Something snapped and cracked off to his right and Draco forced himself not to react straightaway. To whirl about would give away that he was aware of how close his pursuers were. He also had no desire to see their eerie, masked faces. They were killers, the lot of them, and he would not face them nor death today—he had no such desires.

Checking his magic, Draco stifled another painful grimace. His reserves were low and erratic, his inheritance had come in scarcely a week ago and it had left him drained and confused. His mother had helped as she usually did, but something else had her distracted and so he'd been forced to spend some time with his father, a pastime that had once made him jump for joy, until he'd discovered just how heartless his own father could be.

He hadn't seen concrete proof for sure, until today. He had almost thought that he was wrong, but then his father—no, Lucius—had done it. He'd sold him off as if he were not his heir, but nothing more than another worthless asset that no longer held his interest.

Draco had realized in short order exactly how wrong everything was, when his father had tried to salvage the glaring moral error pointed out to him by a certain Rowle. A thread of conversation picked up by Voldemort that ended in Draco staring as the spell was cast and unable to turn to see what his ears confirmed. He'd heard the flare of power, the wet sound of flesh tearing and blood squelching and that had been enough.

He'd ran with everything that he could. He heard the yells and shouts after him, but his mind had switched gears.


Something snapped again, nearby and Draco willed himself to continued forward, taking up refuge behind a tree trunk large enough to shield him. It would hold up for maybe a spell or two, if fired directly at him. He pointed his wand to his arm, about to cast another healing spell and stopped himself.

A little pain was nothing new. He should conserve his energy and his magic for when he would need it—most likely in the next few seconds.

His mind whirled and stalled and for a moment, he felt hot tears burn at the corners of his eyes that perhaps all of his struggles had been for naught. His left hand shook, the tremors coming over him as he realized that he only knew one possible spell that would kill him.

Silver grey eyes blinked away the possible tears and Draco squared his shoulders, mentally slapping himself into a ready position. If it did come down to suicide, he knew it was a better option than allowing Voldemort's minions to take him back. If they didn't torture and abuse him first, they would and then they'd kill him. And he really didn't want to die.

The only two people who would possibly miss him would be his mother, the esteemed and highly dignified Lady Malfoy and his godfather, one dark, brooding and terribly misunderstood Severus Snape. Draco sighed.

One could not cast an Avada Kedavra at oneself, but he did hope that perhaps it wouldn't come to that. He wasn't looking forward to his other options.

A blur flickered to his right and Draco turned and fired off a spell with startlingly accurate precision. He twisted and threw another spell over his shoulder, before the first Death Eater's body had hit the ground. He dropped to a defensive crouch, his limp arm cradled close to his chest, nestled in the shreds of what remained of his gifted birthday robes from his mother.

He drew in a shaky breath, feeling an ache deep inside of his chest. A familiar hollow feeling he'd discovered the night he'd turned sixteen. How strange and odd it was. His mother had told him a long time ago—since he was about six years of age—of what would come and when it would happen. She'd told him that it might not happen at all, since Lucius wasn't one of them. But she'd admitted that there really wasn't any way that she could tell.

Draco didn't know how to tell her how relieved he'd felt when the changes had begun on his birthday. He'd wanted it to happen. Being a dragel sounded like fun. It meant that he would be loved and cared for, even if he wasn't a Submissive. His mother told him that there would be clues to tell him what rank he was and that he'd have to keep an eye out for them.

He'd been thrilled. It had sounded so wonderful that he hadn't expected the giant ache and loneliness that had come with it. It had caught him by surprise in the start of his summer holiday and there was not much he could do about it. He hadn't wanted to stay normal. The mask of a Malfoy hadn't fit him at all and he'd seen confirmation of that first hand when his father had first laid eyes on him the following morning.

His mother had immediately disappeared after fawning over him for a handful of minutes. She'd insisted that he eat plenty of fruit and allowed him a single glass of wine in celebration. It was the last time he would see her in the capacity as his mother, she'd sent him a message via her patronus a few hours earlier in the day—something in her voice had been off and she sounded scared, even though it appeared that she was trying not to let it show.

It had made his heart hurt.

And he hadn't known what to do about it.

She had once told him that if he ever needed help in any way, shape or form at all, that he was to go directly to Severus. She'd told him there was a reason she'd agreed with Lucius' decision to make the honestly dangerous man his godfather. She'd warned him to be careful as he grew, to be aware that there would be many things he may never know of the man.

Things that one day might make sense.

Draco turned the mental puzzle over in his mind, preparing himself for another attack. He was not holding up as well as he had hoped. Pain continued to radiate through him and for one moment, he felt his resolve tremble, before he drew himself up again.

He needed to do this—he had to. He did not want to die.

Not today.

A/N: Ha and there we go. Draco is a week-old "dragel" in terms of having received his inheritance and this is the beginning of how he ended up with Severus as his Alpha and Terius as his Pareya. If these terms (and this fic!) do not make sense to you, I suggest reading "There Be Dragons, Harry" and then returning to this. Thank you for reading! Comment if you like. :)