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Aerodynamic	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 6744 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Aerodynamic
- 2-Part Two
- 1
- 2
Title: Aerodynamic
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Rating: R
Warnings: Creature fic, a bit of angst
Wordcount: This part 3000
Summary: Harry could deal with side-effects from a vaccine against Veela allure. Really, he could. If those side-effects didn’t include the urge to lure Malfoy down dark corridors and do…things…with him.
Author’s Notes: A response to an anonymous request for Harry to be continually kissing and groping Draco, then running off, as a result of a bad reaction to a vaccine against Veela. This will have two parts, with the second posted next week.
Aerodynamic
            Harry was walking innocently down a corridor in the Ministry, on his way to deliver a report Kingsley wanted by hand, when it happened for the first time. He wasn’t seeking anything out. He wasn’t thinking about sex. He was slightly bored, wondering when a new case would come through the Auror ranks, and hoping it didn’t deal with a Veela. He had successfully imprisoned all the winged thieves and assassins he’d had to deal with lately, and now he had an extra layer of protection, thanks to the latest Ministry potion, but it was still a pain in the arse.
            So he thought that, and everything was fine, and then Draco Malfoy stepped out of a side-corridor ahead of him, his nose buried in a book whose pages he was flipping. He muttered to himself in a way that sounded like a typical obsessed Unspeakable’s ranting. Or liaison? He was a liaison of some kind, Harry remembered distantly, between the Ministry and pure-blood families with more money than sense. Harry honestly hadn’t bothered to keep track.
            Malfoy had once been someone to follow and peer after suspiciously because he was up to no good. Now he was just up to boringness, and that didn’t require following.
            Which meant it made no sense when Harry came to a stop in the middle of the corridor, his tongue feeling as though paper had replaced it. Harry wiped at his mouth and stared at Malfoy. Could he have cast some kind of spell…?
            Not unless he could do it wandlessly and nonverbally, Harry had to admit. He could see the shape of Malfoy’s full wand holster against his wrist.
            He groaned a little. He shouldn’t have thought of wands. That made not only his tongue but other parts of his body feel dry and hot.
            Malfoy glanced over his shoulder at the groan, but only nodded distantly to Harry and said, “Good morning, Potter,” before looking at the book again.
            Harry took a shaky step forwards. Then he stopped. The report banged against his leg, and reminded him of his appointment with Kingsley.
            Fuck the report.
            Once again, he wished he hadn’t thought that. Trembling ripples ran through his body, and he was barely aware that he had dropped the report in a colorful splash on the floor. Malfoy kept walking, so evidently not considering the sound worth his time that Harry was filled with the temptation to make him see it was.
            Why not?
            It was early morning, still. Not many people in this part of the Ministry. A convenient corridor off to the side that led to a lift no one liked using, given the way it creaked, and so the Head of the Department had finally stopped it and declared no one was to go that way.
            Harry lunged, grabbed Malfoy’s cloak and collar, and dragged him into the corridor. Malfoy dropped his book and reached for his wand, mouth open to make what was probably going to be a prissy remark.
            Harry had no time to listen to prissy remarks. His head was filled with the sort of sounds he wanted to enjoy with Malfoy, and cause Malfoy to make. That last part was important. No more silence.
            He turned his grip on Malfoy’s cloak into a grip on the back of his neck, and shifted the hold on his collar a little, and kissed him.
            Malfoy’s lips were still as glass, as cold. Shock, Harry determined, and lapped at them once, because that would make something happen.
            It made Malfoy try to bite his tongue off, was what happened. But Harry pushed him backwards, into the wall right beside the old lift door, and Malfoy went with it, grunting. He didn’t have much choice. Harry might not be bulging with muscle, but he did all right for himself, thank you very much.
            He pressed up against Malfoy so Malfoy could appreciate it, and continued the kiss. Malfoy parted his legs, and Harry slipped obligingly between them. His mouth was open, too, as if he was going to scream. Harry got in the way, instead, and kissed him more deeply, rejoicing in the way that the simple taste of salt in Malfoy’s mouth seemed to travel like lightning down to his bones.
            Then another word occurred to him, one that made him jerk back from Malfoy with his face flaming in horror. That was the sound of a name, echoing again and again in his own head.
            Malfoy. This is Malfoy I’m kissing.
            Harry stood there and panted it off for a second, his eyes locked on Malfoy’s. Malfoy lifted one hand and delicately touched his own cheek and lips, as if he wanted to make sure he still had all his teeth. His gaze was locked on Harry, and he was utterly silent. Pink, but silent. Not panting, the way Harry was. Not staggering, the way Harry was.
            Not burning with the desire to go ahead and start it all over again, the way Harry was.
            Harry turned and ran. He had to go pick up that report before someone else saw sensitive Auror information and give it to Kingsley. He couldn’t believe that he’d left it lying in the middle of the corridor, let alone that he’d left it to chase after Malfoy.
            And then he would go right to one of the Healers and submit himself to a thorough set of diagnostic charms. Because what the fuck.
*
            Draco had thought that strange things had finished happening in his life with the end of the war. From thereon out, he had thought, things might be unexpected, they might be surprises, but they would not be strange.
            Having Harry Potter drag him into a dark corridor and kiss him certainly counted that way, though.
            Draco touched his tongue to his swollen lips. Then he reached down and felt along the edge of his hip. He had thought Potter’s hand had dropped there, but now that he thought about it, it seemed as though Potter had firmly held onto his neck and hair instead. So that had to be the pressure of, perhaps, a hip or a leg.
            Draco sighed a little and stretched, adjusting his robes to give himself some more room as his cock swelled to match his lips.
            Well. So he could admit Potter was attractive. So what? But he also thought that if Potter had found him attractive, he was more the sort to come right out and ask Draco for a date. Or at least to hint around the edges in a would-be-clever way that Draco would only tolerate for so long before answering the question.
            This was—the kind of oddity that Draco had thought vanished from his life with the end of the war, yes.
            He glanced in the direction Potter had fled, but of course he was gone now. Draco snorted a little. And he would have to leave, too, or he would be late for one of those tiresome meetings that were meant to reassure pure-blood families with houses full of ancient artifacts that the Ministry didn’t want to march in and take all of them. Just some of them, and if they only signed the right forms in triplicate, they could prevent even that.
            Yes, that was what his life was like. An endless round of forms, books about artifacts and laws pertaining to them, meetings, notes, and memos that no one but him would ever read. Draco had actually found a solid place in the hierarchy of the Ministry, although it depended largely on people communicating with him by writing rather than in person.
            This didn’t fit that.
            Draco grinned.
            Perhaps he could welcome the addition of strangeness to his life. It would at least make things a little newer. And Potter was welcome in a way that sort of disturbed Draco with the strength of the emotion, but since no one else ever had to know he was disturbed, that was okay, too.
*
            “I’m what.” Harry said it flatly, and then dropped his head into his hands and squinted at the floor through his fingers in case that would improve the perspective at all. It didn’t.
            “You have a rare and unanticipated reaction to the Veela saliva that we had to include in the vaccine.” The Healer was one of those embarrassed ones who wanted to be flustered and stammering at the thought of treating Harry Potter, but would also be mortified if that happened, so he went too far the other way and treated Harry with a casualness bordering on indifference. Harry knew the type. This one wouldn’t even look at him as he began to write notes on the parchment in a neat hand. “I don’t suppose you know why this happened?”
            “I know I should have refused the bloody vaccine,” said Harry darkly. He was immune to the Imperius Curse, after all, and he should be able to resist the pull of a winged bird-person dancing up and down to its own screeches. But the Ministry had insisted, and there had been so many cases involving Veela lately that Harry had agreed.
            Then he thought of something that might not only be true but would get the bloody Healer to look at him. “Why would the side-effects make me seek out a particular person?”
            The Healer glanced at him, but it was hardly worth it. He had metal-blue eyes that Harry didn’t find interesting at all, and he had no urge to reach out and stroke the man’s limp brown hair. Apparently he only wanted to forcibly kiss blonds. “As I explained, you’re temporarily part Veela. Of a sort. You won’t acquire the wings or the magical powers, or the allure. But it does make you susceptible to the need that the allure induces.”
            “So I’ll be even more helpless than usual going up against a Veela. Great.”
            “No!” The Healer straightened as if Harry had personally insulted him. Well, maybe he’d been involved in the development of the useless vaccine, Harry thought. He looked like someone who would be, because it was the only way he’d get any action. “The need connects to a specific person. Not any Veela. And,” the Healer added, looking enchanted with his own ideas, “once you’re bonded to the person the vaccine has chosen, you’ll be immune to the allure anyway. Bonded mates are.”
            “You didn’t,” said Harry, feeling a vein near the corner of his eye begin to twitch and his hand clamp around his wand, “say anything about bonding.”
            “Well, it’s nothing to worry about,” said the Healer, shrugging. “The bond has to connect with a person you have strong feelings for. Most people in this situation would find themselves bound to a lover…” His voice trailed off weakly. “What’s wrong?”
            Other than that you still exist in my line of sight? But Harry refrained, with difficulty, from saying that. He only smiled and said, “Would these strong feelings have to be positive?”
            “No,” the Healer breathed, and he looked a little dazzled, a little dazed.
            He thinks it’s him, Harry thought, and wanted to stalk out of the room. Bloody wanker.
            But staying in firm control of himself right now was the only thing that was keeping him from racing around the room screaming like a hawk with its wings on fire, so he smiled slowly at the Healer and said, “Thanks. Bye.” And he leaped off the stupid table they always made him sit on and strode rapidly away, in the direction of his office.
            All he had to do, he was thinking as he moved, was keep away from Malfoy. That ought to be easy enough. If he had to, he would turn to one of those people who were always staring at him with big, languorous eyes and ask them to spy on Malfoy for him, and warn him when Malfoy was moving in his direction. It would be simple.
            Simple, said a doubting voice in the back of his head.
            Harry ignored that. He wasn’t about to listen to any parts of himself that doubted. Because that would lead him right back to Malfoy, and he didn’t want that, did he?
            No, he didn’t. Or rather, parts of him wanted it, but they were parts that Harry couldn’t bring out into polite society, and that meant they would have to lie down and take care of themselves.
            Or he would take care of them. Later.
*
            Draco raised an eyebrow and turned away from Potter’s office, a poky little one down a side-corridor. Of course Potter would take an office not at all befitting his status. That was like him, Draco could admit now. Potter was far from the obsessed attention-seeker Draco had once thought he was. In fact, if anything, he spent too much time dodging attention, acting as though he could persuade other people he was ordinary.
            But he’ll always be extraordinary to me, if only in the way he manages to frustrate me, Draco thought. Waiting outside Potter’s office hadn’t worked. Perhaps he would have to linger until the end of the day and try to ask his questions when Potter was leaving for the night.
            Then, almost as suddenly as Potter had attacked him the day before, a hand came shooting out of the shadows. Draco went with it, although this time the only shadowed place they had was the little bend where one corridor met another.
            The instant he was out of sight from the rest of the corridor, he felt a hand try to cover his eyes. Draco tutted and leaned back, escaping easily. “I like to see who’s about to kidnap and ravish me, thank you,” he said.
            Potter’s eyes were so desperate that he didn’t even seem inclined to complain at Draco’s choice of words. Instead, he leaned forwards and fastened his mouth onto Draco’s.
            Draco could feel Potter’s lips moving against his, saying something that was probably interesting. But he had to admit, the kiss was rapidly taking all his attention. Potter didn’t go in for finesse, if the way his rapidly darting tongue poked and prodded at Draco’s lips was any indication. Draco reached out, took his jaw in one hand, and pried him away.
            “Please, Malfoy,” Potter said, and his moan was enough to bring a smile to Draco’s lips where the kiss hadn’t. He shook his head a little and leaned back with his legs splayed, drawing Potter closer so they would be out of sight of someone coming back to the office down the most-traveled corridor.
            “I want to know why you have to do this,” said Draco softly. And he was sure that it was having to, that Potter felt impelled, but no curse or potion Draco knew of would have this exact effect, especially on someone who regularly threw off the Imperius.
            Potter closed his eyes, then opened them again. They shone with a strange, reflective sheen, as though Potter had decided to replace their surfaces with mirrors.
            “Veela vaccine,” he whispered. “It—was supposed to protect me against Veela allure, and instead I’ve got it. Or the need to bond. And you’re it. Someone I have strong feelings for.” He reached out and grabbed hold of Draco’s arm, stroking as if he could admire the shape of the muscle for itself. Well, Draco had to consider himself as admirable. “Please, Malfoy, let me kiss you.”
            Draco wanted to say something sympathetic, because that would shock Potter more than anything else, but then Potter lunged forwards again, and Draco was just lucky that he had his head in the right place to avoid getting a concussion. Instead, his mouth was full of that eager tongue again, and his robes were full of—
            Well.

            Draco arched his hips, spread his legs, and welcomed Potter’s hand. He supposed he could have resisted, but it would have been a bit painful, and Draco was curious to see what would happen, if Potter was going to manhandle his cock as roughly as he was currently tongue-handling Draco’s lips.
            But Potter’s hand was agonizingly gentle, as opposed to his tongue, which still stroked roughly along Draco’s teeth. His hand flitted, worked, barely touched, and then flew away altogether. Draco opened his eyes at the same moment.
            Potter was backing away from him, expression strange, twisted, full of remorse and indignation at the same time. He shook his head and lifted his hand to shield his face when he saw Draco looking at him.
            “Why did you have to come here?” he whispered hoarsely. “Maybe I could have avoided this if you hadn’t come here.”
            “I, rather naturally, wanted to know why you were kissing me,” said Draco. He thought it was the height of common sense, even if his own voice had acquired a huskiness. Certainly nothing to make Potter stare at him in that disdainful fashion. “And now I have the answer. And now we can resume.”
            “No,” said Potter, and closed his eyes. “We have to—there has to be a cure. It’s not just kissing, we’re going to be bloody bonded—oh, Merlin.”
            And he ran away.
            Draco stared after him with his mouth open slightly. Then he reached down and adjusted himself again.
            He was getting a bit tired of being at the mercy of Potter’s apparently Veela-fueled libido. Next time, he would make sure their encounter was on equal terms.
            And it would include more actual words, and explanations. Perhaps, given the eagerness of Potter’s hands and lips, Draco would need to restrain him for that.
            Draco groaned slightly, and walked (carefully) away to deal with both his problem and the thought.
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Aerodynamic