Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Veela-Struck	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 52830 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I am making no money from this writing.

Chapter List
- 1-Veela-Struck
- 2-Changed
- 3-Thought-Through
- 4-Met
- 5-Challenged
- 6-Snapped
- 7-Struggled
- 8-Lost
- 9-Dazed
- 10-Worried
- 11-Shamed
- 12-Hidden
- 13-Dazzled
- 14-Astounded
- 15-Marked
- 16-Damaged
- 17-Chosen
- 18-Shuddered
- 19-Broken
- 20-Spoken
- 21-Influenced
- 22-Gifted
- 23-Promised
- 24-Distressed
- 25-Held
- 26-Tempted
- 27-Warded
- 28-Rumored
- 29-Fought
- 30-Flayed
- 31-Identified
- 32-Practiced
- 33-Enchanted
- 34-Blazed
- 9
- 10
- 11
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Ten—Worried

            “I don’t want to talk about him to you behind his back.”

            “This isn’t really behind his back,” Draco said, and then sighed as Weasley scowled at him. They were standing in Harry and Weasley’s office. Harry was on what he called a “wanker’s holiday” after the case that had wounded him. The wanker in this case, Draco had guessed, was the Minister, who had given Harry no choice.

            Harry had rolled his eyes during the firecall which he’d used to tell Draco about the decision. “It’s not as though I need the rest,” he said. “I’m perfectly fine now.”

            Draco had nodded and said nothing, because what did one say? But he had gone to Weasley immediately afterwards. It was one of the few times that he could be sure Harry wasn’t in the office.

            “I mean it,” Draco said. “He has to know that I want to know this, but he won’t tell me right now.” Weasley nodded and opened his mouth, but Draco barreled on. He had one other argument that might convince Weasley, and he didn’t want to tell him that he had woken up that morning literally hungry to know more about Harry. “And it’s information that’s a matter of public record. I could find it by searching through the newspaper accounts of his cases, or asking other people.”

            “You should wait for Harry to tell you,” Weasley said stubbornly, eyes narrowed as though he were staring into strong sunlight.

            “I can’t,” Draco said, and heard his voice crack. His legs were shaking, and he braced himself on Harry’s desk with one hand. He could feel his fingernails writhing as though they would turn into claws. They wouldn’t, not without his permission, but it was still a bloody uncomfortable sensation. “Weasley, please.”

            “Oh,” Weasley said. “It’s one of those, isn’t it? The Veela things,” he clarified, when Draco looked up at him.

            Draco nodded dumbly, glad, for once, that Weasley was a pure-blood and an experienced member of the wizarding world. Harry probably wouldn’t have understood as readily, but Weasley was experienced with magical beings and their sometimes undeniable needs.

            Weasley looked out into the corridor, as if he thought Harry might return—and Draco couldn’t blame him for thinking that, really—and then shut and cast a Silencing Charm on the door. When he turned around, he had his arms folded and his voice was surly. “I’m only telling you this because I think it’ll ultimately lead to Harry’s happiness, too. Understand?”

            Draco leaned forwards and put on his most encouraging expression.

            Weasley sighed hard enough to make his lips flap. “Harry’s always been a bit reckless,” he said. “It’s like he thinks that, since he survived You-Know-Who, nothing else can really hurt him. But he used to go to hospital and obey most of the instructions the Healers gave him. Not letting anyone else heal him has only happened since—well, you know.”

            Draco nodded, mildly impressed that Weasley could speak more freely about the Dark Lord than about Laurent. It at least showed how seriously he took what had happened to Harry. “But how has he survived, then? There must be wounds that he can’t take care of himself.”

            Weasley shut his eyes. “There have been,” he whispered. “In those cases, we’ve brought in Healers to stand near the barrier and give him instructions. He’s willing to listen to them, just not to let them touch him. It probably doesn’t help that the first time he was seriously wounded after—you know, he came in with his magic sparking around him, and they restrained him.” Weasley opened one eye in order to give Draco a firm stare. “If you feel the urge to tie Harry up? Don’t.”

            Draco nodded, even though he was already thinking wistfully of the day that he could wrap his wings around Harry. But that really wasn’t the same thing.

            “What you did yesterday, getting him to take the potion…” Weasley shook his head in wonder. “He hasn’t done that for almost three years, Malfoy.” He gazed solemnly at Draco. “That’s another reason I can tell you this. You might be the means of saving his life.”

            Draco’s fingernails stopped twisting. That had been what he needed, to know that what he could do for Harry was unique, and that he stood a chance of being able to help him. He would have preened his wings were they extended, or lifted the plumage on the back of his neck if it was the Blazing Season. “Does he ever explain what he’s done after a case like this, or express any doubt? That is, is he reckless because he genuinely feels he has to be, or does he think he’s immortal?”

            Weasley smiled sourly and picked up a quill that he tapped along the edge of the desk. “He always feels he has to be,” he said. “But I think it’s a combination of both. He seems to think that as long as he’s doing what he does to help other people, then nothing genuinely bad can happen to him.”

            Draco hissed in displeasure. He couldn’t help it. A Veela knew that something bad could always happen to their chosen, or why would they be armed with such powerful magic for protecting and defending and soothing in the first bloody place? It did not please him to know that Harry disagreed.

            But that had been yet another of the things he had anticipated and knew would happen if he dated Harry, so he tucked the emotion in among all the others he had to worry about and asked, “What most bothers him about having someone else heal him, do you think? Being touched? Being restrained? Drinking potions that other people have brewed?”

            “Having someone else interfere with his body.” Weasley folded his arms as if he was cold and stared at the far wall. “He doesn’t like drinking potions that someone else has made, or eating food that they have, because it’s letting ingredients that he didn’t watch being prepared inside him. Likewise, he doesn’t let people hold him for long, or put their hands in his wounds, or—and I know this sounds strange, but I swear there was justification for it at the time—put their hands in his mouth.” Weasley wrung his hand as though he could still feel Harry’s teeth. “Nearly took my fingers off.”

            Draco shut his eyes. “He doesn’t want to let people inside him.”

            “Yes,” Weasley said. “That’s a crude way to put it, but yes.”

            Draco thought longingly of the contacts his parents maintained—no longer as extensive as they had been, no, but still present—and their money. If he could just slip into Azkaban and arrange for some time alone with Laurent…

            I’d break his wings first. Then I’d take off his cock. Those seem to be the parts of him that have hurt Harry the most.

            Draco shook off the fantasy and opened his eyes again. “But he can’t take care of himself forever,” he said, “or in all circumstances. Does he recognize that?”

            “No,” Weasley said. “He shrugs off the warnings I’ve tried to give him, and says that he’s lucky and skilled, and both of those things will continue. Like I said, he believes that he’s less likely to get wounded if he’s acting for someone else’s benefit.”

            “What happens if he breaks a leg?” Draco demanded, getting up and pacing around the office. It felt too small. He had to move. The only good part about it was the scent of Harry that hung around his chair and papers, the photographs and maps on the wall, and a cloak that Harry had evidently brought here and forgotten about. Draco buried his face in it, less shy about doing that than he would have been in front of someone who didn’t know his heritage. “If there’s an injury to his magical core? You need an expert to heal that. If he loses his wand and can’t cast the magic he needs himself?”

            “I don’t know,” Weasley whispered. Draco looked up and saw that his fists were clenched. He still stared at the far wall, but now his expression was deadly hard. “That’s the nightmare I live with every day that I’m not with him.”

            Draco felt a quick flare of empathy, and stepped forwards to lay his hand on Weasley’s arm. Weasley blinked at him, then blinked at the hand. Draco squeezed once and let go.

            “That’s the nightmare I’m going to spare you,” he said quietly. “Both of us. All three, if we include your wife. I am going to break Harry free of this, and I’m going to show him that he can rely on other people again. I want him to be mine—there’s no denying that—but I want him to be free, too.”

            “If you can do that, Malfoy,” Weasley said, his face slowly clearing, “then you deserve every piece of information I’ve given you today, and more.”

            Draco smiled, and wondered about the intense, warm feeling glowing in his middle. It probably came from the fact that Weasley could fully accept his Veela side, something Harry couldn’t do yet, and could therefore give Draco some company during this part of his struggle. “I’ll hold you to that.”

            “You do that.” Weasley was watching him with bright eyes, and Draco decided that he wouldn’t tell his parents about this, yet. There were only so many shocks that they could take since the war.

            Draco strode out the door. His mind was already working, searching among the plans that he could come up with and the people he knew for the ones that would best suit Harry. By the time he reached home, he had settled on the one that would work best.

            Now he just had to convince Harry that it would work best—which, Draco had to admit, was much more of a challenge.

*

            Harry frowned at the file in front of him, then leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. When he closed his eyes, he had a momentary smug thought before he plunged into his own mind: Kingsley could send him home for a day, but he couldn’t prevent Harry from working.

            Then Harry began to consider the case he was currently working on, and frowned. It was an older case, but the facts seemed simple, and on the surface, there was no reason that the Aurors shouldn’t have solved it.

            Seven years ago, a young witch had been walking—well, staggering—away from Knockturn Alley one night when she had seen two people talking to each other in the middle of Diagon Alley. There was no doubt that one of them was a wizard she’d known at Hogwarts called Arthur Sandys. The other person was a heavyset witch with brilliant red hair, which was long and curly and reached her waist.

            The witch claimed that the red-haired one had reached out and touched Sandys. And she said that he had dissolved into a mass of bright, swirling particles, followed a moment later by the red-haired woman.

            The Aurors, of course, had assumed that the witch had witnessed the use of a Portkey and was simply too pissed to describe it in a normal manner. It wouldn’t have been of any great concern except that they’d discovered the body of Sandys the next morning, lying in the middle of a field two miles away from the nearest wizarding village, covered with multiple deep wounds as if a beast had attacked him.

            They had to identify his body from scars on his hands and legs, since his head was missing.

            Again, it should have been simple. The Aurors had magic that could analyze the effects and the aftereffects of spells, and if they failed, there were the Unspeakables, who could identify more magic and artifacts than any Auror could learn about in a lifetime, thanks to their extensive files.

            Except that no matter what they tried, they couldn’t work out what Sandys had died of. The bites weren’t familiar, either, but they weren’t the cause of death; the Unspeakables had been able to tell the Aurors that much. And whoever had cut his head off had done it without killing him, or else had removed it after he was dead. There was no poison, no bruising as from a beating, no rupture of the internal organs. And there was no known ritual that would require inflicting bites on a corpse and taking the head. Some might take one, but not both.

            They never found the head. They never found the red-haired witch the younger witch had observed. Sandys’s death was left a mystery, and his family was left to grieve, and to know that at least one person knew the truth about the murder and would never tell them.

            The Aurors had given up investigating the case shortly after they realized they didn’t know how Sandys had died, especially because no other victims had turned up. An enterprising trainee had opened the case again a few years ago and taken the notes in the file to the Healers, thinking they might be able to recognize some subtle trace of destructive spells that the Aurors and Unspeakables hadn’t, or at least the bites.

            Harry snorted. Healers never know anything except the fastest way to annoy someone.

            And there the case had rested, an unopened, neglected file in the middle of a dozen other neglected files, until Harry had gathered them all up and taken them home for a little light reading. Ron would say that he couldn’t solve the case without help, and he certainly couldn’t solve the case where so many other people had failed.

            But he had no objection to Harry reading about the case, because he thought that. And Harry was accustomed to having more faith in his own powers than other people did.

            He rested a hand on his abdomen for a minute. That wound will barely leave a scar. I healed myself fine.

            He opened his eyes and studied the file thoughtfully again. The best thing he could think of was to go to the place where Sandys’s body had been found, and do a bit of looking. Then he would find the witch who had witnessed the abduction, or murder, or whatever it was, but if he talked to her, then word might get back to the Ministry. Harry preferred to look into this on his own for now.

            Harry stood up and started to push his chair back. There was no reason not to Apparate to the point where Sandys’s body had been discovered today.

            Warwickshire, here I come.

            The Floo flared up. Harry cast a glare at it. He had almost forgotten it was open, and he considered simply shutting it, or ignoring it and walking out the door.

            But Draco’s voice said, “Harry?” and Harry sat back down again with a sigh. He owed Draco more than to simply leave when he knew Draco wanted to reach him.

            “I’m here,” he said, and hoped he didn’t sound like he was whinging.

            Draco’s head appeared in the fire, and he stared at Harry for a long moment, eyes moving slowly over his body. Harry blinked at him. It wasn’t the way his friends looked at him, or the way Laurent had looked at him, or the way that people who wanted his autograph stared worshipfully at him. It resembled the way other Aurors would evaluate him after some wild charge or raid that had resulted in several captures and injuries, but Harry had no idea why that particular look should enter Draco’s eyes right now.

            Then he realized it, and held in a sharp sigh. He’s looking to see if I’m hurt.

            It was understandable, perhaps, but really, where was Harry going to go, and how was he going to get injured, when Kingsley had taken him off work for a day?

            Then Harry remembered he had been on his way to Warwickshire, and quashed his sense of guilt as hard as he could. He hadn’t actually got there, and there was no reason that he couldn’t do a bit of elementary investigating. The case was seven years old. No murderers would still be lurking about the place.

            “Good,” Draco said, and then gave him a smile Harry had to admit was dazzling. “Listen, I wanted to know if you would talk to one of my friends.”

            “Not a Veela,” Harry said at once, getting up and pushing away from the fire. He trusted Draco, and it was still hard to be in the same room with him since Harry had seen him spread his wings. A strange Veela was out of the question.

            “Not at all,” Draco said calmly. “But someone who associates with Veela. He’s an expert in magical creatures, and he attended pure-blood families with that heritage for a living, letting them know what to expect.”

            Harry cocked his head, curious despite himself, and despite the fact that the man sounded distinctly like a Healer. “He attended? What does he do now?”

            “Oh, he’s older and retired,” Draco said, and smiled at Harry, a mysterious smile that his next words explained. “Besides, he has heart trouble, and a very protective consort.”

            Harry raised an eyebrow. “He’s a Veela’s partner?”

            Draco nodded. “His name’s Owen King, and he’s one of the more pleasant, polite, and quiet people I’ve ever met. I think you’d like him.”

            “Not if I have to meet him in the presence of his partner,” Harry said, and folded his arms, and stared at Draco.

            Draco rolled his eyes. “Give me credit for knowing you better than that, Harry. Why would I ask you to do something like that?”

            Come to think of it, Harry could think of no reason for Draco to force him into a meeting with another Veela, not when he knew what it did to Harry. He settled for shrugging and looking at the floor, hoping that Draco wouldn’t notice how red his face was.

            “It’s all right,” Draco said. His voice was softer now, calmer, and infinitely more coaxing. Harry hoped that Draco wasn’t about to make a fuss over him. There were things he hated more than that, but none of them were coming to mind right now. “I promise, Harry. Owen didn’t accept right away when his Veela chose him, either. He asked her to wait and let him think about it, because he was courting a woman he hoped to marry. He had to make a choice, and he eventually did it, but not for years.”

            Harry blinked. “I—I didn’t know that any Veela would be willing to wait that long,” he said. “I didn’t know that any Veela could.”

            “It wasn’t easy for Lucy,” Draco admitted. “That’s his consort’s name, Lucy Monteverde,” he added, as if he thought Harry would be confused by the reference. “But she loved him, and he was willing to let her close enough to him that she could take what she needed and survive. And she tells me that it was worth it because she knows that Owen chose her with all his heart and mind, not just with the first rush of passion through his body. That’s one reason many first Veela choices don’t last long.”

            And then his face closed, as if he’d said something he shouldn’t have.

            “You had one that didn’t work out?” Harry asked quietly. There had been rumors that Draco was dating Pansy Parkinson, but that was before Harry had become intimately involved with defending him, and certainly long before he had known Draco was Veela.

            “Yes,” Draco said. He stared into the distance, as if he saw Parkinson there and regretted what he had lost.

            “I’m sorry,” Harry said softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

            Draco stared and turned his eyes back to him. Then he shook his head and said, “Merlin, Harry, don’t do that.”

            Harry blinked. “Don’t do what?”

            “I know you’re only offering because offering to help people is what you do,” Draco said. “But I know exactly what you could do to help me get over Pansy, and I don’t want to take advantage of you for more than you intend.”

            Harry swallowed. “I know,” he said. His voice was papery. He tried to make it sound better, and lighter. “You don’t want to tie me to the bed.”

            “That’s the problem,” Draco said. “I do.”

            Harry felt a flush work its way along his throat, and at the same time, he knew he flinched back. Draco continued to watch him with burning eyes, his voice so soft that someone listening from a distance and able to hear only the tone never would have guessed the brutal words he was speaking.

            “I want to tie you to the bed. I want to hold you tight in my wings. I want to fuck you, and I want to demonstrate my strength to you, and I want to rescue you when you get in trouble on a case. I want to ensure that you have the best healing possible and don’t have to rely on your own skills. I want you to trust me and lean your head back on my shoulder and sigh at my sweet words and eat what I prepare. I want to take care of you.”

            Harry clenched his hands together so he wouldn’t fly apart. “I thought you understood you might never have that,” he said at last.

            “I do,” Draco said. “But reason has nothing to do with desire.”

            Harry gritted his teeth. Draco’s eyes held the same ravening madness that he had seen consume Laurent. He knew Draco wouldn’t go as far as Laurent, he trusted him for that, but he had thought—

            He stood up and turned his back on the fire, because it was the only way he would stay sane long enough to finish the conversation. “I don’t like people to want me for so much,” he said. “I never have.”

            There was a long pause, and then Draco said, in a voice that held more concern than longing, “Harry?”

            Harry shook his head. “People wanted me before Laurent,” he said. “They wanted my fame, or my power, or they wanted me to save them, or they wanted me to be evil so that they could hate me. Or they just wanted to pose with me so they could get a photograph taken.” He knew his voice was rising, but he hoped Draco would pay more attention to his words than his tone. They were important. “I got exhausted trying to fulfill their demands, but after him, it got a lot more intolerable. I can give people what they want, as long as I don’t think too much about it. And I wish all the time that they would go away and focus their attention on someone else.”

*

            Draco stroked his jaw with one finger and thought for a long time about how to respond. He couldn’t stop wanting Harry; he couldn’t even apologize for wanting Harry. It was what Veela did, and Harry had to know that. As twisted as Laurent had been, his desire was not the crime. It was what he had done as a result of the desire.

            Draco finally said, “I’ll try to keep in mind that it’ll take you a little while.”

            “A long while,” Harry said. His voice was tight.

            Draco bowed his head, and said nothing about that. In fact, the things he was hoping Harry would agree to were steps that would shorten the waiting period, but that wasn’t their only motive. “But I’m still going to worry about you and want you even if you hold me at a distance. The emotions aren’t things you can change. Your friends worry about you a lot more than they let on.” He knew that for sure after seeing Weasley in the office this morning.

            Harry stood still for a long time. Then he sighed and turned around again. His face was pale and haggard, and Draco’s nails twisted with the impulse to go through the fire and touch Harry. “I know,” Harry said at last. “I just feel that all the people who want me want to swallow me, consume me, and take my strength for their own, without any thought of what it would cost me.”

            Draco gave him the haughtiest glance he could muster. “I’m not like that. I want you to have your full strength so you can go on satisfying me.”

            It was a risk, and he knew it from the way Harry stiffened. But it paid off when Harry laughed and slumped against the chair he’d been sitting in when Draco first called, shaking his head. “Arrogant git,” he said.

            “I know.” Draco ducked his head and looked up at Harry through lowered lashes. “But I mean it, Harry. Those desires are there. I’ll keep them under control as best I can. But will you do other things that might help? Like visiting Owen?”

            Harry bit his lip and considered his fingernails for a minute. Then he looked up, and Draco blinked at the gratitude in his eyes.

            “Yes,” Harry said. “I—appreciate what you’re doing, Draco. I want what you’re offering on one level. It’s nice knowing that someone’s worried about me, that someone finds me attractive, that someone who’s not Ron or Hermione would genuinely like to keep me from injuring myself and not just because of the way the morale of the wizarding world would go down if I died.” He shrugged, his smile wry. “But another part of me, another level, rejects the notion of having someone care for me.”

            “I’m going to care for you all the time,” Draco said, “when you can tolerate it. But I’ll try to back off when it’s not the Blazing Season.”

            “But we’ve got the Blazing Season to get through first.” Harry stared at Draco, his eyes dark. “What are we going to do about that?”

            “I don’t know,” Draco said simply, the only honest answer he could give.

            Harry sighed and touched his scar with two fingers. Then he said, “All right. I’ll visit your friend, and—and you can come with me.” He said it in a rush, as if he would give himself time to reconsider if he waited.

            The twisting sensation in Draco’s fingernails disappeared, and he held back a croon with effort. “Thank you, Harry,” he said at last. “That’s generous.”

            Harry smiled at him. “It’s normal,” he said. “Or normal in a way I want to be, a way I thought I’d healed myself to be at first, and which I’ll never get to be if I just stubbornly linger in the same place all my life.”

            Draco licked his lips. The strength glowing in Harry’s green eyes was enough to make him harden. He was glad that Harry wouldn’t be able to see it through the flames. “Can we visit Owen tomorrow?”

            Harry nodded. “In fact,” he added in a dry tone, “I’m sure Kingsley will be delighted to give me another day away from work.”

            Draco laughed, but he was inwardly gloating. He’ll be with me. He’ll be in no danger, because I won’t let him dash off like that.

            One way or another, both he and Harry would get what they wanted. Draco would see to it, and Harry would join in seeing to it when he could.

*

            polka dot: Depends on your definition of a break.

            Shiro_neko: Thanks! I don’t know if Harry is thinking about it that clearly, but he does appreciate what Draco does for him.

            mrequecky: Isn’t he?

            Sneakyfox: Yes, it is.

            Hee, perhaps.

            Soria: Thank you!

            luvlustblood: Thanks! Harry will probably let Draco do things, if at all, slowly.

            AnArkAngel: Thanks! I hope you continue to enjoy it.

            SpiritOfBeyond: Thanks! I think Harry wouldn’t be as messed-up as he is now without his canon past, so I’m trying to keep that in mind as I write him.

            thrnbrooke: Yes, and even more here.
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Veela-Struck