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Nature of the Beast	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 48976 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Eleven—Interviews and Introductions
            Narcissa stood up briskly when they came through the Floo and spoke to Malfoy, as far as Harry could tell. “There’s someone I would like you to meet.”
            “Not someone who you want to be another mate for me,” said Malfoy, and his hand seemed to grow heavier on Harry’s shoulder. Harry didn’t know how he was doing that, when his hand was already resting there, but that was the way it felt. “I have all the mates I want right now.” A second later, he settled his chin on Harry’s free shoulder.
            Harry stood still under it. He couldn’t say that he was resigned to being the submissive mate Malfoy wanted, but on the other hand, he had no reason to please Narcissa either, with her cool temper and cooler dismissal of his concerns.
            “You place the worst interpretation on my words, as usual,” said Narcissa. This time, Harry thought she might be speaking to both of them, because she seemed to be looking between Harry’s eyes, directly at his lightning bolt scar. “I mean no harm. I mean to bring someone into the equation who may help you.”
            From the way Malfoy tensed behind Harry, he had no idea who that could be. That at least reassured Harry they were somewhere on the same level of misinformation.
And from the way Malfoy was standing there, as helpless before his mother as Harry had to admit he probably would have been before his if she was still alive, Harry knew he was the one who had to take charge. "What do you mean, someone who can help us? Is this someone who knows why the bond isn't working the way it's supposed to?" Even those words made him want to grimace, but he nodded and bore with it when Narcissa made a heavy gesture.
"Even better," said Narcissa. If she disliked Harry even more than usual, she was at least hiding it more easily now than she had been. "Someone who is in a Veela bond, and has been for a long time, so they might tell you what it is supposed to be like."
"Malfoy can tell me what it's supposed to be like," Harry said at once. He already didn't like where this was going. It sounded like having the Ministry bring in a supposed expert Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and look where that had gone. "I don't see why we need someone to repeat the information that we already know. What we need to know is what's different about us, not a litany of changes we should make because ancient Veela tradition says so."
            “Maybe it would help," said Malfoy, his chin moving around a minute as if Harry's shoulder had become uncomfortable and he wanted to find a different place. "Someone who can feel the bond between us. Some Veela can, you know. Feel others' bonds."
Harry, though, had thought of something else. "Were you thinking of asking a dominant or a submissive?" he asked Narcissa.
Narcissa looked down her nose at him without moving her head, a talent that Harry would have liked to master for the sake of dealing with some of the idiots in the peace talks. "A dominant, of course. A submissive would be at home where they belong."
"Yeah, no," said Harry, and gave her a smile that she was welcome to take as pleasant if she wanted; it made no difference to Harry. "I don't want to speak with yet another person whose major problem with me is that I'm not cowering and whimpering."
"I have told you, and Draco should have told you," said Narcissa, her eyes for a moment stabbing past Harry and focusing on Malfoy. "Submission is not like that. Submission means warmth and protection and being held. There are times that I wished my son would become one, because then he would have someone to always take care of him."
"You keep wanting to make me into something I'm not," said Harry slowly, enjoying the way the words crept out of his mouth, "instead of working with what I am. I don't like it. I don't want to talk to someone who's going to repeat the same useless truths to me, I told you."
"In that case, it is good that I won't repeat them," said a casual voice from the doorway. "And while Mrs. Malfoy may have asked me to come, I am not going to to do just what she wants. I will work with the truth of the bond and the mates in front of me."
Harry turned, not liking either the way Malfoy had started hissing into his ear or the fact that he hadn't heard this person enter the room. He couldn't afford to start getting careless like that when lives could depend on his instincts.
The Veela in the doorway was definitely a dominant. His wings were longer and smoother than Malfoy's, though, his feathers a kind of shimmering cream color that dulled into gold and white near the edges. He gave a slight bow to Harry, and then focused his eyes on Malfoy and said, "You are not making him comfortable by holding onto him like that, you know."
Malfoy said nothing, as he had said nothing in English the past few minutes, but continued with his hissing. The Veela sighed and glanced at Harry. "I can see that part of the problem is that you were raised in the Muggle world, but the problems run deeper than that. Is there a room where we might sit down and spend some time talking over this?"
Harry shrugged, deliberately resisting the way that Malfoy's hands and claws pulled at him. "I don't know. It's not my house. Ask them."
            “It is the house of the submissive,” the dominant began, sounding bewildered, but stopped when Harry groaned and shook his head.
            “Not you, too,” said Harry. He thought maybe the depth of the weariness in his words convinced the Veela, because he had already seen that it wasn’t his words themselves. “I don’t think that way, and they haven’t made any effort to tell me I should do anything but kiss Malfoy’s feet and stay home all day. Ask them where we can go.”
            The Veela took another long look at him, and then maybe realized that Harry was doing nothing but telling the truth, because he turned around with a faint frown and looked at Narcissa. “You did not tell me about this when we spoke.”
            “You are here to convince him,” Narcissa said, icily enough that Harry almost choked. From the way that the dominant’s wings convulsed, the insult was even worse to a Veela, somehow, although Harry really didn’t understand that much about why. “I warned you when I summoned you of that.”
            “You convinced me to come,” said the dominant. “You did not summon me.” And now Harry could feel another aura of magic pushing at his, hard enough to make Harry sigh and want to withdraw into another room. He couldn’t with Malfoy still clinging to him, though.
            “Very well,” said Narcissa, but she looked as if she was prepared to continue arguing on other grounds if she had to. Harry interrupted ruthlessly.
            “Look, can we just get this conversation over with?” he asked. “I really need to sleep, and then I have a speech to write.”
            “You are politically active?” The dominant was staring at him as though he had sprouted wings of his own.
            “Yes,” said Harry. He supposed that this Veela must be living somewhere that didn’t often get the Daily Prophet, or he would have known that. “Let’s just go somewhere.” He yanked on Malfoy’s arm, and at least the prat let him go long enough to step up by his side and spread his wings to shield Harry from the dominant’s sight. Harry sighed. He didn’t much enjoy having a face full of feathers.
            “This situation is more complicated than I had realized.” The dominant made a sound in his throat that Harry thought might be a growl. Malfoy stiffened, but the Veela spoke on. “I saw an open door to a room with light and wide walls, a room where we might fly if we have to. Shall we retire there?”
            Harry shrugged and followed Malfoy when he moved. He assumed something had been decided, and that was enough for him. This was a meeting he would just have to suffer through.
*
            Draco didn’t like having another dominant this close to Harry. He was amazed how much he didn’t like it.
            He wanted to take to the air and swoop at the Veela, someone who was much more in control of his power than Draco was. It would hurt if he tangled with him. But Draco wasn’t properly bonded to his mate yet, and another dominant could, at least in theory, prove himself more attractive and draw Harry away.
            So that’s one thing that’s working the way it’s supposed to, Draco decided when he stepped into Broad Drawing Room behind the dominant and discovered that he couldn’t make himself shut the door. The possessiveness and protective instincts that are supposed to come along with the wings.
            “My name is Aloren,” said the Veela, and Draco didn’t know whether it was a first name or a surname. He only knew that Aloren was bowing a little, his wings spread, and that took away some of his grudge.
            “Draco Malfoy,” said Draco, when he could remember politeness and force his voice through the clog that had taken up residence in his throat.
            “Harry Potter, of course,” Harry said, and Draco frowned at him a little as he took a seat near the door. “What did you want to tell us?”
            “The damage to your bond,” said Aloren, taking a seat on a couch himself and crushing his wings a little, which further soothed Draco’s fears that he might try to fly and dazzle Harry, “is extensive. I’ve never seen such gaping wounds.”
            Draco couldn’t help mantling a little at the pity in his voice, but he did glance over his shoulder at Harry to see how he was taking this. He had to acknowledge there was something wrong with the bond now, didn’t he? And he would have to acknowledge, as well, that they should do something about it.
            But Harry was rubbing his forehead as if he had a headache. Draco sucked in a breath and moved back to his side.
            “Are you all right?” he asked, and touched Harry’s scalp himself. He thought Harry had tensed to keep from pulling away, but he was too relieved that Harry was letting Draco touch him to care that much. “Is your scar hurting?”
            “That hasn’t happened since Voldemort fell,” said Harry, giving him an odd look, and ignoring his flinch at the name in a way that Draco wished he wouldn’t. There was the chance that Harry would say it again soon if he didn’t think the flinch was a big deal. Harry turned to look at Aloren. “I didn’t grow up in the wizarding world. That’s probably why.”
            “And you were never taught the proper duties of a submissive?” Aloren’s wings lifted and fluttered once, and Draco tensed, but then they draped across the back of his couch again. “No, this is a very rare situation.”
            Draco took his place behind Harry, his hand resting tightly on Harry’s shoulder. Harry clucked his tongue once, in what seemed like exhaustion, but made no attempt to shrug Draco off. “Yes, it is. And I’ll put up with it as much as I can so that Draco doesn’t die, but I need to go on living my life.” Draco opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again. They had already argued so much about Harry going out and living his political life that Draco didn’t know what he could add.
            Aloren folded his hands and rested his chin on top of them. “You have no idea what a real bond is supposed to be like?”
            Harry shrugged. “No one ever explained it to me. From what one of my pure-blood friends said, it’s rare that it happens even to someone who did grow up here. And that means I didn’t concern myself with it.”
            “You need to concern yourself with it now,” Draco said. He couldn’t help himself. It hurt him beneath his breastbone to hear Harry talking so dismissively about their bond.
            Harry turned around as if he was going to snap, but Aloren intervened. “It’s more than that,” he said. “I would know if the mere problem was that the bond hadn’t taken on your side. But there are more wounds than that.”
            Harry shrugged again. Draco was getting tired of that shrug, but Harry would probably take it the wrong way if Draco tried to stop him from making it. “We used to be rivals. That probably has something to do with it, too.”
            “Will you permit me?” Aloren held up his hands and tilted his head back to look at Draco.
            Instinctively, Draco knew what he wanted to do. He felt his back ripple and his wings arch. It was hard to keep his voice polite. “As long as you remember that I’ll fly at your throat the instant you do something to hurt him or take him away.”
            “You don’t have to worry about that.” Harry’s voice was low, and Draco found it even harder to tell what emotion filled it than usual.
            “I want to keep you safe,” Draco said, and took a chance, and dipped his head so that he could nestle his cheek along Harry’s. The smell of his skin was overwhelming that close, and so were the warmth and the trembling pulse in his throat. “Please. Let me? You’re so important to me. I want to keep you safe.”
            Harry hesitated for a long moment, and Draco feared that he would be difficult again. Then Harry leaned his head back, rolling it on the chair, and said, “Fine.”
            Draco looked up, and found that Aloren was going ahead with the Veela magic that Draco had known he wanted to perform. Draco gave a low growl, but he stayed put. He had granted his permission, and it was more important to stay here and defend his mate than it was to chase Aloren out of the room.
            But it was so hard to watch as their bond appeared on the air in front of Draco, written in swirls of silvery fire. This was private. Even if most Veela couldn’t see the connection that bound them to their mates, feeling it instead, Draco still felt as though someone had tried to rip Harry’s clothes off.
            He saw the fire wisp and form symbols that looked like letters, and frowned. He had seen the spell performed once before, when he was young, at a wedding that he had attended with his parents, and his first thought was that Aloren had done it wrong. “Isn’t it supposed to look like a cord of light stretching between your hands?” he asked. He knew one hand would represent him and one would represent Harry.
            “It should,” agreed Aloren, with a dry sound in his voice, and took a quick look at Harry that resulted in him sighing and turning his head away a second later. “It should indeed. But this bond is so torn that this is all I can bring forth.”
            Draco stared. It wasn’t ripped and tattered, the way Aloren had described it, was his first thought. It was almost nonexistent.
            “Why does it look like that?” Harry asked harshly. Draco glanced down at him. He was leaning forwards in the chair, with one hand closed around the arm. He looked offended. Draco found himself perking up, surprisingly. Perhaps this was something that could stir Harry into taking an interest in the bloody bond.
            “Because of these,” said Aloren, and drew his wand, this time glancing at Harry. Harry didn’t even see the implied request for permission—necessary when a Veela was casting in front of the submissive who was the heart of the house—so Draco caught Aloren’s eye and nodded instead.
            Aloren cast a spell that made several otherwise invisible spots at the ends of the silver ropes light up and twinkle with a black radiance. “These represent the places that the bond should find an anchor in both your souls,” he said.
            “And I don’t have those anchors, because I’m not a natural submissive.” Harry sounded as though he was relaxing again.
            “No,” said Aloren. “That is, you do lack those anchors, but you also have these.” His wand slashed again, and several more places appeared, black and jagged. Draco caught his breath. Yes, those looked like wounds.
            “What are those, then?” Draco was a little shocked that Harry could speak so calmly of things that looked so ugly and dangerous.
            “These represent places where certain things were ripped out of you.” Aloren kept his wings carefully pinned behind his back, which was good, Draco thought, as he would have taken on the posture of a courting dominant otherwise, and Draco would have had to approach him and rip his lungs out. “I believe your experiences in the war may have done some of the damage. But some of these wounds are—it is hard to explain how I know this. That is one reason I sought permission to make the bond visible. But they are older than that.”
            This time, Draco felt stiffness flood down Harry’s back and neck, and the next instant, he had pushed himself out of his chair. For a moment, the bond pulsed with Harry’s emotions, shock foremost among them. Draco understood why he was getting such a cloudy sense of them now. They had to travel down the barest smattering of a conduit between them.
            “I had a lot of bad experiences at Hogwarts, leading up to the war.”
            “Older than that,” said Aloren, and there was enough pity in his tone to finally calm Draco down and make him dismiss Aloren as a threat. The man wouldn’t want someone he would have to support that much, someone who could barely bond with a Veela.
            “Fuck you,” Harry whispered, and for a second, Draco thought he would use his magic again, the invisible hand that had pinned Draco to a wall. But instead, Harry spun and stalked out of the sitting room.
            “What was that?” Aloren asked Draco directly, equal to equal.
            Draco had to shake his head. “I have no idea.”
            “I suggest you find out, soon.” Aloren’s wings were settling to his back again, and he stared after Harry with trouble in his eyes. “Those wounds might hurt more than the bond, if you leave them on him.”
*
SP777: As far as Harry’s concerned, passion would be one more surrender, because Draco wants Harry to be in love with him. He thinks that he’s already getting along as best as he can.
delia cerrano: Harry is calmer with Draco. He didn’t at all like what Aloren told him.
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Nature of the Beast