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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
- 12
- 13
- 14
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirteen—Dazzled

            “I’ve been thinking,” Harry said.

            Draco leaned forwards, intrigued. This had been a normal firecall so far, with Harry giving him a few details of his workday while Draco basked in his presence and asked for nothing else. He felt content and lazy. His parents hadn’t pushed him lately to see Harry. Harry hadn’t been injured. Harry had agreed to consider a visit to Owen in the next fortnight, and he had spoken with Draco almost every day and spent a few evenings with him.

            And Pansy hadn’t yet reported anything about her friends’ progress. That let Draco ignore the terrible, beautiful vision that the possibility of finding and punishing Laurent held out to him.

            “Yes?” Draco encouraged, when Harry did nothing but worry his lip in an adorable manner and wait.

            Harry took a deep breath and met his eyes with what Draco thought was immense courage, if the way his hands shook was any indication. Harry seemed to notice where Draco was looking and promptly clasped his hands. “I was thinking that I’m tired of going slowly,” Harry said. “I know that I have to, and Ron warned me about going too fast, and I know that you’re patient. But I’d like to do this faster, if we can.”

            Draco felt a stirring, an unfolding of light, in the middle of his stomach, like the unfolding of a flower. But he refused to get excited yet. He might be mistaking Harry’s words. He might need to mistake Harry’s words, if Harry pushed himself too far to be comfortable and Draco had to rescue him.

            “Explain what you mean,” Draco said, folding his arms and trying to look calm and patient even as his heart hammered and hummed in his ears.

            “Right,” Harry said, ears red and face white. “I had another nightmare last night.”

            Draco promptly sat up straight, his excitement fleeing. “Harry, you should have told me. Do you want to talk about it? Are you sure that—”

            “I know what you’re going to say,” Harry snapped, his eyes very bright. “You’re about to ask me whether I’m sure that I want to go through with this, given the nightmare. And the answer is yes. I want to, all right? I’m sick of being afraid. I’m getting impatient, and you haven’t seen what happens when I get impatient.”

            Considering the cases that Harry worked and the utterly terrible consequences of too much impatience on them, Draco thought he didn’t want to, either. He settled back and nodded, letting Harry control the pace at which he made his revelation.

            Harry’s hand again shook as he swiped it through his hair, but his eyes were steady as he locked them on Draco. “I’d like you to come to my house,” he said. “I’d feel more comfortable doing this in a place that I know and understand.”

            Draco hoped that he licked away the drool before any of it escaped his lips. He was almost sure that he had. He stood up at once, with a nod that he also hoped didn’t make his head bob. “Of course, Harry,” he said. “At once. Do you want me to use the Floo connection, or would you prefer that I Apparate?”

            Harry’s jaw worked for a moment, as if he hadn’t got that far when he considered having Draco come over. Then he nodded and said firmly, “Floo.”

            “Very well.” Draco kept his voice low and warm, and met Harry’s eyes in such a way that it would be difficult for Harry to mistake his meaning. “Thank you, Harry. Thank you very much.”

            His stomach burned with desire as Harry nodded tensely to him and then vanished from the flames. Draco backed away and stood there for a few moments, taking deep breaths, until he was sure that he wouldn’t simply try to jump Harry when he reached his destination. Then he reached for the Floo powder.

            For the first time since he had started dating Harry, or trying to, the tightness in his stomach had vanished, giving way to the wonderful, melting-butter sensation that he had felt when he was still sure Pansy was the right chosen for him.

            Yes. He understands how much I need this, and maybe how much he does. For right now, that’s more than enough.

*

            Harry’s heartbeat was making the room blur around him, and he was dangerously close to hyperventilating. He was glad Draco had waited a little while to come through. He strode around the room, trying to use up the excess energy, darting glances at the fireplace and then whirling away again.

            He had meant what he had said. It seemed as if his life had crawled this past week. He hadn’t made any progress on the Sandys case, one of the cases he and Ron had investigated had been utterly routine but had involved a lot of paperwork, and another had ended when the Dark wizard grew too nervous to continue running and turned himself in. Only the talks with Draco and visits to Hermione and Rose had made Harry not dive into some other old case out of sheer boredom.

            He wanted—

            He wanted something different. He wanted something new. He wanted to prove that Laurent didn’t control him anymore. He wanted to be able to give Draco something he knew his Veela side probably desperately craved, desperately needed.

            He just wasn’t sure if he wanted Draco in the same way that Draco wanted him.

            Then he shrugged and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as the Floo flared green and let Draco through. Draco knew that. He was willing to date Harry anyway, and to let Harry slowly move towards the state he needed to reach before he could reach out. He knew.

            It still made Harry’s stomach squirm with a heavy, nauseating mixture of guilt and panic, and he found it difficult to smile at Draco.

            Draco halted at once, head tilting slightly and eyes brilliant with concern. “Harry,” he said. “I can go home, if you want me to.”

            His voice was heavy with need, but that wasn’t the only reason Harry lifted his head, took a deep breath, and said, “No. I’ll deal with it. It’s just overwhelming, right now. I haven’t let anyone touch me that way in years.”

            “So you’re attaching much more importance to this gesture than you would have otherwise,” Draco said softly. His voice was pure and perfect, luckily different enough from Laurent’s that Harry didn’t spiral straight into a panic attack. “I would protect you from your fear if I could, Harry.”

            Harry smiled in spite of himself, and nodded. “I know that,” he said. “Well. Is there anything—I mean, any particular kind of touch that you need first? I don’t really know much about this,” he confessed with a half-laugh.

            Draco’s eyes shone as if they were full of moonlight. Then he murmured, “I don’t think that you want to give me blanket permission like that, Harry.”

            “Maybe not,” Harry said, and hesitated. “But I can if I want to,” he added, reckless suddenly, feeling defiant, as though Laurent were there in the room with him, murmuring again about how Harry would always belong to him and never anyone else. “So. I’m going to sit down on that couch and turn around, and I want you to touch my shoulders and my neck and my back any way that you need to. All right?”

            He moved before Draco could even agree, sitting down on the couch and facing away from Draco. His hands shook. The desire to turn once more and keep Draco in sight, and hopefully within reach of a curse, was so great that he had a headache in seconds from disobeying it.

            But other desires were stronger. He shut his eyes, bowed his head, and tried to keep from otherwise reacting.

*

            I need this.

            Draco meant what he had said. He would always want to protect Harry from any fear he ever felt. But that longing disappeared before the white-hot need stabbing him apart from the inside, like a living bolt of lightning.

            Draco leaned over the couch behind Harry. Harry’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t turn around.

            “I want to make you feel so good,” Draco whispered as he reached out and drew his fingers in light lines around the shell of Harry’s ear. Then he touched Harry’s hair, separating out two pieces and twining them around his wrist. He didn’t tug; although he wanted to, that wasn’t the same thing as the need. He leaned over and buried his nose in Harry’s scalp, sniffing deeply until the scent was imprinted on his mind and memory. “Tell me the way you like to be touched. Firmly? Gently?”

            Harry was silent. Draco wondered if this was too much too soon, or if he was embarrassed. His feelings about that last thought danced around his mind, warring. On the one hand, he could understand why Harry might not want to speak; on the other hand, he was bewildered that Harry thought Draco might think less of him for answering a question that he had asked.

            “Gently,” Harry finally said, voice so hoarse that Draco was glad he stood as close as he did. He might not have heard him otherwise. “Hover your fingers—I mean, that’s not proper English, I know—I mean—don’t quite touch me, but keep your fingers just above my skin and move them—”

            “I know exactly what you mean,” Draco said in a soft, sweet voice, remembering in time not to croon. “Hush, Harry. Relax. I’ll be here, and I won’t do anything that you don’t want me to do.”

            Harry nodded. Draco poised his fingers an inch above Harry’s neck and moved them down, letting Harry feel that he was there without any direct contact. A line of gooseflesh followed his touch, and Harry was shivering convulsively now, shifting in place. Draco knew, as clearly as if Harry had spoken it in words, the mixture of discomfort and pleasure he would be feeling. It was a Veela’s job to read their chosen’s body language and know such things, so that they could react without needing to be asked.

            “Marvelous, Harry,” Draco said, and was startled by how deep and languid his tone had become. “You’re doing so well.”

            He pushed Harry’s shirt gently away from his shoulder and moved his fingers in the same way above the curve of Harry’s shoulder blade, down over his collarbone, and up and around in circles on the front of his chest. Harry, by this time, was sighing constantly, and the tight hunch of his shoulders had relaxed a bit. Draco could hear his breath catching in the back of his throat, as if he didn’t know whether he should moan.

            “You can make noise, for all of me,” Draco said, and leaned down so that he could sniff Harry more closely. There were new places to touch, now, as Harry unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it back from his shoulders, and Draco saw the naked skin over his spine for the first time. It was marked with scars and long lines that Draco suspected were the remains of recent cuts and scrapes, but his wonder in seeing it unveiled was too great to permit him to scold. He breathed on it and watched it ripple under his distant touch, more gooseflesh rising, the tiny hairs standing up to point at him.

            Draco swallowed. “I’m going to touch you more fully now, Harry,” he whispered. The pressure was building up in him to do so, behind his eyes and ears and groin, as if it would simply break forth in a flood if he refused. Draco wanted to act before it became painful. “Will you let me do that?”

            Silence for so long that Draco was sure he was going to receive a glance of outrage at any moment. But Harry finally whispered, “Yes. But don’t use the allure.” He dropped his head forwards on his crossed arms and remained like that, accepting.

            Draco moaned the way he knew Harry had fought against doing. “Of course,” he said, though he didn’t know if Harry heard him, the words were so faint with desire. “Never without your permission. Never, never…”

            And then he was touching Harry, and the answering pressure of skin and flesh, muscle and tendon, against his palms rendered him unable to speak.

*

            Harry wondered if Draco knew how many of the shivers breaking across his body were fear and how many were the restlessness that was the closest he had come to arousal since Laurent made him Veela-struck.

            He wondered if Draco knew, because Harry didn’t know himself.

            It was so strange. He hadn’t had anyone touch him this intimately in almost three years, and he really hadn’t thought he missed it. After all, letting someone touch him this way would have been unthinkable; it meant giving up so much of his control. He had agreed to let Draco do this partially because it was one of the greatest risks he could conceive of, and maybe it would make him remember how much he had to fear and so cure his longing for change.

            But, oh…

            Laurent had never touched Harry so caringly, so expertly, leaning so much on what Harry wanted and what Harry had told him to do. He had never trembled when he was touching Harry. He had never seemed as if he might burst apart any second, unless he could have Harry. Most of the time, they had ended up in bed together long before the foreplay got this far.

            Draco was different.

            Some of the images of Veela that Harry had carried in his mind over the years shattered with small sparking, cracking sounds, like dull lights going out. He had thought, after Laurent, after the Veela who had looked at him with hostile eyes during the trial and denied that any magical creature would ever abuse their powers in such a way, that Veela saw themselves as above humans. Sure, they chose one of them, but that human “chosen” was more like a carefully picked pet than anything else.

            Draco touched him with desire, yes, but also reverence. Harry couldn’t imagine that he would ever hurt Harry intentionally.

            What about unintentionally?

            The thought twisted through Harry’s body like a coiling dragon, and he gritted his teeth to avoid starting out from under Draco’s hands. He wanted to stay here and see what other differences there might be between Draco and Laurent. Separate them enough in his mind, and then maybe he could stand to go further with Draco.

            Maybe he could stand to think about the clear, dazzling component to the sludge that seemed to fill his belly, the strange thrum of sensations he had almost forgotten and longings he had no desire to awaken.

            I don’t want to be—

            He knew what he felt. He knew it from the way his skin reacted to Draco’s touch and the way his cock was stiffening. But he couldn’t think about it, not right now. It was—it was beyond him. He had thought about letting Draco touch him so that he could ease the anxiety King had said he was suffering, but he really hadn’t expected to respond this strongly. Why should he, when he still had nightmares about Laurent doing less than this to him?

            But they are different.

            Harry gritted his teeth and shifted away from Draco’s touch. It stopped at once, though Harry could feel Draco’s hands hovering above his back, the way they had already, for a few moments before Draco withdrew them. Harry sat up and tugged his shirt back on, doing up the buttons with stiff fingers.

            Draco said softly behind him, “I don’t think you know what a gift you’ve given me. One I never expected to have this early in the process.”

            Harry glanced cautiously back at him, shrugging with one shoulder. “I knew you needed it, and I wanted to see if I could stand it,” he said. “That’s all. It wasn’t that big a deal.”

            Draco’s eyes shone, and Harry swallowed, suddenly realizing the argument that had sounded convincing to him might sound less so to Draco.

            “It was more than that,” Draco said, and his voice was soft and so thick that Harry found himself moving his arms to make sure he still could. That voice enfolded him like a cloak made of velvet. “And you have no idea,” Draco went on in the same tone, starting to walk slowly around the couch. “This was an ordinary occurrence to you, wasn’t it?”

            “Knowing what you do about my past,” Harry said, and was grateful to hear that his voice sounded cold and commanding, “how can you think this didn’t mean anything to me?”

            Draco paused, blinked as if he hadn’t expected the reminder, and then bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Harry,” he said. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. But it meant something different to you than it did to me, even if it was as profound.”

            Harry had no problem nodding agreement to that. He knew he wasn’t Veela, and he had no wish to be. “Yes, it did. But so what?”

            Draco stepped around the couch and came closer to him. Harry swallowed back the bile and reminded himself that Draco had spent the last ten minutes touching him without any harm coming to Harry, or without his hands closing and clamping down the way Harry knew Laurent’s hands would have.

            Don’t think about Laurent right now.

            “Because,” Draco said, “I always knew on an intellectual level that you intended to date me. You promised. But there are levels on which it’s harder to convince someone, whether that person is human or Veela. I am more…stubborn than some, you might say, precisely because of that. Until the gift you gave me just now, part of me was hanging back, doubting whether you would keep your word. And now that part is fully engaged.” He sounded like someone who had eaten a wonderful meal and was still a bit stunned by how good it had tasted.

            Harry nodded, cautious but grateful that he understood. “You’re welcome.”

            “That part of me,” Draco whispered, halting a foot away, “and the rest of me as well, wants to make you happy. What can I do for you?”

            Harry frowned in confusion. There was nothing, was there? He didn’t think he could explain the confused brewing of arousal and disgust in his belly to anyone yet, and Draco was probably the worst choice if he did want to. Draco would try to reason it away, or tell him it was natural, and Harry wasn’t in the mood to hear that right now.

            He could ask Draco to leave, but that wasn’t something that would make him happy, simply relieved. And Draco would know the difference between the two emotions.

            “I don’t know,” Harry said at last. He sounded stupid and felt helpless, and he made a sharp little gesture when Draco acted as if he would step forwards and open his mouth. “I really don’t. There’s nothing that would make me feel any happier right now than I already do.”

            “Think about it,” Draco said, his voice deepening. Harry gripped his wand. Was this a Veela trick as well? But Laurent’s voice had always risen higher when he began a croon, and Draco’s voice had tended in the same direction during the dangerous moments he and Harry had shared. “Let me—I want to.” He gave a wriggle that reminded Harry of the way Bill’s little girl, Victoire, acted when she was trying to contain her anticipation over a promised treat. “Is there nothing? Nothing I can provide for you, fetch you, give you?”

            Harry hesitated. Now that Draco put it that way, he could think of one thing. He was running into shut doors on the Sandys case, and he thought that Draco’s company might enable him to open them. As it had turned out, Mariella’s family was pure-blood, and Voldemort sympathizers at that, and they had steadfastly refused to talk to the man who had destroyed “their Lord.”

            A Malfoy accompanying him might change that, and finally allow Sandys’s family to have some peace.

            But for that to work, Harry would have to tell Draco about the Sandys case, and probably endure a scolding. And he didn’t want to use Draco that way, for his blood instead of for his abilities. How was he any better than Voldemort if he did?

            “Tell me.”

            Harry looked up and blinked. Draco was an inch away, but Harry had been so deeply involved in his thoughts, or Draco had been so silent, that he hadn’t heard him come closer. Now Draco’s mouth was open and yearning, one hand extended to the side as if he was trying to ease the desire thrumming through him without frightening Harry, and his eyes so round and wet that Harry wouldn’t have been surprised if he started weeping.

            “It’s all right,” Harry said, startled into gentleness despite himself. He had seen victims who looked like that after Dark wizards tortured them or killed their loved ones, and he couldn’t allow Draco to suffer the same way. He reached out and wound his fingers gently around the extended hand, massaging it, moving it back towards him. “Will you go mad or something if I don’t let you make me happy?”

*

            Draco shuddered. Harry’s touch on his hand cut through the rising mist of desperation and yearning to restore him to something like sanity.

            Merlin help me, that was a mind-cloud.

            Draco honestly hadn’t expected to have that particular problem. A Veela mind-cloud happened when two intense emotions gripped them at once, or two natural instincts came into conflict. In this case, it had been the instinct to make Harry happy and the instinct to protect him by backing off.

            It hurt, leaving an aching feeling in his jaw as if he’d held it open too long, and a similar ache in his mind. Draco badly wanted to cuddle up to Harry, lay his head on his shoulder, and go to sleep until he felt better.

            But already Harry was beginning to look ill at ease where he held Draco’s hand, although his voice never rose above soft and soothing, and Draco knew he had to pull himself back together. He coughed to clear his throat and squeezed Harry’s hand for a moment before he pulled his hand free. “I’ll be all right,” he mumbled as Harry scanned him narrowly. “Honest. I didn’t expect that, but I have my breath back now.”

            Harry accepted it with a small smile. “I’m sorry, Draco,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do that would make me happier than what you’re doing now. Visit me, talk with me, help me grow again into the sort of person who can take charge of his own life and relax around other people. You make me happy just the way you are.”

            Draco worked so hard at that moment not to burst out into a croon that he felt his jaw ache again. But it didn’t matter. Harry had just said that the greatest gift Draco could give him was the gift of himself.

            “Do you realize how romantic that is?” he whispered, and reached out, slowly, to cup Harry’s face.

            Harry rolled his eyes down to Draco’s hand, and then back up, looking bewildered. “Um,” he said. “No?”

            “It was,” Draco said, and then pulled back reluctantly, because Harry’s breathing was getting faster, and not in a good way. “I’ll do my best to make you happy. I promise. I swear.”

            “You don’t have to do that,” Harry said, his voice wary. “I believe you.”

            “I know,” Draco said, “but I want to.”

            His world warmed again when Harry smiled at him, even if the smile held no real understanding. “If you want to,” Harry agreed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

            It was a blunt dismissal, but Draco knew that Harry was probably trying to get him to leave before he lashed out or backed away or did something else that would make them both regret their time together. Draco nodded, murmured, “Sleep well,” and then departed back through the fireplace.

            He called for a house-elf to make him ice-cream as soon as he got home. If he couldn’t yet have one bit of sweetness, he would have another.

            Besides, this evening needed a proper celebration.

*

            Byond_repair: Oh, but we couldn’t have that, could we, and deprive Draco of the pleasure of doing it?

            polka dot: Yes, that is what Draco wants, although he would be mildly satisfied if someone else killed him. But he’s lying to himself that Harry wouldn’t be as upset about it, because Draco wants it to happen so very badly.

            Amiyom: Thank you!

            SP777: Well, unfortunately, this is not the kind of thing that Harry would want to cheer Draco on for.

            Hey, I know I’ve used the word “digress” before!

            Lady of Clunn: Thanks!

            There’s no reason (yet) to think the Sandys case and Laurent’s relatives are connected. But if Laurent’s relatives find out what happened, they might be upset.

            Dragonsnurse: Yes, that is Draco’s reasoning. Draco is absolutely certain that Laurent would come for Harry because he didn’t give Harry up of his own free will.
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