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Fairest Creatures	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 22177 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

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Chapter Sixteen—Fussing and Courting

            “I thought you were going to die when you kicked Professor Testig in the arse,” said Draco, and bent down in front of Harry to look him sternly in the face. “Promise me you’ll never do anything like that again.”

            Harry blinked at him. He was immersed in a huge tub of warm water, the one in Draco’s rooms. He had invited Harry to his suite, and utterly ignored the token protests Harry made. Since the bathtub was larger, set into the floor, and filled with sweet, steaming water the minute Draco tapped one of the faucets with his wand, Harry had given up objecting.

            “But I had to duel her,” Harry said, and tilted his head back, shivering, as he felt Draco’s clever fingers sink into his hair. “You said so. It’s in the rules.”

            Draco leaned forwards and rested his face against the back of Harry’s neck. “You didn’t need to duel her in a way that made it clear how you feel about her,” he whispered, his voice raising the tiny hairs on Harry’s nape in a pleasant way. Harry let his head almost droop into the water. “You don’t need to show you despise her.”

            Harry shrugged as best he could with Draco’s hands holding him down and his wings draped over the sides of the tub. They were resting in two shallow indentations that Draco had informed him smugly were built specifically for Veela. Harry didn’t see the need to be smug about it.

            “She could tell anyway, I think. There’s no use in keeping a secret that’s perfectly obvious.”

            “I still don’t want you to do that again,” Draco said, and his fingers dug deep, massaging something into Harry’s shoulders that seemed part soap and part oil and part potion. It certainly eased the knots that came with dodging around on a broom and getting smacked by swans. “Not laugh in the face of danger.”

            Harry sighed and knew what he said next would probably upset Draco. “But that’s what I do half the time, Draco. The only reason I survive as many battles as I do. I wouldn’t if I hung back and shivered.”

            Draco said nothing. Then he moved his face around to the side so Harry could see it. His expression was so unimpressed that Harry had to smile.

            “No one has mentioned hanging back and shivering,” said Draco stiffly. His fingers remained pliant, though, and Harry groaned a little as they got rid of some knots he hadn’t known were lingering there. “I only mentioned acting intelligently.”

            “With cunning, you mean, instead of bravery?” Harry shifted his right wing in its cushioned place. The tub was really remarkably made. He would have thought his wings would start aching if stretched out like this, the same way his arms would be if someone chained them above his head, but the height was wonderful. He could slouch and still have the wing balanced and taken care of.

            “Yes, and with tact. Neither you nor Gryffindors in general are very diplomatic.”

            Harry closed his eyes. “No, I suppose we aren’t.”

            For a few minutes, Draco went on working, taking care of him, while Harry drifted in his mind and his bath and felt an enormous vat of contentment pouring down on him. He wondered for a second why he hadn’t felt more embarrassed about stripping his robes off in front of Draco. He supposed it was partially his wings. They were so huge that Draco didn’t get more than a glimpse before Harry stepped into his tub.

            And there was also the odd feeling of rightness that happened when Draco touched or kissed him. They were mates. It was only right that Draco see what he would possess someday.

            Harry’s eyes popped open at that. He didn’t always notice anymore when he did something that would have been impossible before the Veela transformation, but he was more prone to notice the unusual thoughts.

            “Can I do something?” Draco whispered.

            Harry turned towards him, a little unsettled—more than he would have been before he had that thought, at least. “Depends on what it is.”

            Draco was gazing at him with deep, soulful eyes and sticky, soapy fingers that made Harry relax a little. If he was affected by the Veela mate thing, Draco was at least as deeply affected. Maybe more, since he’d wanted the Veela transformation more than Harry had.

            “Can I groom your wings?” Draco shifted his glance to Harry’s wings and, Harry didn’t think it was his imagination, trembled.

            Harry blinked. He tried to think, but his head was full of steam. Or, well, there were very few worlds where a request like that would make sense.

            “You’ve already washed my hair,” he said. “What’s different about wings? Is it another special Veela custom?” He remembered Draco touching his wings before now, though, so that didn’t seem like it would be it, either.

            “There’s a difference between touching, or even washing,” Draco said, and his voice lowered and got breathy, “and grooming.”

            Harry swallowed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to admit what effect that breathy tone had on him, in case Draco took advantage of it later.

            But he couldn’t really see any reason to refuse. And he thought he might even know why Veela took it so seriously. He would be letting Draco touch and thoroughly clean a part of himself that was fragile, if the way Testig’s wing had broken was any indication.

            “All right,” he whispered, and held out his right wing a little, to make sure that Draco could get to it (and that it wasn’t under Draco’s knee).

            Draco moved down and spent a moment smelling Harry’s wing, which was strange enough that Harry ruffled his plumes uneasily. But Draco raised his head a second later and gave Harry a dreaming smile.

            “Like down,” he said. “You smell like down.”

            “Um. Shouldn’t I?” It’s a wing, Harry wanted to say, but then Draco took the edge of it and began to run his fingers through the primaries, and Harry tossed his head back as a wave of pleasure overwhelmed him.

            He could see now why Veela were choosy about the people they let touch their wings. This was the most wonderful thing he had ever felt, could ever imagine. He turned his head to the side and cooed.

            Draco leaned down towards him and kissed him.

            Harry reached out and touched the side of Draco’s wing instinctively; Draco had been kneeling by the tub with them arched above his head so they wouldn’t get wet. But he didn’t seem to mind Harry rubbing them with dripping fingers. His eyes closed completely. He made a little cooing noise of his own.

            He’s been kneeling all this time on the hard tile, Harry thought. I ought to make it more comfortable for him.

            It was the only sort of thought that would come to him, in the midst of the steaming, golden streaks of goodness that pulsed through him as Draco carefully stroked and fluffed out the edges of his primaries. So Harry reached with a shaking hand for his wand and cast a Cushioning Charm on the tiles under Draco’s knees.

            Draco popped his eyes open and made the sort of inquiring chirp that Harry imagined coming from a bird who found another bird landing on its branch.

            He’d be welcome on my branch any time.

            Those strange thoughts were the Veela. Harry knew that. But it wasn’t enough to keep him from spreading out the feathers on the edges of his wing so that Draco could touch them better, and then letting his head rest on the back of his tub. He didn’t need to open his eyes. He didn’t need to be alert. His mate would protect him.

            Harry didn’t know how many moments passed like that, in the steamy warmth, with Draco finding places between his feathers that Harry didn’t know existed, and soothing the itches and the aches there. He’d moved around the tub to start on the left wing before he spoke again.

            “Merlin, I love you.”

            Harry cracked his neck, he turned his head so fast. Draco didn’t look at him, though. He knelt with his head bowed—and Harry had to take out his wand to cast another Cushioning Charm, because his last one hadn’t moved with Draco—and fluffed and fussed and smoothed.

            “You don’t need to say that yet,” Harry whispered.

            Draco glanced at him. His face was utterly serene, not plotting or upset or even expectant, as if he was waiting for Harry to return the words. “Why not? That’s what I feel, and I think mates should always express what they feel to each other.” He reached out with a hand his nails had grown on, so that they resembled small, crooked claws, and scratched them through Harry’s hair. Harry found himself turning his head and opening his mouth in bliss. “Don’t you think so?”

            “We’ve been mated a week,” Harry finally got out. He was grateful that the thick bubbles and steam covered his body, so he wouldn’t feel painfully naked in front of Draco. Those words had made Draco even more naked to him. “You don’t have to say that.”

            “But it’s what I feel.”

            “Draco…”

            “I don’t understand why you’re so angry about it,” Draco said in the most reasonable of reasonable voices. “Most people would be happy to hear that someone loves them. But you were always contradictory, Harry Potter.”

            Harry winced and turned his wing around so that he could brush it against Draco’s face. That felt—not as pleasant, but smoother and cooler. Harry half-hoped it would act like a Sobriety Charm and wake Draco up. But Draco bowed his head and lipped at the feathers instead, and that made Harry glad for the concealing bubbles for a whole new reason.

            “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to say it back to you,” he whispered. “Or not as quickly, and that’s not fair. You deserve someone who loves you as much as you love them. Maybe even a different Veela mate.”

            That cleared Draco’s eyes a little, but he gave Harry a glance that was simply exasperated, not frustrated or furious. Then he shook his head, picked up a small bucket of cooler water to pour over Harry’s hair, and murmured, “I don’t need you to love me at exactly the same rate. I’m more Veela than you. I’ve been one longer. You cause me different kinds of heartache than I cause you. But just because two people aren’t exactly alike doesn’t mean they should abandon each other.” He paused, with his hooked small nails exactly above Harry’s left wing, and looked down at him with a raised eyebrow.

            Harry nodded immediately. He and Draco would probably disagree a lot, but he didn’t think Draco would ever deliberately hurt him.

            A second later, he was making entirely involuntary bubbling croons. Draco’s claws and his primaries felt better than Draco’s mouth. He sat up before he thought about it, hunching forwards and spreading his wings more so Draco could touch them all over.

            Every moment brought a new sensation, one better than the one before it, so Harry wondered in silent despair exactly how he was supposed to categorize them. The constant, fluctuating touch of Draco’s fingers to his back, to the middle of his wings, to the bars of color that marked them as compatible mates…

            Harry chirped, and Draco paused. “What was that?” he asked.

            Harry twisted his head, luring Draco’s hand down his neck and into the little hairs there. It was so hard to get words out of his throat. Mostly, he wanted to chirp, and whir, and chuckle, and croon. He bowed his head further and further, and Draco gave a soft chuckle.

            But he still didn’t scratch where Harry wanted!

            Harry finally had to take Draco’s hand and put it on the back of his neck. Draco started as if he had never thought that someone could want him to touch them there, and then increased the pressure of his nails.

            Harry went boneless. Only the cushioned places on the sides of the tub for his wings kept him from slumping under the water.

            “You like that, don’t you?” Draco whispered, as if he was asking someone for confirmation of a secret. And he moved his hand a little.

            Harry made a long trilling sound that was embarrassing, if only because he hadn’t known he could make any sound like that. But he was too busy thrilling in the delicate, almost ticklish sensation that trickled down the back of his spine from the touch of Draco’s fingers.

            “I knew you’d like that,” Draco whispered, breathless. “I knew you would.” And his hand moved again, and this time Harry thrashed in the water and twisted back and forth. He thought about reaching out to capture Draco’s hand and hold it still against him.

            But if Draco was holding still, then he couldn’t move this way, Harry thought, and had to twist around in the water to express his feelings.

            Draco was giving him an even brighter smile than before, and gentler eyes. Harry rose in the tub, braced as much on his wings as on his elbows, so he could kiss him.

            Draco gave a startled sound of his own, and his wings pinwheeled and flapped madly around him for a second. Then he was falling towards the water, and Harry had to catch him and cradle him against his chest, nipping at his lips, drinking his air.

            Draco’s wings had calmed down to slow, dreamy beats by the time they broke the kiss. Draco drew back and looked at Harry with silent, amazed eyes, his hand traveling again down the bars of color in Harry’s wings. This time, the pleasure was more muted, and Harry did nothing more than sigh and exchange a lighter kiss with him.

            “Don’t worry about not being able to say the words as soon as I did,” Draco whispered. “I think this shows that I can please you, and we’re more compatible than you might have feared.” He hesitated, his eyes passing over Harry’s face for a moment. “You’re not upset to be mated to me?”

            “No,” Harry said. Not anymore. They did have a match between the Veela parts of them. “Except for the parts of us that are human.”

            “I can still admire your skill at Quidditch that you showed off in the duel,” Draco said gently, trailing his hand over Harry’s cheek so that the claws didn’t break his skin. “And I think that we should talk a lot about Hogwarts and our history and our friends.”

            “You do?” Harry asked, turning so that he could crane his neck and more fully look into Draco’s eyes.

            Draco turned him back towards the end of the tub with irresistible, subtle strength, and began washing Harry’s hair again. “Yes,” he said. “Because if we’d both been born Veela and reared in Veela society, maybe it would be different, but as it is now, we share a lot that can’t be overcome by ignoring it.”

            Harry closed his eyes and slipped further back into the water, letting Draco work to find the parts of Harry’s scalp he hadn’t already washed. “But I don’t want to overcome my friends.”

            Draco snorted. “I didn’t mean that. I mean my antipathy to them. And your antipathy to mine.”

            “Who are you talking about?” Harry mostly didn’t think about the other Slytherins from Hogwarts anymore. Hell, he hadn’t thought much of Draco before they came together in the school.

            That thought seemed so wrong that Harry wanted to skim a wing down Draco’s side in apology. But Draco wouldn’t have any idea about what he was apologizing for, and so instead, Harry would save that for a time when it could make a difference.

            “Gregory, mostly,” said Draco, and with an effort, Harry remembered that Goyle’s first name was Gregory. “I wrote to him about you being my mate. He wrote back that he’d predicted it all along.”

            Harry snorted. “No, he didn’t.”

            Draco laughed and poured another handful of warm water over the top of Harry’s head, momentarily making him close his mouth. “I know, but that’s the kind of thing he likes to say since the war.” He hesitated. “He seems to think that if he can predict everything around him, he’d be able to see another war coming.”

            Harry reached back and took Draco’s hand. He could fairly say he hadn’t thought about Goyle a lot, but this sounded as if Goyle had thought about how to live in the world after the war. That meant Harry could meet him as an equal.

            “Please tell me he hasn’t taken up crystal balls and Divination.”

            Draco laughed hard enough that he almost fell into the tub. Harry twisted around and kissed him again, and that kept them occupied until Harry had to pull back with his lip stinging.

            “Sorry,” Draco said breathlessly, shaking his wet hair back. “And then there’s Pansy. She’s never been sure if you’ve forgiven her for wanting to throw you to the Dark Lord. And Blaise and Daphne, although you don’t really know them…”

            Harry leaned further back, and back still, until the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the tub and the chatter Draco was feeding him about his friends made his world.

            Perhaps part of it was the lingering thrill of being touched, and the way Draco had spoken the words of love fearlessly, but he felt safely and simply happy.

*

            SP777: Thanks! And yes, the fussing. In the title of this chapter, even.

            Skybee: Thank you!
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