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
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- 20
- 21
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Twenty—Spoken

            Draco turned his head sharply. Someone had knocked on his door, but he hadn’t felt that person’s passage through the wards. And he hadn’t heard their approach, either, which spoke of trained silence.

            He rose quickly to his feet, letting his claws grow in place of his nails. Yes, there were people attuned to his wards, such as his parents, but they would have called ahead to tell him they were coming. And with Lucius’s cane, they couldn’t make their way through the wards that quietly.

            “Draco?”

            The voice staggered Draco. He grabbed onto the back of his chair and stood there with his eyes shut. There was one other person he had keyed into the wards, on the wild, blazing off-chance that he might someday take advantage of the implied invitation.

            But he had never expected that that person would actually do so. Like so much else in the past few months, it had seemed a wild dream, a fantasy that would never be fulfilled.

            “Yes, come in, Harry,” he said, when he could speak. “Against you, the door’s not warded.”

            And never will be, he whispered in his mind, but he didn’t think that it would be in his best interests to say that aloud. Beneath the prickling excitement down his spine and in his head, he was remembering his anger.

            The door swung open, and Harry stepped inside, nodding to him. Draco stood up and examined him more carefully. There was a gleam in Harry’s eyes that he had sometimes seen in newspaper photographs, when Harry was chasing down a criminal who had committed some particular evil, but he hadn’t thought Harry capable of looking at him like that.

            It was different, and Draco wondered if he should fear that. But at the moment, any difference promised newness, which promised excitement, which promised a change from the status quo they found themselves locked into.

            “I needed to talk to you,” Harry said bluntly. Then he hesitated, touching his hand to his forehead as if his scar could support him. “That is, if you don’t mind. I know the full two days we were going to spend apart aren’t up yet.”

            “Do you think I mind that?” Draco asked, locking his eyes on Harry’s face. “You don’t know me as well as you’ll need to, if you do.”

            Harry gave him a grim smile and stepped closer. “Yes, that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he asked. “That I think one thing and you think another. That I don’t know you that well. I’ve been to Lucy and Owen now, and Lucy said a number of things that made me think. So I wanted to come to you.”

            “She didn’t suggest this, then?” Draco was finding it hard to breathe through the sweetness in his lungs. If Harry had made the decision on his own, it was the first step he had taken, of his own free will, that might really bring him close to Draco.

            Harry shook his head. “She simply suggested that I was a coward and had spent too much of my time obsessively making sure I was safe, instead of facing up to what had happened to me and to what the people around me really needed.” He paused meditatively. “I wouldn’t have put it quite like that to myself, but that’s why I needed her to point it out.”

            Draco felt as though someone had squeezed his throat. “You’re not a coward,” he rasped. “She had no right to say that.”

            “Didn’t she?” Harry looked up, his eyes seeming to glow as if a fire lit them from within instead of from the hearth across the room. “She saw me hurting a friend—and I think she does consider you a friend. I would say worse than that if I saw someone hurting Ron, or Hermione, or you.”

            Draco preened a little. Even the fact that he came at the end of that particular list didn’t trouble him. The shine in Harry’s eyes was too promising.

            “I still wouldn’t call you a coward,” he said, recalling his attention to the subject of the conversation with an effort. “You did the best you could. And a lot of people would just have killed Laurent. You were brave when you fought the desire to do so, even though Pensieve memories would have cleared you.”

            Harry folded his arms across his chest. “The way that you wanted to kill him?”

            Draco stepped closer. He had intended just to tell Harry that he admired him, and that he was right about leaving Laurent alive, but why not take up his main complaint, since the conversation had arrived here so soon? “I never intended to kill Laurent. That was only a wild dream. I provided information about his family to Pansy, but she could have got that anywhere. I never did anything else.”

            Harry narrowed his eyes as if against a strong wind. “But you said—”

            “I was saying anything I could to make sure you wouldn’t leave me,” Draco snapped. “And no, I’m not proud of that, but that’s the way it is. Are you surprised that we both gave in to emotion and said lots of things that we wouldn’t have said otherwise? Does it tell you how badly I was feeling, that I would humble myself to you like that, as long as you would promise not to leave me forever?”

*

            Harry ran his hand through his hair and sighed out loud. He had known this would be hard. So far, the conversation was happening the way it probably should be, he thought wryly.

            He just hadn’t known it would be this hard, and that he would have to confront yet another mistake he had made.

            His head ached, and his mouth felt fuzzy, as though he had been drinking for a long time. He ran his tongue around his lips before he tried to answer.

            “It does,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry, Draco. I should have thought about it longer and harder, and asked why you would do something like that, when retaining my trust was important to you.”

            “Yes. You should have.”

            Draco was staring at him with eyes so bright that Harry found it hard to meet them. His fingers were curled into talons, making the actual claws at the end of them stand out even more. He half-crouched, as though he was going to spring on Harry and tackle him to the floor, marking him…

            Harry recognized the spiraling, falling sensation in the middle of his chest that signaled a panic attack. He gulped and turned his head to the side, forcing his eyes shut and his breathing smooth until it passed. He had seen Lucy’s claws, and she hadn’t hurt him, even though she disliked him a lot more than Draco did. He could do this.

            And someone else could tackle him to the floor and mark him, too, even if they didn’t have Veela claws.

            “I wanted to believe you were going to hurt me, I think,” Harry said. “Because that way, I wouldn’t have to deal with having you as a lover, or getting hurt again—except in the most obvious ways. Lucy said I was trying to shove everyone away and someday I would wake up alone and lonely and wondering where my friends went, and I believe her.”

            Draco paused, as though evaluating the apology, and then nodded. “I probably should have come to you when I realized what Pansy was asking for,” he said, like a peace offering. “But I thought that she would only get the information somewhere else if I didn’t give it to her, and then we wouldn’t know what was happening at all. At least this way, Pansy will gossip about the search, and we can know if anyone is getting close.”

            Harry felt that his smile was more genuine this time. “That was good thinking,” he said. “Practical thinking. The kind of thinking that I would have been incapable of if she had come to me about it.” He paused a minute, struggled with the words, and then added, “Thank you. This is the kind of thing I need you for. You can do things I can’t.”

            Draco’s eyes flared. The hunger in them was so obvious that Harry had to look aside again.

            But he didn’t back away, and he tried not to panic or feel scorn as he thought about Draco desiring him. Just because he felt stained and soiled by Laurent’s touch, or felt as though he were weak for not standing alone, didn’t mean other people thought the same. One of the valuable things Lucy had reminded him of was that other people had different perspectives than Harry did.

            “You said you needed me.” Draco’s voice was soft and eager, as if he wanted to hear more. As if he needed to.

            Harry licked his lips and did the best he could to give him more. “Yes. You’re teaching me that I didn’t really heal myself. I thought it wasn’t a big deal, because as long as I was functioning, who could say that I wasn’t doing well? But I wasn’t, and you taught me that. And you’re waking me up, making me think about—dating again, and romance, and other things.” Harry had the impression that he was babbling by now, but Draco’s eyes kept getting brighter, and as long as that happened, Harry would try to relax his mental filters. “And you’re strong, intelligent, compassionate when you want to be. You would be a wonderful friend even if you weren’t my lover.”

            Draco made a strange, throbbing sound that seemed to break out from the center of his chest, like a cross between a chirp and a purr. He moved a step forwards, his shoulders trembling and burning at the edges.

            Harry knew what he needed. And he still had some of the courage that Lucy’s words had inspired in him. He braced himself.

            “You can spread your wings,” he whispered.

*

            Draco did hesitate even when he heard the words. He knew that spreading his wings in the Manor had startled Harry into panic and flight, and he never wanted that to happen again.

            But if Harry had given permission, then keeping his wings hidden would make it seem as if Draco thought him weak. And Draco believed the long-term consequences of that would be more devastating. Harry had come back to him after he unexpectedly spread his wings, after all.

            Trying to ignore the memory that Weasley’s intervention had been necessary to bring Harry back, Draco unbuttoned his robes and shirt in a few moments and let them fall to his waist. Then he relaxed the skin that stretched over his wings.

            They burst out, making Draco feel more confident, stronger, happier, lighter. He had forgotten how wonderful it was when he could spread them for some reason other than defending his family or others he cared about who were threatened. A Veela’s wings could be shields, but they were meant even more as decorative ornaments, sources of delight and joy for their chosen.

            Harry’s breath stuttered. Draco faced him and spread his wings to their widest possible extent, making Harry look at all of him, what he was. Part of him wasn’t human, and if Harry couldn’t acknowledge that, they would never get anywhere.

            Harry clenched his fists and stood there for a moment as if in silent argument with himself. Then he moved forwards, his feet screeching slowly across the floor. Draco fluttered his wings in agitation, then did his best to steady them and stand there with them invitingly extended.

            Harry halted a foot away. Draco could see him sweating, straining, fighting to move closer, but it wasn’t working.

            “It’s all right,” Draco said softly. “Don’t force yourself into doing something you’re not comfortable with.”

            Harry laughed, a high sound that he luckily cut off before it got too hysterical. “I’m already doing that,” he said. “But I want to do this. My fears are just going to have to shut up and go away for a minute.” He hesitated. Draco waited patiently for the next question, letting his wings move a tiny amount. Harry would be startled, possibly frightened, if he flapped, but even a slight motion could make the feathers shine and attract the eye.

            “I can’t let you touch me with your wings yet,” Harry said carefully. “Laurent did that, and I’m not ready to be protected or sheltered or wrapped up like I’m some kind of—of prize or gift.” His face turned red, and Draco told himself, through the haze of his rage at Laurent, to remember that. Harry might not have a problem with possessive words or gestures so much as he did with being treated like an object. “But can I touch them, myself?”

            Draco couldn’t speak, so intense was his agreement. He settled for nodding in an exaggerated fashion several times, instead, and then moving his left wing as near to Harry as he could.

            Harry laughed again, though this time it was choked. Then, with his eyes on Draco as if he assumed that anything he could do right now would cause pain, he reached out and laid his fingertips on the edges of Draco’s feathers.

            Draco trembled, closing his eyes. The pleasure that traveled through him seemed to originate several feet from his body and then slam into him like a beam of sunlight. He hardened, and his muscles went tight with the need to move. But he stood still, because he wanted to please his chosen more than he wanted anything else.

            When he opened his eyes, there was a look of wonder on Harry’s face, and that made all his self-control worth it.

*

            Harry hadn’t been sure what he expected when he touched Draco’s feathers. He remembered the feel of Laurent’s wings, of course. They had hung around him like heavy, warm mist, cradling, smothering, preventing. Harry had braced himself to touch Draco’s wings the way he would have braced himself to plunge his hand into a fire.

            But this wasn’t like that at all. The feathers were smooth and soft to the touch, silken enough that he didn’t notice when his fingers slid from one to another, but solid. They could form a wall, yes, but they weren’t doing it around him.

            And when he looked at Draco’s face, it became perfectly obvious what effect touching them had on him.

            Harry stood quite still then, because he felt a new sensation. If he had felt it before, when he was with Laurent or another of the men he had dated, it had been so small that he hadn’t experienced it separately from desire. But this—

            This was power. And smugness, that he could make someone like Draco feel something like this.

            The notion unnerved Harry, and he ended up pulling his hand back from the wing, closing it into a fist. Draco blinked, jarred awake as if from a dream. His eyelashes fluttered, and his mouth hung open like a baby bird’s. Harry found himself smiling, though he didn’t know if he was more amused or nervous.

            Draco moved forwards then.

            Harry stepped back, but Draco didn’t appear to notice. His eyes were focused but glazed, and he was making a low noise in his throat that Harry thought was the closest Veela could come to a growl. Laurent had never made it.

            Because of that, he forced himself to stand still as Draco came up to him and embraced him. Thank God, he did fold his wings before he tried that. But Harry almost thought he wouldn’t have panicked even if Draco hadn’t remembered. He was giving little desperate whimpers that didn’t exactly promote the image of a giant predatory bird to Harry’s memory.

            Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck and held it there. Harry tentatively wrapped his arms around Draco’s back, wondering what would happen next, so dizzied and deafened by his own heartbeat that he could no longer hear Draco’s whimpers.

            Then Draco raised his hands and trailed his claws slowly down Harry’s shoulders.

            “God!”

            Harry caught his breath in a sob. The claws seemed directly connected to his nerves. He was hard in a second, and he could feel the hairs on his neck and shoulders standing up. His nipples stiffened. He swayed towards Draco, caught between arousal and shock.

            Laurent had never done this. Harry hadn’t known it was possible.

            Draco raised his head. His eyes were clear now, the color of water lit from behind by a glassy flame. He chirped—there was no mistaking that particular noise—in a way that sounded pleased. He rubbed his cheek along Harry’s.

            He made no attempt to bring his wings forwards or reach down and undo Harry’s belt. He just held him there, trembling with desire and muted fear, and stared at him as if Harry’s arousal was enough.

            But human expression was returning to his face all the time, and Harry could see traces of the human he knew. The corner of Draco’s mouth curled up in a smug smile. His body shook with suppressed laughter. His hands tightened on Harry’s back as if he would hold him in place and show him off for all to see.

            There was the side of Draco that Harry had feared was lost when he started surrendering to his Veela instincts around Harry. The side that could laugh at someone standing there, trembling and wide-eyed, from just his touch. The side that could rejoice in his power over Harry.

            Harry never wanted to take that from him. He wanted Draco to stand on his own two feet and resist Harry. He wanted challenges, someone who would roll his eyes when Harry behaved ridiculously, someone who would admit his mistakes, but sulkily, and gleefully point out Harry’s.

            Because that was who Draco was, and asking him to be less than that was wrong.

            But Harry could accept now, at least, that for Draco, those human qualities and his Veela ones were connected. Perhaps it hadn’t been that way when Harry knew him at Hogwarts, but it was now. And if Harry wanted to be Draco’s lover, then he would just have to get used to it.

            Those thoughts floated like light along the surface of his arousal and vanished beneath it when Draco touched him again, claws gently pressing along Harry’s arms. Harry shuddered and found his teeth chattering.

            “I c-can’t,” he managed to say.

            Draco’s claws sank back into fingernails immediately. His wings shivered and vanished. He leaned against Harry and smiled at him, still smug but fully human, and the fog across Harry’s senses began to lift.

            “I didn’t know that you could do that,” Harry said, because he had to say something. He wasn’t sure if he was referring to Draco’s ability to touch him and bring his body to life, or melt his Veela traits away.

            It didn’t seem to matter, when Draco gave him a lazy, appreciative smile that soothed him and increased his tension at the same time. Someone who could do that, who could lace Harry’s neatly carved-up life with contradictions like this, was not going to be put off by a few stupid, confused words.

*

            Draco had never felt as powerful an impulse as he did now, to simply lean forwards and take. If he made it as good as he knew he could, then Harry wouldn’t even blame him.

            And Harry’s desire smelled so good. Draco could smell the precome from here, his senses heightened by the expression of his Veela traits, and the sweat that had broken out under Harry’s arms and around his erection.

            But mingled with the arousal was fear, which had a distinct, sour scent of its own. Draco didn’t want to bathe in that. He didn’t want to subject himself to that. He wanted Harry to come willingly to his arms and bed.

            And because of what Harry had given him so far, he was more than willing to wait.

            “I can do lots of things that you probably don’t know about,” he said, moving away from Harry. His muscles were languid with warmth, and he wanted to say a good many ridiculous things and laugh aloud. He settled for glancing back at Harry and lifting an eyebrow instead. “But then, we’ve established that you don’t know as much about Veela as you think you do.”

            “Laurent never did that,” Harry muttered. The scent of his emotions was vanishing, though Draco couldn’t be sure if that was because he had stopped feeling them or because his own senses were returning to normal.

            Draco permitted himself to show what he felt when he heard that name. His jealousy boiled and raged like lava under the surface of his skin. Harry looked up, and recoiled when he saw Draco.

            “I want you to tell me more about what he didn’t do,” Draco said, making an effort to speak rationally. “And what he did. I’ll surpass him in every way. I’ll give you what you need, what you want.”

            Harry studied him cautiously. Then he turned his head aside and spoke in a soft voice.

            “He acted as though I belonged to him, even before he made me Veela-struck. He would touch me all the time, without permission, and practically smother me with his wings. He claimed to love me, but he said it more often than he showed me. And then he had to take control in bed. Every single time.” An ugly sneer marred Harry’s face, but Draco rejoiced to see it, because it was an emotion Harry was showing about Laurent that wasn’t mere anger or fear. The more he despised his former Veela lover, the better pleased Draco would be.

            “You’ll have more than that from me,” Draco said.

            Harry folded his arms and snorted. “Really? Because it seemed as if you were intent on touching me without permission, just now.”

            Draco glared back at him, but had to suppress a wriggle of pleasure. He did like it better when Harry fought back and argued, instead of giving in meekly because he thought Draco needed something—or worse, forcing himself to kiss and touch, then suddenly succumbing to fear in the middle of the experiment. “I was caught up in the moment. I’m not going to make a habit of it.” He paused, then added caustically, “The same way that I hope you won’t make a habit of going to visit Lucy and Owen without telling me, or distrusting and disbelieving me.”

            Harry tugged at his hair with one hand, but his gaze was direct. “I only visited them without you because we were spending two days apart in the first place.”

            “And the other? Are you going to distrust me no matter what I do?” Draco knew he was pushing it. He didn’t care.

            “Some of that is going to be inevitable,” Harry said quietly. “I know the courage I have right now will fade. I’ll need help and reassurance. There will be good days and bad days. So the answer is that I’ll try not to, but I know it’s going to happen.”

            Draco let his shoulders drop, and nodded. “That’s acceptable,” he said. “Honest. All I want is for you to be honest with me, Harry.” He knew his voice sounded wistful, almost pathetic, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either.

            “No, it isn’t,” Harry muttered. “You want me to sleep with you, too. And that won’t happen anytime soon.”

            Draco leaned forwards. “If all I wanted was a quick fuck, I could have one without all this effort.”

            Harry’s response was unexpected. He snarled and lunged towards Draco for a moment before he gained control and turned away with a tight hug of his arms around himself. “I’ll leave you if I find out that you’ve tried to seduce someone else with the allure,” he said over his shoulder, in a tight voice. “Yes, it’s irrational and cruel. And no, I don’t care. That’s non-negotiable, Draco.”

            Draco licked his lips and stepped forwards. “Quite the contrary,” he murmured. “I’m pleased.”

            “What?” Harry stared at him.

            “My chosen is jealous over me.” Draco moved nearer, and caught Harry’s eye, extending his hands in silent question. Harry nodded warily, and Draco settled his hands on Harry’s shoulders with a sigh. “I rather like the sensation.”

            “Well, it’s—” Harry said, and then looked surprised. “I reckon part of it is jealousy over you,” he said. “I don’t like the thought of you touching anyone else, or talking to them like you’re talking to me.”

            Draco purred again and moved closer. “I’m all yours, Harry,” he whispered. “I promise.” He was badly tempted to say the converse of that, that Harry was his, but he knew Harry wouldn’t deal well with that, and he could keep silent.

            For now.

            Harry twisted around in his arms and stared up at him. “You don’t mind that the rest of it is my not wanting you to use the allure at all?” he whispered.

            Draco shook his head, staring at Harry’s lips. He wanted to kiss him. He didn’t quite have to, but the yearning was strong.

            “Good,” Harry said, and then smiled at him. “I’m also jealous because I don’t want you showing anyone else your wings. Which is ridiculous, but—”

            Draco leaned forwards and claimed that kiss.

            Harry briefly stiffened in his arms and tensed as if he would scramble away. Then he changed the clawed hand that he had lifted to Draco’s face to a caress, and relaxed with a sigh. He didn’t part his lips, but Draco could live with that, given the smoothness of Harry’s lips, the firmness of them—

            And the fact that it was Harry.

            Harry was smiling when Draco pulled back, and Draco stared at him in rapturous silence. He knew the moment would pass, and Harry would react badly again in the future. As he had said, there would be bad days and good days.

            But right now, right here, Draco could care only about that smile.

*

            Sneakyfox: Glad you liked it.

            Thrnbrooke: It did help, but as Harry says, that one, original impulse won’t always be there.

            anon. reader: Thanks for reviewing.

            luvlustblood: Thanks! At least they’re being honest with each other now.

            Wölkchen: Thanks! I can’t imagine what would make me delete this story, but I would try not to without a very good reason.

            polka dot: The justification that Lucy gives for expressing her Veela traits? Harry doesn’t see it that way, since he might use the justification if his friends were in danger. Or were you talking about something else?

            SpiritOfBeyond: I think reasoning like this is particularly effective with Harry because he does care so much about doing the wrong thing and hurting other people. Seeing that he wouldn’t even gain safety from it, just nothing, was enough reason for him to seriously reconsider his position.

            SP777: Well, you got one out of two.

            Always nice to know you’re reading.

            Night the Storyteller: Ron definitely won’t be approaching Harry today. It’s too late and too long.
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