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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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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Twenty-Nine—Waiting and Wondering
            “I suppose you do look better.”
            Harry smiled a little as he watched Hermione scan him from head to foot with doubtful eyes, and he reached out and pressed her hand. It was sweet of her to think she found a change in him, although Harry didn’t think it was physical.
            “Thank you,” he said, and turned around to look at the tables and chairs set up in front of him. Draco had moved away from his side and stood examining one of the murals that covered the upper room of the inn where they’d chosen to meet—the Flying Mongoose, on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole. A mixed Muggle and wizarding village would make the people he needed to talk to feel more comfortable, Harry hoped. “Were they angry about being put off?”
            Hermione gave him a curious look. Harry was about to repeat himself and hope he made more sense this time, when Hermione shook her head and muttered, “You even said that differently than you used to.”
            “How did he used to say it?” Draco wandered back and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder, then leaned his chin on it. Hermione gave him a doubtful look. Harry couldn’t blame her for that, but he mouthed It’s okay at her.
            “With this intense—concern isn’t right, because it implies that he doesn’t care now,” said Hermione, and shrugged. “But with more emotion. As though putting them off could be a crime. As though—”
            “His political life was the center of his universe?” Draco asked.
            “That’s it,” Hermione said, and then stopped and stared at him. “What did you do?”
            “Taught him better,” said Draco, and smiled at Hermione in a way that Harry knew meant he was enjoying every second of this. For Draco, it was justified revenge. He blamed her for giving Harry the bad advice that had led him to the suppression of his emotions and the bond at the same time.
            But Hermione had done the best she could at the time, and Harry didn’t blame her, either. He turned to Draco and said, “It’s okay,” aloud for everyone’s benefit, picking up Draco’s hand to kiss it. “You can stand behind my chair if you absolutely must, but I would really prefer if you sat down next to me.”
            Draco paused as if he was going to argue, then inclined his head with a slight quirk of his lips and sat down in the chair to the right of the head of the table. Then he extended a hand, and Harry snorted and came over to take the head position. Draco leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder and blinked innocently at Hermione.
            “No, seriously, what did you do?” Hermione demanded. “Even the best therapist can’t accomplish this much in so little time!”
            “It’s a good thing that we didn’t have to send Harry to a therapist, then,” said Draco, in his mildest voice, the one Harry knew he used when he wanted to fuck with someone’s head. “He just needed his mate.”
            “Tell me!”
            But for once, Hermione’s relentless desire for knowledge appeared to have met its match. Draco gave a long, sulky blink of his lashes. “But, dearest Granger,” he said, “you’re telling me that you want the details of the time Harry and I spent together? As mates?”
            Hermione actually started to answer positively. She was so caught up in things, Harry decided later, that her brain had probably identified the word “mates” with the one that Harry and Ron used when they talked about each other. Not the actual sense of “mates” that applied in this case. Hermione ended up turning a flushed and unbecoming color, and waving her hands around in front of her as though she worried that Draco was going to blast the details at her through them.
            “No, no! That’s okay!” She gave Harry a glance so embarrassed that Harry bit his lips so he wouldn’t laugh. “I’m glad you’re feeling better, Harry. And that, you know, you don’t have a problem with your bond anymore. That’s—it’s wonderful, really. I have to go and make sure the Huntleys know where to Apparate in, they always get that confused.”
            And she ran out of the room, in a way Harry didn’t think she’d done since she got pursued by Death Eaters during the war.
            “There,” said Draco, and sat back and nodded decisively. “We don’t have to worry about trouble from that quarter again, I expect.”
            Harry buried his mouth against the edge of the table before he felt he could laugh as hard as he wanted to. “She’s just trying to help,” he finally breathed out, when he sat up.
            “Of course,” Draco said. “But she can go and help the Huntleys. I don’t think we stand in need of more aid from that quarter.” His excessively formal language had already told Harry something was up, but Harry had to admit that he didn’t expect the hand that took his shoulder, gripped him, turned him around. “Do we?”
            Harry recognized the source of the demand in his voice, and managed to lower his head and look up through his lashes. That made Draco relax a little. He had already told Harry how cute he found it, in a burst of honesty yesterday, so Harry didn’t think it had anything to do with this being a “naturally” submissive gesture or anything.
            Which he was incapable of, anyway.
            “I don’t think we need Hermione to offer us advice on our love life, no,” Harry conceded.
            “Good,” said Draco, and glared around the room, empty except for them, as if he needed an audience to show off how special and exclusive he was with his mate.
            Maybe he can find one in the paintings, Harry thought, still amused, and then Hermione came in escorting the errant Huntleys and he switched professions. He could still be a negotiator and fighter for peace, he thought as he stood to shake hands. He just didn’t have to do it in the exact emotionless way he’d been going about it all along.
            And Ron looked approving, so even if Hermione wasn’t used to it, Harry reckoned he had the support of his friends.
*
            Granger was right. Harry had changed, and although Draco had been there as part and agent of the change, he wasn’t entirely sure that even he understood all of it. It was like a miracle.
            Harry spoke and listened to the Muggleborn people, and some half-bloods, who came to the meeting and who were apprehensive about the way they would be treated if pure-bloods remained in power. He could control his impatience with what Draco thought were foolish objections far better than Draco could. Then again, Draco had never had training in listening to the opinions of others; if anything, his parents thought he would be better off knowing how to make people listen to his opinions.
            But there was none of that cold, focused intensity behind Harry’s words and eyes that Draco had noticed before. As if nothing mattered to him except the peace process, and nothing could be allowed to matter, because if Harry started thinking and caring about something else…
            He would have to question whether there was only one thing in the world he could care about, after all.
            Draco smiled. No, he would never have the kind of bond he had been raised expecting, because it would have required Harry not melting his obsession but switching it to Draco instead. But this was better.
            And by the end of the meeting, during which Draco did nothing but touch Harry heavily on the shoulder when he got exasperated by something, instead of growling at the stupid people, Draco thought even he might have managed to earn Granger’s approval.
*
            “I do think that went well,” Hermione told Harry as they walked down the stairs of the inn. “After all, no one actually threatened you this time, unlike the last one.”
            Harry snorted. “The last two, if you count the duel with Maundy as a separate meeting.” He had to, if only for the significance of what had happened there.
            “That’s true,” said Hermione. “I suppose the holiday has been good for you in more ways than one.” She paused and eyed him for a moment. “Do you think that you’ll be able to handle the regular schedule of meetings again?”
            “I’m not going to make them as intense or as frequent as before,” Harry warned her. “I won’t abandon this, because it’s still important to me.” He turned around and watched Draco descend the stairs, his wings bent inwards so they didn’t brush the walls. “But as someone reminded me, I am allowed to have a normal life along with a political one.”
            “Of course you are,” said Hermione in a fierce undertone. “And I’m sorry that I ever implied otherwise.”
            “You were the one who meant to give me good advice, and I was the one who took it too far,” said Harry firmly. He thought listening to Hermione blame herself was just as agonizing as trying to go back to being the emotionless person he had been. “Stop.”
            Hermione looked at him in surprise, then laughed a little. “It has to be some time since you’ve spoken that bluntly to anyone.”
            Harry started to reply, but a soft voice interrupted him. “He spoke bluntly to me the last time we met. Harry. Can I talk to you?”
            Draco’s hiss started out so low that Harry honestly thought it was the hiss of rain falling outside for a second. Then it built to a roar, and he flew down the stairs and landed at Harry’s side, his wings spread and overlapping Harry’s body. Harry leaned against him, partially to support him and show him that Harry wanted him, too, and partially to keep him from flying any further at Daphne Greengrass, who stood just inside the inn’s door and watched them both with motionless eyes.
            “No,” said Harry. “It wouldn’t be a good idea.”
            “If you would let me explain,” said Daphne, “then I think you would understand both my family’s desperation and my desire to be forgiven for what I did.” She moved a sliding step closer.
            “Get her out of here, Hermione,” said Harry. He kept his voice steady and uninterested with an effort. But hey, he had learned some things well during those months when he had been the perfect politician. Not all of the effect he could have if he wanted to was due to his more human side being suppressed.
            Harry leaned back, full into Draco’s chest, blocking his attempt to take off, and let his head fall on Draco’s shoulder. Draco turned his head and sniffed at Harry’s ear. Harry laughed a little. The few pieces of whispered sex gossip he’d managed to pick up kept saying how hot it was when a girl let you nibble her ear. Harry just thought it was ticklish.
            “I’m with him,” Harry said pointedly to Daphne. He didn’t want to say something like he belonged to Draco, in case the Veela side of Draco got the wrong idea, but he would say this. It was true, now and a large part of it came from his own free will. “Go away. I’m not really interested in your explanation for why you lied and pretended to want political power instead of into my pants.”
            Saying it like that clarified his perspective and chased away any residual guilt he might have had over sending Daphne away abruptly. Yes, Daphne might not be to blame for everything, her mother and other family relatives might have had some part in things, too, but Harry simply wasn’t interested in the explanation. It was still a disgusting thing she had done.
            Draco’s claim on him had seemed silly at first, but at least he’d been honest about what he wanted. Harry was just going to always fight part of it, so they would have to compromise on the rest. He might have had an easier and more accommodating girlfriend in Daphne, but never one he could trust.
            “You could be with me,” Daphne began, and then Hermione came up and smiled at her. Only someone who stood in Harry’s position and knew Hermione would recognize the way Daphne rose up on her toes, and know that Hermione had her wand pressed to the middle of Daphne’s back.
            “I think we can talk about this more clearly outside,” said Hermione cheerfully, and escorted Daphne out the door with a hand clamped on her arm. Ron, who had come out of one of the lower doors and had taken in the situation at a glance, nodded significantly to Harry—and to Draco, Harry thought—and followed them.
            Harry blinked slowly and breathed out. A situation that he never would have dared spark before, for fear of causing a political incident, had unfolded simply and neatly around them, and solved itself.
            “See,” said Draco, and if his voice was mostly inhuman, containing a trill as he leaned over and licked the side of Harry’s ear, Harry could still understand what he said, which was the important part. “You are mine.”
            “The same way that you’re mine,” Harry retorted, turning around and getting that tongue, as tickling as that breath, away from his ear. “We’re mates and in this bond together. You’re not my dominant and I’m not your submissive.”
            Draco blinked for a long moment, wings fanning in a way that reminded Harry of a cat waving its tail. He must have fallen pretty far into his Veela mindset. Then he inclined his head slowly. “Yes,” he said. “That’s the way it is.”
            He took Harry’s hand and led them out through the back door of the inn, ignoring the temptation—Harry was sure it was a temptation—to go after Daphne and “explain” some things to her. Harry smiled a little and let himself be led.
            There were times that it was nice to have a Veela mate, he thought. At least they were balancing each other nicely now.
*
            Draco had known his mother wanted to talk to him the minute he and Harry walked through the door of the Manor, but he had needed to spend time with Harry, to rest his cheek against Harry’s neck and try tickling his ear again and feel the span of his shoulders where no wings would grow and sit down at the same dinner with him. Besides, Narcissa had kept efficiently out of their way for the last week, and Draco knew that only the last three days, the time Harry had taken to recover, could be seen as her wanting to let the bond settle and affirm itself.
            She was working on something.
            When Harry was settled in front of a large pile of architects’ drawings that he would probably take forever to study anyway, Draco moved into the library where he knew his mother would find him. It was her favorite, small and private, the walls white as their peacocks’ feathers. Draco looked out through the window, curious if any of the pale birds were still in the gardens, but it was dark enough to be cold now, and the elves would have herded the peacocks into warm shelters.
            “I have found something you need to know about.”
            Draco turned around. He hadn’t even heard his mother enter, and he didn’t think it was because of some defect in his Veela senses. She was simply making a great effort to walk silently. He wondered what that meant.
            Seeing the sheen of honest excitement in her face, though, Draco had to smile. She at least thought that whatever she had discovered would please him. He nodded and escorted her to the couch in front of the fire, then summoned an elf and told it to bring her brandy. “Where have you been the past few days?” he asked, playing along. If the matter had been incredibly urgent, she would have told him the minute she came into the room. As it was, she probably wanted to indulge her sense of drama.
            “Speaking with Aloren, and some other Veela and experts on Veela.” If Narcissa had wanted to play with drama, the impulse seemed to be fleeting. She lowered the brandy glass to the table beside her and held Draco’s eyes for a moment. “After all, they are the ones who know the most about your situation.”
            Draco blinked, thrown. “Of course, but surely you’ve noticed that Harry and I are getting along much better now?”
            Narcissa touched his hand. “Of course. But you should not have to accommodate yourself to someone who will never be able to answer all your desires. I found a ritual. It’s not often used. It’s been forgotten, because of the nature of Veela bonds that were seen as destined.” She leaned towards Draco and lowered her voice. “It will let you substitute someone else for Potter—someone who will be conscious of the great honor of a Veela falling in love with them. Someone who will be submissive.”
            Draco stared at her.
            “Do you see?” Narcissa added, her voice rising in a thrill of triumph Draco might have given himself. “You can now have everything you want.” She touched Draco’s hand again. “And I don’t want my son to have anything else.”
*
eros: Thank you!
SP777: For the sex, you mean? Yes. But not the drama!
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Nature of the Beast