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Temporary Mate	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 17288 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Three—Creatures With Claws
There was rolling, shrieking laughter in the distance. Or it sounded as if it might have been the distance. Now it was almost on top of them, bouncing around inside Harry’s head, making him shudder and writhe—
And then it was there. It was real. Close enough to be inside the line of Malfoy’s warding fireballs.
Harry ripped himself free of Malfoy’s arms, already snatching up his wand. There was a dim shape in front of him that extended long arms, with claws gleaming on the edges of its hands. Harry couldn’t see what it was in the low light.
He didn’t have to. He aimed his wand straight at the middle of it and cast a curse that most Aurors had practiced and none of them were supposed to know. “Commisceo!”
The creature screamed as a puff of orange light surrounded it, brighter and more violent than the fire Malfoy had cast from his hands at the harpies. There was a long moment when Harry’s eyes refused to follow the movement of drifting clots of body. That was a self-protection method, really, he had always thought. He fell back and put a hand up in front of his eyes as he watched the creature’s top half switch with its lower half.
That instantly killed it, of course. The parts slumped to the ground, and Harry spun, watching for anything else.
The next one came in low, and nearly snatched his ankle. Harry leaped, swearing, and came down kicking it in the ribcage, or where its ribcage would have been if it hadn’t been made of, seemingly, dark feathers and meat. It screamed like a dying eagle and floated into the air like the first one.
Harry cast an overpowered Lumos, and the campsite lit up like the Ministry at Christmas. The creature howled again. Harry stared at it.
It was made of dark meat, but the things he had thought were feathers were glittering hooks that had sprouted all over its body. The long claws snatched at him as he stood there, and Harry ducked again, then nearly leaped up into the embrace of its claws when he felt someone grab his leg from behind.
Malfoy’s voice said, “It’s me, you wanker. What is it?”
“I don’t know.” The thing almost looked like a defeathered Veela; it was that size, and vaguely humanoid. But the curved, stabbing beak clamped and shut on air without producing any words, and the wildly bobbing head had no recognizable eyes.
The claws came at him again. Harry cast a Shield Dome behind him—a modified charm that would cover Malfoy with a glittering dome of heavy light—and twisted away, dropping to the level where he could cast a curse at the thing’s feet. They were as heavy as the claws, taloned, deadly. Harry wondered why the thing hadn’t used them to hit him first, but then again, the arms were longer. “Frangitur!”
The thing’s feet imploded, the wave of magic hitting harder than any Blasting Curse. The shriek that followed was weak and helpless. The wings dangled—although now that Harry looked at it, it was levitating more than it was flying—and it tried to tuck the bloody, useless stumps back under its body.
Harry shot up and repeated the curse at its neck. It blew apart in chunks to join the others. Harry half-leaped in a circle, scanning for others.
Nothing. Only the light of the warding fireballs glowing oddly low and dim. Harry frowned. He would have figure out why those creatures had been able to bypass the damn things.
A sharp knocking whipped his head and wand around, but it was only Malfoy, banging against the Shield Dome over him and giving Harry a glare of doom. Harry snorted weakly in response and canceled the spell with a wave of his wand.
Malfoy straightened his clothes. Then he stood up and walked over to Harry, pulling his wand hand down. Harry raised his eyebrows. “I wasn’t aiming at you. Just standing ready in case—”
“I should have been the one defending you.”
The high, shrill edge to his voice warned Harry a second before the wings popped out again and Malfoy wrapped them around him. Harry sighed and leaned into the shimmering warmth. It provided a kind of heat even their fire didn’t.
“I woke up first,” he said softly. “There’s no shame in having your mate defend you if he’s capable. Yesterday I was stunned from the spell and your transformation. It doesn’t mean I couldn’t have dealt with the harpies.”
“You should have let me do it.”
“That would have meant waking you up and ducking around trying to avoid the claws while you woke up, though.”
The wings tightened on his shoulders, a soft firm pressure very different from hands, and Malfoy leaned forwards and stared into his eyes. “Are you trying to tell me that I should not defend you? Are you rejecting me?”
Listening to his voice was like looking at blank stone; Harry couldn’t tell anything from it. He stared back and said, “No. But you know I was sent along on this Auror mission to defend you, too. I was actually supposed to do it along with other Aurors. They aren’t me. They aren’t here. I have to do whatever I can to make sure you reach the Veela enclave alive and deliver your message.”
Malfoy went on staring. Then he seemed to calm a little, at least enough to shift the hold of his wings on Harry’s shoulders, and murmured, “You haven’t asked me what the message is.”
“I know you can’t tell me.”
“But that was before we became mates. Mates share everything. You could ask, and I would gladly tell you.”
Harry shook his head, a faint smile tugging hard at his lips even though he knew technically it shouldn’t. “I don’t want to put you in a compromising position like that. I’m happy waiting until we get there. I’ll probably be present to hear the message, anyway, unless it turns out it’s so secret the enclave’s leaders don’t want me there.”
“You could ask.” Malfoy’s voice had become a croon that, soft as it was, seemed strangely to deafen Harry, to get rid of any sounds from beyond the circle of his wings. “You could ask.”
Harry swallowed and straightened up to hold Malfoy’s eyes. “I could.”
“Yes?” Malfoy’s wings were trembling, and a soft silver flame was dancing on them. The same light was in his eyes, illuminating nothing more than his smile did.
“I won’t.”
Malfoy abruptly snarled at him, a deep, hoarse, coughing noise that made Harry leap in surprise; it sounded more like a tiger than a bird. But he couldn’t leap very far, since he was caught inside the circle of the wings. He had to stand there while Malfoy grew a beak and snapped it near his face.
Harry just raised one eyebrow. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think? I want you to stay alive, Malfoy. But I also want you to complete your mission. I’m trying to do my duty—”
“I know that, and fuck your duty!” Malfoy let go of his shoulders and spun away, wings flapping, but he didn’t take off. He was stalking around the circle of the fireballs instead, head tilted back so he glared at Harry over his shoulder. It was dim enough that Harry had trouble seeing if he still wore his beak or not. “I don’t care about it. I don’t care about anything at all except making you happy, and you tell me it’s not enough.”
Harry took a deep breath and answered carefully. This was probably one of those edge moments Malfoy had told him about, where the Veela would demand things that Harry couldn’t really grant. “I’m curious about the message. But hearing what it is wouldn’t make me happy. It would just satisfy my curiosity. Those are different things.”
Malfoy paused in mid-step, his wings fanning out again until Harry could count all the primary feathers even by the weird mixture of light from the fire and the ground. Then he turned about and said, “Tell me what would make you happy. Now.”
“Malf—”
“You saved my life again. Tell me.” Malfoy’s foot scraped the ground like the talon of a raptor.
Harry decided it was serious. The problem was, he didn’t have an answer.
*
Can he not understand?
Draco’s restlessness was searing up his throat, making him gulp and hold back bladed words. Too many things were happening, too quickly, and none of them would actually make sense or stop happening.
First, Harry had saved his life. That was a reversal of the way these things should go and horribly distasteful to Draco.
Second, Harry stood there and talked about duty and honor without naming the words half the time, and said Draco had to fulfill his mission, as if that was more important than completing the bond. Draco didn’t know too many people who could be given a Veela dedicated to their personal happiness and would still choose duty, but it made sense that of course he would be saddled with one.
Third, Harry acted like nothing Draco or the Veela could do would make him happy.
Draco choked as that last thought filled his throat with acid. He lowered his head and stared at Harry. Harry stretched out a hand, and Draco came over and took it. At least, holding Harry’s hand like this, he could pretend that Harry was going to give him an answer that was sufficient to heal the Veela.
“All the things I could think of would hurt you.”
“You think I’m whole right now?”
Harry gazed at him with direct, clear eyes, so damn clear. Draco knew dozens of people who would be overwhelmed and begging with lust by now. “I mean that it’ll hurt the man you are. You deserve the right to choose your own mate, your own happiness. I don’t want to manipulate you into acting against that.”
Draco screamed into his face, and watched with no small satisfaction as Harry jumped. He smirked at him and pulled him closer, brushing his hair out of his face. “Right now, you’re the mate I have. I could have a different one in the future. That person isn’t here yet. I have no idea who they are or what they’ll be like or whether they’ll make me happy in a different way. Right now, I have you. I want to know you. Is it such a great betrayal of your precious privacy to tell me something about yourself?”
Harry’s eyes were like clear, still windows for a long moment. Then his face abruptly firmed, and he reached out and hooked his fingers in Draco’s robes. Draco caught his breath. At last. At last.
Harry pulled him closer and kissed him.
Draco moaned and wrapped his hands around Harry’s shoulders, closing his wings around them in the next second. Harry tasted of dust and sweat and battle. A little sour, a little sharp. Draco found himself hardening as he wondered if Harry would taste the same on other parts of his body—
Harry gasped and said, “I want to control the kiss.” Draco only heard him because he was so close. “Please,” Harry added with a sudden jerk of his head backwards.
Draco paused, staring at him, then reluctantly released him. Harry nodded in what honestly looked like thanks, and straightened his own robes before he reached out and let his hand glide gently down Draco’s chest.
Draco sighed. This wasn’t a kiss, which he might find breath to remind Harry of in a moment, but it was nice. It sealed the cracks that had started to open in the Veela’s heart.
Harry stepped in and tipped Draco’s chin up and kissed him again. Draco shivered. The soft stroke of Harry’s tongue was new, and so were the small fires that seemed to spring up on Draco’s lips and in his throat in response.
Harry went on licking, his eyes more than half shut, and Draco let him. His hands were full again, anyway. He’d put them back on Harry’s hips without noticing. Harry shifted in, and his leg brushed Draco’s erection.
Draco shuddered. But the Veela found no trouble in holding still. Harry had told them that this would make him happy. Its mate’s will was the most powerful goad to any Veela. He had to obey.
It had to obey. Draco was still trying to sort that, trying to decide if he was really that separate from the Veela anymore, but his head was spinning, and he honestly didn’t know.
Harry paused, as if he expected Draco to lunge forwards and break his silent promise, then gave a shaky sigh and eased in. His hands were on Draco’s neck now, exploring the slender column of his throat. Harry murmured approval into the kiss. Draco smiled. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d done to earn that approval, other than be born with a grippable throat, but it was pleasing nonetheless.
Harry molded himself closer and closer. Draco was trembling a little. The Veela could sense the contentment and pleasure rising off its mate, and that was more powerful than anything. More powerful than wingbeats; it was like having a second pair of wings beating in his stomach and sending flutters through him.
For the first time, Draco began to think that it wasn’t too terrible for him, as a human, to have a mate.
He didn’t touch Harry, but only stood there as Harry explored the depth of his collarbones and the breadth of his shoulders, murmuring a few suggestions as he did so. Draco was so hard that he ached. But only when Harry stepped back, smiled, and said, “Thanks, I enjoyed that,” did he move.
Harry had wanted to control the kiss. The kiss was over. Draco seized him and flipped him over.
A whoof of startled breath escaped Harry’s lungs, and his mouth started to open. But Draco sealed his lips with another kiss and his hand worked down and around Harry’s cock, flexing and stroking.
He didn’t open Harry’s robes or get to his pants. He didn’t have time. He had to satisfy his mate, now. The sensation like a second pair of wingbeats had turned into an urgency so great that he didn’t know how to stop it.
Of course, he would have stopped in an instant if Harry had shown that he objected. But although he grasped Draco’s wrist, he only moved his leg to one side, and he moaned. His hips were humping as fast as Draco’s hand moved.
He hadn’t been hard for long, but under Draco’s touch, that didn’t matter. Draco felt as though his fingers had grown longer, more delicate, more skilled. He couldn’t look down to see if it was true, though. He couldn’t take his gaze from the sight of Harry’s flushed face, his turning chin, his fluttering eyelashes.
But Harry still did nothing until Draco breathed, “I want you to come for me.”
Then he did, all the lines of his face tightening, his body arching back and his mouth opening a little. Draco felt the wetness on his hand, but again, he couldn’t look down. There was nothing in the world but the little opening that Harry’s lips made, the way his tongue darted out, and how his eyes clamped shut.
Draco leaned in and kissed Harry’s cheek as he came down from his height. Then he leaned in to taste those lips and tongue. Harry made a soft sound, but not of protest. In fact, his hand reached out and clenched gently in the hair at the back of Draco’s neck.
Then he pulled back and blinked at him. “That was—you didn’t need to do that.”
The emphasis on the word kept Draco from lashing out. “I know,” he said. “But I wanted to reward you.”
Harry watched him in silence. Then he said, “You mean the Veela did.”
It was as if a sudden layer of ice had fallen from Draco’s face and mind. He touched his own eyes, and shivered. Suddenly the obsession with seeing Potter come, with rewarding him, with feeling that it was intolerable to have Potter defend himself, was gone. Potter was an Auror. He was there to defend Draco. Since when did Draco reward people who did their jobs with his hands and his body?
“You see.” Potter’s voice was gentle and deep. “You’re still doing things that you don’t realize until later are really the Veela’s desires. Let’s try to keep away from that, okay? So that you don’t get embarrassed.”
Draco turned his head away without answering. There were two answers, that was the problem, and he didn’t know which one to give.
The Veela did like that it had pleased its mate. It was glowing away in the back of his head, as warm as a small forest fire. But Draco felt the same heat as near-hatred of the Veela.
But also…
He had enjoyed making Potter come. Not in the same way. But it was there.
“I’m sorry,” Potter added gently, and then turned away to begin to patrol the edge of their wards.
Draco curled up on the pile of blankets they’d been sharing and closed his eyes. He wondered for a moment if he would be unable to sleep, the way he had been before he clasped hold of Potter earlier.
But perhaps he had crossed some boundary line by giving his mate pleasure. The Veela let him drift off, doing nothing for his increasing unhappiness.
*
Thunderbird: Thanks! Although "resisting acting on it" might not be hapepning anymore...
SP777: This is the first breath of air from the storm to come.
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Temporary Mate