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
- 31
- 32
- 33
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty-Two—Practiced

            “Will you be able to come back to work soon?”

            Harry rolled his eyes and didn’t bother trying to hide it. Kingsley had asked him the same question with the same ill-concealed eagerness in his voice when Harry first stepped back into the office to talk about what had happened with Russell. And now Harry was getting up to leave, and he decided he had to ask again.

            “I don’t think so,” Harry said now, and caught Kingsley’s eye with an expression that he hoped was a sufficient warning. Probably not, though, given that Kingsley simply looked puzzled. “My holiday continues for another week.”

            Kingsley grimaced and waved one hand. “Forgive me, Harry. My need for my best Auror keeps overcoming my memory.”

            Harry hesitated. He wondered if he should ask to see the case that Kingsley needed his “best Auror” for.

            And then he caught himself and smiled grimly. That was the way to become trapped in the endless cycle of the Department again. He didn’t want to give in now and lose all his progress, and even the slightest yielding could help him begin to do that—not because it was Kingsley’s fault, necessarily, but because Harry had an obsessive personality.

            “Sorry,” he said. “I can’t do it. In fact,” he added, keeping his eyes carefully on Kingsley’s face so he could see what would happen when he asked it, “I was thinking of taking a longer holiday than that, if it was necessary to overcome some of the psychic wounds that I’ve taken in the past few years.”

            Kingsley stared at him, mouth literally open. Harry had never seen him so disconcerted, and while it was sort of fun in one way, it was also sad. Harry gestured, and Kingsley coughed and hid his face behind one of the reports sprawled across the desk.

            “You won’t reconsider?” he asked, voice muffled.

            “Reconsider what?” Harry tried to soften his voice when Kingsley glanced up at him. “I’ve taken this holiday. You were the one who’s tried to interrupt it with cases, both in the past and now. It’s just—I can’t do that, sir. I’m going home to Draco now, and I’ll contact you at the end of next week to let you know when I’m coming back.” He turned and marched out of the office before Kingsley’s shame-faced expression could become another argument.

            As he started to near the lift, he found himself digging his nails into the back of his left hand, and sighed. He looked up and down the corridor make sure that no one could see him, and then leaned on the wall next to the lift and sucked in a deep breath, closing his eyes.

            It wasn’t the half-row with Kingsley that had upset him. It was the thought of what waited at home, the practice he knew he would have to start engaging in with Draco soon, if they were to be anything like ready for the Blazing Season when it came around.

            Harry wiped his mouth with his hand and sighed. Draco won’t make you do anything that you can’t face yet, he told himself. If you want to wait a few days, then I’m sure he’d let you. He wants you to be happy and comfortable.

            But against Harry’s needs, he had to weigh Draco’s. And Draco’s eyes were permanently silver now, and he’d been unable to spend any time in his own house since the battle with Pansy and Russell. When Harry woke up and fought free of his embrace in the night, he would nod, kiss Harry’s forehead, and then go to sleep on a chair next to the bed. Harry would find him there when he woke in the morning, sprawled over the chair with his wings fluttering around him, feathers blowing in the wind of his snore.

            He’d taken to staring obsessively at Harry’s neck and shoulder, too. Harry knew why from the books on Veela that Draco had bought him the same day as that enormous bed. Veela often marked their chosen there, at least for the Blazing Season, so that anyone who might have a troublesome claim to the chosen would know they were taken. If the chosen found a bite or scratch mark objectionable, then they could wear a necklace or collar.

            Harry was uneasy about both ideas, but far more about the idea of chaining himself. So that left the mark.

            And you’re far more afraid than you should be, considering how well you did a few days ago, he told himself, straightening up. Draco would never hurt you. He managed to hold back from hurting Pansy worse than he had when you interfered, and that was in full Veela form.

            Further on in the Blazing Season, though, Harry wasn’t sure that he would have that level of authority over Draco. In fact, he was sure he wouldn’t.

            Harry shook his head. He knew by now that he wouldn’t get past this by standing here alone and whinging to himself in silence. They both needed to make decisions about the Blazing Season, since it affected them both, and that meant he needed Draco.

            There was at least one sign of progress, Harry admitted to himself as he turned and punched the button for the lift. He didn’t think of needing Draco as a weakness any longer.

*

            Draco’s hands trembled as he clenched them on Harry’s shoulders. His mouth watered, and no matter how much he wanted to glance up and study the side view of Harry’s face for lines of strain, he couldn’t remove his eyes from the expanse of skin in front of him. The nape of Harry’s neck, his shoulder blades, the beginning of his spine…all of it smelled heated and nervous and attractive.

            “You’re sure?” he whispered. He was afraid that the words sounded distorted. A Veela’s teeth didn’t actually lengthen during the Blazing Season, but there might be a problem with the sheer amounts of saliva sliding down his lips.

            “Yeah,” Harry whispered. He leaned forwards, pillowing his head on his arms, which in turn rested on a table in front of him. His muscles trembled and flexed, and Draco almost bit down then, to hold them still. “Do it.”

            Draco caressed Harry’s shoulder. “I think you’ll find this pleasurable,” he said softly.

            Harry laughed a little. Draco was pleased to note another emotion besides fear in the laugh, though perhaps not a very attractive one: contempt. “I don’t think so,” he said. “I never liked being bitten or marked like that even when my sexual response was normal, and now—”

            “Your sexual response is absolutely normal for what you’ve been through,” Draco said firmly. He had to bite, yes, but he wasn’t going to allow Harry to put himself down with his usual combination of self-loathing and desire to achieve things he hadn’t.

            There was a startled silence, and then all Harry’s muscles relaxed with a twitch. “When you say it like that,” he muttered, “I can’t help believing it.”

            “Good, good,” Draco whispered, and caressed his shoulder again. And then he really couldn’t wait any longer.

            He bent and fastened his teeth in the flesh of Harry’s neck, grinding and biting down, half-closing his eyes as he felt the saliva leak across his lips and the different texture of Harry’s skin in his mouth. His hips jolted with the satisfaction, and his wings unfolded even though he hadn’t told them to. Luckily, he could keep them high and flap them so that they wouldn’t drop across Harry’s body and panic him even more.

            Although, if he was right, then Harry should start feeling the effects of the bite right about—

            Harry gave a hoarse, shuddering cry, and jerked almost hard enough to wrench Draco’s teeth away from their place.

            Draco smiled contentedly. Now.

            A Veela’s claws were meant to please his chosen, ultimately, however they might be used during the Blazing Season or outside it to defend. His teeth were the same way. As Draco bit and marked the skin, magic traveled into Harry’s body and into his nerves, causing pleasure from every direction.

            Harry was gasping and whimpering almost soundlessly, but that first sudden movement, if nothing else, had reassured Draco about what he was feeling. He pulled back and licked the mark he had left, admiring the size and jagged nature of it, before he turned Harry around.

            Harry reached out and clung to his arms. His eyes were wide, close to wild. Draco touched his forehead.

            “You’re still fighting it,” he whispered. “Let go.”

            Harry took a breath that made his eyelashes flutter. Then he leaned back—Draco hastily wound his arms around him so that he wouldn’t topple—and seemed to relax the way he might if he was floating in water.

            And then he cried out in earnest, and Draco stroked his back again and again, eyes locked on Harry’s face so that he wouldn’t miss a single one of his expressions.

*



            Harry could have said that he never just let go. He had been with plenty of men before Laurent, sure, and he had had sex with Laurent plenty of times before the rape. But what he had was plenty of fun, and sometimes plenty of closeness. There was no headlong fall into sensation the way some people he knew described.

            This time, he knew there would be, if he could release his hold on his control. But for long moments, he couldn’t. He spun sickeningly like someone on a long thread connected to the side of a cliff, and the drop below was terrifying.

            Draco’s arms were around him. Draco was whispering for him to let go, and Harry knew that Draco wouldn’t ask him to do something that would hurt him deliberately. He knew more about this than Harry did. Harry should trust him.

            He let go of his thread.

            Promptly, he jerked, as the pleasure came at him from every direction, striking along his nerves, his joints, his muscles. The slightest movement of a finger made him feel good. Heat pulsed in his belly, and he knew he was hard, but it wasn’t agony the way it sometimes had been around Draco. This wasn’t orgasm, but its own kind of satisfaction, and he couldn’t keep his voice silent or his body still.

            Draco gathered him closer, murmuring something over and over. The exact words didn’t matter—and would probably only embarrass him if he could hear them, Harry thought in an unexpected moment of clarity—but the tone told him Draco didn’t think this little display of his stupid or foolish. It was what Draco had expected, maybe even wanted, and that was what gave Harry the courage to continue.

            The pleasure radiated back to the bite mark, and Harry fell still as he realized that it could feel even better. All he had to do was reach up and touch the bite mark.

            He licked his lips. He didn’t know if he was ready to feel more than what he’d been feeling so far, frankly.

            But he could sense Draco’s waiting eagerness, and he wanted to feel more of this. It was the least complicated desire he’d had since the rape.

            So he reached up, arching around awkwardly behind his back so that he could use his own hand, and brushed his fingers over the bite mark.

            A white flare connected the bite mark and his cock, and Harry reached out, clawing for some support. Draco caught his hands and murmured something else, and even the touch of the words against his ears contributed to the light. Harry trembled, caught on the brink of something, perhaps another fall.

            The light turned around and drove into him.

            Harry came more helplessly than he could remember doing, jerking as if he’d been caught on a wire. His muscles clamped and clenched, his legs stiffened and then lashed out, and he felt the scrape and catch of cloth against his erection as though the fabric had suddenly become more coarse. Draco drew his fingertips gently along his arm, and it felt like someone reaching beneath his skin and starting another orgasm. Harry rolled over at the end of it, his pants sagging soaked and full, and lay there, exhausted.

            Draco kissed his chin and murmured, “How do you feel?”

            “Drained,” Harry said, and managed to lift his head and open his eyes when he realized that that confession might not reassure Draco. Sure enough, Draco’s face looked anxious, and his fingers were twitching as if he wanted to grow his claws and use them on himself for giving Harry too much sensation to deal with. Harry smiled, although he didn’t think he could raise his hand to touch Draco’s face. “And really, really good.”

            Draco lowered his head, buried it against Harry’s shoulder, and, from the motion of his lashes, closed his eyes. Harry yawned once and leaned back, resting against some combination of the table, the chair, and Draco’s arms that he would certainly find uncomfortable later.

            But that would only be after he had woken up.

*

            Draco couldn’t keep his eyes away from Harry at breakfast the next morning, and he didn’t think that he should have to. He had made Harry come yesterday, which he had frankly not expected to do this early in the game. The bite mark had various effects on different people, and most of the time, it was simply relaxing and comforting.

            But Harry wasn’t the ordinary chosen, and Draco was realistic enough to admit that he wasn’t the ordinary Veela, either.

            Harry blushed and avoided his gaze at first, fixing it on his plate, but Draco reached out and gently touched the bite mark. That made Harry blink and stutter and brought his eyes and his attention both up.

            “What’s the matter?” Draco asked. “I know that your lovers have seen you come before. Is that what worries you?”

            Harry turned so red that Draco was afraid he would get up and stalk away from the table for a minute. But then Harry stabbed a piece of bacon with his fork, cleared his throat, and mumbled, “None of the others have ever seen me that out of control. I reckon—I reckon that I didn’t like you potentially getting frightened or disgusted because I did that and then just fell asleep.”

            Draco smiled. “Do you know how immensely flattering it is that I made you come so hard you were practically unconscious afterwards?” he asked. “I can more than easily take care of myself if I need to.” He had, in fact, had two wanks yesterday and one this morning before Harry awoke. All he really needed to remember was the expression on Harry’s face if he wanted to climax.

            Harry buried his head in his hands. Draco waited a moment. If Harry needed to hide until he got used to this, then Draco could allow that, but he didn’t want Harry to feel ashamed.

            “I have that fear of getting out of control,” Harry whispered. “You know that.”

            Draco nodded. “I know.”

            “And I keep thinking about how I must have looked,” Harry said. He dropped his hands away and turned to face Draco just when Draco was deciding he’d have to make Harry do so. “Stupid. Silly. Gaping at nothing and flopping around.”

            “Flattering, like I said,” Draco said. He wanted to laugh, but he kept his voice serious and serene, because he didn’t think Harry could deal well right now with what he might perceive as mockery. “Exactly the way I might have wanted my chosen during the Blazing Season to look.” He paused, noted that Harry was still studying him, and added, “Do you think I would have looked silly if I’d been the one enjoying myself like that?”

            “Enjoying myself,” Harry muttered, as though he was testing out the name for it. Then he looked up and shook his head. “No.”

            “Well, then.” Draco leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows, inviting further commentary.

            Harry’s face cracked into a reluctant smile. “You’ve made your point,” he said. “Although I think I’d still find it horribly embarrassing if I saw it from outside.”

            Draco let his instincts take over at that point, knowing that his eyes had brightened and his claws had lengthened. He leaned forwards and murmured, “Well, you can’t do that, I don’t think it’s silly or embarrassing, and no one else is ever going to see you that way. So you don’t need to worry about it.”

            Harry stared at him with parted lips, his cheeks flushed, and then seemed to realize what he was doing. He jerked away again and started eating.

            But his flush gradually faded, and he didn’t complain about it or smell ashamed and worried again that morning. Draco stretched his claws out, the only visible sign of satisfaction he would permit himself. My chosen is learning to trust me.

*

            “I’m not sure that you’re ready for this, Harry.” Draco’s voice was soft and blurred at the edges, like he was talking from a distance through that bloody awful Wireless Spell the Aurors had been pressured into using for a while.

            “I have to be ready,” Harry replied, and took off his shirt.

            He could hear Draco swallow. He wondered if Draco could hear him do the same thing, or if he was too focused on the expanse of naked skin. Harry tossed the shirt aside and lay down on the bed, arms stretched before him and head buried in them, the way he had done the other night when Draco wanted to mark him.

            He wanted to do this because he knew they would have to do it sooner or later, and it was better to get things over with now.

            Draco stood behind him, not making the movement that Harry had supposed would follow his stripping: reaching out to touch and caress his back. “Harry,” he said at last, and his voice was infinitely gentle. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

            Harry gritted his teeth. “I know that I’ve put up pretty well with the marking, and even the jealousy,” he said. They’d had an argument yesterday over whether he should to go Ron and Hermione’s house. It had escalated into shouting and Draco stalking off to the fireplace, only to turn around and snap that Harry had known this would happen. Harry had agreed, apologized for his part of the row, and told Draco to come with him.

            Ron and Hermione had been more than a bit surprised to see him show up, but they’d accepted him, and everyone had eaten dinner, and Draco had got to watch Harry as much as he wanted to be sure that no one touched him “inappropriately,” and everyone was happy.

            Harry, lying on the bed now and waiting for Draco to get over his fear, which seemed more intense even than Harry’s, wondered why he didn’t remember negotiating anything like this in his other relationships. There had been rows, sure, and apologies, but nothing had ever seemed this fraught, this ridiculously important and fragile.

            Then he sighed. It’s because he’s a Veela, you dolt, and you were raped. If you know the answers, don’t ask the questions.

            “I can feel what you feel,” Draco said. “And I know that you’re far more afraid of this than you were of the marking or the jealousy.”

            “I wouldn’t be so certain of that,” Harry said, and tried to relax his teeth so that his tongue could move and form the words normally. “Laurent’s jealousy was one of the things I dreamed about and woke screaming from—”

            In one smooth movement, Draco draped himself over Harry, chest to back, hands reaching out so that his fingers entwined with Harry’s.

            Harry screamed soundlessly into the blankets as an explosion went off in his brain. And then Draco was sitting up, pulling back, and turning Harry around so that he could face him and look into his eyes.

            “You’re not ready,” Draco said. “Not ready to be pinned down, or fucked, or…” He let his voice trail off, and Harry could guess what fantasies filled his mind. He swallowed any drool that might have dripped down his face, though, and shook his head. “Not ready for things that make you face your worst fears.”

            “But I’ll have to be ready.” Harry hit his forehead with the palm of his hand and tried to ignore the small shocks that still shook his limbs. “That the problem. The Blazing Season is unforgiving. How are we going to get there if I can’t endure something this simple?”

            “Whose standards are you using?” Draco asked quietly. “By what you suffered, it’s not simple.”

            Harry clenched his fingers down into the blankets and ripped upwards, causing handfuls of cloth to come out. Draco murmured wordlessly, the way he had a few nights ago when he marked Harry, and reached out to let his hand hover above Harry’s cheek.

            “I want it to go away,” Harry said. “I want to be the person I was again, before Laurent changed me.”

            “I’m sorry,” Draco said, in such a calm voice that Harry didn’t think he could have taken offense to it if he tried. “I can’t give you that. But I can tell you what I can give you. Will you look at me?”

            Harry breathed in until he thought his chest would explode from the pressure of the air, and then looked at Draco. Draco promptly offered him a gentle smile and brought his hand into contact with Harry’s skin, tracing over his stubble.

            “I can give you as much time as you need,” Draco said. “I can give you some patience, although my own instincts and needs will get rid of that at times. I can give you variations of the ordinary things that I would do during the Blazing Season, so that I can get close to you without self-destructing or panicking you.”

            “That’s not the point, though,” Harry said. “Why should you have to give up everything while I give up nothing?”

            Draco laughed. Harry bristled, but the glance Draco gave him a moment later indicated that he didn’t intend for this to be insulting, either. He settled back on hands and heels and tried to resign himself to listening.

“I couldn’t give up everything even if I tried,” Draco said. “My instincts would never let me. What I need to do is manage what I need, and in particular the pace we take it at. I’ll be fine, Harry. This is what I want, to be close to you and with you, and nudge you gently into being comfortable with me.”

“Bollocks,” Harry said, and saw Draco flinch as though the word was a slap in the face. Harry sighed. “Sorry. But you want more than that, don’t you? You wanted to mark me. You’d probably like to lock me up in a room and make sure that no one else could touch me between now and the end of the Blazing Season.”

Draco paused. “Would you like to hear what I want right now?”

Harry hesitated. There was a heaviness in Draco’s eyes and face that reminded him of what Draco had looked like before he bent Harry over the table to mark him. But that hadn’t been dangerous, and he didn’t think this would be, either. Besides, he wanted to take risks.

            “What?” he asked.

            Draco leaned near and lowered his voice into a smooth, dark murmur, like the voice of an underground river, so that they seemed to be alone in an isolated cave. “I’d like to make you come with the touch of the back of my hand to your cheek. I’d like to lie down beside you and sleep with you, and for your sleep to be deep and dreamless. I’d like to be inside you and rock for hours, so that you can’t come and hover helplessly on the edge and moan and cry beneath me. I’d like to see the whole of the Auror Department staring enviously at me for having captured you. I’d like to see you look at me entirely without fear.”

            Harry licked his dry lips. “But—”

            “The Blazing Season isn’t all one thing, isn’t all one set of desires.” Draco leaned back against the nearest pillow and stared at him, eyes half-lidded. “Do you understand? I’m not settling for something lesser because I can’t pin you down and fuck you right now. If I can’t ever do that, I’ll find something that satisfies me just as much or more, and which you can handle. The Blazing Season changes from moment to moment and in the intensity of the desires, which is why it’s so difficult to handle in the first place. It would be a lot easier, I agree, if I could just tell you what I need by a certain date and we could only practice that. But it doesn’t work that way.” He shot Harry a wicked smile. “And I fully intend to be demanding.”

            Harry muttered when he could get his breath, “No one ever explained that to me before.”

            Draco shrugged. “It’s something that it’s hard to talk about to someone who hasn’t experienced it before, and not all Veela feel it the same way. A few of them do have steady desires, and more have one wish that predominates over all the others.” He reached out and caught Harry’s hands, tapping them with gentle claws. Harry realized that he hadn’t even noticed this time when Draco grew his claws, where before he would have been hyper-alert the moment he no longer looked fully human. “I’m lucky to be one of the more extreme ones, I think. I’m adaptable. I’m flexible.” He bent his mouth closer to Harry’s ear. “You wouldn’t believe all the ways that I’m flexible.”

            Harry gasped out a laugh and leaned closer for a kiss. Draco returned it not only with every appearance of complete contentment, but eagerly, his tongue darting and brushing against Harry’s in a delicate dance.

Maybe that was another way he should trust Draco, Harry thought: trust him to say it if he needed something.

And I should start trusting him with my own needs, as well.

*

Wölkchen: The Blazing Season is the mating season, pure and simple. But when Veela breed with humans, it becomes different, and involves a lot of rituals that are adapted to the fact that the chosen probably won’t be a Veela.

I’m really glad you like the stories, and find them realistic despite the often odd subject matter.

SP777: A lot of what you said will come true, though I don’t know how many repeat performances I can fit into the few chapters that are left.

nette: Thanks! Your letter to Harry is cute. And he did push himself too far here, but at least he knows now that there are other things he can try.

polka dot: I have SAD, Season Affective Disorder. I slow down and get depressed in the autumn and winter, but the spring and summer give me a huge boost of energy.

Night the Storyteller: Thank you. And Pansy would have been a lot more able to resist Russell without the unconscious side-effects of his Veela heritage.

mrequecky: Thank you!

luvlustblood: Thanks! Unfortunately, only a few chapters left, but I hope you’ll enjoy them.
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