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
- 32
- 33
- 34
Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Thirty-Three—Enchanted

            “You look happier,” Hermione whispered to him at one point when they were alone in the kitchen.

            Harry looked up, surprised. He and Draco had come to dinner at Ron and Hermione’s house again, and Hermione had made sure to stay on her side of the table, restricting herself to one quick shake of Harry’s hand and plenty of conversation. Harry had thought she understood about coming so close.

            “I am,” he took the opportunity to say, while he checked over Hermione’s shoulder. Draco was still engaged in arguing about Quidditch with Ron, and he looked no more Veela than he normally did now, when the silver eyes were constant and the claws almost always out. “A lot more than I expected to be. I’d better go back to him, though, or he might get more upset.”

            “I don’t understand that,” Hermione admitted with a small frown. “How can you be happy with someone who’s that jealous over you?”

            “Because those instincts are a part of him, too,” Harry said. “I know it’s not all year round, either. It’d be a lot harder to live with if it was.” He ducked past Hermione and had made it to the entrance of the kitchen before two things happened at once.

            Hermione reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, and Draco looked up and saw them.

            He grew his wings so fast it looked more as though he had begun to shine with silver sunlight, and then he beat them down and actually left the ground, skimming through Ron and Hermione’s drawing room and straight towards both of them.

            Harry turned instinctively, putting himself between Hermione and Draco, but making sure that he was looking over his shoulder at Draco. Draco landed behind him and grabbed him, wings sweeping around his chest, hands closing on his shoulders, holding him so firmly that Harry knew he couldn’t have broken free even if he wanted to.

            His heart was fast in a moment; he went short of breath. Harry shook his head and brutally reminded himself of his magical strength, much greater than his physical strength and capable of throwing even Draco back. There was no reason to panic. He was being held by someone who would never hurt him, someone who simply needed him to remain still in his arms so that Draco could assert his claim.

            Draco leaned past Harry and gave a weird mixture of a warbling croon and a screech, and Harry remembered that Draco wouldn’t hurt him, but that was no guarantee that he wouldn’t hurt others. Harry reached out and grasped the back of Draco’s neck. The silver eyes focused on his face and might have dimmed a bit.

            “It’s all right,” Harry said firmly. “I’m yours, you know that.” He paused, then, knowing he was taking a risk, added, “And you’re mine, aren’t you? Or did you mean to smile at that witch who passed us in the street after we Apparated to Diagon Alley today?”

            Draco blinked, and his wings sagged a bit. “No,” he said. “I only—I didn’t think.” He leaned his head on Harry’s shoulder, rubbing Harry’s face with a rough mixture of stubble and pinfeathers, and closed his eyes.

            “Of course you didn’t,” Harry said. “You don’t, often. And I know it’s hard during the Blazing Season, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t attack my best friends.” Brisk and calm was the ticket, he thought. That helped him ignore, among things, the way his hand was shaking and the way the skin on his chest seemed to flinch from contact with the wings.

            “They shouldn’t touch you.” Draco’s voice deepened again, though in more human registers this time. He glared at Hermione. “She knows better.”

            “I’m sorry, Malfoy.” Hermione was flushed, and she looked more contrite than Harry was used to seeing her unless she’d got a fact wrong. “I didn’t think, either.” She looked over Draco’s shoulder, and Harry turned in time to see Ron, cradling Rose in one hand, quietly slip his wand back into his pocket with the other.

            “Now that we’ve established everyone’s a little thoughtless,” Harry said brightly, “perhaps you could let me go, Draco?”

            Draco clenched his hands down and refused to respond.

            “We do need to sit down and have dinner,” Harry said. He thought about applying an elbow to Draco’s ribs and decided against it. Draco didn’t look in the mood to appreciate casual touches right now. “Unless you want Hermione to hand us plates so we can eat standing up, but then she’d have to touch me again.”

            Draco swallowed. Some of the feathers had sunk back into his skin, Harry thought, but new ones had emerged, making his face a fascinating shimmer and play of light. “Can—can you sit on my lap, Harry?”

            Harry was light-headed with the surge of embarrassment that followed. Letting go in front of Draco alone, as he had done when he was marked, was one thing, but to do something so dependent and helpless in front of his best friends was another.

            Draco made a face that Harry suspected was his attempt to conceal his own humiliation, but he didn’t look away. Harry realized how much courage it must take for him to keep standing here, suggesting the one thing that would make it possible for him to soothe his Veela instincts and continue eating dinner with someone who had touched his chosen.

            And if he could get over it, with his instincts screaming at him and the Blazing Season urging murder, then why couldn’t Harry?

            “Yeah,” Harry said, trying to ignore the way Hermione took a big, deep gulp of air and Ron looked utterly shocked. “Come on.” He grabbed Draco’s arm and tugged him towards the larger of the two chairs Ron and Hermione had set out, focusing his mind more on the clasp of his hands and the sheer pull his muscles could exert than the incredulous glances he knew would be coming his way. or the way Draco stumbled as if he hadn’t expected this, or his fear.

            Well, it would have been nice if he could think more about the way he was handling Draco than about his fear, but he couldn’t.

            Draco sat down in the chair, looking as if he were still dazed. Harry sat on his lap and pushed Draco’s wings away when they automatically tried to curl around him. “If you have them there, then I can’t eat,” he said in the same brisk, authoritative tone as before. He didn’t know if the Veela would care about practical realities, but perhaps he could make it care.

            Sure enough, Draco shifted so that his wings slid through the loops on the back of the chair instead and cast Harry a hesitant glance. Harry nodded and smiled to him, then decided that wasn’t enough and leaned in for a kiss. Draco gasped and greedily opened his mouth, trying to intertwine their tongues.

            Ron gave the loudest throat-clearing in the history of the universe. Harry pulled back and touched Draco on the cheek. “More later, when we get home,” he whispered.

            Draco nodded and then reached for the plate Hermione was handing across the table. He took great care to make sure that Hermione’s hands came nowhere near Harry’s skin, Harry noticed. Hermione rolled her eyes, but Harry gave her a silent glance to tell her to shut up. She sat back in her chair and shook her head rather than saying something, which made Harry decide that he’d have to thank her, too, later.

            Harry started to cast the round of charms that would reassure him there were no potions or curses in the food, but Draco picked up a forkful of fish, took a bite, chewed it for a moment, and announced, “Nothing in there. I’d recognize it.” Then he held the rest of the forkful towards Harry.

            A sense memory of Laurent force-feeding him chicken made Harry gag. He shied back against Draco’s chest and tried to control his breathing.

            Draco caught him with one arm, holding the fork steady with the other, and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

            Harry licked his lips. He’d thought he’d told Draco about Laurent not allowing him to choose his meals, but perhaps he hadn’t provided enough detail. “I—he used to shove food down my throat like that, all the time reassuring me that it was good and what I liked to eat, I just didn’t know it. Draco, please, do I have to?” He reckoned he would have to if that was what it took to content the Veela, but he honestly wasn’t sure the food would stay down.

            Draco dropped the fork at once and crooned in his ear. “Of course not,” he whispered. “Why don’t you check the food and feed me from the pieces that you decide are all right?”

            And that was what they did, with Harry testing each dish with his round of spells and then feeding Draco from the same fork. As long as he could control the speed with which the fork approached his mouth, Harry found out, and as long as Draco didn’t hold Harry too tightly at the same time, then it worked.

            He caught Ron’s eye, and Ron gave him a frankly incredulous look, followed by a grin. Hermione was struggling to control her smile. Harry shook his head and mouthed, Not one word, to them more than once, and to their credit, they did manage to keep the conversation mostly normal.

*

            “Draco? What is all this?”

            Draco took a deep breath and turned around. His vision swayed as he did so, and he braced himself with one hand on the sofa. God knew he wouldn’t impress Harry if he fainted right at the beginning of something as important as this.

            Harry stood with his cloak—the cloak Draco had given him—draped over his arm, his eyes fixed on the table that dominated the middle of Draco’s kitchen. Draco knew what he would be seeing, and for that reason among others, he kept his eyes fastened on Harry for a minute before he turned to look himself. Harry seemed to have returned sound and safe from the end of his first week back at work, but Draco knew that appearances were deceptive, and he sniffed for the scent of blood before he was satisfied that it didn’t exist.

            Then he turned and looked at the table.

            Across the table were spread meat pies, platters of scrambled eggs, a whole roast boar, glasses of milk and pumpkin juice and wine, bowls of cereal, omelets in delicate pans, fish and chicken in all the different and marvelous sauces that the house-elves knew how to prepare, sandwiches that dazed Draco with their variety, cherries and oranges and plums and pears and apples cut into tiny triangular sections, desserts buried under chocolate and cream, and soups that had made Draco drool and which he’d carefully preserved under Stasis Charms so that they would smell as good to Harry as they did to him when first-made.

            “What is all this?” Harry repeated, but with a different tone in his voice. Draco hadn’t told him about what would happen in advance, only invited him over for dinner, with the promise that Harry could test every bit of food with spells and charms the way he had at Weasley and Granger’s house.

            “I want to help you overcome the issues that you still have about food,” Draco said, and waited.

            Harry held up a hand in what looked like a gesture of denial, and then dropped it again. He stared at the meal, or, Draco had to admit, feast. “Draco…”

            “You can cast all the spells you want,” Draco said quietly. “I would never prevent you from doing that. But I don’t think it’s fair that you should have to cook all your meals, and when the Blazing Season officially starts, in a few weeks, then I’ll have to feed you some things. Please? This is another kind of practice, in its own way.”

            Harry looked at him, then at the table again. “And I can pick what I want to eat?”

            Draco’s wings plumed out from his shoulders. Luckily, he had worn one of those specially modified shirts that Madam Malkin’s sold for Veela, with the front looking normal but the back attached only by thin straps across the shoulders, so the wings could stretch out without interference. “Yes,” he said. “Of course. Will you tell me what Laurent did?”

            Harry grimaced and dropped his cloak on the nearest chair. “He used to limit my choices of food and insist that other stuff was so unhealthy I should never eat it. He used the Veela instincts to claim that he was merely protecting me and couldn’t bear the thought of losing me. And then it got to the point where he was force-feeding me what he thought was good, such as cream and chicken sandwiches.” He looked as though he’d vomit from the mere mention of the food. Draco unobtrusively flicked his wand and banished all the dishes covered in cream and all the chicken sandwiches and roasted chicken from the table.

            “The food had potions in it that controlled me.” Harry shook his head and then paused. “I think I told you that bit already.”

            “Can you imagine that I’m bored or wouldn’t want to hear it again?” Draco whispered, and stepped nearer to run his hands over Harry’s shoulders. “Everything you can say interests me.”

            Harry watched him with his head on one side. “I’m starting to understand that. But it’s still hard to grasp.”

            “Why?’ Draco buried his head in Harry’s neck and sniffed once, then turned him around so that he could stand with his chest to Harry’s back. Harry tensed a bit, but relaxed when Draco kept his wings back. “Do you think you’re uninteresting, or did he convince you that he was the only one who could admire you?”

            “Nothing like that.” Harry shrugged, and Draco allowed it, but kept his hands in place, so that they merely rode up with Harry’s shrug and then fell back. Harry drew a breath as if he was going to object and then let it lapse again. “I just…I kept myself separate from most people after the trial. I didn’t go out of my way to attract anyone, and the only people who tried to date me, until you, were people I knew were after me for my fame and money. And now here you are, someone I have to accept isn’t.”

            Draco crooned. Harry’s shoulders dropped. Draco waited a few moments to see if he would object to the croon and then whispered, “Will you be able to try the meal? You can go at your own pace. You can cast all the spells you want.”

            “You said that already,” Harry muttered, but without much rancor. After a second, he nodded decisively and moved forwards. “All right, then. Let’s.”

            Draco moved behind him, and drew his chair out for him, and crooned at him again when Harry hesitated before sitting down. Harry reached back and tugged on his wing in response. Draco gasped as the shiver of pleasure seemed to slide all the way down his spine to his feet, and Harry gave him a peculiar smile. Draco hoped he would get to see more of that smile, and feel more of those touches, soon.

            Harry started with the fruit, casting spells that dug into the slices without disturbing them. Draco watched the movements of his wand, more delicate and skilled than he could have mustered himself or seen anyone else muster, and felt incoherent with lust and longing and admiration. He told Harry so.

            Harry flushed. “You only think that because of the Blazing Season,” he muttered. “I’m not that much more skillful than anyone else.”

            “Yes, you are,” Draco said, and reached out to lock his hand gently into place around Harry’s, holding the wand still. “Look at the way you handle it. Your fingers don’t move nervously up and down the shaft, the way some wizards’ do. You know exactly where each little pulse of magic is going to go before you cast it. That’s something I can’t do. And you know how to control and channel the power of spells that other people release in one big, messy explosion. That’s skill.”

            Harry gave a tiny moan that could well have been a scream for the way it made Draco suddenly feel lighter, more confident, happier. He looked down and realized that he’d been stroking Harry’s fingers with his own, sliding them across the small free portion of Harry’s palm and caressing the heel of his hand.

            “Oh, your hands are sensitive, are they?” Draco whispered, and spread his wings further, flapping them once. Small bolts of white magic broke away from them, flipping over and entwining themselves in midair, changing color to silver as they entered his fingers. “What about this?” He stroked down again, but now with the Veela magic that normally stayed in his wings firmly ensconced in his hands.

            Harry cried out hoarsely and bowed his head. “I thought—I thought we were supposed to practice eating food,” he said.

            “That can wait for later,” Draco said, still light, still dancing on the edge, and pulled Harry out of the chair, laying him down on the floor. Harry stared up at him, face tight with desperation. Draco waved his fingers delicately at Harry’s robe and trouser buttons, and they slid out of the way and let his cock free.

            Harry closed his eyes and sucked in a long breath. He seemed to be trying to hide it, but Draco knew when someone was aroused by his power.

            “I told you,” he whispered, “you have no need to be embarrassed here,” and he bowed his head and swallowed the head of Harry’s cock.

            Harry bucked, which was no trouble for Draco to absorb with his light hold. He licked a few times and then drew back to ask conscientiously, “Do you give me permission to practice this with you?”

            “Yes, bastard,” Harry said, and his words were heartfelt enough that Draco dropped to the carpet beside him, wings still held high, and began to suck in earnest.

            The taste of Harry’s skin was enchanting, of course, just as it should be, slick and salty and sweet with magic. Draco reached down to caress his balls as Harry half-shrieked and shouted, and then, trembling with his own daring, reached back to run his fingers over Harry’s hole and arse.

            Harry doubled up his legs like a rabbit kicking in a trap, and Draco was sure he’d be shoved away. But Harry simply moaned, “Oh, so good,” let his head roll to the side, and mumbled something about needing forgiveness.

            Draco knew what he was talking about when he came in the next moment. Draco swallowed neatly, feeling the working of his throat while a glittering haze settled into place throughout his mind, his body loose and warm. He leaned close to Harry’s leg and came, too, the tension in his muscles flooding out and dissolving into pleasure so glorious that only the way he was touching Harry, finally, could compare to it.

            When he raised his head, Harry’s face was once again a study in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he muttered.

            “Do you know how flattering that is, that you came like that, for me?” Draco murmured, and drew him up into his arms for a kiss that at last made Harry flush for different reasons.

*

            Harry had been weighing certain things in his mind for what felt like years now, although it was less than a week since Draco had sucked him off and then helped him back into a chair and caressed his back until he was ready to try the food.

            And Harry had, and nothing had attacked him, and he didn’t feel any of the side-effects from potions or charms that he knew he could have expected to.

            It had been a wonderful evening. Draco had touched Harry’s cheek with the backs of his fingers before he let him go and gazed at him in serene contentment, and that had made Harry flush worse than ever, because it seemed he’d done so little to give Draco that pleasure. He wanted to do something more—more active, more giving. He couldn’t continue being a passive plaything that Draco touched and made orgasm and took care of.

            The fact that Draco didn’t mind that didn’t matter. Harry minded it.

            So he considered what he could do and what Draco had done so far, and what he could stand, based on the memories that still haunted him sometimes when Draco reached towards him with wings or arms. And then he planned his ambush.

            It began innocently with him inviting Draco over for dinner, and mentioning that he could help cook it. Draco had agreed, his voice trembling with eagerness. Harry had smiled, winked, and then shut down the Floo connection before Draco could ask extensive questions.

            And then he had braced his hands on the mantle and shut his eyes, leaning his head down between his arms. Was he sure that he wanted to do this? Beginning it and then having it stop it because of his fear would be more devastating for Draco than never beginning it at all, Harry knew. Draco would be happy to let things go along as they were during this buildup to the Blazing Season.

            Then he remembered the way he had thought about Draco all during work that day, to the point that Ron had waved his hand in front of Harry’s face and asked him to pay attention to the case they were discussing, when he never used to think about anything but work.

            Yes. He was sure.

            When Draco came through the Floo connection, Harry had even decided how he would do it. Draco was the one who was good with seduction, the way Veela were supposed to be, and Harry could never match him in sheer enticement. He would attack directly instead, and dare Draco not to be overwhelmed by what he could do.

            It helped that the gift he’d chosen to give Draco was one that Laurent hadn’t preferred, though of course they’d done it. Harry could draw a deep breath and step forwards more positively when Draco stepped out of the flames.

            He staggered, of course, the way everyone did because of the unusual shape of Harry’s hearth. That gave Harry the chance to catch Draco in his arms and kiss him thoroughly.

            He was used to the taste of Draco’s mouth by now, so he didn’t expect it to make his body thrum as though he was a harp whose strings someone was touching, but it did. Harry shuddered, and then shuddered again for a different reason when Draco’s wings blazed into existence.

            Well. Obviously the best way to control his fear was to drown it with pleasure. Harry pressed forwards even more, thrusting his knee in between Draco’s legs the way he’d done to Harry on the battlefield outside Russell’s house and rubbing fiercely up and down.

            Draco’s knees gave out and he sagged back against the fireplace. Harry followed him down, crowing in silent triumph, tearing at Draco’s clothes with both hands but also trying to cradle his head to make sure that he wouldn’t crack his skull open on the brick and stone of the hearth.

            “Harry,” Draco gasped. His hands reached out, and Harry turned his head to kiss the palm once before concentrating on his goal.

            Draco’s cock sprang free. Harry stared down at it, knowing he must look like an idiot, but not caring for the moment. Draco was right, after all; he was the only one around to see.

            Draco’s cock was long, pale, and straight, already hard but just beginning to flush with blood. Harry took a deep breath—and remembered only later that that was a gesture he used to make all the time before this, a gesture from his old self—and plunged his head straight down.

            For a minute, he feared he’d done something wrong, as Draco made a moaning, grunting sound like a fish dying. Three years and more since he’d done this. He’d slipped up, or let a tooth scrape through—

            Draco’s hand flailed out and settled on Harry’s bite mark, the fingernails curved into claws. Harry lurched at the pleasure that tore through him, but more at Draco’s hiss of, “Don’t stop.”

            Harry kissed the side of Draco’s erection as a way of saying that he wouldn’t, and then began to suck in earnest.

            He’d once known how to do this, and it came back to him as he moved his mouth up and down, as he swirled his tongue, as he switched his hands into new positions continually, from stroling Draco’s stomach to touching his balls, to caressing just behind his cock, to reaching up and teasing at his arse, to squeezing it. Draco turned his head to the side, panting, and more feathers broke out over his skin, soft and fluttering, mottling his face and neck, and then popping out on his belly. Harry stirred his finger through them.

            Draco jerked in his mouth. The word that came out of his mouth started at first as Harry’s name, modulated into a croon, and became a helpless wail.

            Helpless. Harry was doing that to him.

            Power mingled with the pleasure, and the panic retreated, swept away on the same rising waves that made Harry suck harder and touch the feathers again, this time tweaking and pinching them between two fingers as he did the edge of Draco’s wing.

            He looked up, and Draco’s silver eyes caught and held him. Harry couldn’t look away from them, could barely swallow when Draco’s hips flexed up for the last time and he came.

            Draco lay back, wings spread out beneath him as a blanket, and extended a languid hand. Harry climbed on top of him, already yanking his trousers and pants down impatiently. Draco touched a finger to his cock, and Harry hissed; it was like being caressed by a gentle lightning storm. He’d probably put magic in his hands again, the bastard.

            “Thank you,” Draco whispered. “Made me feel so good. Going to make you feel so good.” His hand began to glide up and down.

            Harry joined in, wanking himself fast at first, but Draco shook his head, his smile bright and dazed and mysterious, and Harry slowed down. He would have liked to watch, but he didn’t catch more than a glimpse or two, because it was so hard to take his eyes from Draco’s face.

            The pleasure that stabbed through him wasn’t as brilliant as the orgasm that had consumed him when Draco marked him, but it still made his mark throb and his breath come out in little stabbing pants. Draco caught him and kissed him as he crumpled, cradling Harry in both arms. His wings twitched once, but Harry shook his head.

            He did think, though, that with a bit more practice, he might be able to bear even that.

            In the meantime, he had something important to say, and levered himself up on his elbows, peering down at Draco. Draco, who had started to speak, stopped and frowned at him.

            “It’s nothing bad,” Harry reassured him. “It’s just that I love you.”

            Draco crooned before he took Harry’s mouth almost viciously, and hours later Harry was still hearing it, that sound that filled the air with the motion of light and the shimmer of bells.

*

            SP777: That’s a good description of it. And I’m sure Draco is also glad they started early!

            qwerty: Thanks! I’m glad you’re enjoying it.

            nette: Thank you! Harry’s life will be a lot healthier in general now that he’s working with Draco and trying not to obsess over being an Auror, I think.

            polka dot: Not sure what you mean?

            Night the Storyteller: Yes, and more parts here.

            dannigurl: Thanks! I could definitely understand frustration, though, since it’s a very long story.
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