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A Year's Temptation	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 28515 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-A Year of Temptation
- 2-February
- 3-March
- 4-April
- 5-May
- 6-June
- 7-July
- 8-August
- 9-September
- 10-October
- 11-November
- 12-December
- 8
- 9
- 10
Thank you again for all the reviews on the other chapters!

Chapter Nine—September

            Harry growled and tried to wrench his mind away from brooding on the latest letter Ginny had sent him, so that he stood a chance of focusing on his latest interrogation of Alecto Carrow. He’d learned nothing new, but Kingsley was, as yet, reluctant to hand the former Death Eaters over to the Wizengamot for sentencing. He thought they could still learn something from them, if they only, as he put it to Harry, concentrated.

            But Harry couldn’t concentrate.

            Ralph came into the office, quietly nudging the door open with his shoulder—his hands were fully occupied with a cup of tea and a sandwich—and then nudging it shut again. He and the other Aurors of the Hermes Corps had learned the hard way not to startle Harry with loud noises in the past few weeks.

            Harry stared at the parchment in front of him. He had to describe Alecto’s nonsensical mumbling and murmuring in terms that would make it sound substantial, impressive, illuminating.

            Instead, words swam into his head.

            Harry, please listen to me. You can’t know how much it alarms me that you’re listening to Malfoy. I feel like I’m losing you forever, and I would give anything to hang on. I do love you. I won’t turn myself into a sacrifice for your sake, a helpless pawn whose husband is free to do whatever he wishes, but I do love you.

            Harry swallowed once and determinedly wrote a few words on the report. He had to consider what he wanted, especially given that he hadn’t seen Draco in some days now and the once automatic idea that he wanted him to be part of his life had retreated. Of course, he hadn’t seen Ginny in longer than that, and there was no reason that he needed to give in to what she wanted, either.

            He wished there was someone he could go to for advice, though Draco would probably tell him that this was the kind of choice he needed to make for himself.

            “Harry?”

            Grateful for any distraction at the moment, Harry turned in his chair.

            Ralph had put his tea and sandwich on his desk, and he examined Harry over his clasped hands. Then he said, “Look, mate, I’ll be forthright with you. No one knows what’s happened to you, but it’s affecting your work, and our ability to work with you. If it’s something you can’t help, tell us now, and we’ll be happy to help you. If it’s something that you can change, for God’s sake, do something and change it.”

            “How much of that speech did you copy from Tonks?” Harry asked.

            Ralph flushed, then cleared his throat. “Most of it,” he said. “I—well, Harry, damn it, what is bothering you, beyond the separation from Ginny? I saw what you looked like in the days after that. It isn’t the same this time, but sweet Merlin, you’re snappish.”

            “I know,” Harry said, and sighed. “Look. I still can’t tell you everything about this.” Ginny had given him permission, but Draco had sent him a letter with several key words underlined, so that Harry would understand that under no circumstances did he give his permission for Harry to reveal the full truth to Ralph. It would have to happen at some point, but Draco wanted to be in control when it did. “Let’s just say that it involves the consequences of a magical accident, and no one’s happy right now.”

            “But can you improve your temper?” Ralph seemed bolder now that the initial difficulty was past, and he tore into his sandwich and spoke aggressively through a mouthful of bread and corned beef. “Enough that you don’t disrupt the day-to-day functioning of the Department, at least.”

            Harry took a deep breath and rubbed his forehead. The scar felt strange beneath his fingers. Sometimes he barely remembered that he had it, and then someone else would stare at him and whisper about Voldemort—never saying his name, of course, because that was a fear the wizarding world had never lost—and he would remember the war and—

            And none of this helped him.

            He gave Ralph a tired smile and said, “Yes. I’m trying to make a choice. Once I’ve made it, I’ll be calmer.” Though not necessarily happier.

            Ralph snorted into his food. “A choice between Ginny and someone else?” he asked, when he could breathe again.

            Harry scowled at him for being perceptive.

            “It’s no choice, no contest.” Ralph took a deep swallow of his tea. “If I were married to her, there’s no one I would rather look at for the rest of my life, or wake up next to. It pains me to do this, but because I am naturally selfless, I’ll give you some advice for free, Harry. Choose her. She’s the only one who ever made you smile regularly.” He leaned forwards. “It’s perfectly obvious that something happened to you during the war that took away most of your capacity to be happy. And if Ginny is the person who cheers you up…can you really give that up?”

            “Maybe it’s not enough anymore.” Harry shrugged at him and turned back to his report. He really did need to finish it, and as much as he liked Ralph, trying to listen to him when he didn’t know the full toll of the situation wouldn’t help.

            But there was someone who did, and who, even if she was more on Ginny’s side, had proven that she could listen with sympathy to Harry.

            Harry smiled and relaxed. When he returned home, he’d owl Fleur, and see if she could meet with him.

*

            “Are you pleased with me, Draco?”

            Draco smiled and lightly touched Pansy’s hair. She crouched at his feet, holding out a large stack of wizarding photographs that all too clearly showed him and Harry entwined on a bed, moving around each other like hungry sharks. “Of course I am,” he said. “You’ve done very well, darling.” He Levitated the photos into the air with a nonverbal spell and then cast Incendio. They burned in seconds, so strong was the heat of his anger.

            “I’m so glad,” Pansy said, and leaned her head against his knee. “So glad,” she repeated, with a faint sob catching in her voice.

            Draco watched her from half-lidded eyes. The books on Veela and the proper exercise of their powers had been right. Pansy showed all the symptoms of someone Veela-stricken. The only cure would be for her to remove herself completely from Draco’s presence and never have any contact with him again for the rest of her life. She could still take revenge if he let her go too soon, of course, so Draco would keep her near him and bend her mind a bit more.

            It wouldn’t damage her completely. It would embarrass her horribly in public and leave her longing for him—neither of which Draco minded—but she could still lead a sane life when apart from him.

            It wasn’t, Draco told himself as he reached down and helped her to her feet, as if he were doing anything wrong. He now suspected, from the reading he’d done, that Pansy had succumbed in part to the Veela allure even before he turned it fully on her. She never should have moved so suddenly and openly, nor been so stupid as to tell him of the existence of those pictures. She should either have tried a subtler threat that would unnerve him or simply published the photos without the excuse of blackmail.

            But her actions matched perfectly with the books’ description of someone drunk on too much allure, determined to possess the Veela she was drawn to even if it resulted in danger for herself. Remembering some of the dangerous and stupid things he’d seen people at Hogwarts do when the Veela girls had visited from Beauxbatons, Draco supposed he couldn’t really be surprised.

            Of course, Pansy had not yet completely lost her mind, though she spent a good deal of her time crouching at Draco’s feet and no longer asked him for sex. She still reacted with jealousy to any mention of Harry, and Draco hadn’t persuaded her to tell him where every single cache of photos was; she spoke of wanting the ones she still had as “mementoes.” A few more weeks, then, before he could end this completely.

            But it was not far away.

            Draco stroked her hair, and smiled.

*

            “’arry.” A genuine smile lit Fleur’s face as she opened the door of the small, neat house she shared with Bill in the wizarding part of Calais for him. “I am glad you could come ‘ere. A moment?” She waited for Harry’s nod, then turned and called into the house in French, apparently telling an elf to bring Roxane.

            Harry looked around. Fleur considered it barbarity to live in a house in which one could see the walls. Every single inch of them seemed covered—with photos of herself, Bill, Roxane, and other silver-haired people Harry assumed were members of her family; with odd but harmless objects of stone and wood that Bill had accumulated in the course of his curse-breaking; with rare butterflies and tiny animals like miniature dragons pinned under glass. Harry had been here before, but he never seemed to come to the end of what there was to see.

            A pair of small, pounding footsteps hurried up the entrance hall, and then Harry knelt to catch Roxane as she launched herself at him from several feet away. He let out a little oomph as she landed, then staggered to regain his balance. She clung like a starfish, as usual, pressing her face into his neck and saying something that might have been his name in a soft voice.

            Harry stroked Roxane’s hair and looked up to see Fleur reappear at the end of the hall, shaking her head. She said a few words in French; Roxane only clung more tightly to Harry. Fleur sighed and motioned him on.

            “Bill is not ‘ere,” she said, when they sat on two pale chairs in the middle of a pale room dazzling with light through wide windows. The walls didn’t help add to the pale impression, however, since they were covered with photographs. A house-elf appeared with tea on a small silver plate, and Harry, an old hand at this, managed to shift Roxane so that he could balance her on one side of his lap while he drank. Roxane accepted a small confection the house-elf handed her, so covered with sugar that Harry couldn’t tell what it was supposed to be, and began eating it with small, neat bites. “I did not think you would wish to ‘ave ‘im ‘ear this.”

            “No,” Harry admitted, facing Fleur. She sat with her head on one side, studying him intently. “How do I say that I’m cheating on his sister and want to know if I should continue?”

            Fleur smiled, but her eyes were so intent that it looked less kindly than intimidating. “You ‘ave continued to visit Draco, then?”

            “Yes,” said Harry, wondering when she’d come to think of him as Draco. Roxane finished her sweet and tucked herself even closer to his side. Harry shifted his hold on her so that he could stroke her hair again. It slid over his fingers, so soft that it made him have to close his eyes for a moment. He wondered if he should be grateful or not that he and Ginny hadn’t managed to have children yet.

            Yet, or ever?

            “That is good,” said Fleur softly. “I believe that eet needs to ‘appen, ‘arry.”

            Harry frowned and opened his eyes. “I don’t understand why,” he said honestly. “After all, if we’d managed to hold to the terms of the original bargain, then nothing would have changed.”

            Fleur smiled, and Harry was startled to catch a glimpse of the bright silver light in her eyes that he’d sometimes seen in Draco’s when the Veela side was uppermost in him. “You believe so?” she breathed. “You think that you can ‘ave shared a bed with someone else and not come to think of ‘im, to dream of ‘im?”

            “I would certainly try not to,” Harry began.

            Fleur lifted an imperious hand, and Harry fell silent to let her speak. She had an affectionate smile on her face, at least, so he didn’t think she would say anything too terrible.

            “Many wizards think that you can control attraction,” she said, “even as they say, aloud, that you cannot. They do not like eet when they find themselves attracted to someone—ah—inappropriate. They make fidelity to one’s spouse not a matter of body and soul, but a matter of ‘eart, too, as though thinking about someone else meant the same thing as cheating.” She made a soft disgusted sound. “And they live in a world where magic often changes such things, where there are Unforgivable Curses and love potions and magical creatures to tell them that they are not all-powerful. Ah! Such foolishness.

            “Sometimes things simply ‘appen. Sometimes you cannot change them.” She leaned forwards, and Harry wasn’t sure he could have looked away from her at Draco, were he in the room. “No one likes to ‘ear this, ‘arry. But eet is true. Perhaps some people could have stayed exactly the same and been the same at the end of a year. But that you could not is no shame. What would be a shame is lying to Ginny, and yourself, and ‘im. You are ‘uman. That is all.”

            “Maybe that’s what gave me trouble,” Harry confessed to Roxane’s forehead. He could feel a weight slowly lifting off his soul, as though he’d been trapped under a fallen soul and someone had finally Levitated the wall pinning him down. “I thought I should be more than human. I’ve been able to be for so long. Bad things have happened to me, but I lived with them.”

            “Ah,” said Fleur. He looked up to see that she had calmed a bit, her face creased in a gentle smile. “And this demands that you do more than live with eet. This calls for you to engage with eet, to live in eet.”



            “Yes, exactly.” Harry flexed his wrists. “And I suppose you can’t tell me whether you think I ought to choose Ginny or Draco?”

            He meant it as a joke, but Fleur answered quietly, “I ‘ave spoken to many people mated to Veela, ‘arry. I look at one every time I glance at my ‘usband. You ‘ave that look, of someone who ‘as already chosen.”

            Harry swallowed, and carefully leaned back in the chair. “I don’t know if that’s what I want.”

            “I think you do.”

            Harry snorted, his defensiveness rising again. “And what am I supposed to say to Ginny? That I gave up on her without a fight? That I—“

            “What ‘ave you done these months, but fight?” Fleur cut him off calmly. “If you ‘ave chosen, it will be more truthful to speak to ‘er about eet. I will be sorry to see her ‘urt, yes, but eet is inevitable at this point, and if she knows that she ‘as no chance of winning you back, she can ‘eal sooner.”

            “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that,” Harry muttered. He could feel a crawling disgust in his belly, and though he knew it was disgust mostly with himself, he couldn’t bring himself to say outright that he chose Draco. He didn’t even like Draco a good portion of the time, still. How could he want to spend the rest of his life with him? And thanks to the consequences of a full bonding, it would have to be that. Harry had done some reading of his own. Once he had sex with Draco—

            Malfoy—

            —he would be impotent with anyone else, as would Draco. So he should consider this more carefully than he had even the initial decision about what he could do to save the other wizard’s life.

            Maybe he needed to see him again, and visit Ginny, as well. Maybe that would help him make up his mind.

            And since he hadn’t given her a satisfactory answer to her last letter, and because he also suspected it would be the harder task, he should visit Ginny first.

            “Thank you, Fleur,” he said, and put down his teacup on the tray the house-elf held ready. “I don’t think you’re right about my final choice, because I have no idea if having Draco permanently as a part of my life would make me happy, but you’ve helped calm me and clear my head.”

            Fleur gave a slight nod. “Good.” She held her arms out for Roxane, who had fallen asleep, and stirred only to murmur an unintelligible word as her mother took her. “And, ‘arry?”

            He paused on his way out of the room to look at her.

            “You are a good man,” Fleur said quietly. “I know that.” She kissed her daughter’s hair. “But there is more than one person’s ’appiness at stake ‘ere. Choose wisely, do not delay too long, and choose what your ‘eart thinks is right, rather than something that will ‘urt no one. There is no choice like that, not now.”

*

            Draco chuckled as he read Harry’s letter again, and leaned back against the wall behind him, almost tempted to spread his wings here and stretch them, despite the questions he would have to answer from his teammates. Harry had said that he wanted to talk to Draco tomorrow, in the Phoenix’s Nest. Perhaps he had heard from his wife or his sister-in-law that that was the same restaurant they had met in, perhaps not. If it was coincidence, that only made it better.

            Draco had determined to wait for Harry to request his presence. Pressing him would only make him run faster and farther, at this point. And respect for his free will would coax him in more than making demands, the way that the little Weasley was probably doing.

            He had grown impatient, of course. Who wouldn’t? The Veela’s presence weighed like a boulder on the back of his mind sometimes, staining every daydream he had. But it had not surpassed his capacity to endure, nor his silent promise to himself not to let Harry control every nuance of their interaction.

            And in the end, the risk had paid off.

            “Malfoy! You have a reason, I suppose, for dawdling about on the ground when the rest of the team is on their brooms?”

            Draco faced Branwen with a small smirk. Usually she could bring his mood crashing with a few words; she wasn’t particularly witty, but she had a loud, barking voice that made it impossible to concentrate on whatever he was thinking of. Now, however, he could not mind even her.

            “I just received a letter from my wife,” he said, with a straight face, save for the widening of his eyes and a slight blush. “You know how much in love we are. I couldn’t resist contemplating it one more time.”

            Branwen stared at him. Then she snorted. “You’re taking me for someone who hasn’t met your wife.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Now, on your broom, and perhaps I’ll consider not making you fly in the middle of the storm coming this afternoon.”

            Draco went to fetch his broom. Branwen had disliked Pansy on sight, of course, the way Pansy had her. They both wanted to control everyone around them, and consequently they couldn’t coexist in the same room without entering into arguments. That worked to his advantage, now, as did the streak of games during which he’d played brilliantly. Branwen was resistant to manipulation that attempted to get on her good side, because she didn’t have one, but not to honest talent and to what she would think was sympathy due Draco for his awful marriage.

            Draco intended to have an intense match, and to write a letter accepting the invitation to Harry tonight. Let him wait at least a few hours for a reply, anxiously scanning the sky for Draco’s owl. It was only fair.

*

            Harry tightened his fingers on the cup of tea for a moment. Then he put it down on the table and folded his hands behind his head. What he really didn’t want to do was give Ginny any idea that he was nervous.

            Except, of course, that you are, and she knows you well enough that she’s probably going to sense it.

            Harry swallowed twice, and cast Tempus, even though he’d done that only five minutes ago and thus knew perfectly well what the time was. Five minutes until she was supposed to arrive, of course. Harry chewed his lip and faced the fireplace again, glad, for once, that he’d never bothered to redecorate the house or make it more cheerful. There was no place more comfortable than the kitchen, and thus he wouldn’t be tempted to put the confrontation off by inviting Ginny into another room.

            The fire flared, and turned green. Harry drew a deep breath and tapped his foot against the chair, then made himself stop. He didn’t know that Fleur was right. It could be that this confrontation would heal the mistakes that lay between him and Ginny, and end with her agreeing to move back in with him.

            You know it won’t.

            Harry shushed the voice that had no right to be talking in his head, and moved forwards to take Ginny’s arm and help her up so that she didn’t stumble coming out of the fireplace. She smiled at him, but drew back as soon as she could, retreating delicately to the other side of the table to put some space between them. Harry found himself just as glad. The film of sweat and dirt that seemed to appear on his fingers whenever he touched anyone but Draco was particularly strong with Ginny; he had to fight the temptation to Summon a cloth and wipe his hands on it.

            “How are you?” he asked.

            Ginny faced him in silence for a long moment. Her face was thin and pale, like a seashell. Her bright eyes looked washed of color, as though someone had scooped all the emotion out of them, and her hands opened and closed in what looked like habitual nervous motions—though she’d never shown them when she lived with him. She answered in a voice that did not tremble, however. “Well enough. Do you have some tea for me?”

            Harry Summoned the cup he’d set aside earlier, and filled it with tea that had stood hot under a warming charm. Ginny murmured thanks and sipped it, never taking her eyes from him.

            Harry wondered idly who would sit down first, then decided that he should do the honors. He wasn’t afraid of his wife. He didn’t need to be on his feet to face her. He drew his chair out and settled into it.

            Ginny stayed standing.

            Harry folded his hands behind his head again and cleared his throat loudly, which seemed akin to smashing a delicate, beautiful thing. “I asked you here today to—to see what would happen when we spoke, really. Owling each other isn’t the same thing.” He paused for a moment, to see what she would say, but she evidently had nothing prepared. He soldiered forwards. “You’ve seen the mark on my neck. You know that Draco keeps asking more and more of me. Given those circumstances, do you want to fight for this, or do you want to—“

            “Harry.”

            He shut up. Ginny put her cup down on the table with precise movements, then leaned forwards and stared at him.

            “This doesn’t address the difficult things between us,” she said. “You know it does not. There are certain things I need to know, and I suspect you must want to know them equally badly.”

            The back of Harry’s neck prickled, the way it did when he entered a battlefield and could not immediately tell where his enemies hid. He inclined his head. He did not think he could have looked away from her if he tried.

            “Why did you go to Malfoy when I sent you a letter asking you not to?” Ginny smoothed her fingers up and down her palm, never looking away from him, either. Harry thought she must have hidden her emotions better, however, because he had never felt so raw and flayed in his life. “You knew he wouldn’t die this time. Tell me, have you become addicted to his touch?”

            “I went because you had no right to ask me to stay away from him,” Harry answered, his voice rough.

            Ginny twisted her wedding ring.

            “You have a right to ask many things of me,” Harry said. “But not—that. Not to leave another human being in pain when there was something I could have done to prevent it.”

            “Not even when leaving another human being in pain would have meant being faithful to your wife?” Ginny asked, her voice rising just slightly. “Not when you couldn’t rescue him or give him sanctuary or stop him from bleeding, but had to have sex with him to stop the pain?”

            Harry licked his lips and took a moment to breathe before he answered. “Not even then.”

            Ginny closed her eyes. Then she said, “I always did say that what I loved best about you was your ability to do the right thing.”

            Harry nodded, even though he knew she didn’t see it.

            “But this—“ Ginny opened her eyes. They shimmered with tears. Harry quelled the instinctive impulse to go to her. This had to play out a certain way, and unless they both made the effort to cross the distance between them, it couldn’t be crossed. “This is too much. Why are you doing this, Harry? What makes him so important, so special, to you?” She exhaled sharply. “Are you in love with him?”

            Be honest. Search as deeply as you can. That impulse made Harry restrain his immediate negative answer.

            “I don’t know,” he said.

            Ginny smiled bitterly. She might have looked terrible, an avenging fury, except that her eyes were still full of tears. “A fine thing,” she said, “to destroy what we have for the sake of an uncertainty.”

            Unless we both make the effort to cross the distance between us, it can’t be crossed. Harry supposed the moment had come for him to be as honest as possible; Ginny had made all the effort in the conversation so far.

            “I can’t just ignore this anymore,” he began, carefully, feeling his way forwards as though he walked on dragons’ eggs. “I can’t forget what’s happened in the last few months, as much as I want to at times. And those things—well, I do have a bond connecting me to Draco. Not the Veela bond,” he added hastily, when he saw Ginny’s eyes widening. “But an emotional bond.”

            “It’s so fragile,” Ginny whispered. “So little, compared to what we have. Isn’t it, Harry?”

            Be honest. “No,” Harry said. “No, Ginny, I don’t think it is.”

            She closed her eyes and swallowed with a thick, damp sound. “And why?” she asked. “What does he mean to you, that you want to give up everything that we have for him?”

            “I don’t know that that’s what I want yet,” Harry corrected. “But I think that’s what probably will happen, unless something changes in the course of this conversation.”

            He felt so strange. No weight had lifted off his soul, the way it had while he talked with Fleur, but at least something had changed. Maybe it was more like a frozen river breaking up, he thought. He didn’t know that things would end up better than they had been, he didn’t know where the flood would carry him, but things were moving, at last.

            Ginny laughed, and then stopped, probably because even she could hear how horrible the sound was. “So you might end our marriage, only to find out that you ended it for nothing,” she said.

            “Not nothing,” said Harry. “At least I’ll have the knowledge that neither you nor Draco are right for me.”

            “If this hadn’t happened,” Ginny persisted, eyes still shut, “we could have lived out the rest of our lives in happiness.”

            “Contentment, at least,” Harry said, watching Ginny and thinking of how honest they had been—except that he was always the one who had to raise the topic and speak the secret first—and how happy they had been—except much of that had ended when they couldn’t have sex any longer—and how attached they had been to each other—except that seemed to have withered the moment he gave Draco any sort of serious attention. “Yes, I think we could have.”

            “If it hadn’t happened—“

            “But it did.”

            Ginny shook her head violently. “Why should just one thing change everything?”

            “I really wish I did know that,” said Harry, and he leaned across the table to take her hand, because by this time he could and he thought she needed it. “But if it hadn’t been this, maybe it would have been something else. There’s no way to know, Gin. This is what life brought us, and that’s what we’ll have to live with.”

            She ripped her hand away from his and turned her back on him. Harry remained still, though, because he didn’t think she would appreciate him approaching her now. He watched her shoulders shake in silence, and licked his lips. His eyes stung, but he didn’t weep. The feeling of relief and release and freedom was still too great.

            “I love you,” she said.

            Harry closed his eyes. “I know. I love you, too. But it isn’t enough any more.”

            “What if I had never asked you to abandon Malfoy?” Ginny twisted her head to look at him. “I can take it back, Harry.” Her voice had grown frantic. “I know you would never want to hurt someone else. It’s one of the things I love about you. Please. Will it be better if I said I didn’t mean it?”



“No,” Harry said, “because you did mean it at the time.” He stood now and crossed to her, taking her hands in his. “And if you said that now, it would be a betrayal of yourself. You were right when you said to me in June that you deserve something better than a husband who always does the right thing at a great expense to you—someone who’s not self-righteous or a martyr. I hope you do find him, Gin. You deserve to be happy.”

            Ginny whispered, “You’re not a martyr all the time.”

            “But enough to upset you.” Harry gently rubbed her back. “I don’t think it’s something I can change as long as I’m still married to you.” He kissed her cheek. “It would always be between us, and so would the memory of what I shared with Draco in his bed. I’m sorry, Ginny, I really am. This is the end.”

            She held onto his arm for a moment, tight enough to make impressive dents in his skin. Then she slowly loosened her fingers and pulled away. She walked to the Floo without looking back, and vanished into the flames with a single call of, “The Burrow!”

            It was only when Harry looked away from the fireplace—it took him several minutes—that he realized she had left her wedding ring on the table. He hesitated for a long moment, then took off his own and laid it beside hers.

            It was ridiculous, how much better that simple act made him feel.

*

            Draco waited in a private room at the back of the Phoenix’s Nest, a much more spacious one than Weasley had managed to secure. He had specified a large table, a meal full of delicacies that Harry probably hadn’t ever tasted, and a set of linked wineglasses they could share with one another. There was also a large bed in one corner, but Draco had hidden that under a glamour. If Harry wanted to use it, they’d use it. Otherwise, best to pretend that sex had not been uppermost in his mind.

            Besides, it really wasn’t. The chance to see Harry again was.

            One of the staff showed Harry in a few minutes later. Draco stood when he saw him, and claimed his hand for a kiss. He noticed something different as he ran his lips over Harry’s skin, making him shiver, but couldn’t confirm it until he lifted his head.

            Harry didn’t wear his wedding ring.

            A pulse of such explosive joy moved up through Draco’s chest that he thought it would make him faint when it reached his head. He licked his lips and managed to step away from Harry with a sharp effort. He motioned him to the other side of the table. “Shall we begin the meal?”

            Harry uttered a frustrated sound and grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in close so that he could kiss Draco’s mouth.

            Draco went stiff in utter surprise; he couldn’t remember Harry being this aggressive. Before he could recover, Harry had flicked his wand and removed the glamour charm on the bed.

            “Knew it was there for a reason,” Harry whispered to him, and started to shove him backwards.

            Draco went willingly, breathless with need, feeling the Veela stir in the back of his head and send daydreams like bubbles skittering through his head. He wanted to see what would happen with Harry in charge.

            Harry didn’t waste time. A few waves of his wand sent their clothes flying to the other side of the room, and then he pushed Draco flat on his back and climbed on top of him. He groaned, a sound of surprise as much as of want, and murmured, “God, I missed this,” before he went back to biting Draco’s jaw.

            Draco curved an arm up around Harry’s neck and tilted his head back encouragingly, letting those eager lips reach anywhere they could. He panted, but he wasn’t lost in the same half-angry arousal that seemed to be consuming Harry. He had a somewhat clear head, and what he knew was that they’d reached a turning point. If Harry had rounded it first, he was at least intent on dragging Draco after him.

            Harry groaned again, but this time it sounded more frustrated than anything else. He pulled back and demanded, “What are you waiting for? Touch me.”

            Draco ran a slow hand up Harry’s chest. Harry grunted softly, and lowered his head into Draco’s neck. Draco tilted his head again, this time for a kiss, and lifted his legs, wrapping them around Harry’s waist and, incidentally, bringing their erections together. He made sure to have an expression of complete surprise on his face the next time Harry looked, as if that had been an accident.

            If Harry looked. At the moment, he was slack-jawed and shut-eyed in pleasure. “Oh,” he said throatily, and bucked his hips, forcing them together and Draco into his own rush of dizziness. “That’s—that’s—oh. Mmm.” And then he rolled himself over in a motion Draco hadn’t known was possible, and began to rock up and down on top of him insistently.

            Draco helped as much as he could from his limited position, shifting teasingly, caressing Harry’s spine, now and then moving a leg so that it looped higher or lower and adjusted their posture. Harry barely spoke recognizable words, but murmured an endless array of half-ones into his ear as he bucked and twisted and pushed and rubbed and in a variety of other ways tried to take his pleasure.

            The Veela was awake and vibrating like a plucked harp now, so happy that Draco couldn’t even understand its dreams. And then he felt Harry jerk violently against him and ceased to care about that.

            For the first time, Harry wasn’t holding back, and his letting go wasn’t a result of Draco’s using the claiming mark or the wings on him. Instead, he simply wanted to have sex, and he cried out as if he didn’t care who heard. He slammed his hips into Draco’s several times, his orgasm the most important thing in the world to him, and then slumped down, breathing heavily.

            Only for a moment, of course. Then he rolled off Draco, propped himself on his side, and reached for his erection.

            Draco clasped his own hand around Harry’s, and they stroked in time. Draco didn’t watch Harry pulling at him, however, even though it had to be one of his favorite sights. He couldn’t look away from Harry’s green eyes, so intense on him that the gaze physically hurt.

            Just before he came, Harry leaned over and kissed him, driving his lips into his teeth.

            Draco shuddered and soaked his own stomach, adding to the puddle of come Harry had deposited there. His limbs still vibrated from the aftershocks, and as he lay there, trying to catch his breath, he felt a deep smugness. Harry might pretend they meant nothing to each other but a quick opportunity for a grope, but the lie was there in the way he’d kissed Draco.

            The way he was still kissing him, as a matter of fact, lazily toying with his hair and nipping at his jaw.

            Draco leaned up and kissed him back, more than happy to join with him in equal partnership again, more than happy to wait a moment to cast the cleaning charms, more than happy about everything.

*

            Harry couldn’t stop smiling in satisfaction, and now and then peeking at Draco to check that the bites he’d given him, small, rich red marks up and down his jaw and throat, were still in place. He’d come in wanting sex, the way he’d often come home from work when he still lived with Ginny, and he’d had it without hesitating and constantly asking permission first, without being persuaded or compelled into it by the Veela or Malfoy’s own need, and without more than a slight feeling of guilt about the bond he’d shared with Ginny until recently.

            He felt more relaxed than he had in weeks. Of course, now that he thought back on it, the source of his bad moods seemed obvious. He usually sated himself with Ginny when he felt like that, and she, as strong and as fond of sex as he was, had proven herself a willing partner. Harry didn’t have her anymore, though, and he’d hesitated to take such liberties with Draco.

            Until today.

            And judging by the heavy-lidded look Draco gave him, and the way he insisted on feeding Harry everything—even a plate of fish so flaky it crumbled apart on his fork before it could make the necessary journey to Harry’s mouth—he’d enjoyed it as well.

            “You’ve spoken with Weasley?” he murmured into Harry’s ear as they sipped wine from an odd pair of connected glasses, which really worked best when they hooked their wrists together.

            “Yes,” Harry said. He took a moment to enjoy the shiver that traveled through him as Draco breathed on the fine hairs inside his ear. “And it’s over. She even accepts that it’s over, though she wasn’t happy about it.”

            Draco paused a moment, eyes widening. Harry knew he’d noticed the absence of his wedding ring, but he supposed that the other man hadn’t had much time to think about that. He laughed softly.

            The next moment, Draco had dug a hand into his hair and was trying to push him flat—except that he couldn’t seem to decide between the table, crowded though it still was with food, or the floor. Harry lifted his arms and wrapped them around Draco, laughing again, more than willing to have another go. His cock twitched in interest, and he twisted his head to find Draco’s lips, delight and a sense of heady freedom coursing through him.

            He had Auror instincts to thank—and specifically Kingsley’s training—that, distracted as he was, he still heard the distinct click of a locking spell.

            Harry felt his power flare. He rolled, shoving Draco to the floor beneath him, and kicked the leg of the table, which knocked his wand off the top and sent it towards him. He caught it in a moment and forced himself not to think about the fact that he was fighting naked. It didn’t matter. He’d done harder things.

            He stood, keeping himself between Draco and the door, and saw the cloaked figure he’d encountered two times already, this time with another wizard behind him, also heavily cloaked. Harry narrowed his eyes. “You need help to handle me this time?” he asked mildly. He wasn’t surprised that it had taken his enemy this long to recover from his bone-shattering curse, nor that he had come back anyway. He had seemed to be the persistent type.

            The second wizard didn’t speak, but the nearer one pushed his hood back, revealing the face of a man Harry had thought was dead. He blinked a moment. Mulciber had died in the failed raid on Azkaban, in which Narcissa Malfoy had also perished.

            No, Harry realized, as Mulciber held up his wand, you thought he perished. That Conflagration Curse they called down at the last was so intense that it prevented them from taking count of the bodies. Mulciber could have disguised himself as someone else, or even as a corpse, and escaped.

            But Mulciber, though powerful enough to hurl the curses that had come at Harry in June and August, was in no way powerful enough to hurl the ball of wild magic that Harry had tried so desperately to absorb in July. And Harry cursed himself for not realizing that earlier about his enemy—that what he faced was probably the lieutenant of a much more dangerous wizard, who had lent his power to Harry’s immediate enemy for that attack. After all, why would someone who could send wild magic after Harry waste time flying about in disguise on a broom?

            And Harry had known only one wizard who was both that powerful and supposedly dead—in the same raid on Azkaban that had supposedly killed Mulciber.

            “Snape,” he snarled, and Mulciber cast the Imperius Curse.

            Harry was so enraged that he threw it off without even hesitating, and then started to step forwards, before he remembered Draco behind him, just as naked as he was and far more vulnerable. He moved back again, cast a variant of the Shield Charm that would cover Draco, and then leaped at Snape. He was the more dangerous, the one Harry had to kill before he could be safely stopped.

*

            Draco stared for long moments after the Shield Charm went up. His mind was so confused that he thought he understood exactly why Harry’s enemies had decided to attack while they were both naked. He vaguely recognized the man with his hood pulled back as someone who had been at Death Eater meetings, but he didn’t recall his name. He saw the man cast the Unforgivable, Harry shake it off like water, and heard Harry say, “Snape,” in what seemed to be the same moment.

            Severus? Draco stared in turn at the other impassive, cloaked figure. He made an Unbreakable Vow to protect me. Why would he be here, hunting Harry like this?

            He tried to take a step forwards, and that was when he ran into an impossibly strong Shield Charm and realized what Harry had done.

            And then the Veela reared up violently, because its mate was in danger and, so far as it was concerned, Draco couldn’t take care of Harry by himself.

            Draco felt his wings slide into being, shaking out of his shoulders like flags stirred by the wind, and he screamed, the full-throated screech of an attacking Veela. The Death Eater, who was turning to cast a curse at Harry’s back, whipped around to face him, his eyes painfully wide. Draco crouched, then pushed off from the floor, using his wings to guide himself between the edge of the Shield Charm and the ceiling.

            He couldn’t really fly, but he could glide, and his rage and his instincts carried him into the Death Eater with another scream. He clasped his wings to his sides as he came down. He knew exactly what he needed to do; the Veela’s thoughts were his, the daydreams it gave him happening at the same time as his attacks.

            Magic brewed along his flanks, burned against his ribs, and built up like heat trapped under blankets. The man beneath Draco was trying to lift his wand, but Draco noticed that and sent a concentrated blast of the allure at him. At once, his hand sagged, and a silly smile crossed his face.

            Draco lifted his wings.

            Blue-white power, a wave of light and fire too radiant to look at, rushed from under his wings and struck the Death Eater from either side, making him jerk and scream and try ineffectively to cover himself. Then his limbs froze and shriveled, as if the fire was also lightning, and he seemed to fall in on himself. When Draco, blinking, could see properly, he realized the intense heat had reduced the man to nothing more than a fine gray powder.

            On an ordinary day, he would have paused to gape in shock. But on an ordinary day, his mate wasn’t in danger.

            He turned as much as the confined space would allow him and looked at Severus. If he could find out what the man was doing there—if he could somehow soothe the dispute between him and Harry, whatever it had originated in—

            And then he realized his mother was there, standing between him and Severus, her hands extended and the expression on her face lovely and sweet and soft.

            “Mum?” he whispered, and shivered to realize how much he sounded like a child. His wings trembled, on the verge of collapse.

            “Draco,” she said softly. “I came with Severus. It’s been too dangerous to show my face for the past several years. They would have tried me and put me in Azkaban, the way they did your father.” She slid to her knees. “Will you forgive me, please? Forgive me and welcome me back into your life?”

            Draco’s vision blurred with the rapidity of his breath.

*

            Snape had lost none of his talent with a wand in the years since Harry had last seen him, he had to admit. Even in the confined space of the restaurant, and with the young man he had nearly given his life to protect close by, he sent nasty curses with consummate skill, and refused to step back into the wall or door or some other corner that would have given Harry an advantage over him as far as maneuvering went. Nor did he waste his breath on taunts. In that, he had changed, and it was not a change for the better.

            Harry whirled aside from a black line of fire that he didn’t recognize, and grimly countered with a Blasting Curse that was swatted aside. Then he saw movement off to the side, and Snape muttered a spell Harry recognized at it. Praestigiae Cara, the Beloved Illusion.

            Then Draco’s voice said, “Mum?” and Harry, though unable to take his eyes off his opponent, knew whom he must see. He gritted his teeth. The force of Draco’s love and grief for his mother would make the illusion more solid, but the moment he touched it, he would be entirely under Snape’s power.

            Harry couldn’t let that happen.

            He rolled to the side before he considered what was going to happen, feeling only a slight cold mist as he passed through the illusion; he had not known Narcissa, so she was not solid to him. He pushed into Draco, sent him sprawling flat with his greater weight, and looked up in time to hear Snape muttering the end of a spell that he knew far too well.

            “Ardeo!” he said.

            Harry was far too aware of the position of his body, something Kingsley had taught them during training for the Hermes Corps. If he met Snape’s curse and deflected it, he would leave Draco vulnerable to whatever nonverbal spell Snape wanted to cast next; the snake was simply too fast. And if he remained still, there was a good chance that the Burning Dart would hurt Draco instead.

            He did the only thing he could, turning and wrapping himself fully around Draco, using his body as a shield.

*

            Draco didn’t understand. One moment he was moving towards his mother, the next moment he was on the floor with Harry on top of him—and not in a pleasant way, given that his elbow had landed in Draco’s gut. Draco coughed and pushed at him, trying to make him move.

            “Ardeo!”

            Harry twisted.

            Draco could still see over his shoulder, and so he saw the brilliant blast of flame from Severus’s wand—it had to be Severus, he knew that voice—strike Harry’s spine and burn a hole through his back, sending insistent tendrils of fire worming into his skin in search of the vital organs. Harry screamed, but he never relinquished his hold on Draco, probably so that the spell couldn’t hurt him. Indeed, his arms tightened nearly to the breaking point.

            And the Veela, stunned for a moment by Draco’s human grief, came roaring back.

            Draco screamed. His voice ripped higher and higher, so that Severus staggered and put his hands over his ears. He did not drop his wand, but it was a near thing.

            Draco snarled at his former mentor, feeling the heavy weight of wings settling on his shoulders. He would lift them in a moment, and then the fire would fly at Severus and burn him.

            His mate was hurt. His mate was hurt. Any stupid human should have known better than to do that.

            His mother had vanished, he noticed dimly. It was likely she had never really been there. But it barely mattered, in the face of what he would do to Severus in a moment.

            Perhaps Severus knew that, because he vanished. With the immediate danger gone, Draco calmed and could turn his attention to Harry, whose back was covered with an ugly red wound. He hadn’t lost any blood—the Burning Dart had cauterized the injury even as it cut into him—but he didn’t have long to live.

            Draco knew what he had to do. The Veela told him.

            He wrapped Harry in his arms and wings and lifted him easily. Then he Apparated straight to St. Mungo’s, ripping through the spells on the Phoenix’s Nest meant to prevent Apparition with scarcely a thought. Nor did it matter that they were naked. It mattered that he get his mate to the Healers this instant. Any secondary consideration could wait.

*

            Harry slowly opened his eyes. A white fuzz greeted him, and for long moments he wanted to panic, wondering if he had gone blind. But his limbs were too heavy to panic. The most he managed was a turn of his head to the side and a soft moan.

            In the next moment, Draco was there beside him. Harry couldn’t see much more than another blur of white, surrounded by blond, but he knew the touch on his cheek. He twitched his fingers feebly, wishing he could raise his hand and clasp the other man’s wrist.

            “Lie still, Harry,” Draco said, his voice oddly soft. “You won’t be standing up for quite a while. The Healers saved you, but you took heavy internal injuries. And the Burning Dart curse interacted with your magical aura to drive your power wonky.” He shook his head—at least, Harry thought that was what it meant when the white-blond blur moved back and forth. “Only you would manage to attract that much damage in the private room of a restaurant,” he muttered, his voice fond.

            Snape. Harry stiffened in anxiety, and started to sit up again. “I have to let Kingsley know—“

            “The Aurors do know,” Draco said, and now his voice was harsh. He shoved Harry flat again, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to show that he most definitely did not want Harry standing. “I told them when they showed up at St. Mungo’s because of a naked Veela holding a naked Auror and screaming at the Healers to do something.” One of his hands moved to Harry’s chest, covering his heart; the other flattened out over his lightning bolt scar. “I gave them every detail of the battle I could remember. They’ll look for Snape, now, and it’s unlikely that he can escape detection much longer. His greatest asset was that no one knew he was alive, and so they all assumed that a dangerous Potions master must be someone else, or a group.” Draco pressed down, as if he could impress on Harry the need to lie still through his touch alone. “He didn’t think I would be there, or else he believed that we wouldn’t leave the room alive. He was willing to kill me, or at least control me.”

            Harry tried to struggle again. “Mulciber—“

            “I killed him.”

            Harry froze. For a moment, far more than the memories of the battle, his mind was full of a sixteen-year-old Draco hesitating on top of the Astronomy Tower, his wand drooping, his face full of fear and pain and longing and disbelief.

            “I’m sorry,” he whispered, nuzzling into Draco’s hand and wishing he could see his face better.

            Draco’s voice was soft and astonished. “Whatever for?”

            “That you had to kill—“

            “Harry.” Draco leaned down towards him again, nestling his cheek against Harry’s. “The Veela made it easy. Mulciber was threatening you. Anyone who does that has to face me. Snape is just lucky that he managed to leave before I burned him with the same fire that killed Mulciber.”

            “But it isn’t fair that you should have had to do that.”

            Draco was silent for long moments, his palms smoothing Harry’s hair, chest, and neck. Then he murmured, “You’re right. It isn’t fair.” He sat back, and if Harry couldn’t see his face, he could at least hear his voice, which left him in no doubt whatsoever what Draco was feeling. “And if you had told me that you were in danger from the beginning, it might not have come to this.”

            Harry closed his eyes. Guilt was a familiar companion, but not this kind of guilt. Usually, he struggled under the impression that no matter what he did, it wouldn’t have been enough. During the war, he had felt he was useless if he could not prevent every death. While working as an Auror, he had wanted to save everyone, capture every criminal, or what was the use?

            But this—

            Here, he saw a clear and simple path he could have taken that would have resulted in Draco’s not having to kill, and in his not lying in a hospital bed, useless for God knew how many weeks. He should have told Draco or Kingsley about the first letter from Mulciber, and then he could have

            (suffered under protection)

            ensured that these other things didn’t happen. He hadn’t known they would happen, of course, but really, had he thought Draco would never find out about this? Had he thought he would be able to resist his enemy completely? After the attack in July, he should have known it was only luck, and probably the increased control of his magic that Draco’s Veela gave him, that had let him survive. There were many things that he should have done, and the only real way to make up for them was not to do them in the future.

            “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’re right. I should have told you.”

            Draco gave a low snarl, a sound of victory if Harry had ever heard one. He gripped Harry’s chin and tilted his head back. Harry opened his eyes again, and this time he could see Draco better, though he didn’t know if that was a function of his distance or his eyes actually clearing.

            “Why did you keep it hidden?” he asked. “You never fully explained what happened. I agreed not to push you at the time, because I thought you needed your space, but now I don’t think this should be a secret.”

            Harry raised his hand and lightly stroked Draco’s wrist with his fingertips. Strange, strange, the way he didn’t feel the crushing dread of confession that he would have with Ginny. Telling his mistakes to her was worse than making them in the first place. But here, he actually wanted to tell Draco.

            “Part of it is what I already told you,” he said quietly. “I wanted something secret, something I didn’t have to tell. And part of it is that I feel alive when I’m risking my life. It’s one of the major reasons I became an Auror.” He managed a smile. “You probably guessed that, after the risks you saw me take at Quidditch.”

            “From now on,” Draco said, “remember that when you risk your life, you’re risking mine, too.”



            Harry licked his lips. The same odd lack of reluctance made him want to agree with Draco, but—“Being an Auror does involve an essential element of risk, Draco.”

            Draco’s arm slipped behind his shoulders, shifting him slightly so that he could take Harry’s lips in a deep kiss. Harry moaned and surrendered. The kiss sent currents of warmth flowing through him, and he relaxed and felt the mounting pain in his back and chest retreat.

            “There are older Aurors,” Draco whispered when he finished the kiss, his lips barely an inch from Harry’s. “I won’t prevent you from returning to work, but I do demand some consideration. No more insane risks like this one, Harry.” His hand shifted and flitted restlessly along Harry’s face, as if he feared what would happen should he let go. “Promise me.”

            Harry turned his head to the side and nuzzled against Draco’s arm. “I promise,” he said. It was remarkably easy. He wanted to give Draco the promise. That puzzled him mightily, but since it was the first clear and simple thing he could remember wanting in some time that wasn’t sex, he was inclined to obey the impulse.

            “Good,” Draco said, and sat back. “As for feeling alive, I believe I can solve that problem for you with the challenges of ordinary life, Harry.” His voice had deepened and turned grim. “It didn’t take long for word of our arrival at the hospital to spread, and once it came out that I was a Veela, well…it’s hit the papers that we’re lovers, Harry.”

            “Oh.” Harry blinked for a long moment. Then he said, “We’ll take that as it comes.”

            It was Draco’s turn to freeze. Harry couldn’t see why. Then he said, “Do you mean that?”

            “Yes, of course.” Harry let out a shaky breath. “I’m not ready to think about the full bonding yet, and I suppose something could happen to rip us apart, but… I’m fairly sure that this is what I want.”

            The next moment, Draco was kissing him again, this time so fiercely that Harry felt unable to do anything but tip his head back and go along for the ride. The joy he felt communicated itself through his lips, and Harry laughed in the back of his throat as he stroked the hair at the nape of Draco’s neck.

            “Go to sleep,” Draco said at last.

            Harry obeyed, and happily.

*

            Draco felt the Veela flapping around inside him like a swan in a small pool of water as he watched Harry sleep. He had been unconscious for nearly a week, and Draco had spent the time in and out of St. Mungo’s and Malfoy Manor, followed by the press wherever he went. He had had to soothe Pansy several times a day. He had had to play Quidditch when what he really wanted was to sit at Harry’s side. He had had to field several hysterical owls from Ginny Weasley. He had had to deal with the Aurors asking questions again and again, including far too many obviously willing to believe that he had somehow aided Severus and Mulciber in the attack on Harry. He had had to come to terms with the fact that his old mentor was alive and willing to kill his mate.

            But this moment—

            This moment was worth it.

            Draco clenched his hand on Harry’s arm and looked steadily at the face of the man he was, by now, utterly in love with. It was still too thin, too coated with shadows, and hiding secrets that Draco wanted to share. And he still hesitated on the brink of committing himself completely.

            But Harry was his as far as Draco was concerned. His patient coaxing and his respect for Harry’s free will had paid off.

            A Healer opened the door. “Mr. Malfoy, visiting hours are over, I’m afraid,” she said, politely but firmly.

            Draco smiled at her, and let the Veela allure shine through his cheeks and eyes. “Oh,” he said. “Just a moment more.”

            The Healer blinked dazedly, smiled back, and then murmured, “Yes, of course, you should have that,” and shut the door again, with exaggerated softness.

            Draco turned back to Harry and kissed him one more time, this time on his scar.

            He hadn’t predicted what would happen when the Potions accident took place, no, but he found himself more than satisfied with the results.

*

            Max Ikari: It’s definitely an equilibrium, and that will develop more as time goes on.

            Bookworm51485: I hope this chapter has answered some of your questions about the dynamics between Harry, Ginny, Draco, and Pansy.

            Argo_801: So far, both Harry and Draco have thought of Harry as bottom because both have been unable to imagine Draco as giving up control—and the Veela gives Draco certain urges and not others. But that is changing along with everything else, and even if Harry bottoms the first time they have sex, that doesn’t mean he would always do so.

            Night the Storyteller: Harry has not yet seen the full extent of what Draco has done to Pansy, so that’s still an unanswered question.
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A Year's Temptation

Chapter Nine—September