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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
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- 9
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Thank you again for all the reviews!

Chapter Nine—Dazed

            Harry eased forwards, his back to the wall. He realized that he probably didn’t need that much caution, but better to use it and not need it than the other way around.

            Besides, he knew that Ron and Draco would have disagreed with him.

            A sharp, small sound came from ahead, as though someone had just caught their breath. Harry froze at once, his heartbeat louder in his ears than anything else, which made him wish there was a spell that would make it quieter without stopping it.

            He was tracking Roland Yeary, a brewer of illegal potions who had recently moved into using Dark magic to harvest ingredients from humans. The reports in the file, from the times when the Aurors had dealt with Yeary before but had been forced to release him due to a lack of evidence, warned that he was dangerous and had “unknown capabilities,” including spells that had laid up Aurors for weeks and which the staff at St. Mungo’s didn’t know how to deal with. They’d had to let the magic fade away on its own.

            Harry knew Yeary was in this building, disguised as a hovel on the outside but a functional manor house beneath the illusion. He didn’t, though, know how prepared he might be or whether he knew anyone was tracking him.

            He waited, but the sound didn’t repeat itself. And Harry took heart from the fact that the files had said Yeary worked alone most of the time, without partners or pets or the guards that illegal brewers sometimes made by forcing their potions down the throats of innocents. After a count of fifty, which he hoped would give his heart time to calm down, Harry eased forwards again.

            A brilliant burst of light suddenly came from behind the corner.

            Harry moved immediately, ducking under it and rushing forwards. Yeary cried out, but the cry was muffled and ended when Harry hit him in the stomach with his shoulder. Yeary went down on the floor, and Harry leaped over him, turning, struggling to keep an eye on Yeary, retain his advantage of surprise, and look around the room all at once.

            There were already several cauldrons in progress on various tables, and another one nearby, draped with fingernails, hairs, and—other things. For a long moment, Harry looked at a whole flayed skin that he knew had been torn from the back of one of Yeary’s unwilling victims, and it seemed as though he could see nothing else.

            Then he glanced back at Yeary, a tall, sandy-haired man who had his mouth open and wand in hand, but cowered when Harry advanced on him.

            “Aurors,” Harry said briskly. “You are under arrest, Roland Yeary, for the crime of harvesting human ingredients for your potions from unwilling donors and using Dark magic. You have—”

            Yeary screamed as though someone had hit him and lashed out with his wand, a jerky, stiff-armed motion that Harry had never seen before.

            A blue spiral hit him in the middle of the stomach. Harry gave a breathy groan and folded up, but the pain wasn’t bad yet, and he had the time to cast Incarcerous before Yeary could Apparate out. Yeary thrashed and yowled, but Harry Disarmed him in the next moment—which he should have done first, he thought, blaming himself—and that was the end of that.

            Oh, God, he thought then, as the pain chewed into him and his skin began to peel back and the blood to flow. It felt as though he were being impaled on a great fork, the tines sinking deeper and deeper.

            It was bad.

            But going to St. Mungo’s would be a waste of time. Harry already knew that they didn’t know how to treat Yeary’s spells, and he wouldn’t be able to let them near him.

            So he continued throwing spells, making sure that Yeary was Stunned and gagged, and then taking out a Portkey that the Ministry had given him for emergencies. He crawled towards Yeary, blood spilling on the floor—but only a little as yet, he noted—and seized his arm with a shaky hand.

            The pain got worse.

            Harry grunted a little in surprise and spoke the command word that would activate the Portkey and was only known to the individual Auror who possessed it. They vanished into the familiar swirl, and Harry was content to know that at least he had done his duty, and he would get Yeary to the Ministry before he could hurt anyone else.

            Meanwhile, the pain got worse.

*

            Draco hissed, and tried not to think how much he sounded like a peacock. Then he threw his book to the floor and stood up to pace around his library. His attempt to instruct himself in Defense Against the Dark Arts and surpass what he had learned in Hogwarts—what little that was, he thought sourly—was not going well.

            He was restless, upset, unable to focus or concentrate, sick with dizziness. He didn’t know the cause. It had begun this afternoon and increased until the words on a book page seemed to dance in front of him, urging him to be up and doing something else.

            What something else, he didn’t know.

            I never do, he thought gloomily, and propped his chin up on his hand as he thought about it. He’d got like this before, but usually only when he thought about never having a partner. And then he would tell himself to cheer up, that he would find someone who loved him and for whom he could use his magic someday, and that did the trick. It certainly had when he got those fancies for a while after he stopped dating Pansy.

            Then Draco straightened, staring at the wall.

            I get this way when I think I won’t have a partner.

            He had never felt like this over Pansy, Draco thought, as he headed for the fireplace. But he didn’t think Pansy had ever been in life-threatening danger when he was dating her.

            He flung the powder into the fire and shouted Harry’s address. All the time, he was reassuring himself that it was nothing and Harry would probably resent Draco’s intrusion. It was silly to be intruding like this when he should have just kept his silly Veela self under control—

            The fire remained still and empty. Harry’s Floo connection wasn’t open.

            Draco caught his breath and closed his eyes. It doesn’t mean anything, he reassured himself. It doesn’t. You knew that he was going to be on a case, and he said that he would firecall you on Wednesday. It’s not Wednesday yet. You’re dealing with having a chosen one who didn’t approach you, who might never fall in love with you. It’s normal to have strange reactions like this. But the important thing is to remember that it doesn’t mean anything.

            Which did nothing for the low-grade worry in his stomach.

            Draco started to reach for another handful of Floo powder, thinking he would visit St. Mungo’s, and then hesitated. Quite apart from the fact that showing up in hospital shouting Harry’s name would probably made him seem mad, hadn’t Harry said that he tried to avoid the Healers when he was injured? He certainly hadn’t sounded pleased with the Mind-Healers, and if he had an excuse not to return there, then he would probably take it.

            And you still have no proof that he’s wounded, Draco told himself again, casting Floo powder but speaking the Ministry’s name instead. He’s probably sitting in his office working on a report now, and he’ll be astonished when you show up to see him.

            If he would even let Draco get close. Thinking about the little flinches he’d given when they spoke by Floo on Sunday made Draco’s throat hurt.

            He stepped through into the Ministry’s Atrium and looked around alertly. If news had come that one of their best Aurors had been injured, he would expect at least a few whispering clumps of people.

            He didn’t see any, however. Instead, he realized that the Atrium was oddly empty of people for this hour in the afternoon, with only a few coming and going through the fires. The lifts didn’t sound as if they were running at all.

            Draco lowered his eyes and swallowed. Then he headed for the lifts, and he told himself that he wouldn’t run.

            He broke that rule halfway there.

*

            “If you’ll just let us through, Harry…”

            Harry shook his head without looking up. One of the spells that kept the skin on his stomach relatively stable had stopped. He cast it again, and the faint blue flicker he was looking for reassured him. He wasn’t going to bleed to death any time soon, and although the wound still hurt, it had stopped going any deeper. That meant that the original spell Yeary had cast had to be gone.

            “Harry,” Ginny said again. She had her arms folded, Harry knew without looking at her—she always did when she used that tone—but her voice was soft. “No one blames you for what happened, if that’s what you’re looking to be reassured about.”

Harry looked up at her in surprise, and then snorted. “I’m not looking to be reassured about anything, Ginny.” As he spoke, he cast another spell, and some of the pain eased. Then he reinforced the barrier that hung between him and the people standing around in the corridor, because there was a good chance that they would try to take it down when he wasn’t paying attention. It had happened before. “I only want to heal myself.”

“Mate,” Ron said firmly, stepping forwards. “This is ridiculous.”

            “It’s what I need to do,” Harry said, and gave Ron a guilty smile. “But I’m sorry that they pulled you away from Hermione and Rose. I’m all right, really.”

            Ron stood back, shaking his head. His face had a slight blue and golden tinge from the barrier that Harry had raised across the corridor. The barrier was several wards that he knew, all woven together to present less weak points. He’d learned it when he was still under the Mind-Healers’ care.

            One of the few useful things that they ever taught me, Harry thought wryly, and then cast another pain-easing spell, and another that would close the hole slowly from behind. No one knew what Yeary had cast on him, and he had cooperated when he described it to them. He was perfectly willing to accept advice from people who knew more than he did. He just didn’t want them healing him.

            “You’ve been here how many hours?” Ron asked, in the voice of someone trying a new tactic.

            “About five,” Harry said, and cast again. Yes, the hole was finally closing now, he could feel it. When he breathed, there were no more burning stabs of agony up the center of his chest, either. That was welcome.

            “You could be healed much faster if you went to St. Mungo’s,” Ron said intently.

            “No, I couldn’t,” Harry said, and met his eyes. “You know why.” That was as much as he was willing to reveal in front of a crowd of strangers who didn’t know about Laurent. Of course the entire Ministry had turned out to gawk when word spread that Harry Potter had caged himself behind a barrier and wouldn’t let anyone close.

            Ron groaned. “Mate, you don’t need that—that paranoia.” The official story about what had happened when Harry exploded several rooms, and nearly several Healers, in St. Mungo’s was that he had become paranoid and didn’t want anyone touching him in case he mistook them for Dark wizards. Harry didn’t like the way it made some people stare at him from the corners of their eyes and avoid his company, but it was a small price to pay for his secret still being hidden.

            “Of course not,” Harry said. “And as soon as it stops saving my life, then I won’t use it again.” The bloody pain was creeping back. He chanted a few charms in a row that should hold it away, and saw Ginny cover her eyes, as if he was doing something particularly disgusting.

            A bright flash appeared down the corridor. Harry looked up, blinking, and shaded his eyes with one hand, wondering if he had imagined things. The corridor was so packed with people that he knew some of the wizards who were “watching” him had to be relying on reports from the ones in front, or at least using distance-seeing spells. Certainly no one could get through, the way Harry had thought he’d seen someone doing, short of the Minister himself.

            But no, he hadn’t been imagining things. The flash showed itself again, and the crowd flowed apart, though not, from the looks of things, of its own free will. The person who’d pushed through it so far stepped into the open and revealed himself as Draco.

            Harry stared at him, and then bowed his head and looked away, swallowing. He wasn’t sure why he found it so hard to meet Draco’s eyes. They weren’t even that accusing.

            And he hadn’t bled to death. He hadn’t made it impossible for Draco to have someone he wanted by dying. There was no reason for the guilt that suddenly hung in his mind like a black cloud. Sure, he’d felt guilt before for drawing Ron and Ginny here, but he’d reasoned it away with the understanding that this was just the way things had to be.

            For some reason, he couldn’t use the same rationalization with Draco.

            “Hullo, Harry,” Draco said. He ignored the astonished murmurs from behind him—apparently, some people still didn’t understand that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy might be on friendly terms—and sat down right next to Harry’s barrier. He looked at Harry patiently, steadily, until his eyes fastened on the wound that Harry had covered. He nodded. “What happened to you?”

            Harry eyed him, wondering what the trick was. Draco’s tone was pleasant, even conversational. It didn’t sound as though he intended to blame Harry for anything.

            But he must, if he showed up here. How did he hear about this, anyway? Did Ron send for him?

            “Hullo, Draco,” Harry said, deciding that he could act normal, too, if Draco was going to. He raised an eyebrow and pointed at Draco’s hand, which had closed into a fist. “Is something wrong?”

            “Oh, I think you know what’s wrong.” Draco lowered his voice, and it became obvious that he was speaking through gritted teeth. Yes, he’s angry, Harry thought, almost relieved to have an interaction that he understood. “You’ve been hurt.”

            “Yes, by the Dark wizard I was tracking.” Harry cast two nonverbal spells in quick succession, one to ease the pain and one to Vanish some of the blood on his clothing, and saw the voracious way Draco’s eyes tracked his wand movements. He probably knew what the charms were, Harry thought, and didn’t approve, either. Well, too bad. This is the way it has to be. He knew that when he started dating me. “He has a reputation for using specialized spells that no one has seen before,” Harry added, so Draco could know as much as he did. “The Healers have stood around wringing their hands while the victims died or got better on their own before. Usually got better.”

            Draco bared his teeth. “I can see why you would be reluctant to trust the Healers,” he said softly.

            Harry stared at him. I don’t get him. He knows that, and yet he’s still acting like I’ve done something wrong. Why? “Well, good,” he said cautiously.

            “But you should at least let someone else ease the pain for you,” Draco said, his eyes rising back to Harry’s. They were so intent that Harry flinched before he could stop himself. He didn’t need people to look at him as if he was the center of the world. He’d got enough of that at Hogwarts and right after Voldemort’s defeat. “Let someone behind the barrier with you. What happens if you collapse and there’s no way to reach you?”

            “That won’t happen,” Harry said, and gave him a slight, easy smile. “I promise.”

            “You don’t know that.” Draco leaned forwards. “You look like you’ve lost a lot of blood. Have you taken a Blood-Replenishing Potion? You ought to.”

            Harry felt his nostrils flare before he could stop himself. “No,” he said. “And I don’t know the spells for it, either. But I didn’t lose that much blood before I got the wound on its way to healing. And I’m not losing any more now.”

            “Lack of blood in your veins can affect your decision-making,” Draco said, and his eyes were so stormy and so hard to look away from. But his words were still calm and reasonable. Harry didn’t know why. Most Veela would be screeching their heads off by this point if their chosen one had been injured by an unknown spell and locked himself behind a barrier, or at least the books he had read said so. Draco seemed to put all the anger in his face instead, and take it out of his voice. “It can make you weak and dizzy. You might not even notice that you’re fainting until you do.”

            Harry scowled. “So I’m a bit dizzy,” he muttered. “I didn’t even notice it until you said that. You’re probably subconsciously suggesting it to me or something.”

            Draco gave him a slight smile in return. Harry had never seen its like before. It was sharp enough to cut. Draco reached out, his eyes never leaving Harry’s face, and waved his wand, whispering words Harry couldn’t hear.

            “What was that?” Harry asked, feeling his heart speed up. If he didn’t know what the spell was, it would be harder to counter and control, and he was already struggling with the aftereffects of one unknown spell.

            “A Summoning Charm, nothing more,” said Draco, and he did something that was remarkable, at least in Harry’s experience, coming from someone who wasn’t either Ron or Hermione. He didn’t sound as if Harry was stupid for asking such a question. The Mind-Healers certainly had, all the time.

            Draco leaned back against the barrier and looked down the corridor. Then he smiled. A vial was zooming towards him. Harry wondered where it had come from. Probably some Auror was missing it about now. Draco caught it neatly and held it up so that Harry could make out the dark red color.

            “Blood-Replenishing Potion,” Draco said. “You need it. Will you let the barrier down and accept it from my hand?”

            Harry looked at him and did his best to loosen his tongue. “You mean—you aren’t going to try and force-feed it to me?”

            Draco slowly shook his head, eyes never moving from Harry’s. “What would that accomplish?” he whispered. He seemed to have forgotten entirely about the audience, and he didn’t have Harry’s experience in ignoring it. It was almost as if nothing in the world really was important to him but Harry. “You wouldn’t trust me after that. I understand that you need to have some control.” He held out the potion in an iron-steady hand. “And it needs to be your choice about taking down the barrier. Will you?”

            Harry licked his lips and tried not to shake in reaction. He didn’t think he needed the potion. He could all too easily look at Draco’s hair and skin and think about him being Veela. He didn’t want to lower his barrier, because of the chance that the people watching him would race forwards and force him to keep it down.

            But Draco’s gaze said that he, at least, could ignore such realities. For him, what mattered was that Harry was healthy.

            And he thought Harry needed the potion to be healthy.

            Harry shut his eyes and waited, trying to understand the conflicting impulses in his own heart.

*

            Draco sat still. He could stay like this all day if he needed to, hand extended, waiting for Harry to decide to trust him. He had seen the way Harry’s eyes flickered as they darted up and down, and the way they squinted almost shut. There was a lot going on there that Draco didn’t know about and wouldn’t dare try to influence.

            He could make his appeal and wait for Harry to take the chance. That was all he had the right to claim now.

            But later…

            Later, he would spend time with Harry when he was wounded. He would make sure he had privacy, unlike this position, where he was locked in front of the staring mob. He would count up the holidays that Harry was owed and persuade him to take them. He would, much later when Harry had taken a lot of chances, enfold him in his wings immediately after he had swallowed a potion or cast a complicated healing spell and flood him with the gentle pleasure the wings could give.

            He had tamed his own fear when he realized Harry was still alive and not bleeding to death. He even approved of the barrier, if not the way it stood between Harry and him. If it kept out Dark wizards, that was all to the good, as far as Draco was concerned. Harry only needed to include one more person for him to be content.

            Harry wrapped his arms around his legs and sat still for a minute. Draco wondered if he knew how much like a child it made him look, and then decided that Harry probably wouldn’t think about such a thing.

            “All right,” Harry whispered at last.

            Draco gave him a gentle smile, not wanting to show his triumph in case Harry took that as gloating, and nodded. The barrier lowered. Draco held out his hand. He could have tossed the vial to Harry, but he had stretched his Veela instincts as far as he could. He needed Harry to take the potion from his hand, to feel his chosen accept his comfort.

            Harry edged closer, gaze so dark and concentrated that Draco suspected most people would have seen that alone and not the frantic way his chest heaved, and snatched the potion. Draco got nothing more than the brush of fingertips across his palm, but that caused a thrill of warmth to the depths of his being. He sighed in relief as he lowered his hand and the barrier rose again.

            Harry swallowed the potion, never looking away from Draco as he did.

            At once his face flushed, and the unhealthy pallor Draco had recognized from other times he had seen someone lose blood retreated. Draco relaxed even further, and managed to smile at Harry. Harry smiled back, looking flustered and confused.

            “You—it doesn’t take much to satisfy you,” he whispered.

            “It takes you,” Draco said, and leaned in until he was right against the barrier, staring at Harry so that he would get the message.

            Harry looked as though someone had slammed him around the head with an axe. Then he nodded, slowly.

            It took a few hours after that until Harry had cast all the spells he needed and felt ready to lower the barrier and suffer someone from St. Mungo’s to come and examine him. Draco knew he wouldn’t have done that unless he felt all danger was past and he had successfully contained the damage by himself.

            Draco didn’t mind. He spent the time in asking Harry questions about the case, which Harry answered eagerly. From there he passed into descriptions of other Dark wizards he had arrested, and Draco listened, absorbing as much as he could of his chosen’s life.

            The crowd drifted away, bored now that the Chosen One wasn’t going to do any more amazing magic. The male Weasley left, seemingly content that the situation was under control. The female Weasley sat down watchfully nearby, but didn’t try to interfere with the conversation.

            And Harry, listening for and speaking in response to Draco’s questions, happiness beaming through his eyes, never seemed to notice or need her.

            By the time Harry came out from behind the barrier, Draco burned—not with the need to touch or comfort or soothe, as so often seemed the case with Harry, but with joy.

            There were ways forwards.

            And Harry had taken the potion from him alone. It was enough to sate the possessive side of Draco.

            For now.



*

            polka dot: Not a romance at all, from Harry’s point of view.

            HeartStar: Thank you!

            Silent Invictus: Hee! I had no intention of stopping, but thank you.

            KillingProphet: Thank you! I’m trying to make sure that the sympathy for Harry comes through, despite the parts in Draco’s POV and Draco’s impatience to be with Harry.

            Lady_of_Clunn: Thanks!

            The problem with a Muggle therapist is that Harry wouldn’t be able to be honest about what a Veela is, or why he couldn’t break free of being Veela-struck sooner.

            Sneakyfox: Who should take it into consideration, Draco or Harry?

            sotrill: Thank you! I promise that I’m a regular updater, so although it’s a WiP, I hope it won’t seem as eternal as some of them can be.

            luvlustblood: Thanks! Because the sex is rather a long time in the future, here.

            thrnbrooke: Thanks for reviewing.
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