Blood Will Tell, Part Two - by 6shotamericano Title: Blood Will Tell Author: 6shotamericano Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: R Word Count: ~16000 Warning(s): AU after 6th year Beta: Thank you to tmkline for reading and commenting on the first part. The rest, unfortunately, is unbeta'd. Prompt: At first Harry thought he was just dreaming, very vivid dreaming. Then he thought there must be some connection, like he had with Voldemort. But now it had started happening even when he was awake. What Harry was dying to know is why in the hell did he keep getting sucked in to watch Malfoy's perverted wet dreams and why in Merlin's name was he starring in them?
Harry is pulled in and watches himself with Malfoy from a third party perspective.
Of course the reason is Malfoy is part veela and Harry is his mate. Since Malfoy is fighting his attraction, his veela takes over when he is not conscious. As he continues to fight against fate, he becomes more and more tired giving further opportunities to sleep and try to woo his mate on a subconscious level. Summary: When Draco experiences some odd symptoms, he research leads him to the discovery of veela ancestry. Meanwhile Harry is having pensieve-like steamy dreams featuring himself and Draco. Panic and foolish behaviour ensue. Author's Notes: Thanks to tmkline for thinking up such an interesting prompt. I've never participated in a Fest before, but that prompt was just too much to resist. Thanks also for the encouragement and support in getting it done. I suspect that this might be a bit tamer than you had in mind, but I hope I was at least in the ballpark! I also want to thank the mod for graciously giving me an extension.
Disclaimer: This piece of art or fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Returning to his flat, Draco noted that he’d left the bottle of firewhiskey sitting out on the table. He decided that two nights in a row of drinking directly from the bottle might start to look like a pattern and accio’d a glass from the kitchen, dropping into the chair. His felt quite overwhelmed, his mind whirling with the plethora of new data. He blew out his breath in frustration: for all that she had given him a great deal of interesting information, Fleur had really not been much help.
What if there was no solution, no cure? Would he just glow for the rest of his life? How much longer before he started to sprout feathers? Cousin Etienne would have been an excellent source of information, if anyone knew where he was. According to Draco's mother, Etienne had attended their wedding, and then disappeared, never to be heard of again. Draco had a dark suspicion that Grandfather Abraxas might have had something to do with that. It would have been hard to be effective as a pureblood supremacist with a member of the family metamorphosing into a magical creature in front of everyone. With Lucius to secure the future of the bloodline, Etienne would have been superfluous. God, his family was filled with bloodthirsty bastards.
He sipped at his drink and tried to sort through his scattered thoughts. There had to be some way to reverse all of this veela nonsense; he just needed to come up with some kind of a plan. He'd talk to Granger, and there would be research, and they'd work out a brilliant solution that would prevent him glowing and breaking out in feathers.
He scowled down into his glass as he realized that he was going to have to tell Granger the whole story. She had better research sources than he would, working in the Magical Creatures section. She might even be able to tell him more about this displaying and mating business. Surely all they needed to do was to block the veela mating instinct, and then the need to display would go away.
Honestly, why couldn't magical creatures be more like humans? If he wanted to display, all he really needed to do was wear those leather trousers he'd bought for clubbing. He attracted all the attention he could handle quite nicely without the need for supernatural assistance. He set his glass down on the side table and allowed his head to fall back against the back of the chair. On the other hand, he thought, it would be rather interesting to see what kind of reactions he would get if he turned up at a club wearing those trousers and glowing as well. He could have anyone he wanted, he thought. Anyone at all.
He drifted off to sleep with a smirk curling his lips.
Harry was standing in the midst of a seething mass of bodies, all moving in time to a pounding beat. He was disoriented by the pulsing lights and sound, and yet he knew instantly, somehow, that this was another of those strangely detailed dreams of his. He turned in a slow circle, trying to recognize the place, but he was certain he had never been here before. It was some kind of club, obviously, but not one he knew. As the sea of bodies writhed around him, never actually touching him, he began to notice some details. Like the fact that there were an awful lot of shirtless men on the dance floor. Oh, and the fact that there were an awful lot of men on the dance floor. Men dancing together. Without shirts.
Ok, so a gay club, then. This whole dream thing just kept getting weirder – how was he dreaming about a place that he'd never been, never wanted to be?
He glanced around. If the pattern held true, he should see himself around here somewhere. And presumably Malfoy as well. He carefully ignored the small flutter low in his stomach at the thought of Malfoy dancing. He didn't want to see Malfoy: he was just starting to figure out the pattern of these dreams, that was all. There'd be himself and there'd be Malfoy, and there would be some kind of suggestive behaviour, which he was not even remotely interested in seeing. Then the dream would end. He resolutely did not think about what happened after the last dream. The fact that he'd had one of the most satisfying wanks of his life to the image of Malfoy spread out underneath him was absolutely irrelevant.
He looked out across the dance floor and saw a flash of white-blond. Yep, there was Malfoy. He kept looking – his dream self must be around somewhere. His eyes were drawn to the door just in time to watch himself walk in.
As Harry watched himself strut through the doors, he felt his jaw drop. He caught himself checking for the scar on the forehead, to confirm that it really was him. These were the features he saw in the mirror every day, but he most definitely did not have that outfit in his wardrobe. The tight black tank top ended well above the low-cut, even tighter dark blue denims, leaving a substantial expanse of skin exposed. Harry knew that he was in decent shape – his job demanded it – but he did not feel comfortable in clothing that exposed so much. His image came to a stop at the edge of the dance floor, only a few steps away from Harry, and he saw the eyes moving restlessly over the crowd.
He knew the instant that Other Harry caught sight of Malfoy as he went absolutely still and his gaze sharpened. Harry could not stop himself from turning to look along the same line of sight. If he hadn't already known that this was a dream, he would have realized it then, because the teeming throng had parted, leaving Malfoy dancing by himself in a circle of glowing light.
Harry was utterly incapable of looking away from the picture Malfoy painted in a clinging white shirt and black leather trousers even tighter than the denims his alter ego had on. He was standing almost shoulder to shoulder with his dream image now, both of them watching intently as Malfoy's hips moved in time with the music. Malfoy's hands went to the hem of his shirt, and he pulled it up over his head to reveal the long smooth lines of his torso. Malfoy's skin glistened with heat and sweat, and he was enveloped in a soft white glow that almost seemed to come from under his skin. Harry had the random urge to know what his skin would taste like.
Malfoy brought a hand up to run over his abdomen, as his hips twisted with the beat. Suddenly Malfoy's head came up and he stared directly Harry's dream image. The look in the grey eyes was pure sex, and Harry felt a sudden spasm of jealousy that it was not aimed at him, but at that phoney. Malfoy tipped his head and drew his lower lip between his teeth, and suddenly Other Harry was moving, stalking towards Malfoy with a sinuous grace that Harry was sure he, himself, did not possess.
He watched as the two came together on the dance floor, Malfoy's arms snaking around the phoney's waist, while he ran his hands from Malfoy's shoulders, down over his biceps, further down to settle on leather clad hips. As the two gyrated to the music, Harry saw Malfoy slip the fingers of one hand below the waist band of Other Harry's denims, rubbing up and down along the cleft between his buttocks. He watched as their mouths met in an open mouthed kiss, tongues sliding together. Harry felt his cheeks warm as his breathing became erratic. He couldn't breath and his skin felt too tight, like he needed to crawl right out of it.
He couldn't stand this anymore. Malfoy needed to stop touching the fake Harry and start touching him, dammit. He reached towards the fake Harry's shoulder intent on pulling the two apart, when suddenly Malfoy pulled out of the kiss and looked over the phoney's shoulder directly into Harry's eyes. He felt his stomach drop, a light flared, and he jerked back.
Harry shot upright in his bed, pulse racing, breathing laboured. Enough was enough. These dreams were not normal. It was time to call in the big guns.
When Draco arrived in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, it was just gone 12 and the place appeared to be deserted. He supposed everyone must have gone for lunch. He saw that Granger's office door was ajar – perhaps she was in, then. He walked towards her office, slowing as he heard the murmur of voices from inside. He really didn't want anyone else to know about this – maybe he should owl her and ask to meet after work. He'd just about decided to leave when he recognized the other voice. That sounded like Potter. He found himself creeping a bit closer to peer though the crack in the door.
“Hermione, I am not having a crisis of sexuality, all right! Well, maybe I am, but that's not the point! There is something wrong with these dreams. I mean, they're not even like dreams, really, except they're happening while I'm asleep, so I guess they are dreams. I just mean, they don't feel like dreams. They're really detailed. And I'm not me in them.”
“What on earth does that mean, Harry?” Granger asked.
“It's just – it's like I'm in a pensieve. The first time, I actually thought that it was a pensieve memory. I'd run into Malfoy in the Archives that afternoon. The dream started out the same way, but then it sort of got all...well, you know...”
“I don't know,” Granger interrupted. “If you want my help, Harry, you're going to need to actually provide some information.” She raised her hand at his horrified look. “I don't need – or want – explicit detail, but you're going to have to do a bit better than “sort of...you know.”
“You want information,” Potter said crossly, “Fine. Here's your information. I watched myself push him down on the floor, and we went at it like a couple of wild animals. How's that? Then the next night, I saw myself sucking on his shoulder blades. Shoulder blades! I have never, in my life, had a sexual thought about anybody's shoulder blades. Or a non-sexual thought for that matter. And I have very definitely never thought about a guy, much less Malfoy!” He abruptly stood and started pacing. “And last night, it was a club. A gay club. With dancing. And before you ask, no I have never been to a gay club before. It wasn't very hard to tell that's what it was though.”
As Potter paced, he moved out of Draco's line of sight. He shifted to get a better view, and was horrified to hear Potter say “Did you hear something?”
Draco turned tail and fled. He made it back to his office without running into anyone and slammed the door behind him. He paced frantically as he tried to piece things together. Potter was dreaming about him. Was, in fact, watching Draco's own dreams. Why that was – that was invasion of privacy! There had to be some kind of law against that.
This had all started after their little encounter in the Archives. As best he could recall, he'd never had a dream about Potter before that. Well, possibly there might have been one or two in school featuring Potter in his quidditch leathers, but surely that didn't count.
Blood. He and Potter had both had blood on their hands. And there had been that weird shock that they'd both felt. Oh, god. Blood bond. This was a freaking veela courting ritual, complete with a blood bond and displaying and – oh hell – the dreams were visions. He was offering bloody visions. To Potter. This was just not on.
And of course Potter had gone to Granger to tell her all about his horrible dreams, so now Draco couldn't get her to help him with research. He needed to find a solution to this himself, and he needed to find it fast.
Over the next several days, Draco survived on caffeine and nerves, researching until he couldn't read anymore. When he caught himself starting to drift, he'd take a slug of Dreamless Sleep potion, and allow himself two or three hours to nap before starting again. He knew that Dreamless Sleep could become dangerous with extended use, but there was no damn way that he was letting Potter witness any more of his dreams.
He had exhausted every source he could find on veela mating habits and had now started in on blood bonds of all types and he was no closer to a solution than when he'd started. From everything he’d seen so far, once a blood bond was formed, there was no breaking it short of death. He yawned and rubbed at his eyes, no longer able to focus on his notes.
He checked the time. Three p.m. Too soon to take another dose of Dreamless Sleep. More caffeine, then. He wandered out to the coffee pot in the reception area, but it was empty. He thumped the pot back down, muttering curses at people who took the last cup without making a fresh pot.
He considered making a pot, but he suspected that he would fall asleep before it could finish brewing. Nothing for it – he would have to go to the cafeteria, and suffer the horrendous muddy brew that they produced. He supposed that it might be a good idea to have a bit to eat while he was there. His eating habits were somewhat erratic at the best of times, and during a crisis, he had no appetite at all. Perhaps a few calories would help to make up for the lack of sleep.
Clutching his coffee mug, he set off for the cafeteria and sustenance.
“I can't look at this report any more, mate, it's time for a tea break,” Ron said, throwing his quill down onto the desk.
“Just another minute,” Harry muttered, “I've just got to finishing filling in this bit, and then I'm done.”
Ron hmph'd, but settled back in his chair to wait for Harry to finish. “When we joined the aurors, I thought it would be all chasing the bad guys, and saving people. Nobody ever told us about filling in million page reports and dealing with domestic disputes.”
“The reports are only dozens of pages, and some of those domestic disputes can get pretty lively,” Harry countered. “And this report is done, so let's go get that tea.”
Harry and Ron were just sitting down with their tea and scones when Harry noticed Malfoy in the cafeteria line up. He hadn't seen Malfoy in days. In fact, not counting his peculiar dreams, he hadn't seen Malfoy since the incident in the Archives. The dreams had stopped coming after his conversation with Hermione. He wondered if maybe he'd just needed to tell someone about them to make them stop.
The conversation with Hermione had been excruciatingly embarrassing, and she hadn't had any useful suggestions to make. She had grilled him about the dreams and then had offered “helpful” suggestions about exploring his sexuality.
He knew that Hermione just had his best interests at heart, but the fact that he hadn't really dated anyone since Ginny did not make him gay, and he was not repressing. The thing with the dreams with Malfoy was obviously some kind of anomaly; after all, they had stopped. The fact that his morning wanks now tended to feature a certain blond annoyance was, Harry was sure, a short term thing.
He watched as Malfoy slouched his way over to a seat near the entrance. He looked exhausted, Harry thought, like he could barely drag himself around. Malfoy slumped into his seat, and took a drink from his mug, then poked a fork at his piece of cake.
“What do you think is up with Malfoy?” Ron echoed Harry's unspoken thoughts. “He looks like shit.”
“Dunno,” Harry said. “Why would I know?” He knew he sounded defensive, but couldn't seem to help it.
“No reason,” Ron looked at him quizzically. “You know, Bill said that Malfoy was over for tea last Sunday. Wanted to talk to Fleur about something.”
“Did he say what it was?” Harry wasn't sure how they'd wound up talking about Malfoy, but he was pretty sure they should stop.
“Nah, didn't really ask.”
Harry glanced back at Malfoy and noted that he'd dropped his head right down onto the table and appeared to have fallen asleep. He turned back toward Ron and suddenly found himself standing in an unfamiliar room.
He shook himself. Oh, no. No, no, no, he wasn't having any of these dreams any more. They had stopped. And when had he fallen asleep, anyway? He'd been sitting, wide awake, having a conversation with Ron. Malfoy was the one who was asleep. He started to examine that thought, but was distracted by the sound of a clink behind him. He slowly turned his head. Malfoy. Standing by a sideboard, dropping ice cubes into a glass. He noticed that Malfoy looked a whole lot better than he had in the cafeteria – he had that same glow that he'd had in the last dream.
Malfoy filled his glass from a decanter on the table and took a swig from it. Harry's eyes followed the motion of Malfoy's throat as he swallowed. He drifted towards Malfoy, hands itching with the urge to touch that throat. He heard the floo whoosh behind him, and saw Malfoy look up. He refused to look around; he already knew what he would see.
“Draco,” he heard his own voice murmur. He tried not to watch as the Other Harry moved past him to pull Malfoy into a kiss. Harry's guts clenched at the sight. Why was this happening to him? Why must he be tormented like this? He clenched his hands helplessly, digging his nails into his palms to keep himself from reaching out.
“Harry,” Malfoy breathed, “so tired. Need to sleep.”
Harry heard desperation in Malfoy's voice, and every fibre in his being ached to fix it, to make everything better. He needed to be the one to fix this. He had to find a way in.
He watched as the fake Harry steered Malfoy across the room and settled them on the couch, sitting back against the arm of the couch and pulling Malfoy down to rest with his back moulded to his chest. Malfoy dropped his head back against Other Harry's shoulder, tipping to the side in a clear invitation, which the other man immediately took up. Harry watched lips that were not his place open-mouthed kisses down the line of Malfoy's neck, pausing at the juncture of his shoulder to nibble.
Harry chewed on his lower lip. If he could just touch.... Wait a minute, what if he did touch? He hadn't tried that. He stepped closer to the couch and was reaching out to touch Malfoy's face when Ron's voice suddenly sounded in his ear. He blinked and abruptly found himself sitting at the cafeteria table with Ron.
“Mate, you went away there for a minute. What's going on?” Ron asked.
Harry looked across the cafeteria to where Malfoy was lifting his head. Their eyes met. Malfoy shoved his chair back, stumbled to his feet and made a beeline for the exit. Harry left a protesting Ron behind and raced after him. He didn't know what was going on, but he was pretty sure that Malfoy had some explaining to do.
He got to the exit of the cafeteria just in time to see Malfoy round the corner at a run – he was headed for the lifts. Harry did some quick thinking: if Malfoy wanted to avoid Harry, he'd head straight for his office and floo home. Harry darted down a side corridor to the stairwell, and raced up the steps to the next level. He heard the ding of the lift just as he opened the door of the stairwell. He peeked out and saw Malfoy exit the lift. Perfect. Malfoy had to go right past the stairs to get to his office. Harry would nab him and pry some damn answers out of him. He pulled the door nearly shut and waited.
As the doors of the lift opened, Draco practically fell out. It looked like he'd lost Potter, but he'd best get back to his office and floo home immediately. He felt thoroughly flustered, and he certainly wasn't prepared to talk to Potter about all of this weird veela nonsense. He just needed to find a way to break this blood bond, and then he would only have himself to worry about. He just needed to get his head clear so that he could come up with some answers. Potter was such a hothead; if he knew that he was part of some weird mystical veela blood-bond thing, he was likely to become homicidal. Draco had enough problems without a homicidal lunatic on his hands as well.
There was one small benefit of that little incident, at least. He no longer felt in the least sleepy. Draco was just sorting out which books he'd have to take home with him when he was seized by rough hands, yanked through a door and slammed up against a wall.
“Alright, Malfoy, you have some explaining to do,” Potter growled.
“Potter,” Draco said, and met his eyes. He was sure that he'd intended to say something more, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of a thing. He licked his dry lips and felt his pulse leap as Potter's eyes tracked the movement of his tongue. Maybe he didn't need to think of anything to say, after all. Slowly and deliberately, he drew his lower lip between his teeth, and bit down. Potter let out a little moan. Oh, yes, Draco liked that. It looked like the bond might just be working both directions.
Harry was not sure when he lost control of the situation, but he suspected that it had something to do with Malfoy's lower lip. He had successfully intercepted Malfoy, and was all ready to interrogate him, but now all he could think about was that plump lip, and what it would taste like. Next thing he knew, Malfoy had grasped his wrists, flipping their positions, and he found his hands pinned on either side of his head, and the length of Malfoy's body pressing him into the wall. That stomach flutter was back now, and it had brought friends.
Harry had a moment to think this is not a dream before Malfoy's mouth descended over his. He allowed Malfoy to control the kiss for a moment before he took over, sucking that tantalizing lower lip into his mouth and worrying at it with his teeth. Malfoy moaned low in his throat and worked a thigh in between Harry's.
Malfoy released his wrists to snake an arm around Harry's waist. With the other hand, he tugged the front of Harry's t-shirt loose from his trousers and slid a hand up over his stomach to tease at a nipple. Harry gasped at the sensation. He grasped Malfoy's hips and rocked into his thigh. The pressure against his rigid cock was incredible. He felt an answering hardness against his own thigh, and revelled in it.
They found a rhythm, thrusting against each other, Harry clutching Malfoy's hips for leverage.
He threw his head back, panting hard, and Malfoy mouthed his way down Harry's neck, biting hard just at the point where neck and shoulder met. Harry howled, and Malfoy immediately soothed the bite by running his warm, wet tongue over it.
Harry was already drowning in sensation when he felt Malfoy's fingers slid down his back to dip beneath the waist of his pants and down along his cleft. He felt the index finger sliding down to trace around his hole, then further to press just behind his balls before they drew up were drawing up and he came with a strangled cry. Malfoy jolted and shuddered against him, and they both stilled, panting for air.
Malfoy kissed him again, as he collapsed bonelessly against the wall, held up only by Malfoy's weight against him.
Slowly Malfoy drew back, and Harry felt a keen sense of loss at the withdrawal. He was aware that now would be an appropriate time for him to have a panic attack, but this just felt so undeniably right, he couldn't see the point in protesting.
Draco drew back from Potter and tried to put his shattered mind back together. He had just got off with Harry Potter in the stairwell of the Ministry of Magic, and it was pretty much the most incredible thing he had ever experienced. Potter was so exquisitely responsive. He wanted more. This was so perfect, so right. Such a lie, he thought.
Potter was acting under the influence of a mystical bond that he didn't even know about. He might have enjoyed himself (and Draco had no doubt at all that he had) but there was no way that he would want Draco under any normal circumstances. As Draco slowly drew himself together, he knew that he had to get out of here. He stepped away from Potter, fighting the almost overwhelming urge to touch him. He drew out his wand and cast a cleaning charm on both of them. Then, with a sick twist in his stomach, he whispered “Stupefy,” catching and gently lowering Harry to the ground, and slipped out the door.
Harry came to with Ron's worried face hovering over him.
“Harry, what happened? Were you attacked? Do I need to call for help?”
For a moment, Harry was completely muddled, but his memory came back quickly. “Oh, God. No. Don't call anyone. I wasn't attacked. Well, not really attacked.”
“Well, what the hell did happen, then? You had some weird kind of spell, then you lit out after Malfoy, and then you just disappeared completely. I had to use a tracking spell to find you. And it looks like somebody cast a stunner at you. Was it Malfoy? You had some kind of a fight with him, didn't you? Harry, I know that he can still be a bit of a berk, but I thought the two of you had gotten past hexing each other in the hallways.”
“Yes it was Malfoy, no it wasn't a fight, and I really don't want to talk about it, but you're not going to leave this alone so...let's go find Hermione. She knows a bit about this already.”
“What 'this',” Ron asked indignantly. “There's a 'this' to know about and you told Hermione and not me? And anyway, shouldn't she have told me? I'm the husband, I am, and wives are supposed to share important and interesting things with their husbands.”
“If you wanted a wife who spilled other people's secrets, you really made a bad pick, mate. Come on, let's go find her.”
The ensuing discussion with Ron and Hermione had been just about as traumatizing and Harry would have expected. Not that Ron had been jerk or given Harry a hard time about the sex with guys thing. No, Ron was suspiciously calm about that. Based on an exchange of glances that Harry caught between his two friends, he was quite certain that his sexual preferences had been discussed before. No, the traumatizing part was when Hermione had made him go over, in excruciating detail, every aspect of those thrice-damned dreams. He might come to terms with the idea that he might not be quite as straight as he had thought, but that didn't mean he wanted to talk about it.
He sat slumped in an uncomfortable side chair, watching Hermione busily looking things up and making complicated notations with circles and arrows all over the place. He was just thinking about suggesting that he and Ron go get a pint, since they were obviously not contributing when she made a pleased little noise and looked up.
“Well, that's interesting,” she said.
“Am I going to like this?” Harry asked.
She waved his question aside. “Harry, when you ran into Malfoy in the Archives, you said you both had blood on your hands, correct?”
“Yes. I got cut, and he scraped himself,” Harry responded. “Why?”
She ignored him. “Ron, you told me that Malfoy was over to see Fleur last Sunday. Did Bill say what they spoke about?”
“No, 'Mione, I told you, Fleur said that it was a research question, and she had promised not to talk about it. What does that have to do with Harry?”
“I'm not quite sure yet, but I think I have a good idea. I'm going to need a book...”
Ron rolled his eyes and Harry smiled at him. At least some things never changed.
Several hours later, Hermione set her quill down and sat back in her chair. “Ron,” she said, startling him out of his doze, “I'm hungry. Would you go pick up some take out from that Indian place on the corner.”
“I can go with him,” Harry started, stopping when Hermione laid a hand on his arm. “No, I need to ask you a couple of other things,” she said, waving her free hand at Ron. “Go on.”
One of those 'couple' looks passed between Ron and Hermione and he left without comment.
“All right, you obviously have something that you want to say. So say it,” Harry spoke a bit more sharply than he'd intended.
“Harry, I think that you and Malfoy have made a blood-bond.”
“What, because of that thing in the Archives? But I thought that blood bonds needed a bunch of ceremony, and spells and stuff. We just touched. If touching was all it took, I'd be bonded to a pile of people. Even factoring in the blood, I figure I'd be bonded to you, Ron, half of the auror staff and a whole pile of DeathEaters.”
“Well, under normal circumstances that would be true. There are exceptions, however. For example, did you know that some magical creatures can form a natural blood bond as part of mating?”
“I did not know that. I am, however, not sure how that applies here.”
“Harry, I think Malfoy is part veela.”
Harry snorted. “Yeah, right. The poster boy for purebloods? Doesn't seem very likely, does it?”
“Are you forgetting that Tom Riddle was a half-blood? Don't tell me that you have a hard time believing that Lucius Malfoy would hide something like that.”
“Well, no, but wouldn't people have figured it out? And I don't remember hearing about any weird blood bond things with Fleur.”
“Yes, but I believe that Malfoy may be a special case,” she said. “There is very little information about male veela, but the little I found is quite suggestive. I think things are quite different with the males. Since he went to talk to Fleur, I'm betting that he didn't grow up knowing about this. I think something happened to trigger it and he needed to get some information fast.”
“Do you think he knew about the dreams?”
“People’s motives can be pretty complicated, Harry,” Hermione said quietly. “Actions will tell you more.”
“Yeah, I guess stunning someone and leaving them in a heap on the floor really says it all.”
“Mmmm. Well, that’s an action, certainly. I might be inclined to give the benefit of the doubt to someone acting from exhaustion and panic. He didn’t obliviate you, or cast any of a number of other unpleasant hexes that I can think of. Anyway, Ron says you weren’t in a heap, you were neatly laid out and tucked up against the wall.”
“Well that’s so much better isn’t it!” Harry was practically shouting in his frustration. “He couldn't have just told me?! What did he think? That I was going to freak out and hex him?”
“Well, Harry, I just can’t imagine why he might think that you’d react that way. It’s not like you’ve ever hexed him before, now is it?” Harry winced at the sharp tone as she went on. “What would you think, if you were him? As far as he knows, all of your actions have been driven by the blood bond. I bet he's been searching for a way to reverse it without having to tell you.” Her face softened. “You said he fell asleep right in the cafeteria. I bet that he's been trying not to dream, and working round the clock on a solution. He must be exhausted. It's not really a wonder that he's making poor decisions at this point.”
Harry considered. “I suppose so.” He looked down at his hands. “Do you really think that all of this wasn't real, that it was caused by the blood bond?” He knew he should be thrilled by the thought, but all he could feel was a sudden emptiness.
Hermione shot him a shrewd glance. “You don't sound pleased, Harry. I'd have thought that you would be ecstatic at the thought.”
“Oh, yeah, it's good really,” Harry avoided her gaze by picking at his fingernails. “Do you think there's a solution?”
“Well, maybe, sort of. I need to go and check on something. Ron will be back shortly with the food. You just stay here. I'll be back in a while.”
Draco was standing in the middle of his bedroom, completely paralysed with indecision. He needed to get out of here – as soon as Potter woke up and sorted himself out, he would no doubt come looking for Draco to… Well Draco wasn’t quite sure what Potter’s intent would be, but he knew that he'd better not be anywhere that Potter was likely to look. Potter might want him right now, but once he found out about the blood bond, he’d lose that famous temper, and they’d be picking bits of Draco out of the furniture for weeks.
He drew a long, shaky breath. All right, slow down, there must be a better way to handle this. He tried to think his way through the cloud in his brain. Potter had already talked to Granger about his dreams. Granger, with her great big brain and her access to superior research documents, was probably their best bet to find some kind of solution to this. He could send his notes to Granger, and then go hide somewhere until she came up with a solution. Oh, yeah, and not sleep. Must remember to pack the Dreamless Sleep potion.
He was turning in the middle of the room, trying to decide what to do first, when he was startled by a sudden tapping at his window. Hurrying over to open it, he saw his mother's owl, Calliope. That was rather unexpected. Their regular weekly luncheon was tomorrow; he couldn't imagine what she could possibly need to say to him today that she would not say, at some length tomorrow. He got an owl treat from the drawer and offered it to the bird before attempting to remove the note. Calliope was quite as much a stickler for etiquette as his mother and expected to be treated appropriately. As soon as the note was removed, she clicked her beak at him and flew off. No reply expected, then.
He opened the note. It was both vague and succinct: There is an emergency at the Manor, darling. Your presence is urgently required Please come immediately on receiving this message. Mummy. He buried his head in his hands and groaned. He really did not need this right now. Surely the Manor was one of the places that Potter would go. He didn't really see any way out of it, though, and the wards would keep Potter out.
He flooed into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor fully expecting to arrive in the midst of panicked activity. Instead, he found the hall absolutely empty. At his call, one of his mother's house elfs came to take his cloak and told him that his mother was waiting for him in her sitting room. Before he could ask about the emergency, the elf popped out, taking his cloak with her.
He headed towards his mother's suite, trying to think what could possibly have happened. As he reached for the door handle, the door abruptly opened. His mother stood with her hand on the knob and said “Oh, there you are dear! Do come and sit down and have a nice cup of tea.” She took his arm just above his elbow, and steered him into the room. “You are, of course, acquainted with Mrs. Granger-Weasley.” Draco felt his stomach lurch as Granger stood and came towards them, smiling. He looked around in panic, but calmed down when he realized that Potter was nowhere to be seen.
“Please call me Hermione, Mrs. Malfoy.”
“And you must call me Narcissa,” his mother responded.
He tried to twist his arm out her grasp, but she just gripped a bit firmer, digging her nails and he subsided. “I take it that you are the 'emergency' my mother spoke of,” he ground out between his teeth.
“Oh, no, darling. I believe that you are the emergency. I'll just leave you two alone to talk, shall I? Do give my regards to Molly, won't you Hermione dear?”
“Of course, Narcissa. Thank you so much for your help.”
“It was my pleasure. I hope that the outcome will be...advantageous for all concerned.”
As his mother released his arm and exited the room, he considered making a break for it, but he thought better of it. He turned to face Granger. “Well, your ploy worked – very Slytherin of you, by the way. How on earth did you convince my mother to cooperate.”
“I explained what was going on and asked for her help. You might consider it as a strategy – it has certain advantages over sleep deprivation and panic.”
“Yes, well, you can talk. You're not the one dealing with this.”
“So tell me exactly what it is you're dealing with. I think I've figured out a lot of it, but I'm operating with a lack of information here. You have veela blood, right? And you were having trouble controlling some of the veela powers. I thought that must be why you went to talk to Fleur.”
He shot her a glance. “Yeah, you could say that. I'd have thought that you'd have heard this all from Fleur by now. All about the birds in the Malfoy family tree. No?”
“You asked Fleur not to share, and she didn't. I was surprised that you didn't come to me. I do have some expertise in the area, after all.”
“Yes, Fleur suggested that, and I did come to see you. On Monday. Around noon.”
Her eyes widened. “Harry was in my office then. Oh dear, you heard him talking about...”
“Talking about his horrifying dreams, yes. Up until then, I had no idea that my little problem was not just mine anymore. It took a bit of work to sort it out, but based on what Fleur told me, I knew that it had to come back to blood. Since you're here, I assume that you've worked out the blood bond?” At her nod, he continued, “you probably don't know, however, that for male veela, a blood bond with a human seems to be necessary to prevent more...extensive changes. There's a rather strong imperative to marry early in my family.”
“And when you chose not to marry, the blood bond didn't happen on time so your magical-biological switch flipped and the changes started. That must have been very difficult,” she said in a kind voice.
“It was just a bit unpleasant – I kept imagining myself sprouting wings and feathers.” he agreed. “Then when I realized that I had formed a blood bond with Potter, it was even worse.”
“I'm curious, Malfoy,” Granger said. “Was it worse because you didn't want to be bound to Harry, or because you didn't want to be bound at all.”
He blinked at her. “I haven't really thought about it,” he said slowly. “Everything has just happened so quickly. I've gotten used to the idea that I was never going to marry – don't tell my mother, I beg you – it might have been nice to have children, but after everything we went through in the war, I was not prepared to live a lie.”
“Malfoy – Draco, I think that you are seriously deluding yourself if you believe that you've succeeded in hiding anything from your mother. And if you had, I'm afraid I rather spilled the beans earlier.” He stared at her in horror. “Oh, don't look at me like that. I really don't think she was surprised. I think she was fine with it.” Granger knew nothing. It would be child's play for his mother to carry on a polite conversation while planning his evisceration and dismemberment.
“In fact,” Granger continued, seemingly unaware that she'd signed Draco's death warrant, “she seemed quite interested in the blood bond.”
“You are quite determined to destroy my life, aren't you,” Draco snarled. “How many people need to know about this damnable bond? Can't you quit telling everyone about it and try to fix it?”
“Before we talk about that, I'm still waiting for an answer. Is it the bond you object to, or is it Harry?”
“Why does it matter?” he asked.
“It matters. Just say it.”
“Fine then,” he spit out, “what I find so objectionable is the idea of being bound to someone who doesn't want to be bound to me. All right? Are you happy, now.”
“Well, I'm better informed at least.” She stood. “We need to go back to my office, now.”
“Why?” he asked suspiciously. “Are you trying to make me face my fears, or some equally Griffindorish nonsense?”
“Not really. I do think that you and Harry have to talk, and we should get your research notes as well.” She gave him a solemn look. “You can only stay awake for so long, you know, and it's really not fair to Harry to keep putting him through those dreams.”
“Fine, but if I'm eviscerated, it will be on your conscience.”
Harry and Ron were in the middle of a game of wizard chess when Hermione arrived with Malfoy in tow. Harry clamped his jaw shut to prevent any of the idiotic things he was thinking from escaping. Malfoy's eyes jumped around the room, looking anywhere but at Harry.
“Ron,” Hermione said crisply, “I think that we could all use some coffee. Would you please go to the coffee shop across the street and get us some?”
“Oh for crying out loud, Hermione, I'm not a child, you can just ask me to leave. I won't pout,” Ron grinned at her, “Much.”
“Thank you, Ron,” she said. “I apologize. Why don't you go down to you're office, and I'll be along shortly.”
He nodded, “I'll see you later, Harry,” he looked across the room to where Malfoy was now flipping through a book on the desk, “Malfoy.”
As the door shut behind him, Hermione turned. “Draco, sit down,” she ordered. Harry was a little surprised when Malfoy obeyed without any comment.
“I had planned to leave the two of you here to talk about things, but I've decided that you're both too pig headed to work through this on your own. So I'm going to lay a couple of things out for you.”
“First things first. Here's a little lesson on blood bonds. They are just that – a bond. The partners in a bond will feel a certain connection to each other, and they will be unable to form a permanent commitment to another individual, but the bond does not create attraction and it does not control emotions. Another interesting point – bonds involving a magical creature will not take unless both partners are open to the bond.”
“What?” “You must be mad!” Harry and Malfoy shouted over each other.
“Shut up,” said Hermione. “It's not that big a deal – all it means is that you were both looking for a partner – open to the possibility.”
“Yes, but I'm not gay,” Harry practically wailed.
“Could've fooled me,” Malfoy muttered.
“Don't you start, Mr. Kinky Dream Guy.”
“Kinky? Just you wait until I fall asleep again – I'll show you kinky!”
“Boys!” Hermione snapped. “You can fight later if you still want to. Right now, I'm talking and you're listening.” Harry huffed out a breath, crossed his arms and slumped in his chair. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy mimic his posture.
“To continue then, I'm going to ask you each a question, and I want to hear honest answers. If I think that you're lying, or even just withholding the truth, I will forcefeed you both Veritaserum and get the answers that way. Believe me when I say that I will do it.” She pinned them both with a glare.
“She will, you know,” Harry told Malfoy.
“Never doubted it,” he responded.
“Right, Harry. You told me that in your dreams, you were an observer, watching yourself interact with Malfoy. On Monday, when you first told me about the dreams, you called this image of yourself your dream image, or “Other Harry”. Today when we talked, you referred to him as an “imposter” and a “phoney.” What changed?”
Harry felt his face warm. He shot a glance sideways at Malfoy. “I don't know. I was just annoyed with him, I guess.”
“What annoyed you? Was it what he was doing?” Harry squirmed in his seat. “Harry?”
“Ok, fine, I know what you want me to say. I was jealous, alright? I hated that he got to touch him and I didn't. That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it?” Harry could feel his face burning now. He wanted to look up and see Malfoy's face but he didn't dare. If he looked and saw distain or pity, he didn't think he'd survive it.
Hermione gave him a sympathetic pat and turned on her other victim. “Draco, why did you run away from Harry this afternoon? I know you were tired and probably a bit panicky, but what were you thinking?”
“You already know.” Malfoy's voice sounded brittle. “Why make me say it?”
“Well, I know all sorts of things,” Hermione said. “You need to say it.”
Malfoy shifted in his seat, and Harry looked across at him. Malfoy looked just as nervous and uncomfortable as Harry felt. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. “I was afraid. I didn't want to end the bond, but I thought he'd hate it. He'd hate me. I don't want to live my life bonded to someone who doesn't want me. Who can't love me.”
Harry felt his heart clench at the pain in Malfoy's voice. “Malfoy,” he whispered, then corrected himself, “Draco, I don't hate you. I'm not sure that I love you, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't want you.” Draco looked at him searchingly. H
arry offered him a small smile, and reached over to take his hand. “You look doubtful,” he said. “I'm prepared to offer proof.” He looked up through his lashes and drew his bottom lip between his teeth. Draco's grip tightened, and he ran his eyes down Harry's body. “I might require a great deal of proof,” he said.
They both jumped when Hermione cleared her throat. “Well, I think it might be safe to leave you two to sort out the rest of the details,” she said. “I suggest that you find somewhere a bit more private to work on your 'proofs,'” She grinned at them. “I think that you'll find that the dreams are no longer an issue once your bond has been affirmed, consummated, whatever you'd like to call it. I'll be interested in hearing about it – purely from an academic point of view, of course.”
“You're just angling for salacious details,” Draco said, haughtily. “My love life is not going to be the subject of academic study.”
“That's what you think,” Hermione shot back. “You can't imagine that I'm going to let all this research go to waste? Don't worry,” she continued. “I will change the names to protect the wicked.”
She ushered them out of her office, and waved them towards the lift. “Go. I'll talk to you next week. I have to go find Ron now and fill him in.”
As they headed for the lift, Draco slipped his hand around Harry's waist and leaned in to purr in his ear. “Now about that proof...” The butterflies were back again. He had a feeling they'd be around a lot.
Just as they stepped into the lift, Hermione called after them. “I almost forgot, Draco. Narcissa is expecting the both of you for lunch tomorrow. And I think she's decided on silver and green for the wedding colours.”
Hermione's laughter followed them as the lift doors closed. Harry saw his look of consternation mirrored on Draco's face. Then the trademark smirk appeared. “Well, she's going to need something to do now that I'm off the market.”
“Damn right you're off the market,” Harry declared, pulling him into a kiss. “You're mine.”