Save Me - by dripping_cherry Title: Save Me Author:dripping_cherry Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: NC-17 Word Count: ~8100 Warning(s): graphic sex Beta: kitte8571, lotus_lizzy, and maya231 Prompt: 26 - Draco is the Veela, and Harry is his mate. Harry cannot stand Draco, wants nothing to do with him. He then finds out if their relationship is not consumated by Draco's 21st birthday he will die a slow and agonizing death. Harry the all around golden boy does not want Draco to die, so he steps forward to do what has to be done. What happens from there is left to the discretion of the writer. Summary: How far will Harry go to help someone in need? Author's Notes: emansil_08, I hope this is to your liking. I fell in love with the prompt as soon as I read it.
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.
The sunlight glared in Harry’s eyes as it shone from behind the silhouette of a winged man, casting a bright, golden aura around him. Harry couldn’t make out his features, but there was something familiar about him, so familiar, in fact, that he felt as if whoever this was held an important place in his life. Desperate to get a better look, Harry tried to come closer. He moved forward, step after step, but the distance between him and the mysterious man remained the same.
“Help me, Harry, I need you,” said a voice that seemed to be coming from inside his own head. The drawn out plea echoed in his brain, distorted beyond recognition. Harry had heard it before—in his dreams. Yes, he was dreaming. He had seen this man in his dreams before, but never with wings.
“Who are you?” Harry shouted to the fading figure.
“Save me!”
“I can’t save you if I don’t know who you are—”
“Come to the masquerade, Harry,” said the surreal voice, and the man faded and disappeared.
Harry stared at the space where the man had stood, taking in the surroundings for the first time. He was standing in the mouth of a large cave. The sun was beginning to set behind the mountains. Harry wondered where he was as he took in the unfamiliar landscape. The mountains didn’t look like the Alps, at least not like they did in Switzerland, where he’d been on a ski trip the year before.
The man obviously wasn’t coming back, so Harry forced his eyes open. Ginny appeared to be sleeping soundly beside him. He sat up, resting his forehead in his palms as he replayed every detail of the dream. The sheets rustled, and Harry suddenly felt a warm hand on the back of his neck.
“Same dream?” Ginny asked softly.
“Yeah,” said Harry. “Only this time, he had wings, and I realized that I was dreaming.”
“Did you ask him who he was?”
“He didn’t tell me. But--” Harry cringed, “he said I should come to the ball.”
Ginny’s face lit up instantly. For weeks now, she had been trying to convince Harry to attend the masquerade ball that the Ministry of Magic was holding. Harry hated social functions; he’d developed his intense dislike for them after being smothered by fawning crowds at every event he’d attended after the war— and there had been many.
“So you’ll go?”
Harry sighed. “Yes, but only because I want to find out who this person is and what he needs, so that I can stop having these dreams.”
“Good,” said Ginny as she rose from the bed.
“Where are you going?”
“Home-- mum and dad will be furious if they return early in the morning and find that I’m not there.”
“Oh, right,” said Harry, leaning back against the pillows. He’d almost forgotten that Arthur and Molly’s holiday in France had come to an end. The past two weeks had been great fun without Mrs. Molly’s watchful eyes and her constant reminders that Ginny was not to sleep with Harry until after they were married. Harry would probably have been more disappointed about things returning to normal if he didn’t have this latest dream to distract him.
“Ginny, you don’t think it could be Malfoy, do you?” Harry had no logical reason to believe that the man he kept dreaming about was Draco Malfoy— his face had always been hidden in shadow, his voice echoing and slurred— but each time he woke up from one of those dreams, his thoughts turned to his childhood rival. That in itself was odd, for Harry didn’t care for Draco any more now than he had at Hogwarts.
Ginny wrinkled her forehead, “Why would you think that? And what would Malfoy want from you?”
Harry silently watched her put on her shoes.
“Besides,” said Ginny. “The last time I saw Draco, he didn’t have wings.”
“It better not be,” said Harry. “I’ve helped him enough times.” She leaned over the side of the bed and kissed him on the forehead. “See you tomorrow. And try not to worry about the dream too much— if it means anything at all, it’ll become clear soon enough. But it’s probably nothing.”
“I hope so. My life has never been that simple, though, has it?”
Ginny smiled sympathetically. “No, it hasn’t been. But let’s hope it is now, yeah?”
Harry nodded.
“I’ll see you later,” said Ginny. “Try to get some sleep— it’s still early.”
“I love you,” said Harry, but his voice was drowned out by a loud pop as Ginny Dissaparated.
The sky was beginning to lighten. Heaving a sigh, Harry flung back the covers and got out of bed. The ball was tonight, and he was too anxious to go back to sleep.
*****
Harry arrived at the Burrow fifteen minutes early by Floo and was greeted by a bored-looking Ron Weasley. They passed the time by the wireless set in the living room, together with Arthur, while the women were upstairs helping each other with their hair and makeup.
When Ginny finally appeared at the bottom of the staircase, Harry felt his pulse rise a little. She looked stunning in a turquoise-colored dress and white eye mask that made her fiery hair stand out.
“You look beautiful,” said Harry, and he leaned in to kiss her, but she pulled away saying that he would smear her lipstick. Molly and Hermione came downstairs then. Molly was hardly recognizable in a beautiful gown that was such a striking contrast to her usually homey style. She said she had sewn it herself, and Harry thought it looked as elegant and rich as anything Narcissa Malfoy could have bought with her husband’s fortune before the war.
Hermione looked stunning, too, in a red dress and matching feathered mask. To save Ron from perpetual stuttering, for he was obviously speechless, Harry suggested that they get going. One by one, they Apparated to the underground toilets, which would transport them to the Ministry.
As he waited for an available toilet, Harry tried to calm his nerves by telling himself that nothing bad was going to happen at the ball, that no one there needed saving. The dreams were just a result of his unconscious creating imaginary quests, because saving people was the only way he knew how to live. His mind was so preoccupied that he barely felt himself being pulled through the network before emerging from a fireplace in the Atrium.
Harry followed Ginny as she made rounds greeting various friends and acquaintances. Everyone was surprised to see him and eager to make conversation, for he hadn’t been going out much lately, and even at work he’d usually been hidden in his cubicle at the Auror’s Office or out working on a case. But Harry only pretended to listen as his eyes scanned the room. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but he was sure that when he saw it, or rather him, he’d know.
As soon as he saw an opportunity, Harry slipped away to go and get some drinks. He glanced at every masked face he passed as he walked across the spacious but crowded room, returning nods of greeting to those who recognized him. No one seemed to need his help. Perhaps Ginny had been right after all.
Harry stopped at the tables laid out with drinks and appetizers. If he were hungry, the mounds of fancy bite-sized foods would have made his mouth water, but his stomach was twisted into a knot.
“Potter?”
Harry started at the sound of a familiar voice. He spun around, catching only a glimpse of a pointed chin visible beneath a silver mask before the man’s lips claimed his own. Strong arms pulled him close, eager hands sliding up his back. He gasped in surprise, unwittingly allowing the man’s tongue into his mouth. The body that was pressing against his own was lean and hard, and its warmth drew him against his will.
Harry was returning his attacker’s kiss, drowning in the scent of citrus and woods that he had no choice but to inhale. His fingers touched the man’s face, caressing his jaw line. Harry’s rational mind told him to pull away, to hit the bastard who had dared to assault him like this, but his body resisted.
The sound of an impact suddenly rang in Harry’s ears, and his head bounced back painfully as his attacker was catapulted away and fell to the ground. Harry watched in shock as Ginny spat insults at a dazed Draco Malfoy, kicking him once in the side for good measure. A crowd soon gathered around the man who was rubbing his jaw, mask askew.
Harry heard surprised gasps as the guests recognized Draco, who, according to rumor, hadn’t been seen in public since his trial after the war.
Regaining his senses, Harry thanked Ginny for her intervention, and headed for the fireplaces at a brisk pace, needing to get away as fast as possible.
*****
Harry stood with his hands pressed against the shower wall, head bowed, letting the cool water hit the nape of his neck and run down his back. He burned with disgust everywhere Draco had touched him, and apparently, no amount of showering could wash the feeling away.
What’s Malfoy’s problem, anyway? Since when does he fancy me?
Harry could still feel Draco’s tongue, so slippery and warm, desperately seeking contact with his own. It made his throat tighten and his stomach turn. He lifted his head and opened his mouth, letting the water fill his mouth to rinse out the feeling of Draco.
Sighing, Harry shut off the water and opened the sliding glass door. He grabbed a towel and dried himself off quickly before stepping out of the bathroom, not prepared for what was waiting for him there, though he should have been.
“Harry Potter, how dare you leave me alone at the Ministry after I catch you kissing a man? Draco Malfoy to be exact!”
Ginny’s resemblance to her mother was uncanny as she stood with her fists on her hips, staring him down like a disobedient child. Resigned, Harry plopped down onto his bed, not caring that he was stark naked.
“Well?” Ginny demanded.
“I didn’t kiss him,” said Harry. “He attacked me. I barely realized what was happening before you came and smashed his face in.”
“Bollocks! I saw everything! It took at least fifteen seconds from when he threw himself at you until I got there, and you were kissing him back.”
“I was not,” Harry protested. “He caught me off guard. I didn’t know what was happening-- that’s why I didn’t react right away.”
Ginny’s laugh was bitter. “Oh, you reacted alright.”
I can’t have kissed him back, thought Harry. I’d know if I did. Ginny just thinks she saw something, because she’s jealous.
“Well, at least now you know who it was you were dreaming about. How will you save him, now? Will you give yourself to him to spare him from the agony of unrequited love?”
“Ginny, I think you’re overreacting,” said Harry, trying to stay calm. “First of all, I doubt that infatuation is enough to cause telepathic dreams. And second, whatever feelings he may have for me are his problem. I want nothing to do with him.”
Ginny hmphed, crossing her arms over her chest. “So your decision not to leave me for a bloke is based on your dislike of him, and not on your love for me?”
Harry closed his eyes, counting to ten as he exhaled slowly. I should never have admitted to being bisexual. How could I have been stupid enough to play Truth or Dare under the influence of Veritaserum?
The sound of tapping on glass saved Harry from having to come up with an immediate response. He rose from the bed and walked over to the window, where an Eagle owl carrying an envelope perched on the ledge.
Ginny looked at him suspiciously. “Who’s that from?”
Harry looked down at the Malfoy seal and back up at Ginny, wondering if there was anything he could say or do at this point that wouldn’t be wrong. Without another moment’s thought, Harry picked up his wand and cast a levitation charm. Once the envelope was floating in the air if front of him, he muttered, “Incendio,” and watched as it burst into flame.
Ginny was looking at him with a shocked expression.
Harry shrugged. “It was from Malfoy.”
“You didn’t even open it—“
“There’s nothing he could possibly say that would interest me,” Harry said as he opened his underwear drawer and pulled out a pair of boxers. His response seemed to please Ginny. Yet their moods had been ruined beyond repair, and there was nothing left to do but say goodnight.
As soon as Ginny left, Harry went to bed, hoping to forget the events of the evening.
*****
The feathers of Draco’s wings—or what remained of them-- were dull and ruffled, like a sick bird’s, and there were bare patches all over, as if he’d been plucking. Seeing him, Harry wondered about the wings, for Draco hadn’t had any at the ball, but then he realized that Draco was standing dangerously close to the edge of a cliff, gazing downward. This alarmed him because, although Draco had wings, they weren’t in any condition to carry him safely through the air. They might slow the fall a little, but not enough to save his life.
“Don’t do it,” said Harry.
Draco turned his head slowly and looked at Harry, with a sullen expression. His ivory skin had taken on a grayish tone, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. Even his voice was raspy when he finally spoke.
“Will you have me, Harry?”
Harry hadn’t known what Draco would say or do when he told him not to jump—he hadn’t even thought about it—yet it felt as if he’d dreaded hearing the blond’s question all along. Am I the reason he wants to kill himself? I could never—not with him! Should I lie, just to keep him from committing suicide? Wait, I can immobilize him!
Harry reached for his wand, but he realized that he was dressed only in his boxer shorts and didn’t have it with him. He looked up at Draco; the blond smiled sadly and turned his head forward again.
“No!” cried Harry.
But it was too late. Draco had already thrown himself off the ledge. The helplessness Harry felt took all the strength from Harry’s legs, and he dropped to his knees, hitting the ground angrily with his fist.
Why does it matter? It’s only Malfoy—
It did matter, though, because Harry had spent so much of his life saving people, and yet he hadn’t been able to save Draco from such a senseless death.
*****
The tapping sound steadily grew louder, and it was more than Harry could handle in his sleepy state. He’d been awake long enough to figure out that someone was requesting entrance to the room, but not long enough to force himself to care. Groaning in self-pity, Harry covered his head with a pillow, but the insistent knocking continued. Harry had forbidden Kreacher from Apparating into his bedroom when he was asleep, but now he realized that he should have ordered the elf not to wake him at all.
“What is it, Kreacher?” Harry’s voice was still hoarse from sleep.
“Kreacher is sorry for waking Master Harry, but Miss Cissy is at the door and requests to see you, sir.”
Harry sat bolt upright. “Narcissa Malfoy is here?” he asked to make sure he’d heard correctly.
“Yes, Master,” said the elf, still behind the door.
Harry looked at his watch— it was 10:30 in the morning. He assumed that the happenings between himself, Ginny, and Draco at the ball might have something to do with Narcissa’s morning visit, but as he wasn’t responsible for Draco’s assault or for Ginny’s violent reaction to the scene, he didn’t know what she could possibly want from him.
“Tell her I’ll be right there,” said Harry, rising from the bed. He threw on some jeans and a shirt and ran his hands through his hair in a failed attempt to make it look semi-decent.
When Harry came out to greet Narcissa, Kreacher was already serving her tea. As she rose to greet Harry, he noticed that, although proud and well-groomed as ever, she looked like she hadn’t slept at all. Dark circles shadowed her bloodshot eyes, and there was a tremor in her voice when she spoke.
“I apologize for my intrusion at this hour, Mr. Potter, but I have an important matter to discuss with you, concerning my son, and I could not wait any longer.”
Harry tried to remain polite even as impatience began to unfurl inside him. “Please, have a seat.” He accepted a cup of tea and a biscuit from Kreacher.
Narcissa took a deep breath. “You will not like what I have come to tell you, and I won’t be surprised if you decide not to help Draco. Deeply grieved, yes, but not surprised. All I ask of you, however, is that you listen to what I have to say, and allow me to finish, before making a final decision.”
“Okay,” said Harry, nodding once. He would listen, if that would appease her, but he had already made up his mind: Unless hell had frozen over while Harry was asleep, he would not help Draco Malfoy, a former Death Eater who had gotten off too easy and so far hadn’t done anything to show remorse for his past deeds.
“Have you ever heard of Veela gold, Mr. Potter?”
Harry shook his head. “No, I haven’t.”
“It’s a mythic treasure,” Narcissa began, “believed to be hidden somewhere in Eastern Europe, where the Veela originated. It is said that whoever comes into the possession of the gold will be loved and admired by everyone.”
Narcissa smiled sadly and sipped her tea before continuing. “Draco had a difficult time adjusting after the war. He believed that no one would ever trust him, for reasons I need not explain to you, and that it would be impossible for him to make something of his life.”
“So he wanted to find the gold?” Harry asked.
“Yes. He spent months researching possible locations where the treasure might be hidden, and narrowed the possibilities down to a certain cave in the Velebit Mountains, in Croatia.”
Narcissa traced the rim of her cup with a polished finger. “Lucius and I were worried for him. Veela can be vicious if provoked; many wizards have set off in search of their treasure and never returned. We tried to convince Draco that he didn’t need the gold, that even after the Ministry repossessed a portion of our wealth, there would be enough for him to live a peaceful life outside of the public eye.” She shook her head. “But he wouldn’t hear of it— he has always been so starved for attention.”
She chuckled, “You know, when we first sent him off to Hogwarts, we secretly wondered if he wouldn’t be sorted into Gryffindor, even though he longed so much to be in Slytherin.”
Harry fought the urge to snort.
“Anyway, Draco found the treasure, but he hadn’t successfully broken the wards, and he could not escape. It wasn’t out of mercy that the Veela spared his life. Draco said that they were ready to tear him to pieces when their queen stopped them, for she had in mind a… prolonged punishment.”
Harry felt his mouth go dry, and a sip of tea only made the feeling worse. “And what was that?”
“The Veela’s kiss,” said Narcissa. “The Queen of the Veela can turn humans into Veela by passing the curse through a kiss.”
Suspicion gnawed at Harry. “I thought only women could become Veela,” he said, his eyes narrowed.
“No. It is rare, as the Kiss is usually administered to women as a punishment for being promiscuous, but men can also be cursed if they arouse the Veelas’ wrath.”
“So— being turned into a Veela is a punishment?” Harry couldn’t fathom this piece of information.
“Oh yes,” said Narcissa. “Each Veela is bound to a one person, with whom he or she must consummate the relationship within two years of being cursed. They cannot find happiness with anyone else. But there’s a catch, of course—”
Harry was getting curious in spite of himself. “And what’s that?”
“The relationship is usually doomed from the start,” said Narcissa. “Most people are susceptible enough to the Veela’s charm to consummate the relationship, but afterwards, the magic loses its effect. Unless true love develops, the Veela will suffer a lifetime of loneliness and pain, both emotional and physical.”
“And what if the relationship isn’t consummated?”
Narcissa’s lips formed a hard line before she finally answered. “Then the Veela will die a slow and agonizing death.
Harry swallowed around a lump in his throat. “How long has it been since Draco was cursed?”
“It will be three years on his birthday, in June.”
“And Draco’s mate—?”
Narcissa’s expression was rueful. “The Queen of the Veela foresaw that Draco’s mate is someone who is almost completely immune to Veela charm.”
Harry didn’t like the sound of that at all. Normal people weren’t immune to curses and charms. Harry, however, had always been an anomaly. He’d suspected that he might be Draco’s mate as soon as Narcissa explained the nature of the punishment, but he’d hoped that maybe, by some miracle, it was someone else, like say, Ron, whom Narcissa hoped he would convince to take pity on Draco. But now his hopes were shattered.
“It’s me, isn’t it?” Harry asked, staring at a stain on the rug. “I’m his mate.”
“Yes.”
Narcissa’s confirmation was followed by a prolonged silence as Harry allowed the information to sink in. He wondered if his feet were cold from lack of energy, or if hell really was beginning to freeze over.
“I’m afraid the process has already begun,” said Narcissa, her voice quaking. “Draco is losing his appetite; he doesn’t sleep well. And he is so frightened. He tries to put on a brave face for me, but I know that the fear of a painful death is eating him up inside.”
Harry remembered his dream. Scared enough to commit suicide? But he didn’t voice his thoughts. If Narcissa hadn’t considered that possibility, he didn’t want to plant it in her mind.
“Why didn’t Draco tell me this?” Harry asked, realizing it might have been a mistake to burn the letter he’d received the night before.
“I begged him to, but he said that you wouldn’t care, and that even if you did, he wouldn’t want you to lie with him out of pity.” Narcissa was wringing her hands nervously. “I hoped he’d change his mind once the time drew nearer. He said he sent you a letter last night, after you left the ball—did you receive it?”
Harry cast his gaze on the floor again. “No.”
“I didn’t think so.” Narcissa put down her teacup and stood. “Well, thank you for allowing me to share Draco’s story with you, Mr. Potter. I won’t bother you again, but I do hope you’ll give this some thought.”
“I will,” said Harry.
He saw Narcissa to the door, where they exchanged polite, if somber, goodbyes. As soon as his guest was gone, Harry rushed to his desk and took out a piece of parchment. He didn’t have a rational reason to believe that Narcissa was deceiving him, but he would not make a decision until Hermione confirmed that everything he’d learned over the past half hour was true.
Hermione’s response arrived quickly, and the news wasn’t good. Everything Narcissa had told him about Veela was true: a man could be turned into one, and the bond with his mate would have to be consummated within three years of that date. But Harry’s luck didn’t end there. Although he’d been careful not to reveal any specific details about his situation, or to even hint that he had a situation, Hermione had become suspicious. “Stay home. I’m coming over,” said her response.
Harry grabbed his quill and penned a hasty response, telling her that he had planned to spend the day with Ginny, and that he would see her at work tomorrow. It wasn’t a complete lie. He hadn’t actually planned on spending the day with Ginny, but now he needed to head over to the Burrow and tell her what he was going to do.
Harry’s stomach plummeted: Ginny wouldn’t like it one bit. Yet he had to be straight with her. However good his intentions, Harry knew he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he cheated on her. If he explained the circumstances, though, she might understand and allow it. It was a long shot, but Harry had to try.
He hadn’t eaten anything save for a bite of biscuit with his tea in the morning, but his throat was so tight he doubted he could force anything down, so he headed straight for the Floo. Stepping into the fireplace, Harry fervently hoped that the kitchen wouldn’t be full of Weasleys when he arrived, as he wasn’t in the mood for socializing.
Thankfully, the room was empty but for Molly, who had her back turned to the fireplace when Harry appeared. If he’d been lucky, he could have snuck upstairs to Ginny’s room without being noticed, but that would have been too much to ask for.
“Harry!” Molly exclaimed. “I wondered if you’d come by today.”
“Morning, Mum,” said Harry, forcing a smile. “Is Ginny home?”
“Yes, she’s upstairs. Would you like something to eat?”
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ll just be real quick— I’ve a lot to do for work.”
Molly smiled. “Alright, dear. I won’t keep you— off you go,” she said, waving him upstairs.
Taking two steps at a time, Harry arrived on the next floor, where he knocked on Ginny’s bedroom door and waited for permission to enter.
“Come in!” said Ginny.
She was working on her scrapbook and looked almost as surprised to see Harry as he’d been to see Narcissa that morning, but when she took in his expression, she frowned. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said. “I suppose I was a bit hard on you.”
“It’s okay,” said Harry. He sat down next to her on the bed and slowly, reluctantly, told her everything— about his most recent dream, about Narcissa’s visit and the information she’d shared, and about Hermione’s confirmation that Narcissa’s story (or at least the Veela lore contained in it) was true. But when he came to the crucial point of telling her how he meant to deal with the situation, Harry hesitated, trying to find the right words, the right tone, the right—
Wham!
Harry started at the sound that sent a gust of cool air up the nape of his neck. Looking around, he saw that Ginny had slammed a photo she’d been holding on top of her scrapbook. Her nostrils were flared.
“If you’re here to ask me if I will allow you to shag Draco so that you can have a clear conscience, then the answer is NO.”
“But he’ll die if—“
“Oh well!” said Ginny. “I don’t want him to die, either, but we have to draw the line somewhere!”
Harry tried to sound as placating as possible. “Ginny, just try to be reasonable for a moment.”
“You try being reasonable. Stop carrying the world around on your shoulders!”
“I’m not— Look, if there was someone, anyone else, who could do this instead of me, I’d happily hand over the job—“
Harry noticed Ginny wiping away a tear. He tried to reach out to her, but she slapped his hand away.
“I won’t agree to it,” she said. “It’s either me or him.”
Harry huffed, unable to comprehend how Ginny could bear to let someone die than to make one sacrifice, however painful it might be. His next words cut through his center like double-edged sword.
“I’m sorry.”
Ginny stared at him blankly for a moment until the implication in his apology sank in. Then her lips tightened and the tendons in her neck protruded as she grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at Harry. He ducked, and the fluffy weapon caught only the tips of his hair.
“Get out!” cried Ginny.
Harry knew when to concede. Before Ginny could throw anything else at him, he stepped out into the safety of the hallway before Apparating home.
*****
The following week was one of the longest in Harry’s life. Work had been entirely uneventful, so he’d had nothing but boring paperwork at the Auror’s office to distract him from his anxiety about his imminent mating with Draco, his regret about hurting Ginny, and the dreams that plagued him every night.
Sunday night, he’d dreamed of Draco dying, writhing in pain as someone was casting Crucio on him. Harry thought it was a warning of what would happen if he didn’t step in and save Draco. After that night, though, the dreams had been of an entirely different nature. Most of them featured Harry in bed with Draco, the blond crying out in pleasure and writhing beneath him, clinging to Harry as if his life depended on it. These dreams made Harry burn with shame, for they always resulted in a raging hard-on, and one time, he’d woken up while having an orgasm. That Draco was the cause of such things was unthinkable.
The only “exciting” event of the week had been when Ron attacked him on Monday morning. Ginny had told him the reason for their split, and he’d come at Harry with both fists. If Neville hadn’t immobilized Ron, the latter would have turned Harry’s face into pudding. Ron hadn’t spoken to Harry since.
Harry had hoped that Ginny would have a change of heart once she’d had a chance to think the matter over calmly, but he hadn’t heard from her either. The only one of his friends that supported his decision was Hermione. And she agreed with Harry that, even though Draco’s birthday was a few months away, it would be better to do the deed sooner due to the danger of a fear-induced suicide.
Harry had written to Draco two days ago to let him know that he was coming over today. He understood the lack of a response as a quiet acquiescence. If Draco didn’t want Harry to come, he’d have said so; of that, Harry was certain.
The only thing left to do now was to get his arse over to the Manor and shag Draco. Actually, Harry hoped he’d be able to convince Draco that they should come back to his home. The Manor had very unpleasant memories, and Harry would rather do it in his own home, even if that meant having to sleep in the same bed he’d shagged Draco in for years to come. He doubted that Draco would agree, but just in case, he’d asked Kreacher to make sure his room was spotless. Harry himself had set the bed with his black satin sheets. A small bottle of lube was in his pocket, ready to be used wherever they ended up.
Harry felt himself blush when he realized that his cock perked up at the thought of slick lube. He shook his head to clear it of such thoughts. Looking out the window, Harry saw that the sun had set completely. He’d tarried long enough; it was time to go.
For a few seconds, Harry felt like he was being pulled through a black hole as he Apparated to the front gates of Malfoy Manor. After standing in front of the door for almost five minutes, he began to suspect that no one was going to let him in. That was fine with him. If he hadn’t come to do his job, he’d end up with a guilty conscience, but if Draco didn’t let him, then his hands would be clean.
Just as Harry was turning to leave, the door swung open and a disgruntled Draco Malfoy stood before him.
“Hello,” said Harry. “Didn’t expect you to answer the door.”
“I sent Mother and the elves away,” said Draco. He opened the door wider. “Well, come in.”
Draco stood with his arms crossed as he looked at Harry. “So you’re here to perform a noble deed, huh? Life beginning to get stale only three years after the war?”
“Look, I don’t have to be here,” said Harry.
“I didn’t ask you to come.”
“What did the letter say, then?”
Draco arched a brow. “Didn’t you read it?”
“No,” said Harry. “I burned it.”
“You’ll never know then, will you?” Draco’s spitefulness didn’t quite cover the disappointment in his tone.
“I guess I won’t,” said Harry. “Not unless you tell me.”
“Well I won’t.”
“Fine,” said Harry, testily. His patience had its limits, and Draco was testing it for all he was worth. “So are we gonna do this, or not?”
Draco stared at Harry, unmoving. He appeared not to be breathing. It was beyond Harry why someone would still hesitate at this point. What does he think he’ll gain by not letting me shag him?
“It won’t fix anything, you know,” said Draco. “I won’t die, but I think that, in the end, the pain of not being with you, afterwards, might be worse than death.”
Malfoy’s words seemed to stop time. For a moment, Harry was unaware of anything but what Draco had just said. Is that why he doesn’t want to do it? I can’t believe I mean that much to him.
For the first time, Harry’s thoughts turned deeper than the “shag him so that he doesn’t die” mechanics of the situation, and he realized that Draco Malfoy loved him. This new understanding calmed his irritation; suddenly, Harry regretted having snapped.
“It might not be as bad as you think,” said Harry, unable to offer any other consolation. I can’t tell him we’ll live happily ever after— that would be a lie. I don’t feel that way about him.
Draco sucked his lower lip in between his teeth and chewed. “I’ve never gone all the way with a bloke before— ”
“I’ll be gentle,” Harry promised.
Draco thought for a few seconds and said okay. “Let’s go to my room.” He took a few steps deeper into the brooding interior of the Manor.
“Actually,” said Harry tentatively, “I was hoping we could go to my flat. This place has bad memories for me.” For you, too, I imagine, he thought, but he didn’t want pick at Draco’s emotional wounds by saying it out loud.
Draco nodded. “Fine.”
Harry took the blond’s hand and Apparated them both back to the bedroom of his flat. As Harry shed his coat and send it drifting out of his room and into the coat closet, he noticed Draco looked around the room. To his surprise, the man’s pale, pointed face didn’t twist with disdain as he would have expected.
“Can I get you anything?” Harry asked as Draco sat down on the edge of the bed.
“No, thank you.” The blond was picking at imaginary lint on his trousers. “I’m a bit nervous.”
Harry sat next to him, trying his best to ignore the heat coming from Draco’s thigh. “You don’t need to be.”
Draco was silent and still, and Harry’s heart was pounding so loudly he was sure that Draco could hear it. Fuck! How do I start?
“You don’t know what it’s like, being next to you,” said Draco. “I feel like every nerve ending is on fire.”
Actually, Harry was sure he knew, but he didn’t say anything, because his fire was fueled by hate, not love or desire. That has to be it. Why else would I feel like it’s lava, not blood, that’s flowing through my veins?
Harry extended his hand and gently touched Draco’s thigh. The blond closed his eyes, his lips parting ever so slightly. Encouraged, Harry continued to caress the hard muscle, sliding his fingers higher as he leaned in. Avoiding eye contact with Harry, Draco turned his head so that their lips were only centimeters apart. Hot breath tickled Harry’s face, sending a shiver down his spine and causing his heart to beat even faster.
Suddenly they were kissing. Harry wasn’t sure who had initiated it, but he didn’t care, because Draco’s tongue was warm and wet, and its every move caused a stirring in his groin. Occasionally Draco would pull away, forcing Harry to recapture his mouth with unrestrained passion.
While Harry licked and nipped the silky skin of Draco’s neck, a hand gently cupped the bulge in his jeans, and he gasped in surprise at the wave of pleasure that simple action aroused. He rested his forehead in the crook of Draco’s shoulder, while the blond pulled out his cock and began to wank him.
Draco’s mouth was a magnet; Harry couldn’t get enough of it, and no matter how hard he tried not to, he wound up kissing it again and again, almost regretting the loss of it when Draco bent down and took Harry’s cock in his mouth. Almost.
Harry couldn’t resist stroking the silky blonde hair while Draco sucked him off. This gentle gesture was a strong contrast to the needy, upward thrusts of his hips that pushed his cock deep inside Draco’s wet mouth.
When Draco came back up, his lips were swollen and his cheeks tinged pink. And he looked so utterly shaggable when he asked, “Wanna fuck me?” that Harry wondered why he hadn’t done it long ago.
“Yeah,” said Harry, and he helped Draco pull off his sweater and unbutton the black shirt underneath it.
Naked from the waist up, Draco lay back against the pillows, and Harry knelt in between his legs, sliding calloused fingers up the sides of the blond’s torso while sucking a nipple into his mouth. Draco gasped and arched beneath him, burying his fingers in tousled black hair. But patience wasn’t Harry’s virtue, so he abandoned the foreplay to remove the rest of their clothing.
Harry took the lube out of the pocket of his jeans, tossed them aside, and popped open the cap. Then, risking a glance at Draco, he faltered. The blond man was stunningly gorgeous; his lithe form a striking contrast to the black satin sheets. But what really captivated Harry was the arched length sticking up in between spread legs.
“What?” Draco asked self-consciously.
“You’re beautiful,” Harry told him, blaming the response on the Veela’s charm, to which he obviously wasn’t immune.
The side of Draco’s mouth curled up in a smile. “So what are you waiting for?”
Harry returned his attention to his task and poured the lube over the tips of two fingers. Draco, who suddenly looked nervous, spread his thighs further apart to make room for Harry.
Hoping to distract Draco from his anxious thoughts, Harry took the blond’s cock in his non-lubed hand and circled his tongue around the tip. Then he lapped at the slit and proceeded to do all manner of naughty things with his mouth and, while Draco moaned and begged, Harry slid his finger past the tight ring of muscle.
It was torture, having to patiently prepare Draco while Harry’s cock was swollen and heavy and begging to be buried inside the Veela. Draco scrunched his face in a brief moment of discomfort, then continued thrusting up into Harry’s mouth and back onto his fingers.
When it seemed like Draco was close to coming, Harry took his mouth off the blond’s cock. “Ready?”
Draco nodded, so Harry withdrew his fingers and lubed his cock. Seeing the blond’s wide-eyed, apprehensive look, he chuckled. “Don’t worry— I’ll try not to split you in two.”
“I don’t think you could if you tried,” said Draco defiantly, but his voice trembled slightly.
Harry positioned himself, nudging Draco’s entrance until he made the blond gasp, and then he pushed forward, slowly but smoothly, until he was completely buried. Harry was in heaven. Never in his life had he imagined such exquisite velvety tightness, and never inside Draco Malfoy. That burning feeling started up again; it made him weak in the limbs.
Harry waited until Draco released his death grip on the sheets before he began to move. Those parted lips, releasing sighs and muted moans, invited Harry in. The kissing isn’t necessary, he reminded himself, but he was unable to resist. He thrust his plundering tongue into Draco’s mouth, hands caressing smooth skin as he tried to maintain an angle that brought his partner the most pleasure.
Since when has bringing him pleasure become a priority? Harry didn’t know the answer to that; all he knew was that every cry of pleasure that escaped Draco’s lips fueled the flames inside him. Harry was shocked to realize that the fire he was trying to feed now was the same as the one he’d tried to wash away in the shower after the ball. Why do I like it, now? Or did I like it from the start?
But none of it mattered, because Draco’s hand was in between their bodies, and he was wanking himself hard and fast as his body tensed. Harry matched Draco’s strokes, thrusting harder and faster, kissing Draco with more intensity than he’d ever kissed anyone with in his life. Suddenly Draco arched, moaning into Harry’s mouth, and spurted hot seed over his hand and stomach. It was enough to send Harry over the edge.
Only when it was over did Harry notice the streams of sweat running down his face, which was odd, for he didn’t usually sweat much. Hoping not to disgust Draco by dripping on him, Harry moved himself off the blond and lay down beside him. As Draco finally recovered, he once again looked nervous and unsure.
“Will you stay?” Harry asked, reading Draco’s thoughts. A bit of hospitality certainly was in order after a shag like that.
“I’d like that,” said Draco.
They didn’t speak another word, but as Harry drifted off to sleep, he faintly registered that a slender hand entwined with his own.
*****
When Harry woke, the space beside him was cold and empty. He’d expected to find Draco there, sleeping soundly or maybe cuddling up against him. What he found instead was a letter on the pillow next to him. Groaning sleepily, Harry reached for his glasses and began to read.
Harry,
Thank you for last night. It was more than I ever dared to wish for. I don’t know how bad things will get for me or if my feelings about what took place between us will change once we’re apart, but right now, I’m almost glad my mother intervened on my behalf. Pitiful, isn’t it?
The last thing I ever wanted was for you to have sex with me as an act of mercy. I used to think I’d rather die. The letter I wrote to you after the ball, which you burned, was a final, desperate attempt to save my life in a slightly more honorable way. In it, I revealed my love for you and asked if you might be willing to put the past behind us and give me a chance, but didn’t explain the circumstances of my situation. I wasn’t deluded enough to think that it might work, but I had to at least try.
You look so peaceful, sleeping here beside me, and I wish I could stay here with you forever, but as they say, all good things must come to an end, right? I really wish this didn’t, though, and I do hope that I’ll see you again soon.
Yours, Draco
Harry had no explanation for the constricting feeling in the center of his chest. Draco was gone, and even so, according to lore, the Veela charm shouldn’t have any effect on Harry now that they’d been together. Perhaps his heart was willing him to face the disturbing truth: He fancied Draco Malfoy. But that was a truth Harry couldn’t deal with.
*****
The following month was hectic and tiring, but only because Harry made sure they were. Throwing himself into his work and all of the overdue errands that needed to be taken care of helped keep his mind off Draco and the night they had spent together. There hadbeen some positive developments, though.
Ginny had finally come around and admitted that she’d been selfish and that Harry had made the right decision. Yet they also agreed that, since their relationship had been deteriorating for some time, it would be better to remain friends..
Ron finally forgave him, too, and now that the entire group was on speaking terms again, Harry felt as if they were all sending each other telepathic signals regarding everything he said or did. Harry had his suspicions that it had something to do with the Veela situation, and he was proved correct when Hermione broke the silence over lunch one day.
“You know, Harry, it’s alright for you to want to be with Malfoy.”
Harry nearly choked on his milkshake. “What?”
“We approve,” said Ron, looking as if he was surprised at the words coming out of his own mouth. “If you fancy the prat, go to him.”
“I don’t!” Harry protested. “It’s all the result of the Veela charm, that’s all. I’ll be back to normal in no time.”
Both his friends shook their heads.
“The Veela charm loses its affect once a physical bond has taken place,” said Hermione. “Any feelings you have for Draco now are real.”
Harry groaned pitifully and buried his head in his arms. Ron patted his shoulder. “Just take the rest of the day off, mate. Go to him—he probably feels as bad as you do, if not worse.”
Well fuck. If Ron has accepted it, then it’s about time I do, too. Harry lifted his head and saw Hermione looking affectionately at her boyfriend. Then she gave Harry a slight nod.
“Thanks, guys,” said Harry, pushing back his chair to stand. His friends watched in amusement as he all but ran out of the cafeteria.
Before heading over to Malfoy Manor, Harry stopped at home to put on some cologne and try to wrestle a bit with the unruly mop on top of his head. When an untimely ring sounded at the door, Harry decided to ignore it, hoping Kreacher would finally obey his orders and do the same.
The elf knocked on the bathroom door shortly after, and Harry closed his eyes, exhaling slowly to calm himself.
“Draco Malfoy is here to see you, sir,” said Kreacher. “Should Kreacher send him away?”
“No!” said Harry, surprised and elated. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”
Harry ran his fingers through his hair one last time and headed out to the sitting room, where Draco was waiting for him. The blond was a mess, and he looked apologetic as he tried to explain his presence.
“Harry, I—I couldn’t—”
“I couldn’t, either,” Harry interrupted.
Before Draco could say another word, Harry covered the blond’s mouth with his own. The kiss was slower, gentler than those they had shared before, and when it was over, Draco smiled and stroked the side of his face. “You really want to be with me?”
Harry said yes, and when Draco pulled him down onto the sofa while kissing him, the world began to spin.