Chapter Text
“Draco, are you okay?” Harry asks, his hand rubbing against the sore skin of Draco’s shoulders as Draco doubles over and whimpers, the pain so strong that he can’t speak. “What’s wrong?”
“Please don’t be sick here,” Longbottom says, looking pale and worried. “I’m going to puke if you do it.”
“Let me take you to the hospital wing,” Harry says gently, taking Draco’s elbow and helping him stand up. Draco’s skin feels on fire against Harry’s palm, and he moans embarrassingly when Harry squeezes him in a way that is probably meant to be reassuring but that makes Draco’s blood boil instead.
The room swims around Draco. He groans as the pain intensifies, as if someone were stabbing his back every time he takes a step towards the door.
Salazar, what the fuck is wrong with him? He’s never felt so unwell before, not even after taking the Mark.
“Maybe you should levitate him,” Klara suggests, sounding worried while she stands by the door and watches them go.
“’M fine,” Draco manages to croak out. He just wants to be alone in his rooms, to sink in a bathtub full of hot water, hoping that will ease his pain. He doesn’t want Harry to touch him as if it were a normal thing between friends, because Draco knows now that he wants more. He wants all of Harry, naked and panting in his bed. He wants him soft and sweet or moaning as he comes undone under Draco. He wants to make Harry his, in more ways than just sex.
Draco wants. So badly.
He craves Harry with so much intensity that it’s suddenly driving him mad with need.
“Let go of me,” Draco groans as he stumbles down the corridor, heading for his rooms.
“Don’t be daft and let me take you to see Poppy,” Harry says, stubborn Gryffindor that he is. He smells so nice against Draco, and the temptation to bury his face in Harry’s neck to just inhale and then bite is so strong that Draco needs to stop and take a deep steadying breath to prevent himself from doing something unforgivable that he will surely regret.
Draco needs to find out what’s wrong with his body. There must be a potion that can make him feel better. If only he could get back to his living quarters and have a look at his books.
“I want to go home,” Draco whines, sounding like a pitiful child. Harry’s eyes grow soft as he circles his arm around Draco’s back and sneaks his hand under Draco’s armpit for support.
“I’m taking you to your rooms,” Harry promises, making Draco’s eyebrows crease in relief and desperation. Circe, he wants to drag Harry into his bed so badly that the desire feels like Fiendfyre in his stomach. Draco realises with dread that he’s getting hard under his cloak and hopes that Harry will not realise, because the last thing he wants is to explain why on earth he’s behaving like a randy teenager with growing pains. “I’m calling Poppy afterwards.”
“I’m fine,” Draco insists, seeing his door at the end of the corridor and telling himself that he can do it. A few more steps and he can be on his own with his broken body and fucked-up mind. “I’m just drunk.”
“Draco, I’ve seen you sloshed, and you’re barely tipsy right now,” Harry says, his messy curls brushing against Draco’s cheek. Draco wants to reach for them, to feel them between his fingers, against his feverish lips.
“I just need to lie down,” Draco murmurs, taking another step and then nearly collapsing when he finally gets to the door.
“Let me help you to bed,” Harry says, and that innocent suggestion goes straight to Draco’s groin, making him groan as he imagines Harry on all fours, his hole wet and glistening with Draco’s saliva, ready to be fucked.
“I’m fine,” Draco says, opening the door and using all the strength he has left to step inside, grabbing the handle for support. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Wait, Draco!” Harry says, but the door slams in his face. Draco whimpers softly, missing Harry already, like a phantom limb that painfully throbs, sending a sharp jolt all the way down Draco’s spine.
Draco unbuttons his robes with magic, then rubs a hand on his shoulder blades, filled with dread as he touches painful lumps under his raised skin. He lets out a little gasp as he presses a finger on his tender bones, wondering what the fuck is happening to him. He stumbles to the bathroom and starts filling the bathtub, when it suddenly dawns on him.
He takes his clothes off in a rush, the pain intensifying when he bends his arms to get his top off. He looks at himself in the mirror and cries out when the red skin over the bulging lumps on his shoulder blades looks like it’s about to break. Draco spots a speck of white and whimpers. He uses his fingers to carefully pick at the soft white thing and slowly pulls it out, staring at it for a long moment.
A feather.
“No, no, no,” he chants, climbing into the bathtub and grabbing a sponge, wetting it with warm water and then sliding it over his back with a groan. “It can’t be possible. I can’t be a fucking Veela.”
As soon as the word is out of his mouth, it’s like the last piece of the horrifying puzzle slotting into place. He cries as the pain becomes nearly unbearable and he feels them breaking his skin.
Feathers and bones.
They tear his sore skin as his wings unravel and slowly push their way out of his back, making Draco whine,hot tears rolling down his cheeks. He feels something warm and sticky around the open wounds, trickling down his back and changing the colour of the water into blooming camellias.
“No…” he sobs. “It can’t be…”
He remembers Father telling him about great-grandfather Hercules marrying a half-Veela witch, bringing shame to the family with her tainted blood. He recalls Father’s precise instructions to keep it a secret, saying that hopefully the faulty genes had died out and no one would discover that the Malfoys were not as pure as they claimed to be.
“Fuck!” Draco swears, running his trembling fingers along the expanse of his wings, feeling them quiver, still wet and sticky.
He knows what this means. He remembers reading about it as a teenager, during the lonely summers at the Manor when the world seemed on the verge of ending.
Male Veelas mate for life.
His genes have woken up because Draco has found his own mate.
“It can’t be possible,” he repeats, grabbing his wand in desperation, thinking that he can’t be that fucked up. “It can’t be him.”
He grips his wand and panics, his breaths coming out short as white specks shimmer in front of his open eyes. He thinks that he needs to get rid of the wings before somebody sees them, that he can’t spend his life in pain, pining after a man who will never love him. That everyone will know that he’s in love with someone who doesn’t want him, that he’s destined for a life of loneliness.
He casts the first spell that comes to his mind, aiming at his back, voice wavering as the magic flies away from the same hawthorn wand that Harry used to defeat the Dark Lord.
“Merlin, fuck!” Draco shouts in pain as his magic cuts through flesh and feathers, maiming the tip of his right wing and the bottom of his left one. He sobs as he feels the pain take over him, conscious of the fact that he won’t be able to get rid of his wings that easily.
He takes deep shaky breaths, trying to calm down, thinking that he needs to make a plan, to get some books from the library to figure out what to do.
He needs to think with his head instead of his heart. There must be a way out.
He remembers reading about a potion to suppress Veela genes, something rare that he didn’t dwell on when training as a potion master, putting it aside in the pile of potions that he would probably never need to brew.
Draco climbs out of the tub and wraps a towel around his waist, noticing the little droplets of water and blood staining his white rug.
“Draco?” he hears Harry’s voice from outside the door, groaning at how his heart surges at the stupid notion that his mate is there and everything will be fine. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Draco calls, moving towards the door, his back still sore and his steps unbalanced by the foreign weight on his back. “Go back to your rooms, Harry.”
“I brought Poppy,” Harry says hopefully. “She can help you.”
“Leave me alone,” Draco pleads, pressing his forehead against the wood and closing his eyes. “Please, Harry.”
“If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to break it down,” Madam Pomfrey says calmly. “Harry thinks you’re seriously unwell, and I trust his judgment.”
“I have Spattergroit,” Draco blurts out. “Or something equally as nasty and definitely contagious. But I can brew my own potions, so I will be fine.”
“You lack the ingredients to brew a potion for Spattergroit. Besides, I have a special face mask,” the Healer says practically. “Just let me in so that I can help you, Draco. I know you well enough to be certain of the fact that you’re in a lot of pain by the way you sound. Don’t think I have forgotten your eighth year.”
Draco groans and steps away from the door. He summons his clothes and puts a pair of boxers and trousers on in a haste.
“Fine. I’ll let you in, but Harry can’t see me,” Draco says. He can almost feel Harry’s disappointment through the door. He wonders if he’s delusional or if it’s his Veela genes playing up.
“I’ll step to the side while Poppy comes in,” Harry murmurs, sounding defeated.
Draco opens the door, standing behind it in order to avoid being seen. As soon as Madam Pomfrey comes in, he locks the door and casts a Silencing Spell on it.
“Merlin and Morgana!” Madam Pomfrey exclaims, her eyes widening in surprise. She lowers her face mask, then vanishes it. “My poor lad…did you know?”
Draco shakes his head and lets her come closer to assess the damage he’s done to his wings.
“I-I didn’t mean to…” Draco starts, then shakes his head. “I just wanted to get rid of them.”
“I have my bag on me,” the Healer says, and Draco notices for the first time that she’s carrying a leather satchel that probably contains her potions and ailments. “I can put some salve on and bandage them. But I won’t be able to remove them, if that’s what you were trying to do.”
“I know,” Draco whispers pitifully, his mouth curling down as he stares at his feet and contemplates how fucked-up his life is.
“In all my career, I have only come across one Veela male with recessive genes,” Madam Promfrey explains while opening her bag and getting a small green pot and white bandages out. “Sit there, love. Let me have a look at your wings.” She gently unfolds them, making Draco gasp as the pain becomes stronger again. “Have some pain relief potion before I start,” she instructs, and Draco takes the vial she offers and drinks, wanting the pain to end. Wishing he could fall asleep and wake up to find out it was all a bad dream.
“That other Veela,” he says.
“Oh, yes,” the Healer mumbles, opening the pot and carefully rubbing the salve on Draco’s wings. “I had to consult with St Mungo’s. We did some research, because it’s an extremely rare thing. Veela genes are normally present from birth in females, and it’s very unusual for males to have an awakening later on in life. This student was in his last year and had fallen in love with another boy.”
“Oh,” Draco murmurs, feeling Madam Pomfrey’s fingers still on his feathers. “What happened to him?”
“Well, the other student he had fallen in love with did not seem to be interested in him that way,” the Healer explains. “So I brewed him a special potion that was supposed to repress his Veela genes. I had to put him in isolation, because his Allure would get extremely strong every time he was around his mate, who seemed to react to it. After two weeks the potion was ready and his wings disappeared.”
“Did he have to take it for the rest of his life?” Draco asks, his voice wavering.
“I’m afraid so,” Madam Pomfrey says gently. “But at least he could keep his Allure under control and his wings didn’t appear anymore.”
“Do you…” Draco starts, wetting his lips as he hears the rustling of bandages behind him and feels Madam Pomfrey’s hands slowly wrapping them around his wings. He looks at the floor and there are so many white feathers scattered on the carpet, some long and sinuous and others small and fluffy-looking. “Do you think you could give me the instructions on how to brew it? I don’t think I’ve got it in any of my books, and I can’t go to the library like this.”
“Sure,” the Healer says, “but are you entirely sure that your mate won’t return your feelings? Have you spoken to them about it?” she asks tentatively.
Draco shakes his head and swallows loudly.
He knows Harry well enough to figure out that he will sacrifice himself for Draco’s sake, that he will pretend to love him just for the sake of saving him. It wouldn’t work anyway, because as far as Draco knows, in order for the wings to disappear he has to consummate the bond with his mate, and it will not work unless Harry actually loves him for good and agrees to be his mate. It would only be a mess. Draco would lose a precious friend, and Harry would just feel helpless and mortified.
“There’s no way,” Draco says gravely. “Please help me with the potion.”
“I shall find it straight away,” the woman says, putting away the rest of her equipment and closing her bag. She looks at Draco and smiles sadly. “If we start brewing it tomorrow morning it might be ready by Christmas.”
Draco grimaces. It’s not like he was going to spend the holidays with anyone anyway. Pansy is going to Vienna with the bespectacled Weasley, and Blaise is already in Brazil with his mother. Draco’s plans for Christmas were to catch up on work and read a nice book on the sofa.
“Thank you,” he says, following her to the door.
“I will tell Minerva that you are unwell and contagious, so she can organise for a supply teacher to replace you whilst you still have your wings,” she says, patting his arm, and Draco feels like hugging her because he’s so fucking grateful for her kindness. “I’ll get the house elves to deliver the food to your rooms. Let them know if you need anything from the library to spend the time.”
“Thank you so much.”
Draco steps aside when she opens the door, looking at the smaller feathers fly around as the draft from the corridor rushes inside his room. He ends the Silencio and then hears Harry’s voice straight away.
“Draco?” he calls. “Are you okay? Poppy, what’s wrong with him?”
“He’s feeling unwell, but he will be on the mend soon. We’ll brew him a potion that will treat his symptoms,” the woman explains soothingly, before Draco hears her receding footsteps down the corridor.
There’s a moment of silence, and then Draco can hear some movement outside the door.
“Draco,” Harry says, his voice trembling, “is there something you need to tell me?”
Draco hesitates, his genes pushing him to confess, to open the door and seduce Harry with the force of his Allure, to make him his. He shakes his head and shuts his eyes, breathing deeply.
“No,” he says. “Go to sleep, Harry. It’s been a long night.”
“I…I’ll be back tomorrow. Send a house-elf if you need me.”
Draco can’t sleep that night, partly because he’s still sore despite taking the pain potion, but also because he can’t stop thinking about Harry. About the fact that he’s a Veela and Harry is his mate. He turns around in bed, trying to find a comfortable position with his new uncomfortable body parts getting in the way, then resolves to get up and write a letter of apology to McGonagall to say how sorry he is for being unable to teach his classes for the last week of term. He consoles himself with the notion that at least the second week of potion brewing will be part of the Christmas holidays, so it won’t disrupt his job.
When the house-elf in charge of delivering his food appears around breakfast time, Draco gives her the letter for the Headmistress and then tries to eat something, his stomach still in knots.
Madam Pomfrey arrives mid-morning with an old tome on Veelas containing the potion instructions on how to brew Draco’s suppressants. She hands Draco a basket with the necessary ingredients and then changes the dressing on his wounds.
“I’ll be back this evening to check on you again,” she says with a smile. “Try to relax and don’t get too stressed. Minerva was very understanding, and she’s found someone to replace you from Tuesday.”
“What about Monday?” Draco asks, wondering who is going to teach his classes if there’s no one available.
“Don’t worry, the other professors have offered to cover for you.”
Draco feels a pang in his heart and spends the rest of the day preparing his cover lessons. He sends the detailed instructions to the Headmistress, thanking her and the other professors for their kindness.
Harry comes to visit twice, in the early afternoon and after dinner, asking Draco how he’s feeling and sounding uncertain and worried.
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Harry asks for the fourth time.
“It wouldn’t be safe,” Draco says, sitting down on the floor and playing with a loose lock of hair, hearing Harry’s voice coming from close by and imagining him sitting down on the other side of the door. “Besides, I’m covered in horrible boils and sores. I look absolutely dreadful.”
“Pfft, I doubt it,” Harry says, and Draco can picture him rolling his eyes. “I bet you would look ridiculously handsome even with Dragon Pox.”
“Fuck off, Potter.”
Harry comes back three times on Sunday, keeping Draco company during the long hours of isolation. Now that Draco has finally got a chance to sit on the sofa and read a book, he finds that he can’t concentrate and enjoy it, his mind constantly wandering off. He imagines Harry sitting on his own in the library, playing with a messy curl as he marks a pile of essays with a quill between his pink lips. Draco would give everything to know what those lips taste like, to have a chance to push Harry against a wall and make him whimper as Draco kisses him breathless.
“Draco?” Harry interrupts his inappropriate string of thoughts with a soft knock on the door. “I spoke to Poppy, and she said you’re brewing a potion that should be ready in a couple of weeks.”
“Have you been enquiring about me?” Draco teases.
“Well, yeah,” Harry admits, his voice betraying his embarrassment. “You wouldn’t tell me anything except that you look a mess, which I frankly doubt. Anyway, I’m sorry you’re going to be stuck here for part of the Christmas holidays.”
“I was going to stay anyway,” Draco says offhandedly, “so it doesn’t make that big a difference to me.”
“Oh,” Harry mumbles, sounding disappointed.
“Are you off to the Burrow?” Draco asks, moving towards the door and sitting on the cushion he’s left next to the door to chat with Harry when he comes by.
“Yes, but…” Harry starts, then pauses for a moment. “I could stay and keep you company.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Draco exclaims, his heartbeat accelerating and wings quivering at the mere notion of Harry staying behind just for him. The temptation to open the door and drag him inside to kiss him senseless and then fuck him on the floor is so strong that it rips a little whine from Draco’s throat.
“Are you okay?” Harry asks, sounding worried.
“Yep,” Draco replies with difficulty, popping the p as he takes a deep breath and then another. “Just uncomfortable,” Draco says, adjusting the bulge in his trousers and thinking that he can’t sink any lower if he’s getting an erection whilst talking to Harry about the Christmas holidays.
For fuck’s sake…
“Are you sure I can’t come in?” Harry asks for the umpteenth time, and Draco nearly caves in, the desire to have Harry’s naked skin under his fingertips so strong that Draco lets out a shuddered breath as he unfastens his trousers and lets his hand slide under the elastic band of his pants. He gives himself a squeeze and groans.
“No, it’s better if you leave,” he breathes out. “I’m not feeling great. I think I ought to lie down.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Harry promises, sounding dejected and upset, but Draco can’t let him stay, because he’s so hard and he needs some release.
Draco stands up on shaky legs after he hears Harry’s receding footsteps and then sits on the sofa. He summons Harry’s scarf, the one he gave Draco that cold afternoon when they were on their way to Hogsmeade, and he sinks his nose in it, inhaling Harry’s smell with a muffled moan. He takes himself in hand and lets out a little groan as he conjures some lube and starts stroking his flushed cock. He imagines Harry’s hands on him, green eyes closing before Harry opens his pink lips to let Draco’s cock slide on his tongue, a satisfied sound escaping Harry’s mouth while he swallows him whole. He bobs his head up and down Draco’s cock, bliss painted on his face as Draco’s pale fingers slide through messy black curls lovingly, tugging gently as Harry sucks on him messily, the debauched wet sounds he makes pulling the orgasm out of Draco with a soft whimper as he comes all over his lap.
The release is sweet and painful at the same time, making him feel slightly dirty and a million times more desperate every time he gets off to the thought of Harry touching him or letting Draco do whatever he wants with him.
Draco casts a cleaning charm on himself, then tucks himself back in his trousers and stands up. He goes to the kitchen corner and checks his cauldron, stirring the simmering potion and hoping against hope that it will be ready soon, that it will make him feel better, ease his symptoms, or at least make his Allure and wings go away.
He looks at himself in the mirror and notices how much his skin glows, the way his hair glitters and sparkles in the daylight. He definitely looks more attractive than before, but he is conscious of the fact that it’s all down to his genes, that it would be even worse if he were to stand in front of Harry, as his body would automatically try to seduce his mate. Draco shudders, finding the whole thing terrifying. He hates not being in control. He also wonders if he will still be able to be Harry’s friend once the potion starts working, or if he will have to leave Hogwarts and find a job elsewhere, because it will be too heart-breaking to be around his mate all the time without a glimmer of hope to be with him.
He spends Monday morning contemplating whether to write to Maxime to enquire if she’s willing to take him back, then decides to wait and see what kind of effects the potion has.
“Draco?” Teddy’s voice makes Draco jump as he stands up and goes towards the door. “Are you in there?”
“Teddy,” Draco says, forehead pressed against the door.
“You weren’t in class this morning, and no one would tell us what happened,” Teddy says, sounding concerned. “Are you feeling poorly?”
“I seem to have caught a weird contagious illness,” Draco lies, wishing he could tell Teddy the truth. “I’m sorry I wasn’t in class today.”
“Harry covered for your lesson,” Teddy replies.
“Salazar, I hope that wasn’t a catastrophe,” Draco exclaims, remembering Harry’s abysmal potions skills and making Teddy laugh.
“He was actually alright,” Teddy says lightly, kicking the door softly and then apologising under his breath. “When will you be back?”
“I’m brewing a potion that should be ready in two weeks,” Draco explains, and then he hears Teddy groan loudly.
“But that’s well into the Christmas holidays!” he complains. “That will ruin our surprise!”
“What surprise?” Draco asks, confused.
“Nannie said you wrote to her to say you were staying at Hogwarts, so we were going to come and take you to our cottage to spend the holidays together,” Teddy explains, and Draco’s lips part in surprise, heart clenching in his chest. “Harry was going to be there too. He said he would spend Christmas with us instead of with the Weasleys.”
“Oh,” Draco says, unable to string together any coherent sentence.
They were going to take him to Aunt Andromeda’s cottage.
Harry was going to spend Christmas with him.
“If it takes two weeks,” Teddy says, “then your potion should be ready on Christmas Eve, which means that you could still come.”
“Let’s see how it goes,” Draco says cautiously, not wanting to give Teddy false hope. “I might not be cured. It’s a really tricky potion to brew.”
“But you’re amazing,” Teddy says easily, making Draco blush. “I’m sure it will be fine. I will write home to let Nannie know. I’m sure she’ll send you some chocolates and a get-well-soon card.”
“There’s no need to,” Draco says, tears prickling the side of his eyes as he feels vulnerable and raw, all of a sudden.
He thought he was on his own. That he had no family left.
But now he has Teddy and Aunt Andromeda.
And Harry.
Draco needs to make sure the potion works, because he can’t lose Harry, even if it means hurting every time he is with him. Even if it means watching Harry eventually fall in love with someone else.
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Teddy promises. “I have so much homework to do now, and I don’t want to bother you if you’re feeling sick.”
“I’m alright,” Draco says, craving some company. “I can help you with your homework, if you want. Don’t you have a Charms essay due tomorrow?”
Teddy ends up staying for an hour, sitting in the corridor and chatting with Draco as he completes his homework. Draco teaches him how to cast a cushioning charm, and Teddy squeals in delight when it works. Before he leaves, Draco hears footsteps and another body slumping down next to Teddy’s.
“Harry’s here,” Teddy announces. “I’ll go and get some dinner, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Draco!”
“He’s unbelievable,” Draco murmurs once Teddy is gone, and he hears Harry chuckle on the other side of the door.
“He is,” the Gryffindor replies. “Did you know he has the best results amongst the first years? He definitely doesn’t take after me.”
“You had other things to worry about when we were at school,” Draco says, his tone consoling.
“Hermione still managed to have the best grades in our year,” Harry points out.
“Yes, but she didn’t have a Dark Wizard trying to murder her every single year, did she?” Draco argues. “Besides, it doesn’t really matter if you had good grades or not. You’re not a particularly academic person, but you’re extremely smart and intuitive, and you’re a very skilled wizard. You’re stunning just as you are.”
There’s a moment of silence following Draco’s comment, and he soon regrets being so candid about his love and admiration.
“Thanks,” Harry murmurs, a shuffling noise making Draco wonder if Harry is fiddling with something. “I really want to come in right now, you know?”
“Fancy getting sick, too?” Draco jokes, then hears Harry huff. “Thanks for covering my lesson today, by the way.”
“Oh, it was a shitshow, Draco!” Harry says animatedly. “Your notes were super accurate and bloody brilliant, but something went wrong with one of the potions and John Pilkinson managed to turn his hair blue, then he stupidly leaned over the cauldron, and it exploded. Poppy was not impressed with me…”
They talk about the lesson, then discuss new ideas for the Tournament. Draco slides his notes under the door for the supply teacher who will cover his lessons for the rest of the week, and Harry promises he will be back the day after, as soon as he gets a minute.
Draco wants to tell him not to bother, that Harry is probably extremely busy with his own work and shouldn’t fuss about him, but there’s a part of him that needs Harry there, that feels like a flower without the rain, withering when Harry goes away and blossoming again every time there’s a familiar knock on his door.
“When are you leaving for the Burrow?” Draco asks on Tuesday evening, conscious of the fact that the students will leave on Friday morning. “Are you taking the Hogwarts Express?”
“Er…” Harry mumbles, and Draco can picture him scratching the back of his neck like he always does when he’s nervous. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Teddy seemed convinced that you were going to take the train with him yesterday,” Draco says. Most of the teachers just walk to Hogsmeade and Floo from one of the pubs, since it takes less time and it’s definitely better than spending a whole day surrounded by students on a noisy train. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if Harry decided to Floo straight to the Burrow or to Granger and Weasley’s house.
“I…” Harry says, then Draco feels it, Harry’s magic like a sizzling current all over his skin, pulsating along Draco’s scars as if they remembered the magic that created them. “Draco, is there anyone that you would like me to contact for you? To get here?”
“What?” Draco asks, confused, the magic’s intensity picking up, making Draco almost tipsy with it. That’s a first, he thinks, wondering if it’s because of his Veela genes, if he’s recognising his mate’s magic.
“Would you like me to get Theo?” Harry asks, his voice strained as the glasses on the counter of Draco’s kitchenette crack and then shatter, scattering tiny fragments of crystal across the room. Draco stares at them, then at the door.
“Harry? Was that you?”
“Sorry….” Harry mumbles, sounding dejected and mortified, an insistent tapping of his foot against the door making Draco’s eyes narrow as he tries to figure out why Harry seems so agitated.
“I don’t need you to get anyone,” he replies after a moment. “I’d love to see Pansy and Blaise before the end of the year, but not right now. Not when I’m…like this.”
“What about Theo?” Harry asks immediately. Draco concludes that Harry must have thought Theo was one of his closest friends since they met at the Three Broomsticks, but the way the door starts to rattle makes him think there must be more.
“I don’t want to see him,” Draco says slowly. “Not now, nor ever.”
“Oh,” Harry says, and the spark of his magic on Draco’s skin is instantly gone, leaving him lightheaded. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, why?” Draco asks, feeling the urge to open the door to see the expression on Harry’s face, to figure out what on earth he’s thinking about. Harry is always quite easy to read, especially for Draco. They spent years staring at each other, studying every move the other made to catch a sign of weakness. He probably knows Harry better than most people after all the time they’ve spent together since September, and he craves to see him and touch him, missing him like mad.
“Nothing. Maybe that’s for the best,” Harry replies, sounding happy, almost relieved. “Anyway, I spoke to your supply, and she thanked you for all the detailed instructions you left. She’s a very experienced witch, went to school with Minerva apparently.”
“Did my third-years give her grief?” Draco asks, resting his forehead against the door and closing his eyes, focusing on Harry’s deep voice, feeling him close.
“Apparently she had to give detention to five of them because they tried to set her hair on fire. Minerva was furious and gave them detention for a month and contacted their parents. Two of them were Gryffindors, so I gave them the bollocking of the century. Little shits…”
“Harry!” Draco says, outraged, but Harry laughs, and they end up chatting about light things, and Draco feels less anxious, as if the weight on his heart had been lifted, at least for a couple of hours.
Both Harry and Teddy come back on Wednesday and Thursday, then on Friday morning Teddy swings by to say goodbye, trying to convince Draco to come to the cottage as soon as he’s cured. The potion bubbles in the corner, pink fumes twirling over its surface as Draco stares at it and keeps his fingers crossed. It has to work.
“Promise you will write,” Teddy says, “and that you’ll come to stay for Christmas.”
“I’ll try my best,” Draco says.
Harry doesn’t come, and Draco feels disappointed, almost betrayed.
He wonders if Harry took the Hogwarts Express or if he just Flooed from Hogsmeade, when there’s a faint knock on his door.
“Draco?” Harry calls.
“Harry!” Draco exclaims, relief and joy washing over him.
“I have a couple of letters for you. They arrived this morning with a golden eagle. The poor bird looked exhausted.”
“They must be from Maxime,” Draco says, recognising her handwriting on the back of one of the missives as they appear from under the door. “What are you still doing here, by the way? I thought you were going to get the train.”
“Oh, I decided not to,” Harry mumbles, then his back slides against the door as he casts a cushioning charm and sits down on the floor. “Who are the letters from?”
“One’s from Maxime,” Draco replies, “and the other one is from Jacques.”
Draco feels it again, Harry’s magic sizzling along the lines of his scars, in a pleasant way that makes him feel owned somehow.
“What does it say?” Harry asks gruffly, shifting against the door.
Draco opens the letter and starts reading out loud.
“Mon cher Draco,” he reads, “ça va? Tu me manques beaucoup et le château n’est pas le même sans toi. Le nouveau prof de Potions est un connard.” Draco chuckles and feels the door rattle behind his back, the cauldron trembling and the glasses shaking in the cupboard. He takes a deep breath, then he starts translating. “Dear Draco, how are you? I miss you a lot, and the castle is not the same without you. The new Potions professor is a dickhead.”
“This Jacques,” Harry mutters darkly, and Draco feels the magic thrumming in his veins, sending little sparks across his skin. He hums and closes his eyes, running a hand down his torso, then cupping his hardening cock and giving it a squeeze.
“Yes?” Draco asks, his voice faint as he tries his best not to sneak a hand down his trousers to touch himself. Merlin, he’s so hard already, and Harry’s magic is making it a million times worse. “Ah,” he breathes out when it suddenly gets even more intense and another crystal glass ends up shattering.
“Is he the person you’re in love with?” Harry finally asks, his voice coming out strangled and pained.
“No,” Draco immediately replies, confused and aroused. “He’s an ex-colleague of mine. He’s in his fifties and has four children and a wife. We’re just friends.”
“Oh,” Harry says, and his magic simmers down, leaving Draco like a receding tide. “I’m sorry, I thought…”
“That he was my French boyfriend or something?” Draco finishes his sentence with a scoff. “Honestly, Harry. I told you there was no one.”
“But that night, last week,” Harry starts, making Draco blush at the memory. “You drank during the game…”
Draco doesn’t want to say anything, can’t possibly admit that he’s in love with Harry. He wants to point out that Harry drank too, but that would lead to another awkward conversation that he’s not sure he’s ready to have. So he changes the subject and asks Harry when he’s planning on leaving for the holidays.
“I’m staying until you can leave,” Harry replies softly. “I’m not letting you stay here on your own.”
“I’m not on my own,” Draco argues. “There’s McGonagall and the elves.”
“I’m staying,” Harry insists.
“But it’s your chance to spend time with your family and friends,” Draco points out, a little too desperately as he tries to figure out if Harry is staying out of loyalty or pure stubbornness.
His potion bubbles in the corner and starts emitting golden sparks. Draco flicks his wand at it, lowering the temperature. He will need to add liquorice roots and bat liver soon, and then it will just be a waiting game until it’s ready.
“Do you miss France?” Harry asks on Saturday afternoon, idly playing with a ball that he keeps on bouncing against the wall opposite Draco’s door, driving him spare.
“Sometimes,” Draco says, pulling his knees up to rest his chin on them. “Stop bouncing that ball, for the love of Merlin, or I’ll have to open the door and vanish it.”
“Would you really open the door?” Harry asks, the hint of a challenge in his voice, and Draco sighs dramatically. “I’ll put it away, don’t worry.”
“Thanks.”
“So, what do you miss the most about France?” Harry asks.
“I miss the food,” Draco says, thinking about his life on the Continent. “I miss people not knowing who I am and being super kind to me.”
“I bet that’s nice,” Harry mumbles. “People not knowing who you are.”
“I miss Paris sometimes,” Draco muses. “The Christmas decorations, the museums and the beauty all around you. I used to spend my Sunday afternoons wandering around the city, finding out all the things I could do for free and just immerse myself in the atmosphere of one of the most romantic cities on the planet.”
“Andromeda used to read your letters to Teddy and me,” Harry says cautiously, and Draco’s breath hitches in his throat. He shuts his eyes and hums in reply. “I always wondered…how lonely you must have felt. How sad, in spite of where you were. Your letters…they were lovely and entertaining, but…I couldn’t help but think that there was so much you weren’t saying. They used to keep me up at night. I wanted to write to you, to ask if you were truly okay, but I didn’t feel like I could.”
“I used to live in a cupboard under the stairs,” Draco blurts out. His eyes fly open, and his heart starts thrumming in his chest. “I was so poor. It was the only thing I could afford.”
He was not meant to say that.
Not to Harry.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Harry is quiet for a while, and Draco actually considers for a second opening the door to see his face or to obliviate him.
“Fuck, and you’re so tall,” Harry murmurs, shock resonating through his voice. “At least I was little…Draco, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
“What do you mean?” Draco asks, frowning.
“I…” Harry pauses, then the ball starts bouncing again, but Draco lets him play with it, because Harry clearly sounds upset and needs time to process the information. “My Muggle family…they weren’t nice. They used to make me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs when I was little. Well, until I was eleven. But at least I was much shorter than you.”
“What?!” Draco practically shouts, his fists clenched as he punches the wall and feels like breaking something really badly. Teddy told him that Harry’s childhood had been difficult, but Draco didn’t think it would be that bad.
That he would have been forced to sleep in a cupboard when he was a child.
Fuck.
“Can I…” Harry’s voice is soft, hesitant as he moves closer to the door and stops throwing the ball. “I want to tell you about it, if you feel like listening, but I…I need to hold your hand, because otherwise I can’t…I know you’re not contagious, so…”
Draco’s hands move before he can even think about the consequences of his actions. He reaches for his wand and unlocks the door, then slides his fingers over the handle and opens the door, just a fraction, enough to slide his arm out and feel Harry’s fingers closing around his instantly, warm and solid.
“I want to hear,” Draco says, his voice wavering in spite of how desperately he wants to be a reassuring presence for Harry.
“Thank you…”
Harry starts talking, and Draco feels his heart breaking, little by little, as details of his dreary childhood emerge.
The lies about his parents and their death, the neglect and abuse. The cupboard and the household chores. His aunt forcing him to clean after Harry’s cousin when he was only four. A cold bed and an empty stomach keeping him awake at night. The loneliness and lack of love.
Draco feels hot tears on his cheeks, but he lets Harry continue, his melodious voice calm as if it were a relief to finally get everything out. He squeezes Harry’s hand and feels it warm against his. He tells Harry about his own past, about his eighth year at Hogwarts, about the bullying that he thought he thoroughly deserved. He talks about his life in Paris, living with the Muggles in a tiny cupboard where he couldn’t even stretch his legs and was always sleeping curled up like a baby.
Harry listens, and their stories start interlacing, the loneliness and desperate need for love so similar that Draco thinks it’s nearly meant to be that they found each other like this, after so long. After their tumultuous past.
“I didn’t tell you because I wanted your pity,” Harry says at the end, when the day has gone dark and Draco’s dinner has appeared on the low table in front of the sofa, a Stasis charm keeping it warm for him. “I just needed you to know…”
“I’m glad you told me,” Draco says, his fingers squeezing Harry’s, wanting to feel him even closer, missing his warm body and contagious smile. His intense gaze.
“I…” Harry continues, mumbling something as he tries to find the right words. “That house never felt like home. Hogwarts did, for the first time in my life. I hoped Grimmauld Place could become one when I started Auror training, but I was so heartbroken all the time, Draco. I joined the forces because it felt like the necessary thing to do after the war, but I was a wreck, and when I eventually started therapy, I realised that it was the wrong job for me. So I came back here. I just…I need somewhere to belong. Someone I can belong to.”
“Harry…” Draco murmurs, longing to say that he feels the same, but he has found both. Hogwarts is his home too, and Harry is the person Draco belongs to.
“I want to kiss you so badly,” it’s a mere whisper, but Draco thinks he has heard correctly. His heart starts beating madly, a thump-thump-thump that resonates in his ears at an increasing pace. Draco wonders if he’s losing it, if his mind is playing tricks on him – is he hallucinating? - when Harry’s voice becomes clearer. “Can I kiss you, Draco?”
“I…” Draco is at a loss for words. He can’t let Harry see his wings. Merlin, Harry wants to kiss him.
“I can cast an Obscuro on myself,” Harry adds hurriedly, “if you still don’t want me to see you…”
“Yes,” Draco breathes out, a little voice in his head insistently claiming this is the worst idea, that he should think straight, but he’s already standing up and opening the door as soon as he hears Harry casting the spell on himself, and then Draco is grabbing Harry’s wrist and pulling him inside, shutting the door behind them.
Harry stands there, lips parted as he breathes fast, a black blindfold over his eyes and his flushed cheeks, making him look like a treat. Harry’s glasses are tucked in the pocket of his hoodie, and the simple sight of them makes something crack inside Draco. Harry is standing in front of him, vulnerable and open, and Draco simply can’t be cautious and calm any longer.
He wants to take Harry so badly, to make him fall apart under his hands and lips.
“Draco…” he whispers, a hand reaching for him. Draco catches it, placing it on his own hip. He moves closer, gently crowding Harry against the wall until their chests are flush and their foreheads touching. Draco can feel Harry’s warm breath on his face and sighs.
“Please don’t touch my back,” he whispers in Harry’s ear, “nor my shoulders. Are you sure you want me to…?”
“Please,” Harry begs, sounding needy and desperate as he tilts his head and runs a hand on Draco’s chest, cupping his cheek and waiting for Draco to move.
Draco shuts his eyes and leans closer, thinking that this must be a dream, brushing his lips against Harry’s, softly at first, relishing the little shudder that shakes Harry and makes him let out the tiniest little whimper. Harry clutches at the fabric of Draco’s robes and pulls him even closer, pressing his mouth on Draco’s and moaning when Draco responds and opens his lips, granting Harry access.
It’s too fast and too good, Draco thinks, like a fire consuming them from within as the kiss deepens and becomes more desperate, Harry’s fingers sliding through Draco’s loose hair, letting out a groan.
“Merlin, you have no idea how much I love your hair,” Harry says when they part for air, and Draco pulls him closer again.
“Don’t you dare stop kissing me,” he says, sounding more possessive than he means to but seeing Harry’s cheeks flush and his eyebrows crease as he pulls Draco by the front of his robes and crashes their lips together again.
Draco doesn’t know what this means, what Harry wanting to kiss him and rock against him means. He can feel the shape of Harry’s hard cock against his hip, craves to ask if it means that Harry wants him even just a fraction of how much Draco desires him, the need all-consuming and maddening.
Draco knows he should explain his condition to Harry, that he should probably warn him, but he doesn’t want Harry to have sex with him out of pity or a sense of duty.
He needs Harry to want him for who he is, a little broken and lonely, but so full of love for him.
“I want you,” Draco confesses, the words tumbling out of his mouth. “But I…”
“Fuck, I want you so badly,” Harry says, thrusting his hips against Draco’s, tugging at his robes to pull them off. “Please, Draco…Take me now, please.”
“Bed,” is all that Draco manages to mumble, taking Harry’s hand and guiding him towards the bedroom, careful not to let him touch or feel his wings but hearing the noise they make as they flutter in anticipation.
“I’ve never done this before,” Harry says, sounding insecure as he unzips his Muggle jumper, revealing a t-shirt with a pair of scissors wearing high-heeled shoes. “I hope I’m not entirely crap at it.”
“Harry,” Draco murmurs, wrapping his hand behind Harry’s neck to pull him into another kiss, moaning softly as he feels Harry melt against him and eventually relax. “There is nothing you should worry about. We’ll take things slowly,” he promises, “and you’ll tell me what you like, if I’m doing anything wrong. I want you to enjoy this, darling.”
The term of endearment slips out of his mouth before Draco can do anything about it, but Harry grabs the front of his robes and pulls him closer for a bruising kiss that leaves them both panting and ridiculously hard.
“Clothes,” Harry mutters gruffly. “Off. Now.”
“Bossy,” Draco teases, making Harry laugh. Draco takes his robes off, enjoying the show of Harry’s body being revealed little by little as his clothes end up in a messy pile on the bedroom floor.
Draco’s eyes slide over Harry’s beautiful body, lingering on the runes tattooed around his hips, dipping down towards the base of his spine.
“Your tattoo,” Draco starts, fingers brushing over it, following the lines of the runes all the way down.
“It’s magical,” Harry explains. “It helps me control my magic. It normally works, unless you’re involved. You keep on making me lose my cool.”
“You’re so beautiful,” Draco whispers in the shell of his ear.
“It’s unfair,” Harry mutters, hand reaching blindly for Draco. “I can’t see you, and I’ve been dying to get your clothes off for so long.”
“That can’t be possible,” Draco whispers in disbelief, moving closer, eyes roaming all over Harry’s body as he runs his hands on his toned chest, brushing against a scar on his sternum, making a mental note to ask Harry how he got it later. He looks at Harry’s cock, hard and leaking, then kisses his jaw, peppering his neck with kisses. “Can I go down on you?” he asks, almost a whisper in the shell of Harry’s ear, as Draco’s fingers wrap around his cock and give it a light tug.
Harry shivers and swears under his breath, nodding enthusiastically as Draco kisses him one more time and then drops to his knees.
He runs his fingertips over Harry’s length, slowly, watching him gasp and his dark eyebrows crease. Then Draco takes Harry’s hands and places them on his own head.
“What?” Harry asks, looking down in spite of being unable to see what’s in front of him.
“You can touch my hair while I suck you off,” Draco murmurs, his mouth so close to Harry’s erection that he knows Harry can feel his warm breath against his skin, a whimper escaping Harry’s mouth as his fingers slide through Draco’s hair. Draco runs his tongue from Harry’s balls all the way to the tip of his cock, slowly, making him groan loudly when he does it again. He kisses the tip and then swirls his tongue around it, swallowing him whole. He feels Harry’s fingers spasming in his hair, tugging at it, then letting go and moaning helplessly when Draco starts to move at a maddingly slow pace.
“Oh, fuck, Draco…” Harry mumbles on a shuddered gasp as Draco bobs his head up and down, hollowing his cheeks and stroking the base of Harry’s cock, where his mouth can’t reach. He takes his time enjoying the weight of Harry’s cock on his tongue, the taste of him and the desperate little noises he’s making. “Merlin, fuck, this is unbelievable…aaah, you’re going to make me come like that.”
Draco pulls off, then blows on Harry’s dick, watching goosebumps erupt on his skin and smiling as Harry’s grip on his hair tightens.
“Do you want me to stop?” Draco asks, flicking his tongue over the tip of Harry’s cock and making him whine as he suckles on it gently.
“I want you to fuck me,” Harry confesses, and Draco nearly chokes in surprise.
“Are you sure?” Draco asks, worried about Harry wanting to do things just to please him or because he feels that he has to. “We can take things slowly. We don’t have to do anything today. You can fuck me, if you want.”
Harry shakes his head, cheeks flushing as he strokes Draco’s hair and tries to pull him up.
“I want to do it,” Harry says with conviction. “I’ve been wanting to for a long time. With you. I trust you, Draco.”
Draco hears a whine escaping his own lips as he stands up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then he cups Harry’s cheeks and kisses him deeply, wanting Harry to understand how much that means to him, how deeply Draco wants him.
He feels Harry’s hand tentatively wrapping around his cock while their lips meet again, stroking him a little awkwardly as they kiss languidly. Draco keeps his eyes shut and moans into Harry’s mouth, his Veela genes urging him to push Harry onto the bed and just make him his, now.
Draco shudders and lets Harry kiss him for a little longer, relaxing as Harry’s arms circle his waist, dragging him closer.
He wants to tell Harry that he loves him, but he doesn’t want to scare him.
Draco doesn’t know what this is, what it means to Harry, and his heart is beating so loudly that it’s a regular thrum in his ears.
“Where’s the bed?” Harry asks when they part for air. Draco gently guides him until they’re both lying down on the mattress, their legs intertwined as they explore each other’s bodies with avid hands and mouths.
“Are you sure you want me to…?” Draco asks, summoning a vial of lube from his potion cabinet.
“Yes,” Harry replies, “but I don’t know where my wand is, so you’ll have to cast all the necessary spells, if you don’t mind.”
“Not in the least,” Draco says, kissing his collar-bone. He casts a cleaning and a protection charm, but then he hesitates. “Can I…there are spells, but can I get you ready with my fingers? I just…”
“Please,” Harry practically moans, grabbing a handful of Draco’s long hair to pull him down for another kiss. “I want your fingers inside me.”
Draco has to breathe through the overwhelming feeling of having Harry underneath him, so pliant and eager, spreading himself open for him. Draco pours some lube onto his fingers and then circles Harry’s hole, trailing kisses down Harry’s chest and licking his nipples before he starts pushing gently. Harry feels incredibly tight and hot around his knuckles, gasping and mumbling something under his breath when Draco starts to move.
Draco has done this before, but it feels different now, unique, because the wings on his back mean only one thing. Harry is his mate, the one and only.
His love.
Draco closes his eyes and feels Harry’s hand on his chest, tracing the scars he left there so many years ago, while Draco adds another finger and makes him moan loudly.
“Merlin, you’re so tight,” Draco mutters, adding a third finger when Harry looks ready to take more. Draco thinks that he’s going to come as soon as he gets a chance to slide his cock inside Harry, licking his lips as he watches Harry arching his back and begging for more.
“Draco, I’m ready,” Harry says, hand moving lower to tug at Draco’s hard cock. “Come on, I want you inside me. Now.”
“Impatient Gryffindor,” Draco complains, making Harry laugh and then gasp when Draco pulls his fingers out and starts pumping his own cock to cover it in lube.
“That sounds so dirty,” Harry says, his voice hoarse. “Come here and fuck me.”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Draco mutters. He makes Harry turn around on all fours, with his face on a pillow and arse up in the air. Draco takes his time to make him relax, running his hand along Harry’s back and on the sensitive skin of his thighs, making him shiver under him as he spreads Harry’s legs a little further. When he feels like he can’t wait any longer, Draco lines up his cock and then starts nudging Harry’s entrance. He stares at Harry’s pink hole, glistening with lube and swallows hard. “Take a deep breath for me, love.”
“Draco…” Harry whispers when he hears the last word, lips opening on a soft oh as Draco pushes and slowly sinks into his tight heat. “Fuck, you’re huge…oh my god…”
“Breathe,” Draco tells him, a reminder for both of them because Harry feels unbelievably tight and so wet around him. Draco just wants to push, to sink into that delicious heat and just fuck Harry until he can fill him with his come and make him his, teeth buried in Harry’s neck to claim him as his mate. He closes his eyes and takes deep steadying breaths instead, waiting for Harry to adjust to the foreign feeling, for the pain to gently turn into pleasure as Draco strokes Harry’s cock and whispers reassuring words of love in Harry’s ear.
“You feel amazing,” he murmurs. “So hot and tight. So perfect, my love. You were made for my cock. Your perfect little hole so wet for me, begging to be fucked deep and filled with my come.”
“Draco…” Harry keens, almost sobbing when Draco starts moving inside him.
“You’re doing so well, love,” Draco murmurs, holding Harry close, his scarred chest pressed against Harry’s back, an arm possessively wrapped around Harry’s torso as Draco moves his hips. “You’re taking my cock so well, my darling. And you feel mind-blowing. I could come right now, but I want to make you feel good. I’m going to make you feel so good, Harry, I promise.”
“It feels great,” Harry says, but then he gasps and lets out a loud moan when Draco finally hits his prostate and starts pounding against it.
The room is filled with the sounds of Harry’s desperate moans and Draco’s panting, and he’s so close, so terribly close, but he wants Harry to come first, to feel him shudder in his arms.
Draco’s movements speed up, his hand on Harry’s cock pumping faster, and Harry suddenly whimpers, calling his name as he starts coming, white ropes of his semen covering Draco’s hand and painting his bedsheets as Harry’s hole suddenly becomes unbearably tighter, making Draco tip over the edge after a moment. He comes deep inside Harry, a needy sound escaping his lips as white sparks explode behind his closed eyelids when Draco feels it. Harry’s magic and his merging, like a current running through his veins, rippling all over his skin while they try to catch their breath and pant in unison.
“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, wincing when Draco pulls out and then grabs his wand to cast a healing charm that makes Harry shiver. “That was mind-blowing.”
“It was,” Draco confirms, thinking that nothing he has ever experienced with anyone felt that good. He wonders if it’s because he’s in love, or if it’s because he had sex with Harry. His mate.
Draco looks at his own come trickling out of Harry’s hole, using a finger to touch him, a low murmur escaping his lips as he tries to commit it to memory.
His come inside Harry’s body.
“Are you staring at my hole?” Harry asks, his voice sounding amused.
“You look gorgeous,” Draco replies, voice hoarse and thick. He wants to add, “You look mine,” but he holds his tongue and casts a cleaning charm instead.
“I’m too tired to take a shower,” Harry says, turning around and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist, burying his face in Draco’s neck. “Can I…”
“Don’t leave,” Draco murmurs, casting a strong Scourgify aiming at both of them and the bed. “Please, stay.”
Harry smiles, kissing Draco’s cheek and pulling the blankets over them.
Draco feels suddenly exhausted, his eyelids heavier than they’ve ever been. He wants to talk and cuddle, to ask Harry if he’s okay, but sleep claims him suddenly and inexorably, and he drifts into deep and dreamless sleep.
When he wakes up again, the room is light because he forgot to shut the blinds the night before.
Draco groans and opens his eyes, his mouth dry and body strangely devoid of pain. He’s met with the stunning sight of Harry’s green eyes, his gaze more intense but somehow vulnerable without his glasses on.
Draco smiles the sappiest smile that has probably ever appeared on his face, because Harry’s there, in his bed, with his strong arms wrapped around Draco and his wild curls messier than ever. And he looks so gorgeous and soft, just lovely.
It wasn’t a dream.
“Morning,” Draco croaks, when it suddenly hits him.
Harry’s not wearing his blindfold.
The wings.
Draco sits up in a panic, only to realise that his wings are no longer there.
Gone.
“Hey,” Harry says, his warm hand stroking Draco’s arm, moving down his wrist. “Are you okay?”
“Y-yes,” Draco mumbles, then looks around the bed in confusion, but there are no feathers, just rumpled sheets that probably need a good wash. Harry leans over the bed to grab his wand from the floor, revealing a glorious arse that Draco suddenly feels the need to bite. Harry casts a freshening charm on both of their mouths and then tugs Draco back into his arms.
“I hope you’re not panicking because I’m still in your bed,” Harry says, sounding a bit uncertain as his fingers start playing with Draco’s hair.
“No,” Draco replies, shaking his head. “Of course not. I’m really happy that you’re here. I’m just…a little surprised, that’s all.”
“Good or bad surprise?” Harry asks, kissing his forehead.
“Good,” Draco murmurs, wondering why on earth he feels like his insides have been jumbled up and rearranged.
Harry suddenly moves, straddling Draco’s hips and leaning over him, a curtain of wild curls surrounding his smiling face.
“Hey,” Harry murmurs, nudging Draco’s nose with his. Draco can feel him, hard and warm against his own stiffening cock, still in awe at the fact that Harry is here, and his wings are gone.
What does it mean?
“I…” Draco starts, eyes moving to the dark stubble on Harry’s cheeks, his pink lips that just beg to be kissed.
“You have freckles on your shoulders,” Harry murmurs, “and the most mouth-watering body I have ever laid eyes on. Your arse is out of this world.”
“Have you been checking me out while I was asleep?” Draco asks, feigning outrage and trying to contain the laugh that is threatening to bubble to the surface.
“You got to see me yesterday,” Harry replies, kissing Draco’s lips and rocking gently against him. “I want you again.”
“Hmm,” Draco hums. He’s always been slow in the morning, needing a good cup of coffee before his brain gets into proper motion. Arousal doesn’t help either, leaving him needy and desperate, disregarding the nagging voice in his head that suggests considering the implications of the sudden disappearance of his wings. “What would you like?” he asks instead, licking his lips.
“Can I fuck you?” Harry asks, cheeks flushing as green eyes meet his. Harry’s bottom lip is trapped between his teeth before Draco reaches up and kisses him soundly, pulling a gasp from Harry. He rocks his hips against Draco, making them both moan as their cocks slide with the most delicious friction against each other.
“Yes,” Draco breathes out when Harry leaves his lips to trail kisses down his jaw, then on his neck, making him shudder when he sucks on a sensitive spot under Draco’s ear. “I want to eat you out,” Draco murmurs when Harry starts licking his nipple, “want to open you up with my tongue, turn you into a whimpering mess before I fuck you slowly.”
“Next time,” Harry promises, and something inside Draco melts at the promise of a next time. “We can do what you like, fuck in all the positions you can imagine. But I want to feel what it’s like to be inside you first.”
“Harry…” Draco keens, nearly jumping off the bed when Harry’s lips wrap around his cock, swallowing him whole in one swift move and then giving him a hard suck. “Fuck! You never do things half-way, do you?”
Harry smiles around his dick, and Draco can’t help but laugh, his fingers stroking black curls into an even bigger mess. Draco casts all the necessary spells on himself, watching Harry’s lips stretched around his cock and thinking that he won’t last, that in spite of having sex last night he feels like he might come any second. He tugs at Harry’s hair and pulls him up, tasting himself on Harry’s tongue when their lips collide for a heated kiss.
Draco pulls his legs up, taking Harry’s hand and guiding it to his entrance.
“Fuck, you’ve used a spell, haven’t you?” Harry asks as his finger slides inside and starts moving slowly, making Draco gasp and whimper. “I wanted to get you ready.”
“Next time,” Draco murmurs. “I can’t…I won’t last long, Harry.”
Harry summons the lube and strokes his cock a few times, making a show of it as Draco watches with his mouth open, wanting to commit it to memory. Harry raises Draco’s legs and then looks worried, so Draco guides him, taking Harry’s cock and pressing it against his own hole.
Harry’s lips part on a moan as he sinks inside, his eyes widening as he stares at their joined bodies, watching himself slide in Draco’s hole and letting out a small gasp when he bottoms out.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, clearly overwhelmed. “Draco, you’re so tight. Oh my god, I’m going to come…”
“Breathe,” Draco reminds him, wrapping his hand around Harry’s neck and pulling him down for a kiss. Harry hums inside his mouth, then he starts moving with a needy sound, hips pressing into Draco. “Slowly, like that…slide it out, and now push it back i- ahhh, like that, love. Feels so good.”
Harry’s lips brush against his, still parted, and they breathe in unison as Harry rocks into him, their eyes meeting. Draco feels it, Harry’s magic inside him, all over his skin and like crackling sparks along the scars on his chest. He moans when he realises that Harry can feel it too, a surprised smile on his beautiful face as he picks up the pace, pressing himself closer and hooking his arms under Draco’s armpits.
Harry’s thrusts become more erratic, his balls slapping against Draco’s arse as Harry fucks him deep and hard.
“Shit, there…Merlin, Harry…”
“Look at you,” Harry mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment as he groans and thrusts a little harder. “You’re so beautiful…and you’re mine, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Draco whispers. “I’m all yours, Harry.”
“Mine. I’m going to fill you up with my come,” Harry says. “I’m going to breed you, and you’re going to be so full of me, darling.”
Draco moans loudly, thinking that Harry could actually do that, if they both wanted it.
Harry takes Draco’s neglected cock in his fist and starts pumping it, and Draco’s eyes close as he comes, painting his chest and Harry’s with white stripes of wet come.
Harry groans and then fucks him with a desperate intensity, hiding his face in the crook of Draco’s neck as he babbles incoherently while he spills his release deep inside of him. Draco strokes his dark hair, whispering soothing words in his ear when he realises that Harry’s body is shaken by sobs.
“Hey,” Draco murmurs. “It’s okay. I’m here, love. Everything is fine. Shhh…”
“Draco…” Harry says, his magic sending a wave of sparks through Draco, like a shiver all over his skin. Draco’s back prickles for a moment in the spots where his wings used to be. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s as if a pulsating energy lying dormant under his skin had suddenly come alive. Draco shudders, and Harry pulls out, kissing him sweetly before he grabs his wand and gives both of them a clean.
“I think it’s time we hit the shower,” Draco suggests, tenderly stroking Harry’s cheek. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” Harry replies with a shaky breath. “Just a bit overwhelmed, I guess.”
“Let me take care of you,” Draco says, guiding Harry to the bathroom and starting the shower. They both climb under the hot stream, even though it’s probably too cramped for two grown men, but Draco doesn’t care. He washes Harry’s hair and body with care, watching him blush and lean closer, kissing Draco every time their lips are close enough to do so.
“Let me take a look at your back,” Harry says when Draco turns to put away the soap. He winces when Harry runs his fingers over his shoulder blades, where his wings used to be. “You have two long scars here.”
“Oh,” Draco mumbles, reaching with his own hands to feel them.
“They look a bit red and sore. Let’s get Poppy to check them before she leaves for the holidays,” Harry says, climbing out of the shower and handing Draco a towel.
“I’m fine, don’t worry,” Draco says, wondering for the first time why Harry hasn’t questioned his supposedly contagious illness or what he’s thinking about the scars on Draco’s back.
Why hasn’t he asked Draco anything?
“I’ll go get a change of clothes while you’re at the hospital wing,” Harry says, kissing Draco on the cheek when they part at the door. Draco casts a drying charm on his hair and leaves it loose, watching Harry run his fingers through the white-blond locks in awe. “We can have breakfast together after you’re done with Poppy.”
“Okay,” Draco says, unwilling to part, feeling a desperate need to cling to Harry and wrap him in his arms, because they’re finally together and he can’t face losing him, even to go to the Hospital Wing. He watches Harry go, when the man suddenly turns and flashes him a radiant smile.
“Stop staring at my arse and go see Poppy,” he shouts. Draco blushes and huffs, giving Harry the middle finger.
As he makes his way to the Hospital Wing, Draco can’t stop wondering what happened.
Why are his wings gone? The Veela bonding ritual requires both involved parties to consent to it, to be willing to become a couple. According to the book Madam Pomfrey lent him, the ritual used to be performed after a wedding, with both partners reciting their love vows before the consummation of the bond.
Harry doesn’t even know that Draco has Veela genes.
“Draco!” Madam Pomfrey exclaims, dropping the pile of documents she was carrying to her desk. “Merlin and Morgana, your wings are gone!”
“Yes,” Draco replies sheepishly. “I’m not entirely sure what happened. Could you please check my scars?”
Draco takes his top off and lets the Healer check his back, humming as she runs a delicate finger over the scar left by his wings.
“It looks like the wounds left by your wings are healing really well,” she says pensively. “So you completed the mating ritual?”
“I don’t think so,” Draco replies, confused. “I…had sex with the person I’m in love with, but they don’t even know I’m a Veela. Maybe my genes are faulty, because it doesn’t make any sense.”
Madam Pomfrey stifles a laugh and then tells him to put his clothes back on.
“You know what this means,” Madam Pomfrey says with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not stupid.”
“But it makes no sense,” Draco argues. “Something must be off with my genes. Maybe I’m an anomaly of some sort.”
“Did you both have a go at…?” Madam Pomfrey asks, wiggling her eyebrows in a meaningful way that makes even Draco’s ears heat up in embarrassment.
“We did, but still…”
“Then the ritual is complete. Come on, lad. You’re smart enough to figure this out,” she says gently, touching Draco’s elbow and pointing at the door with her other hand. “Your mate is waiting for you, and it looks like he has breakfast.”
Harry is standing in the doorway with a smile on his face, holding a basket that he probably got from the kitchens.
“Shall we go for a walk?” Harry asks, taking Draco’s hand and leading him outside. “I know it’s a bit chilly for a picnic, but your warming charms are always absolutely brilliant.”
“Flattery won’t get you back in my bed, Potter,” Draco jokes, making Harry laugh and press a kiss on his cheek.
“Yeah, we both know you’re lying, Draco.”
They settle on the grass in front of Hagrid’s old hut, sitting on a soft blanket that Harry has borrowed from the elves. Draco fishes out croissants and slices of warm toast, little jars of jam and a thermos with tea.
“Wait, here’s the milk,” Harry says, getting a tiny pot from the bottom of the basket. “I also got your favourite chocolate biscuits.”
“Harry, there’s something I need to tell you,” Draco says tentatively, his palms sweating as he considers the words he should use to confess that he’s a male Veela and Harry might be his mate. This is not the kind of thing people usually confess the morning after over breakfast, so Draco is unsure how Harry will react.
Draco panics a little, fiddling with the hem of his robes while Harry fumbles with the pocket of his jumper and gets something out.
A white feather.
One of Draco’s feathers.
Draco’s mouth opens, his eyes widening as he stares at it in confusion.
“I wish I had seen your wings before they disappeared,” Harry admits candidly. “Do you think you could show me later? You should be able to get them out whenever you want to now.”
“W-wai-what?!” Draco manages to splutter inelegantly, making Harry grin and then burst out laughing.
“You should see the look on your face,” Harry says with mirth, rubbing his thumb on Draco’s burning cheeks and bringing him closer for a tender kiss that eventually settles Draco’s nerves.
“How long have you known?” Draco finally manages to ask.
“Since the night you turned,” Harry explains to Draco’s utter shock. “When Poppy came to see you, the door opened and a handful of feathers flew out. I’m a Care of Magical Creatures professor, and I can identify a male Veela feather without difficulty, so I just put two and two together.”
Draco is baffled, shaking his head in confusion, wondering why Harry didn’t say anything before, why he kept up the farce of the contagious illness.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, feeling Harry’s hand wrapping around his, its warmth grounding Draco.
“I did,” Harry replies. “I asked you if you wanted me to call someone for you. If you wanted me to get Theo.”
“Why Theo?” Draco asks with a frown.
“Well, I wrongly assumed he was your mate,” Harry confesses sheepishly, his cheeks flushing as he gives Draco an awkward smile that sends a storm of butterflies in his stomach.
“I have zero interest in Theo,” Draco declares. “Pansy arranged that blind date without telling me anything, and I was frankly annoyed about it.”
“Oh,” Harry replies, his eyes shining when they meet Draco’s. “I’ve been hoping…I kept on sending you hints that I liked you. That I wanted you. But you never seemed aware or interested.”
“What?” Draco says. “I thought…I didn’t even consider you could be interested in someone like me.”
“Draco,” Harry says, squeezing his hand and looking him straight in the eyes. “I have been slowly falling in love with you for years. Since Andromeda started reading your letters. I was dying to see you again; I even considered getting a Portkey to France. When I found out that you applied for the Potions position, I thought that was finally my chance to see you again. I was so relieved that you were such a strong candidate, because it meant that convincing Minerva was dead easy. And then when you started working here…” Draco can’t believe Harry’s words, shaking his head as he listens in disbelief. “I fell in love with you so hard that I thought I was going to go mad.”
“Harry…” Draco mumbles, trying to find the words to express his own feelings. “I know I’m probably not the person you expected to have as a partner, that being with a Veela is not going to be easy, but I will never use my Allure on you. Whenever you have enough of me, I want you to leave me.”
“Draco, I would want you for the rest of my life, Veela or not, so stop worrying about that. That’s why I wanted to become your Veela mate. I wanted to carry out the bonding ritual so that I could belong to you.”
“I…I can carry your children, if you want me to,” Draco confesses, his cheeks on fire.
“I know,” Harry replies with a grin. “I’ve read quite a lot about the perks of having a Veela mate in the past week. But that’s not why I want to be with you. You’re such a brilliant person. You’re so smart, funny and kind. And ridiculously hot, let’s face it.”
Draco laughs, tears prickling the corner of his eyes, feeling so unbelievably happy that he thinks he must be dreaming. He wants to tell Harry that he loves him, that he means the world to him, but he’s so overwhelmed that all he manages to do is rest his face in the crook of Harry’s neck and whisper, “You’re everything I ever wanted.”
An owl lands on their picnic mat, carrying a letter for Harry. He opens it and grins.
“Teddy wants to know if we’re going for Christmas,” Harry says, showing Draco the missive.
“I’d love to,” Draco replies, aware that Harry will probably want to spend time at the Burrow now that Draco is no longer stuck in his room. He feels a pang in his heart, the thought of parting with Harry making him long to reach for his hand and draw him closer. How is Draco going to cope? “When are you leaving?”
“I was thinking we could spend a few days huddled up together in your room,” Harry says with a wink. “We deserve a little honeymoon, don’t you think? Then we can go to Andromeda’s for Christmas and spend New Year’s at the Burrow together. I sent Molly my Patronus this morning while you were asleep, and she said she would be delighted to have you. She told me off for not telling her sooner, because she has to knit you a jumper at the speed of light, but I’m sure it will be brilliant anyway.”
“What?” Draco asks in disbelief, eyes open wide as he stares at Harry and thinks that he must definitely be still dreaming. He’s about to ask Harry to pinch him when Harry smiles that mischievous Gryffindor grin that means he’s up to no good.
“But first,” Harry announces, “I’m going to take you for a fancy dinner at Madame Lingerie. I’m going to pull out the Saviour card to get us a table for tonight.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Draco replies, rolling his eyes with a dramatic sigh that makes Harry grin and elbow him.
“You’d better wear your best robes because I’m going to wine and dine the shit out of you.”
“So bloody romantic, Potter.”
“Come on,” Harry teases, “I know you love it.”
Draco smiles and holds his hand.
“I do.”