Work Text:
Title: The unscratchable Itch
Author/Artist: lyonessheart
Prompt: by the lovely digthewriter One's lost his wings and only grow back when a true mate is found.
Pairing(s): Harry/Draco, Draco/OMC but only in passing
Warning(s) (Highlight to view): * None*
Disclaimer:Harry Potter characters are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.
It shouldn´t feel like this. His instincts scream at him, but he feels like he owes his lover something. For what he doesn’t really know, but Theo has been so patient, so understanding and he has been there when everyone else left him. He wants to feel close to him, wants to give in and submit but something isn’t right.
Kissing him feels wrong. Far too late he tries to put a stop to this, but Theo seems not to notice. He is fighting against the touches of his lover but the movements are sluggish as if he is stuck in tar. This shouldn’t be happening, but he can’t articulate what he wants to scream. Stop! Please.
A burst of pain, a shower of white as if there is snow falling all around him, and then he knows nothing apart from soothing darkness for a long time.
When he wakes, everything is muted, as if he lost his sense of touch. The healers try to explain, tell him something about his heritage being triggered, through intercourse with the wrong person.
Intercourse - such a clinical word, for something so intimate. He doesn’t blush. He doesn’t feel anything. Shouldn’t there be something? Anger maybe? He isn’t sure.
He lost his wings before he really had them. There is something to be said for this though. Now people won’t stare at him for being a freak in addition to being a failed Death Eater.
He won’t be able to tell who his mate is by smell any longer. His mother is distraught. He simply shrugs it off. If being in love wasn’t enough for his other side, he doesn’t want it anyway. And the others always thought that he was a coldblooded snake one way or another. Not caring might be a relief for once.
Going back to Hogwarts is easy, the suspicious stares thrown his way slide off him. He keeps to himself, minding his own business. Only in a few classes he feels like something dead inside of him stirs again. It must be a reflex. He doesn’t notice green eyes watching him.
Pansy has come back to school with him. She is like a silent shadow, but he ignores her mostly, keeping to himself sitting in the library when classes are out, studying diligently. He doesn’t care that brown eyes look at him worriedly, after weeks pass and he doesn’t interact with his classmates at all.
Quidditch has started again and he is urged to come along. He accepts but only because he has nothing else to do. He used to love the game, but now there is no fun in watching. His shoulderblades itch and for the first time he longs for his wings, he wants to fly. Blue eyes narrow in suspicion when he leaves quietly during the game. But he only settles down on the shore of the lake.
He doesn’t care. Or so he tells himself. The library is his refuge, until he hears soft talks and laughter from his former friend. He looks at her bend over the books with a head of bushy locks. It doesn’t bother him. When he leaves a set of brown eyes follow him.
Granger begins to research something. Pansy sits next to her quite often. He sees Weasley join them but nothing stirs inside of him. Only when Harry sits next to them he feels a feeble itch again. He shrugs it off and leaves again.
When the teacher in Defense Against the Dark Arts begins to talk about Veela, he tunes out. He doesn’t need to know anything else about this subdued thing inside of himself. It doesn’t bother him and so it doesn’t matter.
Later he will curse himself for not paying attention. But when the class ends, someone calls for him, he turns and find himself confronted with green eyes once more. The itch is back, and he wants to flee but a hand touches his arm before he can get away.
“Uhm, we need to do the project together. The professor paired Ron with Pansy and Blaise with Hermione.” Potter looks nervous.
“Ok.” He just wants to get away, his back itches and his arm feels like an army of ants is doing a party under his skin. He feels so much more than he has in the last few months. He doesn’t like it, but it seems as if he can’t do anything about it.
Potter seems to see him as his newest project, and continues to be everywhere. They sit in the library, when he asks for the first time what they are supposed to be working on.
“Our project is research on Veelas.” Potter says with an absolutely straight face.
Draco feels like Potter has pulled the floor out underneath him. “You are joking?”
Now Potter looks confused. “Why would I?”
Ok so he doesn’t know. Draco ignores the growing itch between his shoulderblades.
“Which aspect?” he forces out
“He said we could chose about Veela heritage, mateship and the history of allure”
Draco wonders why he feels so lost, where is the subdued calm that has been such a help for the last few months?
“Which aspect do you want?” he forces out.
“I think mateship would be the most interesting.”
The pain that rages through his body at the simple statement, catches him by surprise. He runs out of the library before he has registered what has happened. The further he gets away from the library, the calmer he feels. Only now he knows that it is not calm, it is numbness that envelops him. A sob tears from his throat, and he collapses on the shore. How can he go on like this? Feeling as if he is wrapped in gauze, unless Potter is near, when he feels like his body is itching and ants have a party under his skin. Is that how he will feel for the rest of his life?
A hand settles on his shoulder and he looks up. A strong soothing hand, strangely anchoring him to here and now and gentle blue eyes look at him.
“Malfoy you are a right mess.” But there is no fire in the words, none of the antagonism that has coloured their interaction for so long.
“Weasley.” There should be fire, but he is tired. Tired of it all. Tired of feeling numb and detached.
“What happened?” Ron doesn’t look at him
“Why do you care?” Ron Weasley has never been his friend, to see him here baffles Draco. “You hate me.” Draco searches for the feelings that he had regarding Ron Weasley, the boy who made fun of him, the boy who has stolen Harry from him, and isn’t that an interesting thought?
“Hm, hate is such a strong word. You used to be a little shit, but I think hate is too much a word for this. You are different, Pansy and Mione worry.” Ron is not easily deterred.
Draco feels his eyes bug out. “What?” he looks at his companion, noting the determined set of the jaw, the calming presence next to him, and he wonders if a war can really change this much. It certainly changed everything for him - and he is so confused about the entire bizarre situation, that he gives in.
Ron shrugs. “Yeah Pansy likes you, and Mione has watched you in the library. Pansy is smart, and Mione likes her. And when she decides to like someone, well I don’t stand a chance. I love her so I go along. And since Pansy likes you, well lets see if I can find that in you as well, one fucking war is enough, so don’t fuck this up.” he sounds a little gruff, but Draco hears the peace offering.
“Hm.” Draco is silent for a while, before he says what is on his mind. “For what it is worth, I am sorry for being a shit.” Being numb again helps.
“Hm.” Ron looks at him. “Why were you? You had everything, was it really so bad not to get your way once?”
“I didn’t have Harry.” He doesn’t know why he is so honest, but his back begins to itch again. he doesn’t turn, just continues to talk. “It hurt that he didn’t want me, didn’t think that I was worth his friendship. I needed him to pay attention to me.”
Ron chuckles. “Malfoy, you always had his attention.” He gets up stretching his hand out. “Lets head back, if you want we can play chess.”
Draco likes chess and he agrees. Maybe this strange time calls for new things, and if he can talk with Ron Weasley without getting into a brawl then there might be hope to calm the infuriating itch under his skin one day as well.
Draco walks silently back with Weasley, two tall figures, men no longer boys. Green eyes watch, troubled. Draco’s shoulders twitch. The itch is back.
Harry doesn’t push himself into Draco’s world. But he is a quiet presence, always hovering at the edge of Draco’s sight. Hermione, Pansy, Ron and Blaise have closed ranks around Draco as if they know something he doesn’t. The numbness recedes, slowly and he begins to feel like himself again. But the infuriating itch remains.
Hermione looks on, waiting, for what Draco doesn’t even know but there is a knowing smile playing around the corner of her lips. Harry is always there, working quietly on the project, reading, always reading. His green eyes are watching and Draco begins to understand what Ron meant when he said that he always had his attention. The ants under his skin, feel more like taking a bath of champagne after a time.
The days pass on and Draco gets used to Harry being there, even the constant itching in his back has eased a little. Sometimes Draco still feels numb and detached, but then his friends touch his arm, and he feels connected to the world around him again. Only Harry stays away doesn’t touch him as if he is afraid of what might happen. He has a dry sense of humor though that makes Draco laugh. He is surprised the first time that it happens, but the bubbles dancing under his skin suddenly make him giddy like real champagne.
Harry looks at him, when he laughs and Draco feels self conscious. Ducking his head as if too much attention could cause their fragile - whatever this is - to break and something deep within Draco tells him that he doesn’t want it to break. He always craved Harry’s attention, having it freely given feels intoxicating. His shoulders flex and he misses his wings, almost as if he would like to take off in flight. But it is not to be, maybe never again if he doesn’t find his mate by accident someday. The thought makes him sad, but only until he catches Harry smile, then it appears unimportant. He is alright without a mate as long as he has Harry’s quiet friendship.
Harry, Blaise and Ron ask him to play impromptu Quidditch with him, he is reluctant but agrees to get on a broom. It feels strange, as if he should be able to fly on his own, but of course that is impossible without wings. And it itches again, like it hasn’t in a few days. The girls sit in the stands, watching, laughing. Draco feels content. He hangs back and watches, Ron and Harry are rising higher and higher, Draco ascends with them, his skin feeling too tight and itchy all of a sudden. He wonders what has him so uneasy when it happens. Harry, who is an excellent flyer usually, tilts his broom downwards and overbalances, when a sudden gust of wind catches him unaware. Ron is too far away to catch him and they are too far off the ground for the girls to have noticed. Draco doesn’t think, he propels himself forward. Harry will fall past him and he realizes immediately that he won’t be fast enough with his broom.
He jumps.
It is against every survival instinct that he should have, but the thought of Harry crashing into the ground causes him agony. He turns onto his back, Harry above him and simply opens his arms. Harry looks calmer than he has any business to look and stretches his hands out for him, as if this is the most natural thing to do. Draco all but pulls him to his chest, When he has Harry in his arms, time seems to slow down. The infuriating itch between his shoulderblades, grows to be unbearable, and his wings burst forth. They beat strongly, carrying them downwards. Harry holding on for dear life, and his own heartbeat strangely calm. His skin where it is pressed against Harry feels like prickling bubbles are bursting against it, leaving hot trails of want.
When they have reached the ground, Draco feels as if he is still in the air. His brain tries to focus but somehow he only comes to one conclusion, his wings have reappeared. The boy in his arms doesn’t even try to step back, instead almost climbing into him. His mate. The one person who had to lay claim on him, because he amputated himself unknowingly.
“What happened?” he hears himself ask, bewildered, lost. Then Harry looks up, green eyes look right into his soul.
“I claimed you.”
“What?” he cannot have heard right.
Harry mumbles something into his chest.
“What was that?” Draco still can’t process what has happened, Harry claimed him? Aren't there rules to something like that? He probably looks like a right berk staring at Harry trying to wrap his head around that fact, that Harry could have died.
“I put my life into your hands, alright?!” Harry looks at him defiant. “I needed to do that so you would recognize me as your mate!”
“You could have died.” And now there is an emotion struggling to break through that he hasn’t felt in so long that it confuses him, before he can identify it as anger. “What if you had been wrong? What if I would have been too slow? I could have lost you!” he is torn between wanting to shake Harry until he never does something so idiotic again and snogging him until he begs for mercy. As it is he wraps his wings around both of them so that they are shielded from the eyes of the curious bystanders.
“Draco.” Harry still doesn’t give any indication of wanting to step away, instead stroking every inch of skin that he can reach. Harry is tilting his head up a little more, and why has he never noticed that he is so much taller than the Gryffindor? “Do I have to beg, or will you kiss me?”
How is he supposed to stay angry when he gets asked so sweetly and champagne bubbles are bursting all over his body?
Kissing Harry is even more intoxicating, than having his attention, Those lips plump and sweet against his own. He could get lost in this, but Harry grounds him.
When Harry stops kissing him, he actually whimpers softly. His old self would have been mortified. But his old self also would never have known, how good it would feel to have the friendship of the people around him. The chuckle that resonates in his body tells him that the whimper has been noticed. He draws back a little and looks into the amused faces of his friends. It hits him like a bludger.
“You planned this!” it is half accusation, half resigned amusement.
Hermione looks guilty and Ron blushes as well, those two are too honest to lie to him, but he only feels exasperated fondness.
Pansy and Blaise just look pointedly at Draco who has Harry still in his arms.
“It worked, now say thank you!”
Draco listens into his body feeling whole for the first time, and the words come easily.
“Thank you”