Week 5 (B-Day Plus 34)

A se'enight or so after the first meeting with Kingsley and Madame Pomfrey, Harry and Malfoy sat in an upscale Muggle cafe in SoHo, comparing notes over a quick meal taken after working hours.

It was their third 'date' and also the third distinct occasion they'd spent 'quality time' with each other outside working hours since meeting at Hogwarts Infirmary one week previous for a initial go-round and foray into the intricacies of building a 'relationship'. They'd had several 'lessons' since. Also, drinks at the Leaky and a business lunch from a cart in the park near the Ministry.

Harry was beginning to feel as though he spent far too much time quirking his mental fingers into snarky little parens, what with all these bloody euphemisms.

Also, sex. Not a euphemism, not at all. And not that they'd had that - oh, fucking no! - nor would they for quite some time to come, if Harry had much to say about it. But that was a whole 'nother kettle of Sneels.

But...it was coming.

The half-hysterical, half-ironic way in which that realization presented itself to him left Harry feeling twitchy, with a curious little smile and tilted eyebrows over the utter absurdity of 'dating' Malfoy...and that was maybe not a smile at all he felt tugging his lips. Still, there were a few...logical aftereffects to this whole Veela Mate experience he had to admit nagged at him like a socked jaw - or sore teeth. Or hen's teeth, perhaps, as they were impossible. Highly improbable, more like, but then he was half-Muggleborn and this was bloody magic. And, well, what did he know of all the peculiar ways of Purebloods?

"Allow me to recap," Malfoy murmured, examining the tiny Quik Quills pad he carried with him religiously, which he'd naturally spelled invisible to the Muggles, and for once not noticing Harry's expression at all...Harry hoped. It had been a pleasant enough dinner 'date' thus far; he'd much prefer it remained so. Made his brand new mission, er, easier. "That's no other persons allowed intimately for either of us, for approximately a month before Bonding, and - goes without saying, this - no extramarital affairs after, ever. Then, you'll be needing to do something useful about Grimmauld Place, Potter, as I must keep up the Manor for the entailment - we'll reside there, naturally."

"What about heirs, Malfoy?" Harry interrupted, willfully ignoring the matter of the Manor for the moment. There were far bigger fish to fry than where they'd be residing after Bonding and Poppy's most recent instructive hour had stuck this particular question firmly in the forefront of his cerebrum, like a giant motorway sign. No. Rather like a hot needle directly through the eyeball, actually. Difficult to ignore. "Hmm?"

Harry had found it helped his faculties immensely if he regarded this Veela Mate debacle as a very long-term, very deep-in stealth assignment, one similar to his search for Voldemort's Horcruxes, but with the decided advantage of his not being actively hunted and harried by hostile forces. He had named it 'B-Day', in wry honour of the Allied Muggle Force's invasion of Normandy, back in the days (to him, at the ripe old age of twenty-four) 'of yore'. That small fancy pleased him, and he clung to any other he could find, as a coping mechanism. He was a soldier, an agent of the Law, and this was his job. But, too, the opposing forces weren't necessarily hostile. Exactly.

Right. Non-hostile, then.

Excepting, of course, if he were to idiotically go entirely spare from stress and stupidly come to regard either Poppy or Malfoy as 'hostile', which he decidedly didn't - and hadn't. And wouldn't, by Merlin, so help him, er, gods! Poppy was aiding them in every way she possibly could and it wasn't Malfoy's fault he'd turned up as more than half Veela, poor sod.

Much.

No, Harry assured himself, on the contrary, it wasn't all uniformly horrid. This admittedly unusual situation had one very unique advantage: it resulted in Harry having the whole Veela Nation firmly on his side, as well as international Veela Law regarding Mates, were any overly zealous Wizard or Witch to suddenly to start throwing spanners into the works and lead off their already complicated gavotte by threatening either of them, physically or magically. That was a very good thing. Veela Mating Law trumped both Ministry and Wizengamot rulings soundly in regard to Magical Creatures, rather like a Muggle diplomatic immunity, and thus they were safe enough from the press ('Down with Skeeter the Cheater!' went Harry's rousing mental cheer), the common-garden variety of celeb gossip ('Screw Witch Weekly!' he'd whooped, now and again) and the worst of the fringe element ('Sod off, all you whackjob Hero-worshippers!' he'd been heard to exclaim, fervently.)

And the Veela were damned formidable Creatures. Similar, Harry thought, to the magical range of the average Dumbledore or Grindelwald, only far more...attractive.

As was Malfoy, and also when wearing his usual skin of Wizard, which was precisely why he'd been instantly inducted into the Unspeakables and shoved up the merit ladder at a remarkable rate. The git - and Harry thought of him that way more out of an old and easy familiarity than resulting from any issues leftover from Hogwarts - was a top-notch Wizard, on par with Harry. Possibly exceeding, in some aspects. Harry had not really fully ingested that Malfoy was a force to deal with back when they were attending Hogwarts, but he was more than aware of it now - and thankful to have that sort of firepower on his side, stationed stolidly at his back should he - or any other Auror - be in need of it.

Which he - and other Aurors - already had, as Malfoy was their liaison to the Unspeakable department. This lot of needy Aurors Included Harry's own partner, Ron, who'd been doing a brilliant job of being uniformly civil to Malfoy for more than several years now, ever since the Weasley-Potter-Malfoy mass therapy bout. Too, good old Ron had visibly thawed at least fifteen more degrees when Malfoy saved his freckled arse in Helsinki, two years previous.

Helsinki, Harry decided, had been one hell of a learning experience.

In any case, Wandless Magic, DADA and the expected Potions were the least of it; the bloke excelled at nearly every aspect of the Arts, and had even topped Hermione out scoring on a few of the more arcane NEWTS. Harry had never even known there was a NEWT was offered in either Ancestral Totem Construction or Sex Magic, but he supposed it made quite a lot of sense, the latter, 'specially after Poppy Pomfrey introduced the subject and Hermione (later that same day, though perhaps not as patiently - there'd been any number of 'Oh, Harry's!') explained it to him again, as a refresher. After all, there were Incubi and Veela, Houris and Genies abounding in the Wizarding world and the seduction of the physical senses was quite immensely crucial to them all.

Sex drove the ship, or certainly steered it. Without reproduction hard at work, there'd be no Magic a'tall.

Sex, indeed, as Madame had stated quite clinically and categorically, was the primary matter for any Magical Being who'd had a beating heart ticking over. Successful reproduction was paramount for the continuance of the various species and any enhancements to make that process more effective were passed down from generation to generation. Like that Muggle Darwin bloke's finches, but magical, so...more so. Draco had got his Veela blood because of it, actually. Veelas were potent creatures and Wizards, weak through inbreeding, had deeply desired to infuse that strength into their own genetic pools. Had succeeded, too, though they still had the unmitigated gall to refer to themselves as Purebloods.

Silly wankers.

Harry mused briefly over the Muggle Darwin and wondered what he might have had to remark on the microcosm of the magical milieu. He wasn't a total swot like Hermione - or Malfoy - but he could more than hold his own in the business of sorting things through, logically, 'especially if there weren't anyone actively trying to kill him. Aurors did that; part of the job description.

Well...still. His new milieu - or job description, as it were - now intimately involved two Wizards and to Harry's admittedly spotty knowledge, two Wizards did not reproduce.

"Potter? Were you saying something?" Malfoy, obviously annoyed at being dragged from his notes, gave him a little glare over the top of his Quik Quills. "Heirs? What of them?"

"Oh, well - yes. It's just this, Malfoy. Er, issue, progeny...ah, you know - kids. Um, how will we handle that...er, that part of this cock-up we've got ourselves into?" Malfoy blinked at Harry, face severely blank and business-like but enquiring all the same. Harry scrambled to lay out his line of reasoning. "Yes, well, see, we're both the last of our lines, respectively, right? I understand that bit, and while I know there must be ways and means of doing it - sodding Wizards, yeah? - I don't get the actual, er, process; not for us, at least. Do they have to be blood pure or can we adopt?"

"'They'?" Malfoy seemed startled for a moment, and Harry actually saw a faint flush rise in his cheeks before he ducked his sharp nose back behind the Quik Quills pad. "You mean, you want more than one? Oh."

Harry nodded as Malfoy surfaced again, briefly. The git blinked slowly at Harry, twice, grey eyes very wide, before diving his nose back into his notebook.

"Ah. I see," he muttered rapidly, sounding stifled. "I must admit I didn't realize, but. Erm, hmmm, let's see, Potter - hold up," the git commanded, through a nice, healthy blush that did wonders for his habitual paleness, frowning distractedly and flipping rapidly through pages. He swallowed hard, throat muscles bobbing, and Harry peered curiously as Malfoy visibly fought to focus on the very small script he employed. "Hang on, then; a moment... hmm...no, no. It was earlier this week, wasn't it, that Pomfrey was talking up the family planning?"

Harry nodded again, silently, waiting.

"But - but, still, Potter, it's funny you should ask that now, though I rather think you've got the carriage well before the Abraxan - we're not even Bonded yet. Hmm...mm-hmm. No, not it. Well. Ah! Maybe here?"

Harry regarded him idly, eyes narrow on Malfoy's hands as he ran a fingertip across yet another page of his ridiculous, meticulous scrawls: the intent gaze, the gathered brow, the white teeth just nipping that lower lip. Malfoy was the most Type-A wanker Harry'd ever had the pleasure of working with, but he did get the job done.

Unspeakably efficient, that was it. Ruthless in it, even.

"But, my mother did say I wasn't to concern myself over it," Malfoy was still mumbling away under his breath, possibly more to himself than Harry, "when I finally Changed over fully. It would all settle out in the end, but you know - I seem to recall Pomfrey did mention...something...specifically. Where...was it? Hmm, that's not like me, not to label these subtopics properly. Ah! Perhaps under Procreation...?"

"Oi, Malfoy," Harry muttered finally, shifting in his seat uncomfortably. If there was a whole section on it, then...perhaps he ought just take Poppy aside and ask for a private, um, 'lesson'. Poor Malfoy looked as though he'd suddenly come down with a raging fever; he was far from his usual composure. This question of legally begotten heirs must be a huge deal, to do this to him! "It's not...I mean. Look - it doesn't matter that much...really. Now. Yet."

"Hmmm? Hold up, Potter. I'm still searching." And still blushing, the git.

"More tea, gentleman? Coffee?"

"Um, no, thanks. I'm fine."

Harry's Veela thumbed through a few more closely scribbled pages, impatiently waving away the server who'd come 'round, offering third refills of their coffee. Tea, for Malfoy, actually, and he'd been his usual toplofty self over the fact it was a lone bag of trusty old PG Tips in a plebian ceramic mug and not Assam leaves in a proper pot. Harry grinned fleetingly at his Lordship's notoriously snooty preferences - and then ceased abruptly, his eyes going wide behind his spectacle frames.

Oh, Merlin bugger. He'd be doing this every damned day, soon enough! The idea of future parenting was abruptly a lot less important as compared to the git's foibles. They'd likely never get 'round to having little ones; he murder Malfoy first out of sheer frustration, over that damned Quik Quills tablet!

"Oh, you know, don't worry if you can't find it, Malfoy," he hurried to repeat, suddenly vastly interested in turning the subject well away from their progeny - and the exact means used to achieve them. The 'pleasant' part of their dinner date was slipping away like sand grains, lost under the annoying ruffle of pages turning and the odd befuddled colour coming and going on the git's narrow face. "No big deal; as you just said, it's not like it's important now."

"No...um, just another moment, please," Malfoy waved a vague hand at him, deep into his fiddly subtopics. That blasted notebook - Harry had glanced through it once out of sheer curiosity and discovered it drove him mental. It was highlighted, had tab dividers stuck on and actual footnotes! If that was a true reflection of the normal state of Malfoy's mind, he'd bloody well string him up by his thumbs within days of Bonding - if they ever even made it that far!

Anal sod! No wonder he'd not even raised an eyebrow over Madame's mention of how Wizards went about it!

Harry blushed. Couldn't help it, really. The Muggle diner was much too humid for a balmy April evening. They should've sat outside, as he wanted. But no; Malfoy was concerned about insects.

"It's in here somewhere," the fixated git droned on, interminably. "I absolutely know it. Can remember Pomfrey's voice clearly when she said, just...hmm. Need to cross-index this recent section, though. Do it Sunday, I s'pose, after luncheon...I'm sorry, Potter." There was a quick flash of earnest grey eyes before Malfoy returned to his search. "I should be able to lay hands on this straight off. Don't mean to make a deal of it."

"Uh-huh. Great, Malfoy," Harry's inevitable grin, when it came, was rueful, it was; oddly affectionate, too, though he wasn't wishing to dwell on why that was, either! But, fortunately enough, Malfoy didn't notice it, as Harry couldn't have explained why he was suddenly smiling. "You do that, git. Show that beastly thing who's the boss of it."

"Right, right." Malfoy wasn't listening to him at all. Harry could've stomped off and likely Malfoy wouldn't have noticed him going, so caught up was he in his stupid little pad!

Oh, Merlin.

Picky, persnickety, all over detail - every little thing recorded, from the temperature to the time. What Harry liked to eat and how often; what he abhorred and shied away from; where'd they met and when they would next; every single word the Mesdames Pomfrey and D'Argent had had to impart on the topic of their mutual 'little problem'. All there - and much of it verbatim.

It was...a little scary, Malfoy's view of the world. Too structured - too safe. Rigidly contained, as he was.

But...for the remainder of his natural days Harry would be subject to Malfoy's annoying little fancies and quirks. Tea, food, clothing, housing - all manner of minutiae. All the those ickle little details that were such a huge part of living life daily would impact him - drive him frothing mad, if he allowed it. It was a dire, bleak landscape ahead, if he dwelt too deeply upon it. They were so very unalike, he and Malfoy. True, Malfoy was admittedly an excessively private person, as was Harry, but he'd been sadly spoilt silly as a child, and was quite demanding, even anal-retentive, when it came down to the wire.

...But, to give him some credit, he was also a nice enough looking chap, if one got past his...odd habits. And not too bad to chat with, on a strictly business basis...if one ignored the constant stream of mild sniping and the sheer intensity of his methods. And he was liked well enough, the berk, by Harry's assorted pseudo-family...well, now he was, in the wake of their enforced group therapy. The elder Weasleys had truly taken a real shine to Malfoy, though Ginny - not so much.

And it could've been far worse. It could been poor Theo Nott sitting across from him, who was also a bit Veela, drooling.

Really, though, when it came down to the wire, Harry only had to continue thinking of this strictly as an undercover job, and he'd be alright. Harry was certain of it - he was.

"They never addressed it, Malfoy, not that I know of," he nodded, firmly putting Malfoy's foibles aside in favour of returning to the subject at hand and toying discontentedly with the last of his unappetizing wedge of tart instead. "The professors. Not at Hogwarts, at least." He scowled his irritation. There was far too much that had not ever been clearly stated, at least not to him. "You'd think they'd at least have managed some sort of Sex Education; I mean, the Muggles have it in their schools - why not Wizards? And it's a boarding school, for Merlin's sake! Everyone shags everyone!"

"That's true, Potter."

Malfoy, visibly intrigued, finally laid down his compendious pad and took up his neglected cup, tapping it the once to re-warm it. He met Harry's gaze, and Harry could tell he'd found yet another point they had in common. Or...could see eye to eye on. That was, um...three, now, total? Maybe four.

"Isn't it, then? Weird, huh?"

"I know," Malfoy nodded, "and I do agree with you, Potter, but if you recall, Madame also pointed out that quite a few subjects were forcibly elided from Hogwart's curriculum after the close of the Sixties - all that 'Flower Power' movement and those heathen Hippies, whoever they were, I s'pose - and then, remember? The Governor's Board was more than half Death Eater, by then. M'father was on it, yes? And it showed - you've not forgotten dear old Umbridge, have you?"

Malfoy made a horrid face and Harry laughed, lifting his shoulders and matching the grimace.

"Merlin, yes! Faugh! But...Stubby Boardman, too," he nodded wisely after the little insuppressible sick shudder the mere thought of Dolores Umbridge always yanked from his gut had ebbed. "Molly told me all about him; showed me a poster. Sex on two legs, he was, walking. Shocking, how much of a heartthrob he was. Like that, er, Elvish chap, um - what was his name again? Very popular with Muggles, early on...or - or maybe the Beatles! Them! I remember Dud being very much..."

"Indeed," Malfoy frowned at Harry, idly fingering the handle of his teaspoon. His cool grey gaze returned to his notebook, lying on the table, and he fell back into his earlier abstraction, rather firmly ignoring Harry's excitement over the Muggle bands of the Sixties. He did that often, Harry had noticed, for the sake of peace between them: taking refuge in the utterly mundane. At least that's what Harry assumed the git did, every time they came too close to disagreeing.

Harry wondered briefly just exactly what it was Malfoy thought he really had to hide, now. They were to be Mated, weren't they? He'd find it all out in the end, just as he always did.

"...but then my aunt bought him that drum kit, and it was all over, " Harry concluded his tale of a youthful Dudders, well aware Malfoy had tuned him out some moments before, in favor of that damned Quik Quills. "But for the shouting. Uncle Vernon wasn't so fond of the, er, rock music."

Malfoy snorted softly and fixed Harry with a piercing stare.

"Be that as it may, it was no doubt the final nail in the coffin as far as any sort of tolerance went for the Death Eaters, Boardman - and your Muggle Buggles, Potter, likely. Sex Magic was removed from the curriculum at Hogwarts, sadly. We're fortunate to have Pomfrey's guidance, I think, intrusive as it may be. I, at least, am learning some valuable pointers."

"Hmm...I s'pose," Harry replied moodily, taking another small bite of his tart. Malfoy reclaimed his notebook and flipped through it again. "Maybe. Little weird, though, isn't it? I mean...it's Pomfrey, Malfoy. She used to mend our broken bones; not hand out the simple incantations for lube, you know? I just keep experiencing this total disconnect, see?"

Malfoy only snorted again and shook his head, firmly folding away any hint of a shared grin.

"Well, at any rate and to answer your first question, Potter, I've noted here that we Veela have any number of options, from Potions to donors and surrogates to a few very arcane and ancient ancillary Blood Binding Charms, but...let's not concern ourselves over that now, alright? We've the actual Binding yet to get through unscathed - must say, I worry far more over how they wish us to accomplish that bit than any other - "

"As if I'm so bloody enthused, Malfoy!" Harry broke in, stabbing a floppy, cinnamon-baked apple slice viciously on the tines of his fork. "It'll be a sodding circus! Why it requires a freakin' audience, I'll never understand! It's not as if either of us are shrinking virgins, not at our age, and you'd think Veelas at least would be allowed their privacy - wait! Hang on! Isn't mad jealousy an issue with your sort, Malfoy? You're not going to hurt me or anything, are you? Over that? Because I've not dated anyone for ages," Harry shook his head decisively. "No time."

"No, Potter, I'm not," Malfoy replied, repressively. Then he quirked a brow and dropped his Quick Quills again. He'd been fondling the spine and Harry had to drag his eyes away from the sight of those fingers moving softly across the tightly wound coil of metal. "And yes, Potter, of course it is."

"Er...what?"

Malfoy sighed heavily, propping his pointy chin on his one fist and regarding Harry as if he were a particularly tricky Potion ingredient - one that didn't lend itself well to chopping, mincing, dicing or slicing. Thick and...and dense.

"Jealousy is a facet of this, Potter, being nothing more than a simple-minded euphemism for blatant territorialism, but it's just as equally imperative that our Bond be recognized by as many magical beings as possible and that it is henceforth respected widely, on all counts. No naysayers allowed, get it? No one may be allowed to object. Because I can't very well have some half-crazed Potter fan cropping up later and attempting to seduce you away; people can be seriously injured, you know? Some have died because of that...jealousy, Potter."

"Yeah, yeah, right, Malfoy," Harry shook his head in patent disbelief. The very idea - hah! "Seduce me, huh? Like anyone would try."

Malfoy shook his head and looked dubious. Harry gulped.

"Look, forgive me for being a bit slow and all, but I'm still absorbing the concept of you being jealous over me, and not of me. All that guff from Hogwarts aside, I really don't believe I can stomach it. It's just not like you, git. Quidditch was one thing - my arse is entirely another!"

"Prat," Malfoy responded shortly, eyes flashing with temper, "you know I can't help this, Potter, so have a little care, alright? I'm doing my best for your benefit in a most difficult situat - "

"I know, I know; I get it - look, I'm sorry," Harry replied hastily and thrust a placating hand out, laying it atop Malfoys unoccupied one, where it reposed lax on the sticky table's Formica surface. "I am, arse. I wasn't intending to ruffle your feathers, you old hippogriff - I just. I just. Really, Malfoy! It's outside of ridiculous, don't you think?"

"Stop with the idiot potshots, Potter; we don't need to stroll down Memory Lane," Malfoy replied, but he did visibly relax a shade under the weight of Harry's earnest gaze, even so. Harry smiled at him quite happily, all at once feeling oddly matey. They were in this together, weren't they? Yes, they were. He wasn't alone, struggling to make sense of the irrational.

He pulled his hand back so he could make another attempt at his tart. Which was lousy, yes, and Malfoy was correct - this place was inferior, for all the Muggle papers had touted it.

"I'm not about to peck your stupid eyes out, either, or rip your arm clean off, much as you do drive me mental," the git was saying, his voice dry and one of those eyebrows of his arched high. "Not to worry yourself unduly, Potter. I've finally moved beyond that very natural urge."

"Git."

Harry had his hand patted in a kindly, avuncular manner, and scowled instantly, though he wasn't so much angry as - as. Confused, mayhap? By Malfoy's signals, perhaps...which were all over the fucking place. But Malfoy was just...like that. Bewildering. Came from the multitasking, Harry figured.

"Um-hmm. There, there, Potter. Relax." The long hand extended over the table, wrist flexing as his light touch firmed and flexed 'round Harry's fingers. Harry jerked his arm back, involuntarily. He wasn't fond of having his wand arm pinned.

"Get off, git! Merlin! I'm not three, you know?...But it is strange, you have to admit," Harry prodded, not willing to let go of the topic of Veela jealousy, just as it seemed Malfoy wasn't willing to let go his hand, now he had it in possession. Harry ceased his little struggle, distracted. "Really. Would you ever have imagined this, back at Hogwarts? I mean, look here! I'm holding your bloody mitt! We're holding hands, Malfoy!"

"Mmm, no, Potter. And yes - I do see."

Malfoy sighed wearily and opened the fisted fingers he'd been resting his chin on, only to run those same digits through his razored fall of white-blond hair. It cascaded artfully over his high forehead in a very fanciable way and Harry took in a rather sharp breath.

This was...interesting. Maybe it was the banked simmer in those grey eyes, or perhaps it was the lazy, perfect slide of hair, the tilt of firmed jaw above neck column, but...well, he found he could suddenly appreciate that Malfoy was not just handsome in a merely human male way, but also in a quite sexy, albeit far more alien way. He was a beast, Malfoy was - though clearly leashed and well-versed in blending in...most times.

This, Harry concluded hastily, must be the Allure Poppy spoke of, which he'd pretty much ignored, as he wasn't really affected, being the Mate. But now he stared stupidly across the cluttered surface of their table, transfixed.

Malfoy did indeed possess Allure, in heaps, piles and buckets. And it was potent.

"But I don't agree, not completely, no," Mr. Sexy Even While Being a Git repeated in a soft murmur, pouty lower lip twitching just a bit, "but then again, Potter, I'm not particularly surprised by it, either." He raised his brows quizzically, cocking that sharp chin at Harry's shrug. "There was always something about you, damn your green eyes. Set me on edge, from the moment we met."

He looked to the discarded cups before them and ran a spare forefinger round the lip of his. It sang, faintly, as china never did. Harry blinked and saw the cup flash into existence as a crystal goblet - and then back again, to settle into being merely earthly Mugglish pottery.

Twitchy fingers; touchy-feely, too. Harry knew that was one of Malfoy's tells; he'd a few, for such a composed man. Made him more human, Harry thought. He liked that, though. In fact, he rather fancied the prospect of discovering the little things Malfoy thought he hid so well. It brought them closer, in a way. Not that they were strangers, by any means.

Not at all.

"Huh." harry shrugged a second time, not sure what to say to that. "Er, how many years now, Malfoy, has it been?" he asked curiously, turning his hand within Malfoy's, so their digits overlapped in a loose clasping. Brought his other into it, too, so Malfoy couldn't touch his stupid Quik Quill.

He set his forefinger to rubbing the thin skin on the back of Malfoys' hand, smoothing it over the beguiling surge of tendon, the white-and-pink brilliance of knuckles, flexing. The long wrist was thin and boney at the joint but very elegant; his unmarred skin was smooth and dusted with pale, almost colourless hairs. Harry rather liked the feel of that sparse fur against his fingerprint even though he did realize the attraction he felt was both magical and chemical. He wouldn't have ever necessarily noticed it, would he? Had he been left undisturbed by the mysterious process that chose a Veela's Mate for him - or her. Some other Wizard or Witch would've had the uneasy pleasure of receiving Malfoy's full attention. Which reminded Harry abruptly - he needed to consult with Bill and Fleur over this matter. Urgently.

Time to muster the troops; get an inside look into the mindset of a Veela. Should've done that in the very beginning, really, but he'd not thought too hard about it, being in the throes of accustoming himself to near daily doses of Draco Malfoy.

"You know that as well as I do, Potter. Twenty-four, less eleven."

There was so very much to this Harry didn't understand, still. Though, admittedly, it was becoming easier to simply accept. Veela Allure was nothing like an Imperio; there was none of that horrible 'can't fucking breathe!' sensation and a great deal more...comfort. And Malfoy, just by being his snippy Malfoy self, set Harry at ease, despite all this nonsense and brouhaha over Veelas. Harry was used to Malfoy; he was familiar; a known. Comfortably so. A quantity with familiar qualities. Foibles, habits, ways and means. Same as him, and he knew Malfoy was just as familiar with his little peculiarities, whether he liked them or no. They were - in a strange, weird way - already Bonded, yeah?

"Twelve - fifteen, now, that we've known one another?" Harry hazarded, tilting his head back and rolling his shoulders to ease the tension in his neck. "Years, that is. Horrid with maths, sorry."

"Mmm, thirteen." Malfoy inclined his chin. His eyes were half-hooded; grey eyes attuned to the slow sweep of Harry's finger. Harry grinned, pleased that he had Malfoy a bit off-balance, but also calmer, again - not so intense. That satisfied some internal gyroscope of his, one he'd not known he possessed - which was fitting, perhaps, in the nature of power between them - in his gut. Left him satisfied, withal, for reasons he didn't need to look into too closely. "A long time, certainly. And an admirably auspicious number."

"I'd've figured this would've happened back in Sixth or Seventh," Harry remarked idly, admiring the gentle arch of arrow-thin brows as Malfoy raised his eyes to meet his musing ones. "We were teenagers then and you know how they are. All hormones, all the time. Sex Ed lectures or no."

"Well, me as well, Potter," Malfoy nodded, frowning again. "Stands to reason, but..."

He lowered his regard to the fingers - Harry had allowed a few more to be involved in this slow, quite deliberate mellowing of Malfoy - that continued to caress him carefully. Eventually a very small but pleased smile slipped 'cross his mouth, lingering.

"But?"

"I do believe you may lawfully blame dear old Professor Snape for it not coming to pass - or thank him heartily, more like. He had me regularly downing some sort of vile tasting tonic for ages after I turned thirteen - likely a Suppressant Potion, I'd guess. S'pose the last thing he needed at the time was for me to kick up as an emergent Veela as well as a juvenile delinquent Death Eater. Can you even imagine the mess we'd be in now if that had gone forward?"

Harry shivered. He could, yes, vividly - and really, he didn't want to. If he'd been compromised by Malfoy when the git was still under Voldemort's rotting thumb, his life would've been very different. If he'd had one, which he wouldn't have. And - goes without saying - very much the worse for everyone else, all 'round. Including the git he was apparently the Mate of.

Thank Merlin, then, for bloody Horcruxes, which had shoved him out of the way safely - and thank ruddy old sneaky old Headmaster Snape for not sending a bloody Truancy officer after him! No...instead he'd sent his ruddy heart-wrenchingly sentimental Patronus and saved Harry's life...yet again.

"No," he agreed hastily, suppressing the instant, familiar well of regret, "and Hermione said as much to me, too; that Snape must've had something to do with it, and I suppose that's yet another reason we need to lobby for that Posthumous Order of Merlin for him, Malfoy. The greasy old git was sodding sharp to even think of a Suppression Potion, much less act on it so far in advance; damned canny all 'round, always - gods, we owe it to him, Malfoy. I owe him."

"That we do."

"Hear, hear."

Nodding sadly, Malfoy finally retrieved his hand: carefully and slowly, wincing as he gave up the contact. It was soothing to have Harry's hands upon him, Harry knew - he'd admitted as much when Pomfrey had handed over a copy of the short list of the absolutely necessary things they had to do for one another till the Binding took full effect. Touching one other as often as possible was key - kissing, too, upon appropriate occasion - conversation - casual contact, again. And nothing and no one must interfere with any of it, or it would not go well at all. Binding was volatile. Veelas were yet more so; everyone (but Harry) knew that.

Ron Weasley, being as Pureblooded as Malfoy ever was and brother-in-law to a Veela as well, had taken Harry aside a few days after he'd first learned his fate and explained it further, over a pint at the Leaky.

"It's like this, mate. You know how Fleur has her nasty little turns? She's all the sudden pointy and toothy when anyone is brainless enough to make sheep's eyes at Bill? Well, Malfoy's likely the same way over you, only worse, as he's male and the whole territory issue's about a million times more important to him. It's in his bits, right? Literally. And think of his pride, Harry - you're his, as far as his Veela instincts tell him, and anyone even breathing on you the wrong way will send him straight up like a ruddy rocket, right quick. He'll go all Veela-ballistic on their arses and he won't be able to stop, the poor sod. Fleur can be a bloody frightening piece of work, you know? I've seen it in action - and Mum's had to Floo people to St. Mungo's any number of times since they tied the knot, 'specially when Fleur was carrying Victoire. Give the poor prat a break. Don't even think of letting him feel jealous over you or it'll go all wonky, trust me. In a very bad way."

It really had been startling, that entire conversation, but then Harry was pleased, too. P'raps the counseling they'd all endured had been fundamentally useful, after all. He liked that Ron didn't seem to want to murder Malfoy straight off just for breathing - and that he wasn't sulking at his best mate, either, for something Harry had nothing to do with, really. Helsinki, for all that it had been horrid, had been a blessing in disguise, in the long run. They'd learned much about Malfoy, and all of it had been...good. Good shite. And Hermione? Well, Hermione was loving this 'code red' situation of Harry's to little pieces-and-bits, no matter how many times she'd pat his arm and make out that she was sorry over it. It was all about the rights of the downtrodden, the minorities and arcane Magical law, so it was right up her sodding alley, really. Not to mention, she'd this blasted bee in her bonnet for ever and ages about having Harry settle down. Find someone to love, as if it were that simple!

"Mmm," he hummed, recalling abruptly both his original question (future heirs, by Merlin, as if Potters had 'heirs' in place of merely 'children'!) and his boring apple tart, the forlorn carcass of which blandly awaited him yet, the vanilla ice having melted all over the chipped white plate. "Well, we'll deal with that another day, yeah?" He doggedly forked up another small soggy bite and raised an enquiring brow, swallowing determinedly. "Right then. What's next on our agenda, Malfoy? After kids and housing? Education? Taxes?"

"Our continuing education, Potter, more like. To wit, git, those Sex Ed lessons you were mourning so dolorously but a moment ago, hmmm? Let's see..." Malfoy flipped through his pad again, studiously intent. "Okay. Here it is, our schedule. We've another meeting with Madame Pomfrey tomorrow, on the beginner mechanics of the male sex act. Hogwarts, in the Infirmary, as usual, half five. Lovely. Then, Thursday this, at six, we're set to appear before the Veela Council for another in-depth interview after our shifts, so we should be there, say, by quarter of - we're both on first shift this week, yes? Thought so - oh, and all the attention will be on you, Potter, so you'd better revise that summary I've given you on the regulations for Muggleborn Mates. And I imagine we should meet up again Wednesday, specifically for revising session, as you could really use the extra drill. You're lagging in all your auxiliary reading, Potter, which doesn't surprise me in the least. And that's it, for the moment - other than our standing 'dates', as your barmy mate Weasley insists upon calling them. I've one pencilled for Friday this, at eight. Supper and the Muggle cinema, before. Otherwise, business as usual: report in to work, follow Madame Pomfrey's orders to a sodding 'T', and carry on till further notice."

"Brilliant." Harry grinned, pleased. "That's not so bad, prat; thought it'd be far worse, even this early on. Six weeks and all, you see? Though I can't say I'm looking forward to cozying up your Honoured Leader, Malfoy, for another of those chats of hers. She's, um, a right piece of work, the old bat. Er, Veela. Er...whatever."

"Healer and Leader, both. And she's only strict, is all." Malfoy glared at him, eyes narrowed. "Madame D'Argent is. Nothing wrong with strict, Potter."

"Uh-huh. Try terrifying, git. Strict is the least of it. McGonagall's strict. Your Leader's a bloody horror, walking."

"Potter!"

Still - Harry ably ignored the git's exclamation of annoyance - none of what Malfoy outlined would interfere too much with his job, thankfully, and too...it was pleasant, rather, to know there was someone anxious to spend the few hours he'd spare outside of work with him. Keeping company, he and Malfoy were. He'd been maybe just a wee bit lonely lately, for some reason. Not so much to be irksome - he was busy, often; no, always - but, sometimes...it was nice.

Malfoy must still have been staring at Harry as he zoned out, because his tone was curiously careful. "Potter? You in there?"

"Oh! Sorry! Oh...er, wait."

A thought struck him; a rather blindingly mind-boggling thought. Harry's eyebrows went soaring and he cocked his chin at a crooked angle, instantly piqued.

"Um, that 'mechanics of the sex act', Malfoy; you've just mentioned it? Who puts what where, then? You don't mean me, do you? My arse?"

For the first time during the whole of their dinner date, Malfoy smiled widely at Harry - a boyishly charming grin, one that had Harry's insides melting profusely, much like his abandoned ice. Harry blinked in response; rapidly, dazzled. Couldn't help himself, and he may've even been drooling, a bit.

Wheeeooh! More fucking Allure, incoming at nine o'clock! No! Sex bloody incarnate, leafing casually through a fucking Quik Quills notepad as if he hadn't a care, sod his elegant, pointy Veela-powered arse! Blast that Malfoy! Harry could feel all the nascent alarm bells jangling in his gut - which would tolerate no more soggy crust. Not if it was to twist like that!

He dropped his fork with a little clatter, swallowing more than mere stray crumbs. Allure like an Imperio! He was hard, too, because of it. As a rock. Bloody Merlin! Pomfrey hadn't mentioned that!

"Urgh!"

"Buggering, Potter," the far-too-Alluring-for Harry's own good Malfoy chuckled at him, sitting back apparently oblivious of exactly what was causing Harry's inner turmoil. The chuckle itself was staggeringly appealing to Harry's ears: rich, deep and toasty-warm, leagues better than his wretched finer pudding; he flinched miserably at the answering jerk of stolid interest rising within the pressed pleats of his uniform trousers. "It's called buggering," Malfoy informed him confidentially, leaning closer and nodding ever so sapiently, as if Harry were the veriest innocent, the soft blushing skin behind his buzzing ears wet as a newborn babe's. "Colloquially. Sodomy, if you prefer, Potter. You've heard of it, I'm sure? Dick up your bum? Or, er, giving a bloke a right rogering up his, if one's topping. In any course, we've the unparalleled pleasure of having it explained to us by a medical professional, Potter; no doubt with appropriate images and possibly a slideshow of them, knowing Pomfrey. She might even project them in holographics, right on the Infirmary wall, hmm? Or make use those Muggle PowerPoint slides she favours - you know how forward-thinking and Muggles-are-so-advanced Madame is. I simply can't wait for it - can you?"

"Merlin!" Harry flushed a brilliant scarlet, darker even than his full-dress Auror's robes, the ones he wore for only court appearances, and practically up in flames where he sat, slack-jawed. His ears steamed; he gagged on one last stray crumb of recalcitrant pie, coughing and snorting back his own rueful, reluctant giggles. Mental giggles, those. The very idea of he and Malfoy ever (ever!) being cast in that position! Bloody ridiculous! Bloody...bloody fuck! It was to be his arse, then! "Can this actually be worse, berk? P-PowerPoint slides?" he gasped, veering perilously near that looming hysteria. "No - forget I said that! I know it can - and it will, too. She will have pictures. They will be in full living colour, and they will likely have arrows and - and captions to them! My sodding luck."

"Damnably, yes, Potter," Malfoy agreed, with that vivid smile yet lurking though the overwhelming rush of Allure had thankfully died down. "It is lousy, yours? Stuck with us now, aren't you?" Harry allowed himself a tiny grin in return, pleased as punch for some reason his unasked for Malfoy was at last convivial, more so that he'd been all through their meal...or really, for ages now. He'd noticed it, Harry decided, most particularly. Malfoy was on constant edge; tense, even more than his usual - ever since the momentous meeting in Kingsley's private conference room. "Think you can count on it not to change up, much. It's that Saviour vibe of yours, come back to bite you in your very fit bum. Trouble finds you, Potter. Seeks you out."

"Can. Will!" Harry snorted. "Count on it, that is. Am doomed, I just know it. It'll be gaggable, Poppy talking us through...that. Urgh!"

"Likely so." Malfoy grinned. Then he paused, a slight frown gathering like a small cloud. "Well...it's not as if you couldn't bear a few lessons tucked under your belt, Potter. You're not exactly...vastly experienced; not from what I hear."

"Oi! I've had some, Malfoy!" Harry was quick to protest. "Maybe not recently, but I have!"

"Oh? Have you, now? Really."

His companion stirred restively in his seat, waving a careless hand over the Quik Quills to send it off to wherever it resided when he wasn't poring intently over it, and met Harry's twinkling gaze with a blank, level gaze.

"Fantastic, Potter. I s'pose you'll be able to manage it, then, when the time arrives. No worries."

"Um..." Harry opened his mouth, but there wasn't much to say, so he closed it again. Malfoy had turned his stare to Harry's tart, in any event, eying it with outright loathing. "...Right. I guess so, yeah?"

"Yes." Still utterly expressionless, he, except for those eyes of his. Piercing, they were. Painfully so. Very...grey. Just grey, with no light to them. "Well, Potter - if you're finished with that sorry excuse for a pudding?" Harry shrugged, uneasy in his skin, yet. A grinning git was ever so much nicer to view across the dinner table. "Has it been sufficiently mauled or would you like me to Crucio its sad remains and put it out of our misery? Because we should be off, now. As the server's been hovering over us for an age, wishing we'd settle up."

Harry glanced past Malfoy's one shoulder, guiltily, and spotted their Muggle waitress, tapping her foot. He was startled, yes, but more by Malfoy's apparent 'no-comment' state over his prior knowledge of buggery than by any impatient waitperson. He'd have thought the git would be...be more...well, never mind that. One less problematic issue to deal with, if he wasn't.

"Oh, ah. Right, then. Well spotted. Yes, ready to go, Malfoy, as you are."

"I've been," Malfoy drawled, mercurial as ever, "ready for ages. But the exquisite pleasure of your company, Potter, has eased my natural desire to flee this foul den of ill-prepared comestibles and poorer service."

"Has it, now?" Harry's lips twitched, unwillingly. "Really?"

"Oh, yes, Potter," Malfoy raised a brow, hinting at a second brilliant smile. It was nice to see his snarky, pointy face without the damned Quik Quills obscuring half of it, Harry thought, even if he was left with the impression Malfoy was teasing him. "Count on that instead, alright?"

Harry chuckled again, all at once weirdly delighted with the odd turn his life had taken. It was quite possible they'd moved to flirting - and he. Well, he rather liked it! Hadn't flirted in an asses' age!

"So," he gibed, leaning back against the banquette cushion, "what you're really telling me, prat, is that this odd desire you exhibit, this saving me from my pudding and sweeping me off my feet with sweet talk, is all part and parcel of your standard Veela service? Protecting me from the bogies of bad Muggle baking, Malfoy? How very kind," Harry laughed a little, but not maliciously, rising to catching up his Transfigured cloak and fling it 'over his shoulders. "No, more. How quaintly caring, Malfoy. You know, I'll be admitting you're a catch, next. Telling all my friends what a charmer you are. My hero!"

"Exactly, Potter," Malfoy grinned, rising and raising his hand for the cheque. "Seventh Son, top of the line Wizarding product and don't you forget it - plus, I exist only to serve. Serve you, that is. Only you. Accio!"

"Oh! I..er. Well..."

The bill snapped into existence before them; the server gone Petrificus-still and blank-eyed where she stood, a hand still extending an unneeded Muggle Biro. A wave of Malfoy's long fingers Summoned a gold-feathered quill from thin air and had the tab signed away to Malfoy's Muggle credit card (platinum-level, Harry noted) in a trice; another snappy twiddle of thumb and forefinger had Harry's Transfigured sportcoat dusted off and him generally spiffed up, the crumbs in question vanished in a prismatic whirl, along with the offensive dessert, plate and all.

"Er, thanks," Harry said gingerly, eying his shoes warily. Surely they'd not been that highly polished, before? "Malfoy..."

"And don't you look a positive treat, Auror Potter?" the git cooed superciliously, handing Harry into his Transfigured overcoat with courteous grace. "Edible, really"

"Er...Malfoy?"

"You're a credit to my arm, Potty, really you are. Must say I'm delighted to have acquired my own personal Saviour. Only the very finest for a Malfoy."

"Gods! Gag me with a dead Nargle, Malfoy!" Harry grinned sideways, allowing Malfoy to link elbows and guide him between the plethora of tables. "Such a smooth talker, smooth as sodding Amortmentia, rather! Turning my poor little head about with your utter flummery, as if I'd buy any of your rubbishing compliments, Malfoy! You wish! And I'm hardly anyone's Saviour, now. Just your basic working clod, me."

"Oh, no, I'm entirely sincere in all my compliments, Potter," Malfoy smiled. "You do scrub up reasonably well; I've always thought so. And me, I'm just doing my small bit," he nodded gravely, as if entirely serious, though a strange light glinted deep in his wickedly gleaming gaze, "to inject much needed levity into a...difficult situation. I've noticed there's a faint smidgeon of appreciation for the sardonic in you, Potter, so appreciate me, do, as that I may boast of, and bear in mind my many and varied other attributes when Pomfrey's showing us those slides she's been saving up for us. Will take your mind off what you'll be up to, my pretty one, soon enough."

"Prick!" Harry snorted, forced into reluctant laughter once more. "Blecch! Don't go and remind me of that; not just now! I was just on the verge of fancying you might be fanciable, Malfoy! You're ruining my lovely vibe."

"Sure, Potter," Malfoy scoffed, stepping before Harry to hold open the glass double doors of the diner. They spilt out into the dim circle of light and withdrew swiftly to one side, as there was a rather large, noisy Muggle family approaching. "Your 'vibe', Potter?" he went on, dryly. "You've not had a real date in eons; how would you even recognize a 'vibe', unless it marched right up and slap you 'cross the chompers? You're woefully thick, Potter. That's a given. Impervious to the obvious."

"Shut up, Malfoy; I've been busy!" A hand tugged him away, down the busy walkway. He went, shivering a bit in the damp chill. "Very busy!"

"Potter, even I manage a wee social life, now and again." Malfoy bumped shoulders with him, apparently by accident, and then kept close. Which was a nice thing, being marginally warmer. The night was quite chilly for spring. Harry laughed...again. "I go out and about, which is more than you do."

"Yeah, and with Pansy, git, and I hardly be boasting of it, if I were you. She's married! Been married, too, you cheating, cuckolding dastard!"

"What?" Malfoy huffed, affronted. "Blaise knows."

"More like he tags along like a sodding terrier, Malfoy, on your wee little social outings. Was rather convinced you were all one item, me. Threesomes, much? How...very deviant, arse. Does Kingsley even know you're ethically compromised?"

"I am not a deviant, Potter" Malfoy's hand tightened in Harry's elbow. "Don't even begin to imply it. And it is social, clubbing with old friends. Quite social. More than you get, anyway. I never see you anywhere but the Ministry or Hogwarts, with Pomfrey. Or with me, recently. You've no real life to speak of, Potter. Don't pretend you do."

"Uh-huh, Malfoy, whatever you say...but, er, leave off now, alright? I have been busy."

"Mmm," Malfoy nodded, allowing the claim. "Alright, Potter. If you say so."

"I do...but I'll tell you," Harry remarked a moment later, contemplatively, as they were peering about them for a handy empty alley from which to Apparate, "I do wish I'd known you were my Veela when we were still at Hogwarts. Saved us all a deal of trouble if I'd managed to talk you over to our side - and I could've used your swotting arse in the D. A., too, damn it! Liked that Serpensortia of yours, I did - and your flying - and your bloody Potions, too. What a ruddy waste of effort - you could've been our secret weapon!"

"As if I'd have ever, Potter!" Malfoy protested, but his fingers clung to Harry, nonetheless, as they turned in place to Side-along back to the Ministry's telephone booth, having finally ducked 'round a damp, dark corner and into what appeared to be a deserted loading dock in the dim light. "Ever, in a million, billion years given you and your ragtag little Army a helping hand. Hah! You wish!"

Patient Name

Age

Gender/Descriptors

Date of First Treatment

Diagnoses

General Health

Prognosis

Pertinent Additional Data

Potter, Harry

24, 7 months

Male; eye colour: green; hair colour: black; height: 5'7''; weight: TBD; Magical Stats: see Ministry notes, Auror Files, Health Personnel

April XX, 20XX

Veela Mate, UnMated

Excellent

Poor, if not Mated

Saviour (see Spell Damage);
History of prior abuse; Mate: Malfoy, Draco (Veela)

Case Notes:
Week 2

As noted previously, Mr Potter was completely unaware of his status as Mate to Mr Malfoy, Veela. This complication results in a shockingly immediate need for direct instruction in sexual situations involving both Veela and males, as Mr Potter has confessed no known prior relations with Wizards, either. In fact, the patient appears to be amazingly underexposed to any sort of sexual contact, given his age and state. However, and more positively, Mr Potter also seems resigned to the upcoming Bonding; his spirits are generally high. This may actually be a symptom of denial, though, as his position is time-consuming and demanding and he has mentioned he rarely gets out. Caffeine intake should be monitored, same as with Mr Malfoy, since they both seem to work very long hours. The specialist, Madame D'Argent, has since interviewed the patient (report attached) and concludes he is a bright lad, though a bit dodgy over some of the Veela requirements concerning Mate safety. On a more personal note, I have not ever thought of the possibility of these two boys feeling a mutual attraction, but I must admit, there is much sense to be found in it. There was a great deal of unnecessary altercation between them when they attended Hogwarts and that leads me to wonder whether there might have been more to it, subconsciously. It is also increasingly puzzling that there was no overt manifestation of Mr Malfoy's sexual interest in Mr Potter at a much earlier date. I shall again examine Severus's notes and consult with his portrait, before I meet officially with either of these young men again. Albus may also have some light to shed on the situation.