Author's Note: Thank you for the reviews and support! Ah, I'm just so excited about this story. Can you believe that I just started this one day on a whim, simply because I was restless from pining after a certain author, wishing she would come up with new stories soon? Yet now this has taken on a life of its own, and I can just feel the characters in my head growing. I highly doubt this will be a highly praised masterpiece, but it's mine, you know? It's mine, and I get to share it with you all, and that makes me so happy. (Well, alright, it's mine as far as the plot line goes; the characters and the universe in which they live all belong to J. K. Rowling, but you know what I mean!)
Alright, enough of my blubbering. On with the show!
Chapter Four—Malfoys Can Be Alluring, Too
The Ministry personnel at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had a situation on their hands, a situation with unruly jet-black hair and a lightning bolt scar.
"We're sorry, Mr Potter, but Veela are out of our jurisdiction," explained the oldest and gravest of them, while sparing a sneer for her obviously star-struck co-worker. Honestly, their paperwork was much too important for her to drool all over it! "In fact, it is debatable whether or not Veela should be considered 'creatures' in the first place."
The Chose One's face fell. "Oh, I see. Then what should I do? He desperately needs help, but I really don't want to mate with him, and he wouldn't come near me with a ten-foot pole under normal circumstances. I'm pretty sure he's simply the victim of his hormones—"
"Oh!" exclaimed the star-struck co-worker, delicately covering her lips in a gesture of surprise while fluttering her eyelashes. She looked like she knew what it was like to be a victim of one's hormones. "How tragic! We shall do our best to help you anyway, Mr Potter!"
"We most certainly shall not!" spluttered the elderly employee, but her protest was drowned out by Mr Potter's effusive expressions of gratitude.
"Oh thank you! And I shall be leaving a very generous donation for you guys later, since you're going through all this trouble for me."
The older employee immediately shut up, calculating the benefits of a donation from the Saviour of the Wizarding World himself. Not only would they all be able to afford those fashionable new peacock quills—their current dove quills were getting stale and out of vogue—but the political implications were staggering. A donation from Harry Potter to a Ministry department was a sign of approval from him, one that would quell any fears of him starting up a post-war rebellion. And the fact that it would be their department specifically to which he donated…
By the time she had blinked the avaricious gleam out of her eyes, Harry Potter had left, having already given the star-struck co-worker the Apparition coordinates of his friend's flat.
"Alright," she said, wiping away her drool and drawing herself up into an authoritative posture. "Which one of us is going to go capture the Veela?"
Draco Malfoy was just fastening the buttons on his pure white dress robes when the wards chimed.
He was not expecting company, but a Malfoy does not balk at any unexpected social encounter. No, a Malfoy shines no matter what, and he headed towards the door to prove it. Who knows, it may have even been Potter, there to apologise for his rude departure earlier that day. Draco's heartbeat sped up, and he checked himself out in the mirror this time, for Malfoys do not make the same mistake twice.
When he opened the door, he was disappointed to find no Potter on his doorstep. Instead, there were two wizards, and their eyes immediately raked over his body.
He set aside his disappointment and basked in the attention, regaining some desperately needed confidence after the fiasco with Potter that morning. This time, he knew from his mirror check that he was immaculate. Nobody's skin had ever glowed like his did at that moment, and his blond hair was softer and silkier—and more feather-free!—than ever, thanks to the high-quality conditioning potion he used every time he showered. Noting that these morosely-dressed men appeared to be here on some undoubtedly unpleasant official business, he put on his best smile, purring, "How may I help you gentlemen today?"
"Oh my god, he's using the Allure on us!" was the last thing Draco heard before a panicked Stunner hit him, knocking him unconscious.
Five hours later, the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures stood in the charred remains of what used to be their offices, yanking out his hair.
"You guys are idiots," he growled at what remained of his scared staff. Five of them were currently in St. Mungo's being treated for gruesome hexes. In fact, the Healers were not sure whether or not the chief clerk would ever get her right thumb back.
None of them were going to press charges against Malfoy, though, because they were too ashamed of the fact they had brought him in here in the first place.
"There were so many things wrong with what happened today. Shall I list them all?"
No one answered him, because they knew from long experience that all of his questions were rhetorical and not to be addressed, especially the ones that involved the word "list."
"First of all, we do not go after Veela. Okay? We might go after werewolves, and we might go after centaurs, and we might even go after ghosts, but we do not approach Veela. They have always been absurdly influential in the corridors of power, for obvious reasons, and if word gets out that we even thought of 'persecuting' one of them, we could be in big trouble.
"Second of all, Veela are female by definition. There are no such thing as male Veela, no matter how bloody attractive you might think a man is." Several people, especially the wizards, turned away from him at the word "attractive," blushing uncomfortably. "Did any of you even think to do at least five seconds of research? We are not the Prophet. We happen to have a higher standard of credibility to uphold.
"Third of all, as representatives of the Ministry, we are not supposed to be easily swayed by fame or money. Harry Potter may have saved the world as we know it, but even he deserves to be treated like another human who does not know your job as well as you are supposed to. You are the authority figures in this situation, not him!
"Fourth of all, we do not, under any circumstances, Stun people or commit any other sort of physical action against them unless they pose a physical threat. Again, perceived attractiveness does not count as a threat.
"Fifth of all, and most importantly, nobody brings a Malfoy to this office, ever. Do you remember what happened the last time we let a Malfoy near us?"
They remembered. The whole embarrassing incident with the Hogwarts hippogriff was not easily forgotten. How could they have lost a hippogriff, anyway? They were not exactly the smallest of creatures. And also, they had come under fire for even trying to execute it in the first place—such extreme measures were usually never employed by this department.
He took a deep breath. "I have half a mind to fire the whole incompetent lot of you right now, but I won't. You know why?"
No one bothered to ask. They simply kept their heads down and waited.
"Because if Mr Malfoy ever decides that the damage he dealt us today was not sufficient enough to count as revenge, I want to be able to use at least one of you as a human shield."
Speech finished, he conjured a bucket of water and a mop and tossed them towards the nearest person. "Now clean this up!"
Draco stormed into his flat, fuming.
The nerve of those people! Veela, indeed! When everyone knew that every single drop of Malfoy blood was pure and untainted by such creatures! And he was not female, for Merlin's sake!
He sank into the most comfortable chair in his study, rubbing his temples and reflecting on his marvellous wandwork. It had been so satisfying, to see those imitation mahogany desks reduced to ashes, to hear the chorus of screaming Ministry workers as they fought to restrain him, only to have their conjured ropes turn to ashes, too—
Well, okay, maybe the screaming wasn't really that pleasant. After all, Draco had heard enough tortured screaming during the Dark Lord's stay in the Manor. But still. He had made sure not to hurt those idiots too much, and he was perfectly justified in being angry after being manhandled and treated as something less than human.
Of course, he had not been completely insensible during his fit of rage. In between hexing this idiot and that idiot, he had heard one of them moan, "Oh, Chosen One or not, we shouldn't have listened to him! Of all the 'friends' he could have had, why this one?"
Draco growled at the bookshelves across from him. Potter. It was always bloody, sodding Potter, wasn't it? The source of all his problems since the day he had had the misfortune to meet him. Saint Potter, always obeyed, never questioned, just because he had a stupid, ugly scar on his forehead and a Mudblood mother who had saved him from ol' Snake-face.
Honestly, was it even worth trying to court the buffoon? Perhaps he should just give up this farce right now and find some nice woman to marry and spawn offspring with. The owl attack and the trip to the Ministry were really only a fraction of the trouble Potter could cause him in the long run if he continued this idiotic pursuit of his affections.
Just as Draco stood up to compose a Howler, however, he suddenly remembered the hopeful expressions on his parents' faces when they thought he was going to try and restore the Malfoy honour through an alliance with the Boy Who Lived.
He sat back down.
If he titled his head a certain way and looked at this situation from a different angle, perhaps it was a compliment that Potter thought he was a Veela. After all, wasn't the prat practically related to that one named Fleur that had visited Hogwarts during their fourth year? Even though Draco was not really interested in her, he had to admit that she was beautiful, aesthetically pleasing. To have Potter equate him to her, thinking him to be one of her kind…
Draco smiled. Harry Potter was attracted to him. So attracted that he refused to believe it, preferring to think that Draco had some sort of supernatural allure that compelled his interest, rather than admitting that he was simply interested because Draco was just that handsome. Oh, Potter! Always so good with the denial! Just like how he always denied that he went out of his way to attract fame, thinking that his false modesty would be believable. But Draco saw through him. He always did. He had been seeing through Potter since the day he had rejected him for a Weasley.
And now, perhaps Draco would like to see through Potter's clothes, too.
He summoned a bottle of spirits, a glass, a spare parchment, and a self-inking quill. There were plans to be made, after all. Courting a blockhead was not an easy task. He would have to find a way to woo Potter so well that no amount of oafish denial would protect him from falling prey to Draco's charms.
He had never felt this excited about anything before, not even moving out of his parents' house.
Potter will be his.
Harry was exhausted. Auror training really was tough, and they had put him through the wringer today, what with practice duels, puzzles, and an entire full-length obstacle course. Fortunately, he had been running around a lot lately, so he at least had better endurance than some of his fellow trainees. While many of them were out of breath after the relay run, Harry was still breathing somewhat normally.
There was still a lot he needed to learn, though, like how to fall gracefully after getting pounced on by an overzealous Ron Weasley. He grimaced, rubbing his bruised hip. Even though Hermione and Ron had always teased and/or scolded him about his "saving people thing" in the past, it seemed that Ron was the one with that problem now, constantly feeling compelled to be the hero. The exasperated instructors had had to pull him aside at some point, presumably reminding him that they were a team now. There was no more You-Know-Who, and he was no longer the only one with the burden on his shoulders, and it was okay to let other people take care of themselves.
Especially Harry, damn it. He figured that perhaps Ron felt some leftover guilt for abandoning him and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt and for immediately taking Ginny's side after the breakup. Maybe this was Ron's way of atoning for all his jealousy and insecurity and rashness in the past.
Which was all very well and good, of course, but Harry wished he had found a...calmer...way to atone. Now he began to absolutely dread those three little words, "I'll save you."
Harry pondered the effects of the war on his best friend's sanity as he stepped outside the Ministry premises. Normally, one could leave through the Floo, but the fireplaces were getting old and somewhat unreliable, and Harry was not in the mood to end up in Knock-Turn Alley, thank you very much. Besides, the weather was nice outside today.
As he looked up at the beautiful, brilliantly blue sky, he suddenly found himself being slammed against a wall.
"ARRRGGGHHH WHAT—"
He cut himself off as he found himself staring into stormy grey eyes.
"Good afternoon, Potter," purred Malfoy before leaning in to breathe against Harry's earlobe.
"Wh-what-"
"What, indeed. 'What' is a very useful interrogative word, you know. One can use it to ask so many questions, such as, 'What's on the agenda today?' or, 'What can I do to properly apologise to that poor Draco Malfoy, who I've wronged,' or, 'What the hell was I thinking when I accused Draco Malfoy of being a Veela and sent Ministry officials after him, without even bothering to ask him if he even needed help?'"
Malfoy paused, gasping for breath into Harry's ear after that long-winded statement, and Harry tried his best to ignore how nice that felt. Maybe it would help if he paid attention to the words instead.
"S-So, you're not a Veela?"
"No. And you would have figured it out in two seconds if you had just paused to ask me about it. I'm hurt, Potter. It's almost as if you wished to take away my agency, in order to satisfy your craving to be a hero."
Harry snarled, struggling against Malfoy's body for the first time since he had slammed him against the wall. "I do not have a 'craving' for heroism, okay? Maybe Ron does, but I—"
"HARRY! WHAT'S GOING ON?" shouted a familiar voice.
Oh no, speak of the Devil—
"IS THAT MALFOY?"
Don't say it, don't say it—
"I'LL SAVE YOU!"
Panicking and not wanting Ron to tackle them both, Harry did the only thing he could.
He wrapped his arms around Malfoy and Disapparated.
He stumbled as he and Malfoy landed in Harry's living room. Malfoy held him steady before he could fall, though.
The git chuckled.
"My, my, Potter, isn't this a bit forward of you? What makes you so confident that I would be interested in going back to your place, before we've even had a proper date yet?"
Harry jumped away from him, rubbing his forearms, feeling as if they burned from the touch of Malfoy's skin.
"I did not bring you here on purpose, okay? I panicked, and all I could think about is reaching a safe place! We should just be happy I didn't Splinch us!"
"A safe place from what? The abominable company of a Weasel? I guess your taste really has improved over the years. I'm so relieved to hear that."
"No! It's just—you don't know what Ron's been like lately—oh, why am I even bothering to explain this to you, you git? Get out of my house!"
"No," said Malfoy simply, smirking slightly.
"Why the hell not? You are not welcome here! Isn't it in bad taste to insist on staying where you're not welcome? Shouldn't this be violating some sort of pureblood code?"
"Oh, Potter, I'm pretty sure I'm welcome. Part of you has always welcomed me. You just don't realise it."
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He was pretty sure the prat was just lying through his teeth to get under his skin, like always, but he didn't know how to respond to these lies.
Malfoy seemed to ignore the gesture, continuing on. "Come now, Potter. Think about it. Why were you so willing to assume that I was a Veela, without even asking questions or thinking rationally about it? I mean, have you ever, in your life, met a male Veela?"
Harry thought about it for a moment. "No," he admitted.
"Then why did you think that I would be the first one? Did you feel threatened by my looks, Potter? Did you worry that maybe, just maybe, I was using some sort of Allure on you?"
Harry opened his mouth to deny it, but Malfoy was moving closer and closer, and it was pretty hard to lie to a guy that was literally in his face.
"Oh, Potter. You have so much to learn about our world. I could show you our world in a clearer light, you know, much better than your Weasel and your Mud—Muggleborn friend."
Harry raised an eyebrow when Malfoy choked on the word. Why was he bothering to censor himself?
"That's okay, Malfoy, I think I've seen enough to last a lifetime. I'll just quietly live the rest of my life being a normal, run-of-the-mill wizard, thanks."
"You will never be 'normal,' Potter, and I think it's high time that you accepted that."
With that, Malfoy slammed him against the wall again. Harry groaned as he felt a bruise forming on his shoulder. Honestly, what was wrong with him? Why did he not avoid him this time? He had had Malfoy in front of him this whole time; it wasn't like he had snuck up on him. Yet even now, he could not bring himself to struggle against him, despite the might of his Auror training. Why couldn't he escape?
"Malfoy, whatever spell you're using on me, take it off."
He chuckled. "I'm flattered that you think that I am powerful enough to control your will using wandless, wordless magic, but no, I'm not using a spell. I could take something else off, though, if you'd like." His fingers slid under Harry's collar, caressing his neck.
Harry closed his eyes and shivered, both from the touch and from shame. This was so not happening. He could not be pressed against a wall by a flirtatious Draco Malfoy in his own flat and not be fighting him off. Yet that was exactly what was happening, and he didn't know what to do.
Just then, the Floo roared to life. "HARRY! ARE YOU HOME? WHY DID YOU APPARATE AWAY WITH THE FERRET? DID HE USE AN IMPERIOUS ON YOU?"
Malfoy rolled his eyes, but he grinned, and the sight made Harry catch his breath despite himself.
"Well, Potter, perhaps this is not the best time to do this, and I can't say I blame him for being concerned with every ounce of that rodent brain of his. Let's just have dinner tomorrow, shall we? I will pick you up tomorrow at seven o' clock, now that I know where you live. Wear something decent, preferably something that doesn't make me want to gouge my gorgeous eyes out."
With that, Malfoy Disapparated, just as Ron rushed into the room.
"Harry! Oh, thank Merlin you're safe! Where'd he go?"
Harry banged his head against the wall behind him. He wished his life would just be peaceful for once.