Draco glared and resisted the urge discharging all of the pheromones he had in his arsenal. Ron Weasley was talking to him, and it wasn't in class.
"What?"
"Harry's got extra practice because of the match with Ravenclaw coming up."
"I was aware of that. What does he want?"
Pity Weasley was only here as messenger.
"Well… He'll have to miss tonight's meeting."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"I inferred that from his need for extra Quidditch practice. Honestly, you Gryffindors are so redundant."
"I'm supposed to be his replacement."
Draco stepped back.
"You?"
"Yeah."
"This is not funny."
"I'm not laughing, Malfoy. So when am I supposed to be there?"
I'm going to kill you, Harry Potter. After I thank you. But I'm still going to kill you for this.
"Around twelve. Be sure to finish your homework first, Weasley. And take a bath."
"Hey!"
Going to touch him, going to touch him, oooh, touch me, touch me, yes…
Draco's eyes fluttered shut as he teased his erection. He could feel the warm tension of an orgasm coiling tight. Mustn't embarrass himself with Ron, no... Draco shuddered and fell back into the couch, waiting until his breathing was steady before moving to clean himself off. He checked his watch. Five minutes till twelve. He stretched, a slow smile spreading over his face.
"I am not going to take my shirt off!"
"Well, judging from the shape that it's in, one rub will tear it into shreds. Take off your shirt!"
"No!"
"And just what did you expect when you came here? A cup of tea? I need physical contact here!"
Ron was steadfastly keeping his arms crossed. Draco brandished his wand.
"Fine. I'll get it off the easy way. Divestio!"
Ron yelped as his shirt whipped off his body and folded itself up on a desk.
"Hey!"
"Now come over here."
Ron wasn't moving. Draco scowled.
"Just perfect. Harry shouldn't have bothered."
A devious expression came to Draco's face and Ron nervously shifted.
"Weasley, if you don't obey me, I'll make you."
"What? No! You wouldn't!"
"Really? How about I make you-"
"Okay! Okay! Just don't do anything like that!"
Ron edgily laid face down on the couch. He could hear Draco muttering to himself about the idiocy that was Harry Potter. He recoiled when Draco laid his palms on the small of his back.
"Where is that Gryffindor courage, hmm? Harry wasn't this skittish!"
"Yeah, well, you did him!"
Ron could hear a sigh from Draco.
"Get the facts straight, Weasley. Harry did me. Not the other way around."
Ron's eyes popped open.
"What?"
"You are aware that Veela are female, yes?"
"Yeah."
"So I'm part Veela."
"So?"
Draco shook his head. Hot body, slow on the uptake. Thank Merlin he'd endured worse with Crabbe and Goyle. Best put this as crudely as possible.
"So how am I supposed to appreciate good cock if it isn't up my arse?"
That did it. Ron sputtered and sort of half fell, half rolled off the couch and onto the floor in shock.
"Oww…"
Draco suppressed a smile.
"Lovely. Now that you are hurt, I get to rub your pains away."
Ron gave Draco a baleful look before clambering back onto the couch.
"You didn't need to say that, you know."
"So I was instinctually thinking more like a female than a male that night. What of it?"
Ron clapped his ears shut with his hands.
"No more details!"
Later, Ron had to admit that Draco knew how to give a good backrub. He drifted off into a semi-sleep. When he placed his hands on Weasley's back the first time, Draco was struck by how warm Weasley was. Harry wasn't a reptile, but Weasley was hot. Literally. Draco was glad he'd thought to take care of himself before Ron showed up. And the differences between the two friends were marked. Draco knew, everybody knew, that Weasley was one of the tallest boys in their year. But the fact that it Draco had to stretch farther to smooth down muscles from one end of Ron's back to the other was exhilarating. He knew, up close and personal. Harry's skin was pale, with maybe a hint of brown where sun had tanned him during Quidditch practice. Ron was a shade of pink, speckled liberally with freckles. Interestingly enough, the reddish hairs visible on his body gave a burnished shine when the candlelight flickered in a certain way. Weasley was shiny. Draco suppressed a snicker. He liked shiny things.
Ron opened his eyes. Draco's rhythm was broken. His hands were still and a small gasp could be heard.
"Malfoy?"
There was no reply. Ron slowly turned his head and looked at Draco. Draco's eyes were closed, his mouth twisted into a grimace. Without warning, he collapsed on Ron.
"Hey!"
Ron shook Draco off and belatedly realized that Draco was unresponsive and in a high pitch of fever. He was trembling and his hands had closed into fists. A strong shudder passed through his body and Ron watched as Draco reflexively curled into a fetal position.
"What's wrong? Malfoy?"
Draco was panting now and his eyes slowly opened, glassy and unseeing.
"Malfoy, you are seriously freaking me out," Ron said. "We have to go to Pomfrey's."
He tried to lift Draco up, but Draco twisted away.
"No! Not the Infirmary!"
Ron tried to protest, but a low screech issued from Draco's gaping mouth. Ron hastily cast a Silencing Charm on the room when Draco began to shriek louder and louder.
"Are you sure?"
Draco nodded once before another convulsion shook his body. Ron nervously sat down next to Draco. He wished Harry were here. At least he might know what was going on. He watched in amazement as Draco's face stretched forward into a sharp beak and his hair congealed into feathers. A wail of protest issued as two black wings, slender and leather sleek, erupted from Draco's back. Ron winced. His skin turned gray with another shudder and Draco's fingers roughened as scales emerged and armored his knuckles, wrists and forearms and his nails turned into heavy claws. Finally, it was over and Draco lay tired and aching on the couch, in his predatory Veela form. His eyes opened and they were a flat yellow, expressionless. He slowly sat up and experimentally opened and closed his clawed hands. His head pivoted like a bird and Ron was treated with a fierce unblinking gaze.
"You changed," Ron managed.
A rather ungainly squawk issued from Draco's beak. Ron jumped back and Draco clicked his beak closed, mortified. It was even worse that Ron was here to see him like this, like a beast. Draco opened his beak and another squawk issued. Annoyed, his crest of feathers puffed up on his head.
"You can't talk can you?"
Another squawk and Draco crossed his arms. Ron laughed. He looked like Hedwig when Pig was annoying her.
"Can you change back?"
Draco wasn't moving, just staring at Ron. Ron had smiled at Draco at his predicament and Draco's mind went blank. It was so bright and open and made Ron's face so completely handsome. He really couldn't help the nauseatingly awed coo that came from his beak. His wings snapped open and with a strong flap, crossed the distance between them and pushed Ron back onto the floor. Ron cried out in surprise and struggled. Now Ron was used to his brothers and because of them, knew how to roughhouse and wrestle like no one's business. To his complete shock Draco had him easily pinned. His scaly hands dug in uncomfortably into his shoulders. A soft coo came from Draco.
"All right, I won't mention it again. Let me up."
Draco had his beak propped on Ron's sternum. Oh, he was drunk on Ron's scent and it was all good.
"Malfoy? Hey!"
Draco blinked. His head was roughly pushed and with an aggrieved squawk he was shoved off and away from Ron's warmth. Ron was putting on his shirt.
"So are you done Blossoming or what? By the way, it's a really stupid girly name for growing up, isn't it?"
Annoyance made Draco's change back to his customary human form too fast and his head felt dizzy for a few seconds.
"Veela are female, you dolt! Of course they'd give a glorified flowering reference to it!"
Ron shrugged and buttoned his robes.
"Bye."
Draco collapsed on the couch. Yes, I'm definitely going to kill Harry bloody Potter for this.
Draco was alone in the Prefects' Bathroom. He closed his eyes and concentrated and felt the singular tearing that was his wings cracking out of his back. He opened his eyes and stared at his image in the mirror. His Blossoming was complete. He now had a form capable of fighting, of keeping unwanted males at bay. He could feel it, this new inhuman strength that was his beak and claws, he will no longer be afraid again of men when he wasn't willing and his pheromone cloud got out of hand, never. He tried to remember his impressions of Veela from the Quidditch World Cup. They were frightful in this form. And they could conjure fire. He tried to do it, over and over again, but nothing responded in him, unlike the pheromone cloud. So his human blood nullified yet another Veela trait. Marvelous.
He turned his head and looked at his profile. His yellow eyes blinked quickly and were hard with a mean raptor glint and even a bit imperial if he tilted his head a certain way. He could out-glare Lucius with this face. He felt strangely happy about this. He looked at the far end of the bathroom and discovered that he had binocular vision. Veela were a hunting breed. His beak did not have the sharp hook of an eagle, but was a blunt curve, like a raven's beak. He turned his head back and forth, testing the newly increased range. Like an owl, he could practically turn his head all the way around to see behind him. The grey feathers on his head swept away from his scalp in a crest and he found that he could flare it up at will, a display. A patch of down extended downward on his chest like a soft cravat. His hand claws were sharply curved, perfect for gripping, tearing. Not for caresses, these claws. Another change was his feet. From below his knees scales formed and overlapped down his calves, and his previously human feet were the toes and talons of a hunting raptor. The bones below his knees had lengthened, and he figured that he was at least a head or two taller than before. He experimentally walked back and forth. He had the haughty strut of a fighting rooster. Funny, that. He carefully extended his black wings. The light caught the deceptively thin membrane and they had a glossy sheen. They were unlike any wings he had seen before, naked and yet strong. They were not ribbed like bat wings and not remotely insect-like, the way fairy wings were. His wings were special. Later, Harry would muse that they resembled pterodactyl wings, whatever those were. Anyway, he could fly with these. If only I could control fire, then I would be like a real dragon, he thought. But being part Veela's more than enough. This was power.
The door slammed open and so shocked Draco that his reaction was immediate. A hiss and he pounced, forcing the intruder on the floor. He drove his beak downward but a fist snapped his head back.
"Draco!"
Draco blinked. Harry was pinned to the floor, bleeding from where Draco's claws dug into his arms and his glasses askew. Draco quickly changed and stepped away from him.
"You startled me."
"Merlin this hurts. You've got a grip! Like being hit by a Bludger."
Draco felt just a bit guilty about giving Harry cuts. But Harry was healing himself well enough with his wand.
"What were you doing?"
"Just looking at myself."
"Vain prick, aren't you?"
"Shut it."
Draco went to find his bathrobe.
"I'm just figuring out my Veela body, that's all."
"And what, pray, did you find out?"
"It's strong and I can kick you to next Tuesday with it. So there."
"I'm not afraid of a plucked chicken."
"What did you say?"
Harry quirked his mouth. Draco's face twisted.
"You sod!"
Draco snapped back into his secondary form and leapt at Harry. Harry ducked Draco's claws but was slapped by Draco's wildly flapping wings. They kept this up, Harry running circles around the bath, flinging hexes and curses over his shoulder, and Draco diving and learning how to use his wings, both yelling in laughter and mock anger. Or in Draco's case, making a variety of aggressive bird noises. Finally, Harry pushed Draco over the bath with a mobilicorpus and Draco's wings gave out, too tired from dodging hexes. The bath echoed with his enraged shriek as he hit the cold water, shocking him back to his human form. Harry laughed, still pointing his wand at Draco as he floundered, choking out how he loathed, despised, hated him and that he'll be sorry. And he ruined a perfectly good silk and cashmere bathrobe, to boot!
"Hey, you were the one who ripped it up popping your wings out!"
"Doesn't matter. It's all your fault."
Draco was glaring at the remains of said bathrobe. Harry had by now stripped and was in the bath, scrubbing on soap.
"You know, Draco, if it weren't for the fact that I know that you don't want to have sex with me anymore, I'd say you were peeping."
"Shut up. I am not peeping. I've seen it all, anyway."
"So why are you still here?"
Draco shrugged and sat at the edge of the bath, dangling his legs into the water.
"I suppose I feel like I need the company."
"Oh. I'll let you give me a massage after I'm done then."
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Not that kind of company."
Harry shrugged and dunked under the water. He came back up and leaned against the side of the bath.
"Then what?"
"Just talk. Just give me something to think about other than classes and homework and what my dear," he sneered, "Father would do to me if he ever found out."
Harry blinked, thinking.
"By the by. You still have a handsome face."
"Urgh."
Draco smirked.
"Okay. Ron told me about what happened the first time you changed."
"What of it?"
"He didn't see anything unusual about it. He figured you weren't quite human to know what you were doing. He never notices things if it's not about chess or quidditch. But I noticed things about his story. You're barely in control of yourself around him, aren't you?"
"Barely."
"I shouldn't have given you his T-shirt."
Draco just looked at Harry.
"I don't want you going after Ron."
Draco bristled.
"And why should I listen to you?"
"Because Ron is my friend and I don't want him hurt the way he will be once you're done with him-"
"How dare you insinuate that!"
Harry reached out and found his glasses. He put them on, sliding them up his wet nose and holding them there. He calmly looked at Draco.
"But that's the way it is, isn't it? Some other manlier guy comes along and Ron's history with you. I can deal with what we did; it's just your Veela magic. You didn't mean to. But you will mean to if you do it to Ron, and he'll be hurt. He's my friend and I don't want you to even think about trying. If you do, I'll make sure you regret it, and I don't want to do that either."
"Well, I haven't put him under thrall, haven't I?"
"Keep it that way and keep away from Ron. Give me his T-shirt back."
Draco looked away.
"You're convincing. But I'm not going to."
"Why?"
"It's true. Weasley has nothing but his scent. But I don't want it to stay that way."
Draco's hands clasped on his lap and he looked at Harry.
"I want Weasley to be my exclusive interest. There. I admit it."
"Must have been a trying ordeal."
"I'm serious and you are making fun of me!"
Harry held up his hands in a placating manner.
"No, I'm not. It's just sudden, you know. I wasn't expecting you to admit it at all."
Of course that git wasn't expecting him to admit it. Draco wasn't expecting to admit it. But it happened. Draco excused it as temporary desperation, because Harry was sitting there, calm as anything and telling him with that damned Serious Hero Voice that he would do something Justifiably Drastic if he didn't leave Ron alone. And Draco knew he just couldn't leave Weasley alone. His epiphany the day he stepped within range of Weasley to snarl threats and was hit with a whiff of Pure Male instead was this: I Want That One! And he wasn't about to let Harry Potter dictate to him that he couldn't have what he wanted. So he made a commitment. Merlin, he'd made a commitment! To Ron Weasley!
Why did Weasley have to exude that maddening scent? The kind that was dark as chocolate, cloying as spice, and charged like the air just before a storm? Why did he have to get dizzy just by standing near him, why did he get that kick of adrenalin? Why did he have to feel so absurdly glad to see him sitting at the Gryffindor table every morning?
Blood wasn't an issue anymore, thanks to his instinct to attract any suitable male at all. So Ron being Pureblood himself wasn't even a factor. Right now, his thought processes concerning other boys was this: would he want to touch them? Would he want them to touch him? So he tried to find things in Ron's favor compared to other boys. His looks. Ah, his looks. Draco recalled the other Weasley males that he knew for sure. The Twins, that twitty Headboy. Come to think of it, the twins were delish, all muscle and grins. But he didn't want to concentrate on that. Ron was not drop dead gorgeous. Potter had looks that befitted his Hero of the World status, and well, he was a part Veela, so of course he was a looker. Zabini was Latino hot, Boot had dimples to kill for and hey, even that idiot Finch-Fletchly had some appeal. But Weasley was distressingly not gorgeous. But he was tall. And you know what they say about tall men… Draco abruptly snapped out of his libidinous train of thought. Not helpful. Was he intelligent? Judging from his rather unimaginative methods of trying to beat the snot out of him when they were younger every time Draco insulted them, he would say not. And he could not recall a single instance when a Professor would give Ron points. Depressing. But what was he expecting? If he wanted clever, he could have fixated on a Ravenclaw. What about his personality? Well, all he knew of Weasley's personality was when he was angry, which he went out of his way to incite. An angry Weasley was loud, profane, and violent. A corollary therefore, a horny Weasley was… Draco chuckled. Fun. But not sophisticated nor conducive to a good conversation outside of the bedroom.
So that was it. He was committed to pursue a male who other than his scent, was not smart, not gorgeous, not even personable. Draco sighed. It would have saved a lot of trouble he could just go back to wanting Harry. But Harry was immune to his pheromones and that took away the point of being part Veela. Besides, he just wasn't the same as Ron. Sure, he was Harry Potter. That meant nothing on the primal level that Draco was operating on. Harry's pheromones were no more distinctive than the rest of the Hogwarts boys. Ron was like wine to cider in comparison. And Malfoys only had the best. Vowing to kill Harry Potter just wouldn't cut it for this time. But neither was using his powers of coercion. It had been very tempting. But he did remember how it was with Harry. Neither one of them would talk about it, analyze it, but the fact remained that it was not something either had any say in. He shuddered slightly at the memory. Harry's eyes went blank and he advanced with a single-minded force that was overwhelmingly sexy and scary at the same time. Draco had never seen anyone, much less Harry, like that. Harry was reduced to a common denominator of lust and it was not pretty. It was hurried, with pain involved. But it didn't matter then, because Draco himself was affected. The fever needed diminishing and Harry was there. He instinctually needed to receive what Harry could sexually give and that was it. Pain or not, Draco eked out pleasure from the encounter and really, Harry wasn't too bad a person to lose one's virginity to. The entire thing was such a sordid affair that he couldn't do that to Ron. It would just be a lot of mindless rutting. And wonder of wonders. He didn't want mindless rutting with Weasley.
TBC