Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela

Chapter 4: Draco, Interrupted

Twenty-four hours and infinite cups of tea later saw Draco well-caffeinated, but no closer to an answer to his Potter problem. His mother's rousing speech was all well and good, but he couldn't precisely march up to Potter, suddenly calling him Harry, go all doe-eyed and profess his undying love (not that he loved him); he'd be hexed six ways from Sunday, and Draco couldn't blame him. Even in his head it sounded entirely out of character for him, and totally impossible, which meant that it had to be true. Draco paused mid-silent soliloquy. On the other hand, Potter had been in Gryffindor, which meant that he was perhaps just that gullible for it to be a viable option after all. Potter would be so positively thunderstruck that he'd have to hear Draco out! And by then, of course, Draco would have him backed against a wall, and under the Allure so fast he'd be –gagging- for it, and then Draco would have snogged him senseless, bound, Bonded, and bedded before he knew what hit him! Draco patted himself on the back for a devious ploy well-devised. He was a genius! With that comforting thought, he sauntered down the hallway to Potter's room with a new spring in his step, confident in the first phase of Operation Seduce the Saviour.

Draco knew how he must look, hovering over Potter while he slept, but the compulsion to see him had been persistent enough that he could no longer ignore it like a Crup puppy. Then again, he sort of liked Crups, and didn't know –how- to feel about Potter, so perhaps that wasn't the comparison he was looking for.

He observed Potter with a critical eye. The black hair was still messy and very reminiscent of a crow's nest; his face was still an awkward mix of too young, and too old, having seen too much, and he was still marked like a criminal or hero by that same scar as always. Draco idly wondered how Potter must feel about it, but didn't dwell on the thought overlong, because he had reached a terrifying conclusion. If Potter was exactly the same as he'd always been, then, by default, it had to be Draco who had changed. He really wasn't sure how to feel about that, except that it was clearly all Potter's fault.

Somewhat pacified by that, Draco resumed his position near Harry's head, and out of a strange, inexplicable curiosity to see if the black tangle was any softer than it looked, he hesitantly brushed his fingertips through Harry's fringe. Aside from being in sore need of a good cut and deep conditioning treatment, it was actually in remarkably decent shape for a straight man. Draco frowned. Potter was straight, as in not bent. This was going to complicate things a bit. He was prevented from further musings by the arrival of Ron Weasley.

"Malfoy, what the ruddy hell do you think you're playing at?" Ron asked on a strangled whisper, looking back and forth between them in alarm. There was something so unnatural about seeing Draco Malfoy touch Harry without murder in his eyes that Ron's stomach turned over in protest. Of course it could also have been due to the potions he'd been fed, but that was neither here nor there.

The fact of the matter was that Malfoy was too close to Harry, and injured or no, he wasn't going to sit idly by while Harry was at risk.

Draco was not impressed.

"Hold your hippogriffs, Weasley," he whispered, seeking to maintain contact with Potter while not alarming the Weasel by doing so.

Draco had accepted the bond, which was the first step in sealing the deal, as it were, and was now attempting to initiate the imprinting phase. He had to learn Harry, and Harry had to learn him in turn. The fact that Harry was yet asleep had little bearing on things, he'd still come to know Draco all the same. Before they progressed to next stage of the bonding process, they would know one another by smell, touch, presence, and magical presence.

Draco did not appreciate this interruption, and scowled at Ron briefly before sighing in frustration.

"Sit down, Weasley. You and I are going to have a conversation like two adults, and you are going to listen; not as an Auror, not as Potter's best friend, but as a pureblood who understands the significance of certain old magics."

Ron paused to eye Draco the way he might a criminal in custody who had been arrested multiple times, convicted more than once, but swore that this time he was innocent.

"I don't trust you as far as I could throw Hagrid, Malfoy," Ron said in a near-growl, settling himself into the chair opposite Draco, "and I'm sitting down so that I can be closer to Harry, not to have a more civilised conversation with you."

Weasley plucked at his bandages, then nodded jerkily to Draco. "You have ten minutes."

Draco swallowed back what he wanted to say, and coerced his face into a cool smile.

"Well, Weasley, it's painfully simple, really, so allow me to be frank. I am a Veela, as you already knew, and Harry here, is my chosen, as you did not know." As the blood drained from the Weasel's face, the smile on Draco's lips did not falter, not even when he used Potter's given name. They weren't quite to that point yet, but Draco had said it mostly to see Weasley's expression as he did so. He was not disappointed.

"And as you are the first outside entity to become privy to this information, I now invoke the right of the Veela Seeker to an Ambassador, who I name as you, Ronald Weasley, throughout the Courting and Bonding processes."

Draco was entirely serious as he addressed Ron. Those grey eyes were very intense as they regarded him across the expanse of the bed where Harry lay. "The rituals of the Veela are sacred, and kept occluded for good reason. See to it that you do not violate this ancient tradition and its responsibilities, nor betray me, Draco Malfoy, the Veela who has placed his trust and faith in you. In the names of Aphrodite and Selene, so mote it be."

Ron gasped as warm silver magic wrapped around his wrist in much the same way that his marriage vows had done. What had he just gotten himself into?

"Relax, Weasley. It isn't going to hurt you. Unless you attempt to go against the terms, then it functions like an Unbreakable Vow. But you're a former Gryffindor and all that, so, helping a friend shouldn't prove that great of a hardship."

"We are –not- friends, Malfoy!" Ron seethed, hands clenched into tight fists against the supple leather of the chair.

Draco laughed heartily a moment. "Of course not," he said, then sobered as quickly as the sudden mirth had appeared. "But he is," said Draco pointedly, "and you'd do anything for Harry, wouldn't you?"

Ron couldn't really say much against that, so he simply glowered at Draco in silence.

"Think of it this way," Draco added with an ounce of compassion, but no more, "if your best mate is to be Bonded to me, Draco Malfoy, purveyor of all things questionable, suspicious, and possibly illegal, but can never be proven and will never be prosecuted, wouldn't you rather it were you at his side all the while, as opposed to someone else? It also means that you're immune to my Allure, and as I doubt you want a repeat performance of yesterday…" Draco let the words hover in the air, heavy with significance.

Ron scowled, though the self-entitled brat across from him had, in fact, struck a chord of truth. He would do anything for Harry. Even this, it seemed. "This is blackmail, Malfoy, blackmail."

Draco's lips twitched in amusement as he settled a pale hand atop of Harry's still one. "No, no, dearest Weasel; this is tradition."

"I must still be dreaming," Harry said groggily, starting to sit up, but was halted by Malfoy's palm against his chest.

"Don't move so fast or you'll disorient yourself and probably be sick all over the duvet," Draco said in warning, though did retract his hand. Harry was very glad for that, as it was making his head feel all muzzy for some reason. He'd probably been asleep too long, but Merlin, had he needed it.

"Why would you care what happens to me anyway?" Harry grumbled, unsure of things, and therefore very irritated about it, and started when his glasses were dropped onto the bridge of his nose, and everything came into focus.

"I thought you might want those, as you've been giving the wall very dirty looks for the past few minutes," Draco snarked, "and if you were aiming to turn my face into mincemeat, I thought you'd like to know where it was."

"I'd know where you –and- your face were even if I were blindfolded and Confunded," Harry said hotly, and immediately regretted it when a smirk spread across Draco's face.

"Oh really now?" Draco quipped flirtatiously. "Be careful now, Harry, or you might give people the wrong impression."

"I think I'm going to be sick," Ron complained loudly, covering his face with a freckled hand. "Hiya, Harry," he added as an afterthought through splayed fingers.

"'Lo, Ron," Harry replied slowly. How had he not noticed the redhead before? The room was spacious to be sure, half the size of Harry's flat, but still not large enough to lose a Weasley in. He frowned as an unpleasant thought occurred to him. "Malfoy?"

"Yes, Harry?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow curiously, leaning toward him subconsciously.

"Did you just, you know, use your allure on me?" Harry asked, voice soft and low, which Ron knew firsthand was a precursor to violence.

Draco's lips pressed into a thin line as though he were insulted, but forced himself to relax enough to scoff. "Really, Potter. You're injured. What on Earth could I possibly gain by influencing you right now? You wouldn't be able to do much of anything for me at the moment." The incredulous look he gave Harry made him feel vaguely guilty.

Harry blinked in confusion as he realised that this was the first time Malfoy had been hostile since he'd woken. Ten minutes had to be some kind of record. But before he could get a word in edgewise, Draco continued, "And the answer to your offensive question, Potter, is that, no, I did not. As you have not recently professed your undying love and devotion to me within the past thirty seconds, you should have been able to answer that for yourself. Oh Salazar save me from Gryffindors." With that, Draco stood, and made to take his leave, clearly unsettled, when a sort of alarm began to chime in Ron's ear.

That was all the warning that any of them had before Harry found himself flat on his back, and a very insistent Draco on top of him.

"Malfoy! What the hell do you think you're do-ing…" Harry's voice died somewhere in the back of his throat as Draco leaned in toward him. Damn the pillows for making escape impossible. And where was his wand when he needed it?

"Harry, shut up," Draco said, resting his forehead against Harry's, which somehow felt more intimate than the time he'd had Oliver Wood's mouth around his-and he really shouldn't be having these sorts of thoughts while pinned under Draco Malfoy, and squirmed.

Draco gasped and murmured something against his ear that Harry couldn't quite catch.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, not altogether certain when his arms had decided to wrap around Malfoy's neck, which was not at all a part of the plan to push him off and away, nor what that high-pitched noise was in the background.

"I thought I told you to shut up," Draco breathed, and before Harry could say 'Snitch,' had stolen a kiss that Harry didn't remember giving permission for.

Wide-eyed and suffering from an acute case of what-the-hell, Harry about threw Draco off of him in sheer panic, but then, his lips moved, and Harry, well, Harry sort of stopped thinking altogether.

He really couldn't be blamed for that. It had rather been a while since he'd had a lover, and never one that kissed quite like that. Like this? His head was fuzzy from healing potions and breathlessness, so things like tenses seemed very far removed from the situation at hand, er, mouth. Damn Malfoy for stealing his breath and the ability to think. Greedy bastard. Malfoy already had everything. Did he have to take Harry's air too?

Draco's hands, though just as greedy and entitled as the rest of him, did not divest Potter of his tattered, dirty robes the way they wanted (although he'd certainly be doing him a favour by doing so), and settled in to learn the curve of his side, and further explore the contradictory texture of his hair. He deserved a medal of recognition of the remarkable restraint he showed, but then recalled how the Ministry had tried to ruin the Malfoys, and decided, sod the medal; he'd just take more of Harry instead.

He tipped Harry's head back, nipping his lower lip and tracing the seam of his mouth with his tongue, and at the slight twinge of pain, Harry finally opened his eyes, and met Draco's gaze. Wow. From this close, his eyes weren't at all cold when they looked at him like that. They were sort of pretty, actually, and Draco himself was immersed in green flecked with gold that tracked his every move. He'd never seen Potter look so unguarded, and Harry had never seen Draco look so warm. Without thinking, Harry tested the texture of Draco's tongue, and snickered a little when he shuddered.

Someone was a little too voracious, and their teeth clacked together, which gave them pause enough to realise exactly what they'd been doing.

With the return of clarity came awkward tension that they could both have done without, lips still pressed together.

"Er, I don't know what just happened, but I think you'd best get off of me now, Malfoy."

Draco looked down at him intently. "I've had your tongue in my mouth, and vice versa. I think you can call me Draco."

Harry rescinded the 'sort of pretty' bit. "Don't want to."

Draco smirked. "Call me Draco, and I'll get off of you."

Harry wasn't an idiot. "Fine, fine. Deal, you conniving tosser," he agreed begrudgingly.

Draco stared at him in shock. "You just used a big word. I'm so proud of you."

"Oh shove off," Harry groused, slightly chilly now that Draco had moved away, but glad for the space. His head hurt, and he wasn't sure if he felt numb, or like something was burning.

It sounded as though a kettle was whistling at a rolling boil somewhere nearby, which was impossible, as there was no stove in the room, well equipped as it was. And then, they found the source of the noise.

Ron was frozen, staring ahead at the space where they'd been kissing a moment before (which Harry was absolutely certain would never happen again), mouth opening and closing like a confused fish, that high-pitched hiss, whistle, thing, coming from him. Draco idly wondered whether Weasley was even aware of it.

"Ron. Ron. RON," Harry tried to get his attention, all too aware of the colour in his cheeks and probably lips too, come to think of it.

"Huzzawha?" Ron replied eloquently, at last.

"You were hallucinating," Harry said in all seriousness, and Draco had to hold back a snigger. He was curious if Potter-nee-Harry, could, would get away with it. Bluff check in five, four, three… "You alright there, mate?"

Ron finally stopped imitating someone's cuppa overdone. "Never better," he replied at length, scrubbing at his face until he resembled a sunburnt nundu, though markedly less poisonous. Afterwards, he even looked sort of like he meant it.

They lapsed into the easy banter of old friends, something that Draco would never really know. He fidgeted uneasily (his mother's disapproving expression gnawing at the back of his mind until he stilled).

"I ought to let the two of you catch up," Draco said stiffly; it was mildly ridiculous, but gave him an out.

"Oi!" Harry called out to him just before Draco reached the door.

Draco paused and waited as patiently as he could manage under the circumstances.

"Mal-Draco. Why were you here, you know, with me? You never answered me."

And Salazar, but if Potter didn't sound vulnerable and boisterous at the same time.

"Because you matter," he said loudly enough to carry, but refused to turn around and face him, and bolted out the door before anything else could happen.

Harry looked pretty damn gobsmacked. "What the hell is with him?"

"Imprinting," Ron mumbled before engaging Harry in conversation on grounds that he had no better grasp on, but at least had experience with. Like the fact that they'd been found at a secured location, and attacked.

That had been far too close of a call to be coincidence, or sheer bad luck.

Someone in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to be involved.

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A/N: I am SO sorry for the delayed update. I've had to rewrite this same chapter three times before being able to post it for you. Please forgive me, dear readers. #cry