[personal profile] valentine_veela
Title: Bad Romance
Author: [personal profile] zeto
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Prompt #: 167
Rating: R
Word Count: ~3000
Warning(s): *Language, EWE, not for children*
Disclaimer: This piece of art or fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Author's Notes: I've decided to treat this a little differently. As you can see, Veelas have mates but in this fic, they didn't have any debilitating urge where they absolutely could not live without their mate. It wasn't a matter of life and death.

Also, my apologies if there are any glaring errors. I sent it to a friend for a quick beta but she never got it back to me. Also also, I'm not British...so uhm, yeah, there may be some colloquialisms you're not used to. Also also also, I did my best to keep the fluff away as per prompt #: 167, submitted by: [personal profile] biffes. I hope I delivered.

Thanks for reading though and I hope you enjoyed it.

Draco had never been to St. Mungo's before. His family had always had a personal Healer to attend to their needs. It was a shame the good Dr. Tam had decided to take a lengthy vacation in Hawaii. The lucky bugger.

Granted, the man hadn't had a single vacation in the last decade. Draco supposed the man was entitled to his vacation. It didn't mean he had to be pleased about it; taking ten years' worth of vacation time all in one go. He imagined the doctor would be darker than chocolate by the time he returned from the land of leis, luaus and Lau Lau.

The blond envied the man. He never tanned; his delicate skin only burned under the sun. He was lucky if he could spend half an hour in the summer sunshine attaining the ability to masquerade as a lobster.

At the moment though, Draco was anything but envious of his doctor's vacation and his ability to absorb sunlight like a sponge. Instead, he was curled up in his bed like a question mark, pillow hugged firmly to his chest. It certainly wasn't very dignified behaviour for a Malfoy, but at the moment, Draco didn't give a rat's arse.

His back had been giving him pains for the last few months. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it wasn't his posture as his mother was so inclined to believe. Draco mentally rolled his eyes; his posture was impeccable. He clenched his teeth as a spasm of pain, shuddered through his body. Once the mind-numbing pang passed, leaving his forehead with a sheen of sweat, he gave in, buried his pride and decided to Apparate to St. Mungo's.

Within a half hour, he was in the lobby of the hospital, filling out the patient form. There were a few other witches and wizards in there as well. Most of them ignored him, although one or two cast him a suspicious glance. He gave in to the urge to smirk at them, although he managed to resist rubbing his hands together gleefully, lest the hospital toss him out for 'suspicious activity'.

It was obvious the Malfoy name did not have the clout it used to, although Potter had been moral and kind enough to speak up on the Malfoys' behalf. The damage had been done though; their reputation ruined.

It hardly surprised him when he was ignored by the nurses, his name called long after it was his turn. He decided not to comment or raise a fuss. As though anyone would give heed to his objections anyway. What made matters worse was when he passed over his clipboard and the nurse took one quick look and sent him to the First Floor.

One hour of waiting, and it takes her three seconds to send me here, fumed Draco as he sank into another chair.

A couple of doctors passed by, giving him a quick glance before consulting their clipboard. Eventually another one approached him and actually addressed him instead of mumbling to their board.

“Follow me,” came the slightly-terse words.

“This is an improvement over being ignored,” Draco scowled, as he was led through a miniature maze into an empty patient room.

“Feel free to wait for another doctor then,” came the dry response.

Faltering in his step, Draco stared at the back of the brunet's head. “Potter?”

The doctor turned, raising an eyebrow with a sardonic smile. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy?”

“Of all the doctors, I get you?”

The smile faded. “No one else would take you.”

“Oh,” Draco's cheeks flushed dully.

Harry sighed slightly. “If it makes you feel better, no one else could take you anyway.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I'm--and I quote--the foremost expert on magical creatures to ever grace the halls of St. Mungo's.” sighed the brunet. As though to vindicate his words, he gestured to the plethora of diplomas, awards and certificates adorning the walls.

Draco stared. “You keep your awards on your patients' walls? Isn't that a little egotistical of you, Potter?”

“It wasn't my idea,” he exclaimed. “In fact--”

“Wait a minute,” interrupted Draco. “Magical creatures? What do you mean magical creatures?”

“Well, that's what you're here for, right? You need my help controlling your Veela symptoms,” Harry slowly replied, giving Draco a confused frown.

“I need your help?” the former Slytherin echoed blankly.

Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. “That's what you got from that statement? Anyway, just sit down and shut up for a minute, would you?”

Promptly scowling, Draco sank onto the bed designated for him, while Harry remained standing. Then the rest of the statement hit him. “Hold it, I'm a what?”

Harry felt like hitting his head with his clipboard. Then he decided it would hurt less if he hit Malfoy over the head instead. “Malfoy, do the words 'sit down and shut up' not mean anything to you?”

“Well, yes but it's you. It's not as though I've actually listened to anything you've ever said,” Draco muttered.

A tiny voice inside his head, sounding suspiciously like his mother piped up. Don't mumble, dear. It's not becoming of a Malfoy.

He scowled.

And don't make faces, darling. You'll get wrinkles.

Forget his mother. The voice in his head was a bloody pouf.

Draco told his fashionably-chic inner monologue to bugger off when he realized Potter was still yapping, and perhaps, since Potter was going to be his doctor, he ought to be paying attention.

“--fly to the moon on a skiff and eat nothing but jalapeno cheese on sourdough bread--”

“Wait, what?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I was wondering when you'd clue in. Now, as I was saying, we'll need to book you for the next couple of months. I would say, three sessions a week to start, and we'll adjust accordingly. It would be better to start immediately but I have another patient to see in about half an hour; a vampire with broken fangs. Sessions typically last one hour. Are you free Monday, Wednesday and Fridays from five to six?”

At Draco's nod, he made a note on his board. “Perfect. See you tomorrow then.”


He had arrived for his appointment, at precisely five o'clock. Potter had greeted him with cordial politeness, guiding him to his seat.

The blond tried not to notice the intoxicating scent of Potter's cologne, blended in with the man's natural scent. If cool mint, black ice and rainwater on leaves could be bottled into a cologne, Draco was certain its name would be Harry J. Potter. He damned his heightened sense of smell. And when the bloody man gotten rid of his glasses? Draco could see every shade of green reflected his eyes. From evergreen to Pickled Toads and every hue in between.

He had felt a spark of electricity race up his spine from where Potter's hand rested on his back. He had dismissed it as static, but then as the session wore on, more little tendrils of electricity began to dance across his back. It made him itch.

“Potter, what does it mean when my back sort of...feels like there are spiders dancing across it?” he asked. “I feel like my senses are heightened and I'm particularly sensitive and aware around a certain individual.”

The brunet tapped his lower lip.

Grey eyes drawn to the lower lip, Draco found himself with the urge to nibble on it. He shook his head, confusion crinkling his nose.

“Well, in the case of most veelas, once they mature and come into their full potential, they do have some spell immunity, heightened senses and they're more powerful than normal. It could be that you are nearing your peak.”

Draco nodded. That made sense, so far.

“It could also mean you've found your mate.”

Oh bollocks.

Draco scowled. It was as though his life was playing out like that horrid Muggle song. The one the teenyboppers kept on repeat at eardrum-piercing volumes.

Caught in a bad romance indeed.

His foul mood darkened as he sat, legs crossed primly, arms folded across his chest. As Potter nattered on, he couldn't help but want to reach out and run his fingers through the other man's dark, unruly locks. It was still as untamed as ever, making Draco think he had just rolled out of bed after a delicious romp.

Draco shuddered. He did not want Potter for a mate.

“There are other things you must be aware of as well. For example, if you get highly emotional, you may find your feathers ruffled.”

Correction, this wasn't a bad romance. This was a bad nightmare, filled with horrid puns and formerly-bespectacled gits.

“Sometimes your wings may emerge or you have find that you have a beak; it varies from Veela to Veela, of course. I knew one Veela; every time she got irate, she tended to spit fireballs. It really gives a new meaning to spitting mad.”

The blond twitched. One more bad joke...

“Is...is your face getting...pointier?” Harry paused, squinting to see better.

Draco's lips pinched. “Bugger off, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Oh, yeah. There it goes.”

The blond fought back the incredible urge to flay Potter alive.


After his first session with Doctor Potter—and didn't that just sound so very wrong?-- Draco Apparated back to the Manor, straight into his personal study. He then proceeded to throw a fit of monumental proportions.

Books went flying, windows cracked and shattered, dusting the plush carpet with glittering shards. The chandelier shook ominously and the chairs flew across the room, crashing into his mahogany bookshelves.

This was worse than the divorce scandal between the Malfoys and the Greengrasses. This...Potter, his mate! How was he going to live this down? Him, a partial Veela? Stuck with that ruddy prat of a mate? A male one, no less.

“Daddy?” came a familiar voice from the doorway.

Draco spun around, wand still out, eyes in the classic deer-in-headlights look. “Yes Scorpius?” he sweetly asked, tucking his wand away.

“Why are you 'stroying the study?” the tow-headed little boy sucked on the ear of his teddy bear.

Because your daddy is stuck with his fashionably-hopeless ex-rival for a mate and he's been sprouting feathers and he grows a beak when he's angry! was what he thought. What came out was something else entirely, “How would you like another daddy?”

What he didn't expect was for his four-year old son to drop his teddy bear, lower lip wibbling. “I'm sowwy, daddy! I won't be bad anymore! I don't want a new daddy,” Scorpius hiccuped. “Don't send me away.”

Oh shite. Draco's eyes widened. “I didn't mean it like that, Scorpius. I just meant you might have two daddies soon!”


“Hey Potter. How do you feel about kids?” Draco asked one evening at the end of his session, as he stood up.

Harry smiled. “Love them. I've got three myself. James, Al and Lily. They're perfect, even when they're throwing temper tantrums.”

Draco had to admit, the man had been all right. Professional, polite and discreet. He had even managed to help Draco calm down after one interesting session where they had learned the blond not only spit fire, but he could throw fireballs too.

“I know what you mean. Even when they're all snotty nosed and red eyed from screaming all day because you denied them a Crup for their birthday, they're still wonderful,” Draco grinned.

“Why do you ask, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco steeled his resolve. “I was wondering...if you'd like to...go out for dinner sometime?”

Harry blinked, his cheeks warming. Then he pushed his glasses back up...and realized he hadn't worn them for years. “Are you...asking me out?”

“It depends. If I were to hypothetically ask you out, would you say yes? Hypothetically speaking? Not that I am asking you out. Because you're you and I'm me, and I would never stoop so low as to--”

“Yes,” Harry interrupted. “If you were to hypothetically ask me out, then hypothetically, I would say yes.”

“In that case, would you like to...have dinner sometime?”

Harry smiled slightly, “I'm afraid I can't.”

Draco deflated. “Oh. I-I see. Sorry to have bothered you then. Forget I said anything. Uhm—I have to be going. See you later then.”

A rapid retreat didn't do much for his humiliated pride. How was he going to look Potter in the face ever again, after a rejection like that? Underneath the hurt and embarrassment, anger simmered in his blood. Perhaps the main library needed some revamping.


Later that evening, there came a knock on his bedroom door before Binny Apparated in.

“There be a gentleman at your door, Master. I is letting him into the foyer,” Binny informed him with a low bow before making himself scarce again.

Draco scowled, still in a fowl mood. Who dared to disturb his evening wank? He had destroyed all the magazines with hot green-eyed brunets before regret had him casting Reparo on the shredded pictures. And he had a lot of pictures of green-eyed men, he discovered.

Snagging his silk robes from the bedpost, Draco slid it on and tied it loosely, quickly making his way to the foyer. “Can I help you—Mr. Potter,” the cordial words turned glacial when the tall figure turned around, revealing one Harry J Potter.

The brunet raked a hand through his hair, and tried to push his glasses up again. He wrinkled his nose. “Sorry, nervous habit,” he admitted sheepishly.

Grey eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I came by to tell you I've let you go. I had one of the other doctors take your case.”

Draco took a step back, reeling. “What? Can't work with a patient who tried to ask you out? Am I so abhorrent you had to tell me that and humiliate me in my own home, Potter? Had to tell the Death Eater Veela scum you're too good for him?”

Harry looked startled.

“Get out,” the blond gritted out between clenched teeth.

There was a burst of raw magic, filling the air with a white, shimmering glow. All of a sudden, wings exploded from Draco's back, loose feathers dancing and swirling to the ground around them.

“Draco, I need you to calm down,” Harry soothed.

“Or what? My blood pressure will rise?”

The brunet's eyes narrowed. “You are treading on thing ice and you better calm down or--”

“Don't you tell me what to do. You're not my doctor anymore. After all, the great Harry Potter is too good for the likes of me.” mocked the blond.

“I'm not your doctor anymore because I don't want to be. It's against company policy to date a patient,” retorted Harry.


“Against company policy to date your own patient,” he repeated.


And all of a sudden, the malevolent, angry cobwebs clouding Draco's mind cleared away.

“So how about it?” Harry asked, cautiously approaching the other man. “You, me, dinner and fine wine?”

“Potter, do you even know which wines are good?”

“No, but that's what I have you for,” he grinned, catching Draco's hips with his hands.

“Oh really?” Draco arched an eyebrow, finally sliding one hand into Harry's brown locks.

“Mm hm,” he murmured, his own tanned hand sliding along the torn robes. Gentle fingers stroked the up Draco's back, caressing the shoulder blades where wings met skin.

“That tickles,” the Veela mumbled. A moment later, he shivered, a bolt of pleasure racing up his spine. He felt himself harden.

“You forget, I'm the foremost expert on magical creatures to ever grace the halls of St. Mungo's and I know exactly which spots drive you crazy,” he licked Draco's ear before biting down on his lobe, sucking it into his mouth.

“Oh fuck,” Draco managed to gasp out, eyes falling shut.

“Mmm, yes, we'll get there eventually,” Harry purred, caressing him through the cool silk of his clothes. “You know, you've already ruined your robes. Why don't you just take them off entirely?”

“Because...because you're still fully clothed and I'm half naked. I fail to see how that's fair,” the blond countered.

“Well, in that case...” Harry took a step back and pulled out his shirt. “Let's even the playing field, shall we?”

Draco smirked, before pushing his hands away. He grabbed Harry's tie, yanking him close. “Leave that to me. I want to take my time, unwrapping you layer by layer.”

Harry's breath hitched. “Fuck...”

The End

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