[personal profile] valentine_veela
Title: Storm's Breath
Author: [profile] dawnfireangel
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Prompt #: 118
Rating: NC17
Word Count: ~11,300
Summary: Returning to Hogwarts was not Draco's idea of a good time. Especially not with Veela genes, growing wings, and Potter's new healing obsession.
Warning(s): (highlight to read)*Switching POV, Anal, First time, Rimming, Flangst, Ginny bashing, Homophobia*
Beta: [profile] lady_savant and S. Extra thanks to [profile] vaporofnuance for an emergency third beta.
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 Note: [profile] reikokatsura I tried to get in all of your requests. Hope you like it! It was so much fun, thank you! FYI: If its not already obvious, "healing" oil does not exist, it is not recommended to massage inflamed/broken/injured skin or tissue. Comfrey really does treat back pain, it also soothes distressed skin, double blind for that: Efficacy and safety of a Comfrey root extract ointment in the treatment of acute upper or low back pain: results of a double-blind, randomized, placebo-controlled, multi-centre trial. See Br J Sports Med. (or wiki if you’d rather). The massage methods used real, basic effleurage and swedish massage techniques.

Today was definitely Harry's day. Christmas eve, it was snowing outside and there was hot chocolate aplenty. He'd spent all morning catching snowflakes on his broom and snowball fighting a few fifth years that had remained behind.

Ron had left with Hermione to spend time at the Burrow and were leaving on Boxing Day via an international port key to spend time with her parents in Australia. The castle was nearly deserted and Madame Pomfrey had given him his Christmas present early that month by allowing him, under careful observation, to help in the more complex cases involving full- and part-blooded magical beings. It was a welcome challenge and a nice change over the oppressive amount of studies and repetitive basic duties he'd been learning from her all through the summer hols and over the year. He’d work directly with several student werewolf victims, a vampire Hufflepuff first year, a few part veela (one being Draco sodding Malfoy) and even the timid half fae Tieanna.

It was worth every minute, he'd felt elated when she'd first replied to his owl on focused studies, having her show of trust was by far the best Christmas present of all. Hagrid had been more than a little enthusiastic, introducing him to the many magical (and terrifying) beings of the forest in addition to the magical creatures there but it was nice to have earned someone else's trust in addition to his friend's. Firenze had also grown more accustomed to Harry's presence during Pomfrey's weekly visits and allowed her to discuss the finer points of muscle and magical fatigue across species while there, occasionally offering vague advice in addition to her ongoing lectures. It was shaping up to be a brilliant year.

Ginny left a polite missive saying that she hoped he would visit the Burrow for Christmas. He had arranged with the Three Broomsticks to use their floo for just that purpose. Harry was optimistic that their friendship might just have survived their breakup. It was a close call, finding Ginny asleep in the arms of Dean after the final battle. That had not been Harry's most joyful moment but it all seemed to turn out well enough after the first few awkward conversations.

He was looking forward to seeing them all, even though he was certain his hands would be regretting it by the end. Hermione, Ron and Ginny had all pitched in and given him "Head and Hands of a Healer: Advanced Theories in Muggle vs Medimagical Treatments" book and oils for his birthday after he told Ron he’d not be joining the Auror program and was dead set on becoming a specialist in the healing field of magical beings. He wanted to be able to help people like Lupin, Bill and Fleur. Ron had been a bit withdrawn and a little squeamish about the gift but Ginny and Hermione's excitement more than made up for it.

Harry sometimes wondered if it wasn’t more a gift for herself and Ginny when they cudgeled him into neck rubs cleverly disguised as study sessions but when Tieanna had come down with a terrible cold and couldn’t take pepup, he could have kissed Hermione for her foresight. He would never have been able to follow Pomfrey’s quick work without that text. There were circumstances where wizard’s magic just could not be used or the being’s magic might react badly and, in some cases, violently.

Since then he’d steadily expanded his herbal collection of oils and extracts, mostly through exchanged favors with Neville. He wondered if there was another room like the Room of Requirement or an empty classroom other than the dungeon where he could try his hand at mixing and extracts without Slughorn oozing false compliments. He could always ask the Headmistress, but what would be the fun in that? With the map tucked in his pocket and invisibility cloak in hand, Harry set off to explore.

Eighth year's wing looked like a gilded ghost town, fairy lights and ornaments were all aglow. This holiday was definitely better than any other holiday in memory because this holiday he didn't have to fear for the lives of those he treasured or anything other than his NEWTs and with everyone gone there was no one to pester him.

Yes, it was definitely Harry's lucky day and he intended to use it exploring all the corridors of the castle he'd never seen and maybe a few that he had seen but had never had the time for.


Leaning his head against the cold window glass, Draco watched snow blanket Hogwart's grounds in soft white brilliance that seemed to laugh at his gloom. Eighth year was turning out to be ever so much fun, he thought with a snarl as he attempted to numb his back against the equally cold granite. "Thank you so much Mother," he sneered aloud, spending the holiday at Hogwarts while she 'sorted out the family's affairs' or, in other words, left the mansion to be gutted and purged of the Dark Lord's left over taint was just what he had in mind. Really. He just loved being here in the school he'd never wanted to set foot in again.

With a soft moan, he slid down the window's alcove to sit on the ground, burying his head in his arms and took off his twice damned sliver rimmed specks. It was lovely, just lovely, he seethed, folding up her letter and pocketing it with his reading glasses.

How she had convinced him to face one more year under stares, leering, insults and death threats, he would never really know. Not that anyone that made the threats had anything to be proud of in their part of the war. Most of them swayed with the tides, turning on fresh meat where ever or who ever it might be, forgetting their heroes had been the same people they'd ragged on as fools and madmen. Pride, he suspected, was to blame for bringing him back to Hogwart's drafty halls. Pride laced in with manipulation, topped off with a dollop of guilt, but knowing that didn't make it any easier to stay. He rolled his shoulders against the cold granite again, attempting to relieve the nagging pain. Today was just not his day.

His wings hurt. They burned, brimming with tension as his shoulders and back tried to adapt to their new burden while the skin remained painfully taut itching like mad. Bone and muscle continued to push uncomfortably close to the surface. Barley traceable slits had already made their appearance on his shoulder blades, where once torn flesh had been, with all the sensitivity of newly healed scars. Bone deep aches ran down the length of his back and no amount of stretching could help.

Pansy had cooed and turned doe eyes on him when his wings had first shown signs of breaking through, quoting her veela romance novels full of fluffy first transformations filled with bliss and goodness and heavenly light. What utter rubbish. Whoever seemed to believe magic rending one's flesh open for those first pathways to accommodate new appendages was either far too into pain or had, like Pansy, read far too many magical creature novels for their own good.

When the ungainly things had finally made there first appearance, he'd been alone in the hospital wing after chocking down veela pain potions and screaming himself hoarse behind a silence spelled curtain. He'd never get over the utter humiliation of Potter cleaning his newborn wings. It was simply unforgivable. At least he hadn't said anything about it, he'd been almost decent all year verging on friendly and not even ugly chicken wings had changed that. He couldn't say the same about Pansy, she had yet to learn the art of discretion.

Once he was on the mend, Pansy visited and took one look at him at him before screeching "What the bloody hell are those, those things!" She'd looked rather green around the gills once she set eyes on the pink scarcely feathered masses. She'd set about quickly apologizing once he'd flatly told her they were his wings. She'd gently suggested keeping them in, promising to love him despite his "horrible growths". It'd taken days for them to adjust enough to draw back in after that but he'd refused to leave the hospital wing until they had. Now the unsightly things just couldn't sit themselves comfortably inside were they belonged.

If he'd just been a pure veela, or just less wizard, the change might have come in rapid magical succession, quick though no less uncomfortable, allowing him to slip in and out of his new form instead of teetering on the brink like an awkward toddler while new magics twined trying to reconcile veela blood with a wizard body. It seemed laughable to him that he wished now to be a LESS pure pureblood. For the time being he was merely a part veela wizard, not that purebloods looked down on magical beings. It was considered an honor to be so magically pure that a being born of magic would take the lucky witch or wizard as their mate. Quite a dubious honor, he mused bitterly, as it included hawk-like farsightedness, unstable magic, painfully itchy skin and ungainly appendages among many other 'benefits'.

Lost in thought, he didn't notice anyone approaching until a hand landed on his already aching shoulder.

"'Malfoy, are you alright?" Damn that Potter, he would be the one to chance upon the exact dusty hall that Draco had ducked into.

Potter's grip tightened a little and Draco hissed, "Shove off Potter, does your savior complex include dust bunnies kinks and the invasion of personal space? Of course I'm alright, bloody brilliant actually, never better."

"Just because you're feeling a little peaky doesn't give you the right to be such a bloody git. A polite yes or no would do."

"Peaky? Peaky! Listen you scar faced menace, just because Madam Pomfrey lets you indulge in your little pet project doesn't give you any right to utter a damned word of it out side the hospital wing and I am not 'peaky'." Draco ranted. Potter, the utter moron, had the audacity to chuckle.

"Yes, definitely peaky." Draco glared at him "Are your wings troubling you, looks like you’re, umm, smashing them. That can't be healthy." Draco's glare turned positively deadly, he blushed furiously and looked away with a mutter too low for Harry to make out. "Sorry, what was that?"

"I'm not peaky, they're just damned inconvenient, they won't sit right... hurt... and itchy if you must know," he mumbled through gritted teeth.

"Come on, come with me. I'm sure I can do better than the wall. Honestly, crushing them isn't going to make it feel any better."

Draco considered the outstretched hand, eyeing it wearily before taking it and allowing Potter to haul him to his feet. "Don't make me regret this Potter," he mumbled as the prat lead him up a stair in mid swing through the Eighth year's wing and into the solitary dorm room of one Harry bloody Potter.

"Well, let’s see the damage." Draco sneered at him and then shucked off his robe, thick gray cashmere jumper, and undershirt. He’d done it enough this year around Potter and Pomfrey not to thick twice about what he was doing until it struck him that he was in Potter’s dorm, not the hospital wing. His eyes narrowed. "Don’t get any strange ideas in that poofer brain of yours Potter, I don’t swing that way." He glared threateningly before laying across Potter's bed, presenting his pale white back.


Harry winced in sympathy, at least it wasn't scratched open anywhere. The poor maltreated back was streaked in angry red lines. Taut, dry patchy skin showed every scratch in stark contrast.

"Wouldn’t dream of it, Malfoy." Harry chuckled and he turned and rummaged through his trunk, pulling out a smaller chest and wriggling free the bottle of lightly charmed healing oil as well as a small jar of uncharmed comfrey ointment and then set both beside his bed. He ran a hand gently over the long thin lines where Malfoy's wings would emerge. "Can you bring them out for the moment?" He asked gently. Malfoy was extremely sensitive about showing his wings. None of the other veela blooded he'd met were that way, most seemed very proud of their wings but Malfoy was, well, Malfoy and who knew what went on in that snarky aristocratic head of his.

Growling frustration, Malfoy rolled his shoulders and wings emerged, stretching before settling against his back. Harry had to admit that they were gorgeous, beautifully downy and long feathered. Not that they hadn't been cute when they'd first emerged, pink, smooth, a little scaly and scarcely feathered but now they were breath taking. Harry envied them fiercely, not that he'd ever tell Malfoy that.

With a practiced hand, he ran his fingers over the silky soft feathers, straightening out the crooked and snagged ones, soothingly teasing out loose unshed fluff and smoothing new down. A shiver ran over the young tender wing muscles as Harry pressed gentle, long strokes, encouraging it to relax under his hands. He finished off with the first wing to repeat it all on the next. Malfoy's breath had become deep and even, almost as if he were asleep.

Harry began to wonder if Malfoy had actually dropped off entirely when he was answered with a low moan as he rubbed gentle circles in the wing base. Malfoy went limp under his hand. "Back hurt as well?" A muffled "mm-hmm" answered him and the wings lazily retracted. He bit back a grin. In the month since he'd healed, Malfoy had never once turned down a back rub after a good wing massage.

He reached down and opened up the bottle of oil, smoothing in his hands as he warmed it. Laying his palms flat, he began making the same gentle gilding strokes he'd used on those silky wings. He settled into a smooth rhythm of firm upward strokes all the way to the neck, circling and returning to the other man's lower back, carefully avoiding the spine and tender wing slits. After several minutes he started to work slow wide circles with the heel of his hands, gradually working his way up the sleek, well shaped muscles coaxing out the tension. Malfoy sighed happily and shifted a bit. As unaffected as Harry wanted to be, he lived for those happy sighs. It was the same for anyone he treated really, Malfoy just gave more vocal queues and it was nice being the person that made the Prince of Ice come undone a little.

Harry flattened his hands on top of each other and pushed away and back from the spine working his way up the lower back gliding back and forth, allowing his mind to drift. His palms started to meet friction and he dripped more oil onto this hands before gliding his thumb up either side of that lithe, perfect spine and then worked his way over Malfoy's neck and shoulders, working the more stubborn knots, searching them out one by one.

A low humming much like a purr started coming from Malfoy and Harry made no attempt to bite back this smile. It didn't happen very often that the other man was that relaxed and that sound sent shivers down Harry's own spine. Satisfied with his progress, Harry worked his hands over the back one more time before starting up the long strokes that he'd started with, then wiped off the excess oil and gently palmed in comfrey ointment over the scaly dry patches and where the knots had been most prevalent. He examined the healthy flush of Malfoy's back as an artist would his painting before patting Malfoy's shoulder. "Done. Feel better now?"

Malfoy sighed heavily turned his head and looked sleepily up at Harry. "Yes, well." He got up slowly, stretched, rolled his shoulder and looked vaguely surprised (some how he always seemed surprised at feeling better after Harry's work was done) "Yes. Potter... It's been interesting but I really must be going."

Harry mentally rolled his eyes, Malfoy never said thank you or expanded on "yes". It was irritating but he came back time and again and there were those sighs, so Harry could live with it. He held out the comfrey "Take this with you, it'll help stop itching before you tear yourself up, not that it matters but Madame Pomfrey won't like patching you up again."

Malfoy quickly snapped up the proffered jar. "Good day, Potter."

"Have a happy Christmas, Malfoy."

"Indeed, you as well," he said as he quickly turned and left, shutting Harry's door behind him. Harry sighed happily and flopped back down, spelling his hands clean before dragging over his book, flipping to the massage section. Though he wouldn't admit it out loud, he looked forward to the next encounter and the chance to catch that humming purr again. It was an excellent day and with Christmas tomorrow, things could only get better.


That night Draco dreamed again of his mate. His hands buried in dark soft hair. Gasps of pleasure as a hot mouth nibbled his ear, his neck, his shoulders, kissing and licking down his spine. An overwhelming sense of comfort, passion, need... He woke up and turned restlessly in his bed, heart beating fast. Hard and wanton. It always ended like that, teasing him. Damn that dream.

Draco reluctantly left his cozy nest of blankets for a nice hot shower and a good wank. When he returned, gray was dipping along the horizon welcoming Christmas at last.


Harry headed out to the Burrow early that day, excited and bursting with energy. It was a bit sad with out twin trouble tearing up the day but everyone was there together and the joy of it all seemed to brighten memories of those that were missing. For once, it seemed, everyone was celebrating good memories and intent on making new ones.

The Burrow was packed as Ron, Hermione, Bill, Fleur, Charlie and his boyfriend, Andromeda and Teddy, Fred and Angelina all gathered around the table for dinner. When they all retired to the living room and exchanged gifts, 'special' eggnog began making its way around, which Fleur declined of course. She smiled winningly at Harry and her eyes sparkled as she and Molly waxed on about pregnancy and her steadily growing belly and Harry listened intently with wide eyes before Ron smacked him on the back of the head with a hushed, "Stop giving me mum ideas mate."

Harry began to needle Ron, Hermione joined in and Fred was close to follow. Soon everyone was laughing and the room became filled with torn paper and heart deep warmth. Christmas went on well into the night.

Boxing day, however, started on the wrong leg and went down from there. Ron and Hermione caught their key and everyone else was either asleep or long departed when Ginny asked Harry if he could talk with her in the living room. He smiled happily and followed her but when a silencing charm was cast as they entered, Harry felt dread pool in his stomach. He tried to keep his tone light, though he was feeling anything but. "Alright Gin, we're alone. What would you like to talk about."

"Well Harry, I heard from Ron that you wrote Kingley off completely and I think you're making a horrible mistake." Harry went cold, it was one of those conversations. He should have known.

"I'm quite sure it's no mistake Gin. That's not what I want, I've been doing it long enough as it is," he replied patiently. "There's more to life than battles and headlines, you know that's not what I want so how does the offer to do both continually sound appealing."

"Look, I think we've all been very patient with your healer kick Harry but enough is enough. You shouldn't turn Kingsley's offer down flat, give it some time!" she insisted. "You'll get over this just like you got over your seeker fancy. Don't dismiss the Auror corp outright. Leave your options open. You can't shirk your responsibility just for some... some... silly delusion." Her hand flopped around expressively as Harry had felt his anger building. She'd encouraged him along with Hermione. He'd bloody well prattled on for hours with them both over it and all this time she'd been patronizing him? A feeling of betrayal curled thick and he began to feel ill. "A specialized healer, honestly, you're pants at potions and who specializes in magical creatures?"

"Magical beings," he corrected flatly before trying to tuning her out.

Mere minutes and she began to run out of steam, repeating words but it seemed to go on like that for hours, ranting talks of fighting the good fight, grow out of his temper which was surely, surely due to the stress of war, grow out of his ever expanding curiosity, grow out of his fancy of the medical field, grow out of men. It was as if he couldn't like anything but aurors, quidditch and girls, as if he had to decide to be that way because it was alright to be a straight all around hero but not to be himself, not to be just imperfect Harry... well that was just about enough of that! His fists balled, knuckles turning white.

Harry knew he wasn't a saint but try convincing Ginny of that. As much as he loved her, he had to admit at last that until Ginny accepted that, he'd have to keep his distance or what was left of their friendship would rapidly turn to ash. He liked both sexes and always had, he had his temper and frankly, he was tired of fighting the "good fight" and dueling until his luck, or his wits, gave out and as the most recognizable auror he would have been all but guaranteed a life of photo opportunities, death threats and uselessness. Maybe he had been pants at potions before Snape's book but he wasn't trying to be a potions master, he had learned to be good at it even if he would never be great and that would be enough to prescribe. Healers had potion masters and apothecaries for a reason!

He thought of Remus, Firenze, Fleur, Hagrid and Bill. Specialist were hard to find and there was so much fear surrounding magical beings that, without one around, treatment was often mishandled or serious symptoms mistaken entirely. How different would Remus's life have been without Snape to brew such a complicated potion as wolfsbane, what run of the mill healer truly understood the effects of Lupin's heritage in Teddy? No, Harry wanted to help. He wanted to heal, he wanted to go were he was needed most, which was definitely NOT the ministry and certainly not the Auror corp.

The noise of Ginny's voice had droned on endlessly. Reasoning hadn't worked, yelling hadn't worked, so with a heavy heart Harry broke hers yet again, hopefully for the last time. Obviously SHE had been the delusional one, waiting for Harry to stop being himself and start being perfect Harry the hero. Rage burned sour in his veins as, in a voice so cold and dark he'd barley recognized it, he bit out the words. "It's over, the war, the obligations, the Order, even we're over, Gin. If you can't understand that, accept that, and accept me for who I am, then I don't think we have anything more to talk about, ever." He walked towards the fireplace.

"Harry, wait. I... I'm sorry it's just been such a shock. I'm really concerned about you. I mean, wouldn't you be if I suddenly turned out liking girls and wanted to... join the frilly dollies club or some such rot?"

The steam seemed to go out of Harry all at once. "I get your point Gin, but you have to see mine as well. If dollies made you happy I'd be for it. Wasn't I understanding with Dean? If someone or something makes you happy, I'm all for it. Why can't you do the same?"

"I'm sorry, Harry."

He paused long enough to pick up a pinch of powder. "I know Gin. Maybe, maybe you just need to let go. Maybe we both do. For what its worth, I'm not. I'm not sorry about how it all turned out. Even if everything goes to pot, it's what I chose. I deserve to choose my own way Gin, and so do you." In a burst of Floo powder and flame, he was gone.

Arriving at the Three Broom Sticks, he walked all the way back but looking at the castle, he just couldn't force himself to go in again. He strode over to the broom shed, took his broom out and flew. Wind whispered in his ears as the sky darkened with heavy clouds but even now, soaked and cold, he just couldn't bring himself to go inside. He flew over to an upper window ledge and leaned against the glass, eyes burning.

Rain began to fall, cold gray relentless rain, streaming in rivets down the window's glass. Harry sat on his broom, braced against the ledge, letting the wind and rage wash through him to dull empty gray. Slushy soup of mud, snow, and rain made up the frozen grounds below him. He could tell himself that it was just the rain that ran down his cheeks, just the freezing winter cold that tightened his chest.

Who was he kidding? It was not the rain and not the cold but for a moment, a brief glorious moment, he could believe it was.

Recklessness stirred in his blood, pain rose in his chest choking him, he felt so hopeless. Ginny didn't care, nobody really cared, did they? He was alone, everyone was alone. Really, weren't they all? How could anyone understand or care? He'd cared for far too long. It was useless, meaningless, and love... Love was a myth for fools and beggars. Even if there was such a thing, who would ever love him? The flawed him not the shining hero. No one... no one. It felt like the storm was singing, crying with him, calling his name and promising him peace. He let go of the window and flew head on to meet it.


In his dusty little alcove, Draco sat crumpling the parchment in his hand. Missives were not usually Pansy's style but she'd outdone herself with this one.

Receiving a Dear John letter the day after Christmas was the last thing Draco had expected but it seemed she'd timed it just so, the letter spelled for delivery that morning. Such a wonderful gift, brilliant really, he thought grimly. He had to admit, she had made her point well. It was obvious now that he looked back on it. She was right, really, they hadn't really connected since his damned wings sprouted. For all her niceties and insistences that "it didn't matter", it had. She couldn't stand the thought of them and he... he had to admit that he hadn't really looked at her the same since that day either. She wasn't, couldn't be, his mate much as he had tried to believe otherwise. It hurt but it wasn't the crushing hurt of a heart break, just an angry ache for something that would never be.

He threw the letter down following it with a whispered 'incendio' and looked out across the storm sky when a small dash of red caught his eye. Draco's eye's widened "Idiot!" he shot up and ran for the outer doors, not even thinking as his wings tore open his robe's back.

Instinct took a hold of him, driving him across the slushy ground, wings beating and then carrying him up into the storm's heart. Strange music whipped around him but his panicked brain was too preoccupied screaming 'danger!' and searching desperately for the wayward Gryfinndor.

There! A flash of red drew his eyes to the rag doll of a man clutching desperately to his failing broom. "Harry!" he cried, fighting against the wind reaching up and up until his hands caught and tangled in Harry's robes. Muscles burned in his back and rain tore at him like needles through the violent winds. He climbed higher, higher, into the rarefied air and out the top of the storm, lungs burning as black crept along the edge of his vision. Frantic, he flew by instinct towards the storm's trailing edge and the forest below, dropping altitude, fighting not to drop the man. Exhaustion took over and he felt the crash of branches, a thud and tear and sickening crunch before blackness coated his vision and he knew no more.


Imperfectly perfect, exquisitely flawed... All dark hair and green green eyes... soft skin and a devil may care smile... Draco dreamed happily on. Hands, fingers, touches that spoke of pleasure, comfort, relief kneaded his shoulders, his back, and went lower, lower until... a sharp pain in his back drove him fully awake with a gasp.

"Easy there Mr. Malfoy, we're just about finished," Madame Pomfrey's voice soothed. Magic crackled along his bones and another sharp pain had him biting back a yelp as the disquieting sensation of bone sliding under tender muscle rippled through his wing and down his back. "Finished! You're lucky, it's only a hairline fracture, that was a very nasty fall. It's set for proper healing now, shouldn't take more than a day or two for the potion to mend it. I'd suggest not moving it until then and do not attempt to fly for at least a week, is that clear young man?" she admonished almost tenderly.

He was able to let out a hoarse, "Yes, Madame."

"Good. Well, I'm sure the head mistress would like to have a word with you soon. For what it's worth, that was very brave of you, flying into a syren storm. Mr. Potter will most likely thank you as well once he is awake enough to do so. I should hope you both will be more mindful of the weather next time, our wards are just not what they used to be." With that she handed him a glass of water and two potion vials. One smelled heavily of bitter veela formulated pain reliever, the other of SkeliGrow. Grimacing, he downed them both and Madame Promfrey smiled, patted his shoulder and left him in peace.

He leaned back and tried to make heads or tails of his blurry thoughts, remembering the smoke of parchment and a dusty alcove before...




Had driven him to his feet and out of the castle to his... His mate. No. It couldn't be... but then there were those dreams and a memory. A voice in his mind, HIS voice, screaming 'Harry' and since when had Potter ever been Harry? Draco felt sick. This must be some cruel cosmic joke. He had been so sure that Pansy would be his mate, at least until that infernal letter, or... or someone of the female gender at least. Not a man and certainly not Harry Potter.

He wasn't all bad, he gave incredible back rubs that had, more often than he liked to admit, ended with Draco finding the nearest place available for a nice private wank. Harry hadn't been a prick to him all year and he was quite fit to look at, even for a bloke. Draco viciously cut off that line of thought. Potter was male, no amount of sugar coating would erase the bits between Potter's legs. Draco shuddered. He. Was. Not. Gay! He didn't even like men, not that way at least. Sure there were some that were decent enough to look at but girls were by far preferable and sex didn't even bear thinking about. It was just so... so... dirty. The very thought of anyone's bits being there of all places or his bits even getting near there. Wait, why was he even thinking about it!

There was nothing to think about. It was disgusting. Very disgusting. The mechanics just didn't make sense, how could it possibly be right? It was an exit not an entrance and how could that possibly work, let alone feel good. Then again there were cleansing charms and really how much different could it be from girls... No, no, he was dwelling on it.

But there was Potter and the godsends that were Potter's hands. And his cocky smile. And the temper that had always driven Draco to want to do better, to win, to push himself harder than he ever would otherwise. And... No, no, no! He was dwelling again, this was so not on! There had to be some mistake. Harry -No, Potter, dammit, Potter!- was not his mate. He was not interested at all in males, or male sex, or any of it! Disgusting, just disgusting.

He shook his head trying to clear away his thoughts but they kept up a nagging battle in his head, until he heard a low groan from the other bed. Potter was waking up. He looked over to the rumpled mess of bedding that held a pathetic Potter-like wrath. He was a mess of bruises but worse than that was the pale skin with its gray undertones. Draco had never seen the golden boy without his glow, weather it be the flush of anger, pride, or happiness, H -Potter- had always seemed to have a glow about him until now. Pale green eyes slit open and fixed to Draco's gray ones.

"Draco?" It was a slip of the tongue, had to be, no awake, sane Potter would address him that way.

"Welcome to the land of the living, Potter."

"What happened?"

"It would appear you flew into a syren storm young man," Professor McGonagall's voice cut in, "Why you were out flying in one is another question, one that I would appreciate an answer to."

"I was coming back from the Burrow, used the Floo to get into Hogsmeade and I... I went flying once I got back. I was a bit, well, upset. Needed to cool down a little and then, well I don't know really, it felt like..." he trailed off, eyes downcast. Potter seemed to be shrinking into himself.

"Like everything was hopeless? Like you would never feel joy again? Sound familiar Harry?" McGonagall looked at him. "There are reasons for our weather warnings, the Dementor's offspring are not yet mature and their hybrid young are more than foggy messes. I expect that you will heed the weather watches in your future and not go flitting about?"

"Yes Head Mistress," Harry replied softly.

"And you will retrieve a professor, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Yes Head Mistress," Draco replied a bit more bitterly than he intended.

"Excellent. Mr. Potter, I will expect you for detention, once you're healed of course. You will report to Professor Hooch for weather ward inspection. Mr. Malfoy, fifty points to Slytherin for bravery." She patted his shoulder, and left with a polite "Goodnight, gentlemen."

Silence filled the room once more. Draco thought that Potter had fallen asleep again when he heard a soft, "Draco?"

"Yes, Potter?"


"Why what, Potter?"

"Why did you do it? Why did you, you know, fly after me?" He looked shyly at Draco and sounded almost... hopeful?

Draco nearly choked, there was no way he'd tell Ha -Potter, dammit Potter- the real reason why. Sudden inspiration struck. "Think of it as repayment, one wizard's debt for another." The shy look fell away and Harry seemed to shrink in on himself.

"Oh. Well.. I... Thanks Draco." Almost immediately Draco regretted not telling Harry the real reason or any other reason than that one, anything to bring a spark back into those empty, dying green eyes. The lids slid closed but his chest ached still from the memory of it.

His throat constricted and all he could get out was a soft, "You're welcome, Po- Harry. You're welcome Harry." Draco was rewarded with a sleepy smile.

What was a name really? He'd just saved the other man's life, so surely they were past that formality. That was it. It hadn't been because he knew it would make Harry happy, it hadn't been so he could see the other man smile. Had it? No, definitely not... Not at all... Draco thought sleepily as darkness took him once again.


Harry's stomach rolled at the sickening smell of sugar. "Good morning, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey chimed. "Time for breakfast young man."

Blood sloshed like lead through his veins, it felt like he hadn't slept in years and he reluctantly opened his eyes. "There you are, enjoy!" chimed the mediwitch's all too cheerful voice. He looked down at the tray and grimaced. Hot chocolate, chocolate pancakes, chocolate dipped fruit and bacon chocolate sat on his plate, heaped in despicable mounds before him. "I think she's taken the chocolate remedy too far," he mumbled.

"Quite. Eat up golden boy, you're sounding a bit.. Peaky today." Draco smirked. Harry glared at him. Draco took a delicate bite of his rather perfect looking buttery pastry, positively savoring it with a not so subtle, "mmm". Harry pushed around his chocolate disaster, picking the coating off the fruit before eating it. "Hurry up Potter, your sugary doom awaits!"

He dimly recalled the night before, their conversation, the storm, and pain. Not so much the physical pain but the emotional, almost soul-deep pain, loss, and despair gnawing at him. A part of him still felt empty and aching but he could remember for a moment that it hadn't. He tried to grab hold of it but that illusive memory slipped just beneath the surface. It had something to do with Draco, he knew it just as surely as he knew the man would be Draco in his mind from then on. It nagged and teased at him. Finally he pushed the thought and his plate away.

"Harry, all jokes aside, you really need to eat that." Draco's softer tone caught Harry by surprise and he looked incredulously at him.

"Why do you care?" he asked, equally soft.

Draco threw him an icy sidelong look. "I don't but I just saved your scrawny neck and if you don't eat, Granger will have mine so choke it down Golden Queen." Harry smiled and he felt inexplicably warm at Draco's words.

"Right then," he said and took a bite of the bacon chocolate, wincing. The sooner he healed, the sooner he could leave this chocolate covered nightmare.


The next days were blissfully itch free and nearly painless once the bone had righted itself, though his wings would not retract yet. Draco had used all the ointment in that little jar and, for being stuck at Hogwarts, was having a relatively decent time having mopped the floor with Potter on chess nearly every day at lunch, staying up late at night playing poker in the Ravenclaw commons -veela charm did have its advantages- and, after breakfast of course, sneaking in to Hogsmeade on a regular basis or over to the Slytherin common room for a bit of peace before gravitating back to the 8th year dorms.

Today, though, was quiet. Draco slept late dreaming of thick dark hair and wicked fingers. He found the thoughts no less disturbing but curiosity had started to worm its way into him. He'd always been far too curious for his own good. He was becoming much more aware of Harry's presence and found himself mulling over the hows and whys enough to put him off his breakfast. He ended up eating lightly before shuffling through the library intent on trying to find something (anything really) to keep his mind off his once again itching back and the distressing questions that circled him.

The more he was around Harry, the more certain he became that... that the unthinkable was true. That his mate just might be a man and that man just might be Harry Potter. He shuttered and shifted his aching shoulders.

He must have slept wrong again, that had to be it. The morning shower had helped and he'd been particularly loath to leave it but really, who could spend the whole day in a shower? There was a difference between pampering oneself and over-indulgence and he most certainly was not crass enough to consider the latter... well, not yet at least. The itch was damned annoying. He twisted his arm around to scratch at it lightly.

Potions books were well and good but he needed something challenging, something interesting, something detailed and technical. He scratched absentmindedly at his shoulder blade. There had to be something newer than the 1800s surely, some more recent works with ground breaking discoveries or advanced techniques or maybe a charms book? He moved to the next shelf, still rubbing absentmindedly, ah that felt good... that spot right there... There was the newest addition of "Charmed, I'm Sure", and a fairly promising title of "The Arithmetic Charms, Power in Combinations". He took it down, checked it out and went to find a comfortable sitting spot.

Several chapters later and nearing on noon, Draco had to admit that the book was an excellent distraction. He was just about to open up its next chapter when, "Bugger" he cursed softly, he became aware of a mild burning sensation along his back. He'd itch it raw if he didn't stop now. It was almost time for lunch and their daily chess match anyway. He smiled as a plan started to form. Yes, time to hunt down Wonder-hands and his miracle ointments... and maybe, if he was brazen enough, get a few answers to his plaguing questions.


Harry wasn't at the great hall for lunch, Draco wrapped up a sandwich and went off to find him but he wasn't in the eighth year's common room for chess either. Draco would have been annoyed it he hadn't found a very fast asleep Harry looking... no he did not look adorable, absolutely not! But he did look peaceful, and Draco almost didn't want to wake him but his back really itched.

Then his glance caught on the book in Harry's hands. Draco's eyes widened and his mouth when dry. The book was lying carelessly to one side, open to a section on full body massages, he picked the book up hesitantly. Facial massages, hand massages, arm massages, scalp massages, it was all there! Sweet Merlin have mercy! He loved Harry's back massages, they were better by far than the day spas his mother had taken him to and the very thought of those talented hands attending to him, he could practically feel those fingers working on shoulders and continuing down his arms. All thoughts of clever plans and questions escaped his head, replaced with visions of gentle kneading hands. A new and improved plan surfaced. It was time to change the currency of their chess match bets.

"Harry. Harry." Draco shook him lightly, "Potter!" Harry jumped, his head cracked against Draco's chin and he stumbled off the bed.

"What? Where... Oh, hi Draco." Draco rubbed his aching chin and tried to glare menacingly before breaking down into laughter at the sleepy, confused look on Harry's face.

"Trying to add bed leaping to your defensive techniques?" he chuckled. "You've missed lunch and it's time for me to crush you in chess again."

"Not a chance, Draco. I'm not about to support your weird blood flavored lolly habit, you'll be buying a nice box of canary cremes for my smashing victory." He looked positively smug.

"Small chance of that, my addled adversary. Your queen is as good as mine."

"Little early for alliteration, isn't it?"

"Oh, a multisyllabic word. Did Granger teach you that?" He teased. Harry cocked is head, and let out an exasperated chuckle. Draco thrust a sandwich at Harry. "Here. Eat while I set up the board."

Harry took the sandwich, and shook his head. "You know, for a prat, you can be rather thoughtful at times."

"And for a git you can almost be bearable at times as well. Less talking, more eating." Draco began to set up the chess set. "Oh, and I'm upping the ante a bit. If I win I get a massage of my choosing from that excessively large book of yours."

Harry started coughing then straightened up and looked thoughtful before grinning evilly. "Fine. I'm changing mine as well then. If I win you have to massage my back for a change."

"I accept, not that you'll ever win anyway. Don't see why you don't just admit defeat right now."

"You wish," Harry smirked, then ate the last bite of sandwich before moving his pawn.

Draco proceeded to crush him piece by piece until the fallen queen finally picked herself up, threw a fallen pawn at Harry and walked off the board back into the box with the other pieces. Draco picked up the book. "Time to pay the piper," he chuckled.

"Bugger all," Harry cursed but his lips quirked in a good humored smile. "Well, go on then. Pick your poison."

Draco flipped through, he knew what he wanted but didn't have the courage to ask for THAT one yet. He feigned interest in the others before flipping to a page at random. "This one."

"A foot rub?!"

Draco smirked, untying his shoes and stripping off his socks, he wiggled his toes at Harry. "Hop to it, Golden Hands." Harry laughed and dutifully oiled and rubbed the tension out of Draco's feet. He felt the rumble of a deep trilling purr building in his chest by the time Harry was finished. Relaxed and quite pleased with himself, Draco flexed and stretched his toes, donned his shoes and stood up to leave.

He was almost out the door when he remembered the ointment. Strangely his back didn't itch at the moment but he was sure it would again soon. "One more thing... could I... Do you have any more of this?" Draco held out the empty jar looking slightly embarrassed.

"Oh. Er..." Harry blushed a bit and took a blue paper box out of his trunk. "Sorry, I... It was going to be a Christmas present but I sort of... forgot to send it."

The corners of Draco's mouth twitch in a half smile and he pocketed the jar. "Thank you any way. Good day, Harry"

The other looked a bit dumbstruck but quickly recovered and smiled. "Bye Draco."


A month and a half of chess games and not so practical massages had passed before Harry thought he'd finally figured out Draco's plan. Draco was trying to kill him. There was no other explanation for it. Draco had saved his life so that he could kill Harry personally.

"This one." Draco was pointing to a full body massage after having crushed Harry yet again at chess. He was almost as good as Ron, who had stopped snogging Hermione long enough one night to win a neck rub from Draco, much to Harry's chagrin. Ron stayed away from the Ginny topic all together and began taken wicked pleasure at teasing Harry over his "Draco obsession" and if it was obvious to Ron then it was most likely obvious to everyone else.

Draco had obviously cottoned on to Harry's more than passing interest as well and chosen a slow death by temptation. Then again... maybe not. Draco had always protested a bit too much when it came to interest in the same sex. He'd needled Harry just a bit too often lately for it to be a passing thought.

A wicked plan crept in, an evil scheme so sneaky it was positively devious, he thought, perhaps even devious enough to out sly the Slytherin. "You realize that this means you'd be naked in the same room as me right? Not worried about my 'poofer brain' anymore? No worries about your poor repressed imagination running away with you?"

"Trying to negotiate your way out of a proper bet. How very un-Gryffindor of you."

"I'm merely pointing out that..."

"You're merely trying to avoid over an hour of servitude, slaving over yours truly. It's Valentine's, neither of us have anything special planned for the 'night of eternal snogging' so no excuses."

"Right." Harry rolled his eyes, "Well, can we continue a bit later then? My bed is hardly up to the task of a full massage and, unless you want to really bare it all at once, I'll need to get some more towels. So, maybe the prefect's bath would be a better place?"

"That will be... acceptable. 9 o'clock then and don't try to weasel your way out of it."

Harry laughed, "'Course not, wouldn't dream of it." Yes, it had worked... so far. He stepped forward and daringly grasped Draco's hand, brushing a chase kiss on it, "It's a date then, be sure to dress appropriately." Harry teased.

Draco quickly made his escape but Harry caught the slight blush on Draco's cheeks. The idea had been planted, his trap was set.



Harry sprawled out on his bed, the library's copy of "Vee-la-vee: What to Expect When You're Expecting", recommended by Fleur, lay forgotten haphazardly next to Bloody Brilliant, a noted vampire researcher's journal. Normally such things would hold his interest, demanding his attention without mercy. Not so today. He was having a severe case of nerves.

He wasn't known for his cunning plans or great insight.

Daring he might be at times but...

But never when it came to well...

Bloody hell, he was just no good at subtlety. Harry shook himself.


Life and death were not on the line, just a lovely prat... with his snarky sense of humor... hell.

It was not the end of the bloody world. He was not off to face the Dark Lord. It would not maim or destroy him and if he was going to do it he'd damn well do it RIGHT. Not half arsed and shaking like a bloody third year trying to steal his fist kiss!

Right. Well then. He checked the time. 8 o'clock. Time to get started setting up. Wouldn't take that long, really, but luck flavored, no, favored the prepared. Yes, that's it.

8:30, Harry triple-checked his blanket-to-table and pillow-to-pad transfigurations. He stuffed in a few blood flavored lollipops and butter beers, just for good measure.

8:45, and Harry pored over that page in his massage book one more time, just to be certain.

9:05, Harry clutched his book and the bag that held the oils, shrunken pillows, blankets and pilfered extra towels, blood flavored lollies, butter beer, sparking sparkly cider, and crackers. He threw on his invisibility cloak and bravely ran to his doom.


Draco lounged comfortable in his bath. Soon, very soon, his gullible little healer-en-training would arrive. His smile was positively evil. Oh how the reckless little Gryffindor would be surprised. He'd worked up the nerve all week for this. Harry had seemed interested in him and it was time to gauge just how far that interest went. It was a clever plan. Draco allowed himself a small cackle of glee. Feeling playful for the first time in years, Draco flipped on his stomach, released his wings and let them float on top of the water.

A dangerous veela crocodile, beware! Driving under, he snapped up again imagining prey fleeing at the very slight of him, ha ha! But his fun was short lived. He didn't need to be a crocodile, outside of Hogwarts he was already worse than one and those damned wings had cost him a chance to live an even slightly normal life. Sadness started to edge in, tinged with uncertainty. Harry should have been here by now...

His plan was crap. Accepting Harry as his mate had been more than a little difficult and now... even if he tempted Harry into claiming him tonight or possibly just avoided an outright refusal, his reputation and his ugly pieces of fluff that called themselves wings would ensure that he'd be bonded out of pity. Not lust and certainly not love. Leaving the bath, he toweled off and waited. His eyes burned with unshed tears. Who was he kidding? It was past nine already, his mate wasn't coming. His plans had always failed miserably before, so why not now as well?


It was quarter past nine when Harry came through the door and cast a locking spell behind him. He expected to be met with a smug grin or berated for his poor sense of time. What he did not expect to find was Draco wrapped in nothing but a towel, head leaning against the wall looking pained and forlorn. Dropping his bag and book quietly, he went to the other's side.

Touching Draco's shoulder, he asked softly, "Draco, what's wrong?"

Draco's breath hitched a few times before it became steady and he bit out a whispered, "Nothing, nothing Potter. I've changed my mind on the massage, just leave me alone."

Harry froze. 'Potter'. Yes, something was very wrong and there was no way he was leaving Draco to bury himself in it. "Not bloody likely."

"Go away Potter, I mean it. I don't need your pity fest." His words sounded icy, like the boy he'd known in fifth and sixth year, not at all like Draco now. There was a dangerous undertone to his words that spoke of that side of him. Harry had accepted that they were one and the same, he just didn't know how to deal with this side without tempers and hexes.

"No. I don't know what this is about Draco but I can tell you I'm not staying for pity's sake." He knew it was the right thing to do. He knew he had to stay.

"Fuck off, Potter." His voice was low, full of barely restrained anger.

"Not a chance, Draco. Tell me what's going on."

Draco shoved him away and he went sprawling to one side, his head hit the tile with a resounding crack and the veela was on top of him, hitting him and crying, "Why can't you leave me alone Potter? Why is it you? Why is it always you when I'm at my worst?"

Harry did the only thing he could think of, he wrapped his arms around Draco, pinning the man's fists against his chest and held on. Draco seemed to go mad then, squirming and shoving against him, trying desperately to get away but Harry just held tight. "What does it matter to you?" Draco continued. "Why are you there for fucking everything? Duels, quiddich, the fucking bathroom, Dumbledore, the manor, the trial, even my wings, my damned fucking wings. Why Potter? Why is it always you?!"

He rode out the storm as Draco had once rode out a much more real storm for him. Draco's body shook with sobs and choked curses, somewhere in the middle of it all he switch from pushing Harry away, to pulling him closer. Clinging to him desperately.

"Could ask the same of you." Harry said softly, tucking Draco against his chest. Harry gathered him up in his arms and moved them up against the wall. He cradled one hand through Draco's hair and held him fast with the other. "It's always been you, too, hasn't it?"

Harry wasn't sure when Draco's sobs turned into silent tears, or when those tears stopped and his breath changed but he was sure when Draco raised his head and looked up at Harry, when their eyes met, that there was only one thing to do really. It wasn't as hard or as complicated as he'd thought it would be.

No, it was the most perfect, natural thing in the world to kiss Draco Malfoy at that moment. A deep shock went through him at that kiss, electric and wonderful, gentle and accepting. Then Draco moaned and the kiss turned from gentle to something much harsher. It was passionate and desperate, terrifyingly open and wonderfully deep. A tongue slid along his as he tasted Draco's mouth.

He tasted like iron and sugar, like blood flavored lollipops. He tasted both familiar and foreign, welcoming and forbidden. Harry felt punch drunk, almost giddy, as a pale long fingered hand enclosed the back of his neck and an arm found its way around his waist, clutching him to his hot damp body. His arms tightened in response. The kiss broke and Harry panted, "Merlin. Draco..." And then Draco was kissing him again, that trilling humming purr vibrating through Draco's chest.


"Yes," Draco gasped when their kiss broke off for air. It didn't seem to matter anymore that his mate was a man or that the man was Harry Potter. Harry was right, it had always been him as well. They'd been there at every turn of each other's lives, always with an intensity that paled anything else. The taste of fire and butter beer lingered in his mouth, electricity seemed to be snapping along his nerves making him hunger to get closer, hunger for more. His shaking hands worked frantically at the buttons of Harry's shirt and trousers.

Harry eagerly lifted his hips and Draco shucked the clothing carelessly away, reveling in the feel of skin on skin. At the first touch of that heat beneath his fingers, he felt heady lust curl in his stomach. Sharp heady rushes of magic began singing to his blood. The skin beneath his mouth was salty and bitter and wonderfully real as he began devouring Harry's chest. Finding Harry's nipples, he bit and teased them, sucking gently. Harry arched his back and moaned tangling his hand in Draco's hair with a breathless, "Oh, god. Draco!"

Hands moved from his back and head down to his wings, stroking, making Draco shiver with pleasure and blush self consciously. He shifted them away from the caress, "Don't. I... They're so ugly. Please... just... Please." He chocked between halting breaths.

Dusky green eyes looked at him in honest confusion. "Are you mad? Draco, they're bloody gorgeous." Harry kissed him soundly. "Don't you dare insult them." He crushed his lips over Draco's again.

Draco's heart was beating furiously and Harry's hands burrowed themselves into the feathery masses, wreaking havoc on his senses, making him burn and tension coil all through him. He gasped and panted as Harry's lips and -oh god- Harry's tongue grazed over his neck. His head was spinning and it was all going so fast but it felt so damned right!

One hand trailed off his wing, over his back, stroking his side and then rubbing gentle circles at his hip and he keened at the sparks that coursed in his veins. "Tell me that you want this, Draco. Tell me that you want whatever this is between us. Please," Harry whispered fiercely into his ear.

"Yes, yes!" Draco hissed, but reality sank in his eyes widened, "Wait, Harry... I. W-wait!" He gasped.

"What is it Draco," Harry murmured, his lips ghosting over Draco's ear.

"I.. I've never and... you should... you should know..." Harry's teeth closed over his ear lobe, nibbling gently. "Harry you're my mate," he finished hurriedly.

He took a deep breath and continued, "I'm sorry I didn't... it was hard for me to accept... and I left it rather... rather long already... Would you consider, please... would you consider claiming me?" The playful nibbling stilled, Draco braced himself for the worst.

"Really, you're serious?" He sounded breathless and hesitant. Draco winced.

"Quite." Silence stretched between them, Draco couldn't open his eyes, couldn't bare to see the rejection, or worse pity, that he knew must be waiting for him.

"Brilliant," Harry whispered. He captured Draco's lips in a soft promising kiss.

"I never have to lose you then?" he asked softly and Draco shook his head. Harry kissed him again, deeply.

"Won't have to share you with anyone else, ever?" Happiness crept into him and Draco shook his head again. He was rewarded with another breath stealing kiss.

"I'm your first?" Draco blushed and nodded feeling a bit silly. "You'll be mine as well," Harry whispered huskily and bit him on the junction between his neck and shoulder. It was a hard, possessive bite that shook Draco to his core and Harry was lowering him to the ground, one hand supporting his back and the other stoking his inner thigh. A needy whimper escaped Draco's lips, he folded his wings back and around, trying to keep them from getting pinned. Harry released his biting hold on Draco's neck for a whispered "accio" of his bag. Draco let out whine of protest as Harry set him down.

Chuckling, he upended the bag, spilling its contents and flicking them into a makeshift nest of blankets, towels and pillows. He gave a smoldering look back to Draco and then pounced but Draco was ready for it this time and quickly switched their positions throwing Harry off balance and into the mess. Laughing, he straddled his mate's legs and pushed him deeper into the pillows.

Harry's eye's gleamed wickedly. He rolled out from under Draco and shoved him down. Draco tensed to retaliate but quickly changed his mind as Harry's hands kneaded and stroked his back in familiar soothing strokes. The heat of his blood didn't ease but the urgency lost its edge and Harry's lips joined his hands. Comfort radiated from that touch, lust edged under every gentle nip and lick and he felt cherished, cared for as never before. When the hands found their way to his buttocks, Draco sharply inhaled. He'd... he'd forgotten that part. Fear stirred, he tensed.

"Shh, it's alright," Harry said, kisses brushed from one cheek to the next. There was the hard tip of a wand against his tail bone before a cool unfamiliar tingle coursed through him. "Cleansing and protection charms," Harry said gently, then urged Draco up on his knees.

"Where... how did you know..." Embarrassment flared in him, chocking his voice. He hated having his arse in the air, to look so desperately wanton but then Harry ran loving hands down his sides, over his wings and shoulders before cupping his face.

"Gorgeous," Harry whispered and then kissed his lips, the line of his jaw, his shoulder, his wing, and his arse reverently and Draco felt his walls crumple beneath those lips. "Books are a wonderful thing."

Harry's hands spread him gently as he licked a line tenderly down his tail bone. Draco gasped when the wet tip of Harry's tongue stroked over his pucker, lapping at it, alternating playfully between firm and light, his thumbs mimicking the moment on either side. He circled the opening, teasing it, then pushed inside. Keened at the new, exquisite sensations, Draco pressed back into Harry's face.

Deft fingers left one side of his arse, slipping down, caressing his perineum, massaging his balls and then circled his shaft. "Harry!" he panted. Harry's tongue withdrew and he heard to click of a top being opened, felt slick oil rubbed gently on his spasming hole. He shivered in both want and fear. A single digit pressed inside as Harry continued to fist his shaft. It felt odd, harder and more filling but not painful. His finger gently started to move in and out. It started to feel good, better than good, as he relaxed. His body was aching for more. "Please," he whined. Then Harry's finger brushed against something inside and he keened again. It was like NOTHING he'd ever felt before. Searing hot pleasure rippled through him and a second finger joined the first adding pressure and rubbing and stretching, brushing against that SPOT. Merlin! His vision was going white and he could feel his orgasm closing in. "Yes," he gasped.

"Draco, Draco!" Harry panted. "Please. Let me. May I. Oh -god- Draco."

"Yes!" Draco hissed, his wings shaking, a fluttering tingle building in his chest, tightening around his heart. He couldn't catch his breath. Harry's finger's withdrew. The sudden emptiness made him whine with need.


Harry rubbed his cock's leaking fleshy head up and down Draco's crack. His lungs constricted and his heart felt as if it would beat out of his chest. He circled the dark pink pucker as it fluttered under his cock. Draco's beautiful panting, his intoxicating smell, and that fact that it was Draco, stole his breath. Sarcastic, prickly Draco, his sly, defensive Slytherin, open and waiting. Carefully, he positioned himself and pressed in.

Draco immediately stilled again, clenched around Harry, breathing hard. He whimpered and Harry froze afraid to move. Hot and tight, Draco's body felt amazing wrapped around him. He thumbed the slit of Draco's cock caressing the sensitive head until he unclenched. "Alright?" he whispered, brushing kisses on Draco's wings. He nodded. "Breathe," Harry murmured, and he did.


It burned and hurt a bit, but more than that was the feeling of being suddenly completed, overwhelming in its intensity. He froze and clenched in shock. Deep solid breaths and coupled with his mate's stroking hand had him soon relaxed again. As Harry sank slowly in and out of him, deeper each time, that feeling condensed, blending, deepening and changing into a knife sharp pleasure, excruciatingly delicate, achingly joyful.

Harry's hand quickened on his shaft and his pace sped up in time, pounding into Draco, hitting that spot over and over, moaning incoherent nothings that drowned into a repetition of Draco's name, breathy and heartfelt and it was all too much. Harry bit him again and he arched and came, white overwhelming his vision. In that moment, he died, he lived, he screamed with his mate in fiery completion. Their magics bound, lungs gasped in their first breaths, hearts reborn beating in time.

Collapsing, his wings pulled in. Harry flopped down gracelessly and curled up next to him whispering freshening and cleaning charms before kissing him warmly. Their eyelids were drooping and sleep would be upon them soon, Draco knew, but none of that mattered. Harry was here and his. It was then that something truly amazing happened.

"Draco," Harry whispered, "I... I think I might love you... Is that alright?"

Fresh joy ran down his spine. "It's more than alright, Harry," he murmured sleepily. "It's mutual."

Harry wrapped his arms around him and kissed his shoulder. "Good," he mumbled, and then he was fast asleep.

"No," Draco whispered, "brilliant." He smiled.

He knew in the morning they would sneak back to their dorms. In the days to come they would face their friends, their school, their lives. None of this troubled him, not with Harry sleeping in his arms, perhaps not ever again.

People would talk, point, jeer, sneer the lies of how wrong, twisted, or tainted this might be. Let them. There was a time not so long ago that Draco had believed them. Their lies couldn't touch him anymore, his heart assured him of that. Harry wouldn't live those lies and neither would he.

Draco Malfoy let out a long sigh, silently promising to love and live as he always dreamed, free.


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