Never Walk Alone [Harry/Draco] [PG-13]
Title: Never Walk Alone
Author: Lire Casander
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1646
Beta: tacitus_3. All remaining mistakes are my own fault.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any form or shape these characters, JK Rowling does. Just playing with them for my own amusement and yours. I do not own You'll Never Walk Alone either.
Summary: He doesn't know how this works. It's all so new to him, the wings, the newly-found transparency of his too-green eyes, the whirlwind of emotions he feels whenever he moves and that brings him on a never ending rollercoaster.
Warnings: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Present tense. Title taken from the Liverpool's soccer team's anthem You'll Never Walk Alone.
Author's Note: Written for mae_linda's birthday. She asked for h/c fic, vela!harry and draco as his mate. It's the first time I write a Harry Potter fic in a long time, so sorry if this is a bit rusty. Happy (belated) birthday, sweetie!
He doesn't know how this works. It's all so new to him: the wings, the newly-found transparency of his too-green eyes, the whirlwind of emotions he feels whenever he moves and that bring him on a never ending rollercoaster.
It's all a mistake. He's sure of it. No one in his family ever was-this. He would have known, even if he never met anyone in his family apart from his aunt and her shallow family, because this is one of those things that can't be hidden for long.
He wishes he were a banshee. He could better accept turning into a screaming heap of nothingness. Because this - the beauty of his white wings spread open at his back; the sheer need to fly he's always felt - this is so fitting it scares him. He's never fit in. Finding something that actually clicks is both thrilling and terrifying.
So, when he's told that he needs a mate or else he'll die after his heat, Harry Potter almost laughs at the mediwitch. He knows how unconventional this is - he's a creature, he shouldn't be seeing a doctor but a vet, or something. But he's also the Chosen One, the Saviour, so he deserves the best treatment. He stomps across the floor noisily as he pushes the door closed with too much force. He never asked for this-disease; but just as he never asked to be chosen, to lead a war where he lost so many loved ones, just as he never wanted to be anything other than Harry, he's been thrown another curve ball to deal with. And just like every other moment in his life, he has to learn how to either duck it or live with the bruises it'll cause when it hits him square in the chest.
He spends his days sulking in a corner in the big Grimmauld Place he inherited so long ago. Not even Ron's attempts to lift his mood - see it this way, Harry, you're going to get laid a lot - or Hermione's practical common sense - there has to be some solution, Harry, and if there's any I'll find it - help, because he can't escape from the truth.
If he doesn't mate before his first heat is over, he'll never live to see a second one.
In all honesty, he still doesn't know how it happened. It was quite sudden, he's aware of that. He went to bed one night and he was woken by the stinging pain of wings sprouting in his back. [His life changed that very moment once again, and once again because of something he couldn't control - afraid of what he was becoming, Harry had thrown away everyone who ever wanted to do with him. He'd just closed up towards his loved ones, refusing to talk and to go out with his friends until they all stopped calling, though Hermione and Ron stuck around because they know him so well it's sometimes terrifying. But he just pushed away the only person he's ever loved; he was a downright bastard to him and said some things he's not at all proud of - how that relationship was quickly drowning him, how Harry knew it was all because he was the Chosen One and not because he was Harry. He'd said so many hurtful things that now there's no way to get him back.
The first day of his heat, Harry locks himself in his huge mansion in the middle of London and starts readying himself for his fate. He's aware that Hermione knows why he's refused to get help, or why he hasn't searched for someone to mate with. Ron knows as well, but Harry thinks his best friend has chosen to ignore the fact that Harry's love interest drifted away from Ginny a long time ago. He hasn't allowed any of them to come stay with him while he wails in pain and convulses to death. It has taken him a lot of tears and fights, especially with Ron who, despite not wanting to acknowledge for real what was happening, had fiercely defended his right to be near Harry during those days. Hermione is still investigating, nose buried in some books Harry has never heard about, trying to find the magical solution for this seemingly unsolvable problem.
The knock on the door startles him. Since Dobby died, Harry hasn't had any other house elf, so with great effort, Harry reaches the front door and opens it with the full intention of barking at whoever it is until they retreat and leave him in peace.
"I already told you-" he starts as he forcefully pulls at the door.
"-that I'd be better off without a monster like you, and see where that has led us to," says the voice Harry regrets having sent away the most.
There, standing against the dim light of the street lamps, Draco Malfoy looks at him from his height, all blond and pale in the darkness.
"Draco," Harry breathes out.
"Can I come in?"
There's some sort of pleading in that voice, something raw. Harry nods and steps aside. It feels like so long since they last exchanged something more than yells and burning words, even if it hasn't really, and yet Harry still remembers the soft touch of that hair between his too clumsy fingers that first time they spent the night together.
Draco strolls inside as if he owns the place - as if he still owns Harry's heart - and turns around in the middle of the corridor when Harry closes the door. "You must be wondering why I'm here."
"I know Hermione called you."
"It was Ron, actually," and Harry has never heard Draco say that name. This is serious. "When were you planning on telling me?"
"Telling you what?"
Draco sighs. "We're going to play this game now, Harry?" he whispers. "You lied to me, you said you didn't love me anymore."
"It was true," Harry tries to counteract, but Draco stops him.
"I've been lied so many times in my life, I know by now when someone tells me they don't love me and means it."
Harry remains silent. He knows he hurt Draco when he pushed him away, but Harry believes it to be the best choice. "You have no idea-"
"You're a Veela." Draco sighs. It's not a reproach, it's a simple statement. And it feels like a punch in the gut. "You thought pushing me away would turn you normal again?"
"What are you saying?" Harry demands. He doesn't understand a thing that's being said in his corridor. "I don't-"
"The Malfoys have been part-Veela ever since the beginning of time, Harry," Draco explains in a tired voice. "I'm not one of them, by the way, but I was raised to live with one. Harry," he keeps on talking, his voice hoarse now, "Harry, I was raised to be a Veela's mate, and when I met you and you weren't-I was disappointed but I loved you. And it turns out you're truly a Veela and you don't want me as your mate, and you're going to die if you don't mate before the end of this heat cycle."
It's not a threat, not even a crushing warning. It's the truth, simple and plain, and it shakes Harry. He feels tears building up in the back of his eyes, burning his eyelids, and suddenly they're pouring and he's trembling and his world's crumbling. He almost falls to his knees from the force of his own pain.
But before his abused skin touches the ground, there is a strong pair of arms holding him in place, keeping him secure in a haven of warmth. He sobs and wails, his limbs shaking while his wings spread at his back, taking up all the space around them. Draco feels like his safest place to hide, and it's a weird thought, because when they were together they were so incompatible, so different, that no one ever thought they'd last for as long as they did - Harry never thought they'd ever be apart, and yet he'd been the one to shove Draco away. Now those roles have reversed and Harry is strangely happy that in his depression Draco has grown to become his saviour and not the other way around.
"I'm here, you'll be okay, I'll take care of you, don't you worry," Draco is whispering in Harry's ear, so softly that it's almost impossible to hear. "Let me love you, Harry."
"You said you were disappointed," Harry hiccups.
"Because I thought that my upbringing should be more important than my heart," Draco says, lifting Harry's face to look into his eyes, and Harry gets lost in a sea of gray and steel. "When I accepted that love was the only way, and you closed up on me, I thought I'd die. And I was dying, Harry, and you've been miserable, because we're born to be together and we fought against it."
Harry nods, finally understanding. He closes his eyes and Draco helps him stand up. They stumble together to the master bedroom, and Draco begins to lovingly remove Harry's clothes by hand, not by magic since magic has been throwing Harry out of whack, and soon Harry is lying on top of the bed wearing only his undershirt and his boxers.
"We should sleep," Draco advises. Harry feels tired, exhausted even, and he just wants to drift off. When he feels Draco's weight on the bed by his side, Harry allows himself to let go. There will be enough time tomorrow to talk, to plead, to explain, Harry thinks. Now he has all the time in this world.
That first night of the rest of his life will always be imprinted in his memory, fresh and loving like a first slow kiss.
Author: Lire Casander
Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1646
Beta: tacitus_3. All remaining mistakes are my own fault.
Disclaimer: I do not own in any form or shape these characters, JK Rowling does. Just playing with them for my own amusement and yours. I do not own You'll Never Walk Alone either.
Summary: He doesn't know how this works. It's all so new to him, the wings, the newly-found transparency of his too-green eyes, the whirlwind of emotions he feels whenever he moves and that brings him on a never ending rollercoaster.
Warnings: Angst. Hurt/Comfort. Present tense. Title taken from the Liverpool's soccer team's anthem You'll Never Walk Alone.
Author's Note: Written for mae_linda's birthday. She asked for h/c fic, vela!harry and draco as his mate. It's the first time I write a Harry Potter fic in a long time, so sorry if this is a bit rusty. Happy (belated) birthday, sweetie!
He doesn't know how this works. It's all so new to him: the wings, the newly-found transparency of his too-green eyes, the whirlwind of emotions he feels whenever he moves and that bring him on a never ending rollercoaster.
It's all a mistake. He's sure of it. No one in his family ever was-this. He would have known, even if he never met anyone in his family apart from his aunt and her shallow family, because this is one of those things that can't be hidden for long.
He wishes he were a banshee. He could better accept turning into a screaming heap of nothingness. Because this - the beauty of his white wings spread open at his back; the sheer need to fly he's always felt - this is so fitting it scares him. He's never fit in. Finding something that actually clicks is both thrilling and terrifying.
So, when he's told that he needs a mate or else he'll die after his heat, Harry Potter almost laughs at the mediwitch. He knows how unconventional this is - he's a creature, he shouldn't be seeing a doctor but a vet, or something. But he's also the Chosen One, the Saviour, so he deserves the best treatment. He stomps across the floor noisily as he pushes the door closed with too much force. He never asked for this-disease; but just as he never asked to be chosen, to lead a war where he lost so many loved ones, just as he never wanted to be anything other than Harry, he's been thrown another curve ball to deal with. And just like every other moment in his life, he has to learn how to either duck it or live with the bruises it'll cause when it hits him square in the chest.
He spends his days sulking in a corner in the big Grimmauld Place he inherited so long ago. Not even Ron's attempts to lift his mood - see it this way, Harry, you're going to get laid a lot - or Hermione's practical common sense - there has to be some solution, Harry, and if there's any I'll find it - help, because he can't escape from the truth.
If he doesn't mate before his first heat is over, he'll never live to see a second one.
In all honesty, he still doesn't know how it happened. It was quite sudden, he's aware of that. He went to bed one night and he was woken by the stinging pain of wings sprouting in his back. [His life changed that very moment once again, and once again because of something he couldn't control - afraid of what he was becoming, Harry had thrown away everyone who ever wanted to do with him. He'd just closed up towards his loved ones, refusing to talk and to go out with his friends until they all stopped calling, though Hermione and Ron stuck around because they know him so well it's sometimes terrifying. But he just pushed away the only person he's ever loved; he was a downright bastard to him and said some things he's not at all proud of - how that relationship was quickly drowning him, how Harry knew it was all because he was the Chosen One and not because he was Harry. He'd said so many hurtful things that now there's no way to get him back.
The first day of his heat, Harry locks himself in his huge mansion in the middle of London and starts readying himself for his fate. He's aware that Hermione knows why he's refused to get help, or why he hasn't searched for someone to mate with. Ron knows as well, but Harry thinks his best friend has chosen to ignore the fact that Harry's love interest drifted away from Ginny a long time ago. He hasn't allowed any of them to come stay with him while he wails in pain and convulses to death. It has taken him a lot of tears and fights, especially with Ron who, despite not wanting to acknowledge for real what was happening, had fiercely defended his right to be near Harry during those days. Hermione is still investigating, nose buried in some books Harry has never heard about, trying to find the magical solution for this seemingly unsolvable problem.
The knock on the door startles him. Since Dobby died, Harry hasn't had any other house elf, so with great effort, Harry reaches the front door and opens it with the full intention of barking at whoever it is until they retreat and leave him in peace.
"I already told you-" he starts as he forcefully pulls at the door.
"-that I'd be better off without a monster like you, and see where that has led us to," says the voice Harry regrets having sent away the most.
There, standing against the dim light of the street lamps, Draco Malfoy looks at him from his height, all blond and pale in the darkness.
"Draco," Harry breathes out.
"Can I come in?"
There's some sort of pleading in that voice, something raw. Harry nods and steps aside. It feels like so long since they last exchanged something more than yells and burning words, even if it hasn't really, and yet Harry still remembers the soft touch of that hair between his too clumsy fingers that first time they spent the night together.
Draco strolls inside as if he owns the place - as if he still owns Harry's heart - and turns around in the middle of the corridor when Harry closes the door. "You must be wondering why I'm here."
"I know Hermione called you."
"It was Ron, actually," and Harry has never heard Draco say that name. This is serious. "When were you planning on telling me?"
"Telling you what?"
Draco sighs. "We're going to play this game now, Harry?" he whispers. "You lied to me, you said you didn't love me anymore."
"It was true," Harry tries to counteract, but Draco stops him.
"I've been lied so many times in my life, I know by now when someone tells me they don't love me and means it."
Harry remains silent. He knows he hurt Draco when he pushed him away, but Harry believes it to be the best choice. "You have no idea-"
"You're a Veela." Draco sighs. It's not a reproach, it's a simple statement. And it feels like a punch in the gut. "You thought pushing me away would turn you normal again?"
"What are you saying?" Harry demands. He doesn't understand a thing that's being said in his corridor. "I don't-"
"The Malfoys have been part-Veela ever since the beginning of time, Harry," Draco explains in a tired voice. "I'm not one of them, by the way, but I was raised to live with one. Harry," he keeps on talking, his voice hoarse now, "Harry, I was raised to be a Veela's mate, and when I met you and you weren't-I was disappointed but I loved you. And it turns out you're truly a Veela and you don't want me as your mate, and you're going to die if you don't mate before the end of this heat cycle."
It's not a threat, not even a crushing warning. It's the truth, simple and plain, and it shakes Harry. He feels tears building up in the back of his eyes, burning his eyelids, and suddenly they're pouring and he's trembling and his world's crumbling. He almost falls to his knees from the force of his own pain.
But before his abused skin touches the ground, there is a strong pair of arms holding him in place, keeping him secure in a haven of warmth. He sobs and wails, his limbs shaking while his wings spread at his back, taking up all the space around them. Draco feels like his safest place to hide, and it's a weird thought, because when they were together they were so incompatible, so different, that no one ever thought they'd last for as long as they did - Harry never thought they'd ever be apart, and yet he'd been the one to shove Draco away. Now those roles have reversed and Harry is strangely happy that in his depression Draco has grown to become his saviour and not the other way around.
"I'm here, you'll be okay, I'll take care of you, don't you worry," Draco is whispering in Harry's ear, so softly that it's almost impossible to hear. "Let me love you, Harry."
"You said you were disappointed," Harry hiccups.
"Because I thought that my upbringing should be more important than my heart," Draco says, lifting Harry's face to look into his eyes, and Harry gets lost in a sea of gray and steel. "When I accepted that love was the only way, and you closed up on me, I thought I'd die. And I was dying, Harry, and you've been miserable, because we're born to be together and we fought against it."
Harry nods, finally understanding. He closes his eyes and Draco helps him stand up. They stumble together to the master bedroom, and Draco begins to lovingly remove Harry's clothes by hand, not by magic since magic has been throwing Harry out of whack, and soon Harry is lying on top of the bed wearing only his undershirt and his boxers.
"We should sleep," Draco advises. Harry feels tired, exhausted even, and he just wants to drift off. When he feels Draco's weight on the bed by his side, Harry allows himself to let go. There will be enough time tomorrow to talk, to plead, to explain, Harry thinks. Now he has all the time in this world.
That first night of the rest of his life will always be imprinted in his memory, fresh and loving like a first slow kiss.