Chapter Eighteen of 'Veela-Struck'- Shuddered
Chapter Seventeen.
Title: Veela-Struck (18/?)
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco (past Harry/OMC)
Rating: R
Warnings: Rape (past, but described and depicted in flashbacks), violence, creature!fic (Veela Draco), profanity, sex, deep angst. This assumes the epilogue does not exist.
Summary: Veela don’t have destined mates, and thank Merlin for that. Draco wants to date Harry Potter because Harry is one of the few people in the wizarding world who treats him decently. But when Harry refuses, with his refusal focused on Draco’s creature blood, Draco sets out on a different journey than he ever expected.
Author’s Notes: This story is very angsty, and deals with issues of consent. Please think carefully before reading it.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Eighteen-Shuddered
The resentment began while Draco was working on the letter to Pansy that Harry had asked him to write.
You didn’t tell him the whole truth. You agreed that you meant to kill Laurent when it was something you dreamed about but something you know you never had a chance of doing. You gave in and admitted you were wrong when he said you were. You could have defended yourself, and you would have been within your rights.
Draco hunched his shoulders and kept writing. Thoughts like those weren’t important right now. What was important was doing as his chosen had asked him to do, which would result in peace between them.
And then?
Then there will be another argument, one when he asks me to give in about everything so that he can have all he wants. And still he’ll hold himself aloof from me and say that he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to give me what I need. Or he’ll look past me and ask for more time alone, and if I’ve set a precedent of giving in to him, what am I supposed to do?
The quill Draco was writing with broke, luckily not in such a way that it sprayed ink all over his letter and made him have to restart it. Draco tugged the parchment towards him and sat there for a moment, eyes shut, thinking the most soothing thoughts he could, before he opened his eyes and reached for another quill. He would dip it in the ink, which could be accomplished with a smooth, economical motion, and then he would begin.
As long as he could write down the words that he actually needed to write and not the ones that buzzed, like loud gnats, close to the surface of his skin.
So, you see, I was mistaken about the genealogy, and what I gave you no conclusive evidence, Draco wrote. Rather than try for a joke, which Pansy would never forgive and which would cause a rupture in their friendship, Draco was pretending that one of his ancestors had changed several things about the older records to suit his preferences-something that had actually happened in the Malfoy family more than once-and that consequences of that change had affected the recent papers, too. I hope you can forgive me, and apologize to your friends for my having wasted their time.
He signed his name and sat back, eyes shut. It occurred to him after a moment that he was waiting for something, and then to wonder what that something was.
When it didn’t arrive, he knew. He had expected the warm buzz of satisfaction that came from following his chosen’s orders, and it refused to show up.
Because you don’t know if you did the right thing. Because you don’t know if it’s gone too far, and Harry is trying to control things that can’t be controlled. Because you feel unfairly accused, and a Veela can be just as angry and discontent about that as someone fully human can.
Draco licked his lips and opened his eyes to stare at the letter again. He had to send it, because that was part of the terms of his bargain with Harry, and he wouldn’t see Harry again for two days. So that part of it couldn’t change.
You worry about what happens when he tries to control his own health and how he treats his wounds too much. You had no compunction about giving him potions or insisting that he rest instead of standing up and walking around on that leg. You kept him near you instead of letting him go home. Why is it that you’re more sensitive about his physical health than his mental, more concerned there about asserting your right not to be unfairly treated, when a great part of what you will become together originates in the mind and spirit?
Draco touched his temple. He hadn’t thought of it that way before, and wished that he could have. Such words, thrown at Harry, would at least have obliged him to listen. Draco thought he could still respect reason when he heard it.
Well. Most of the time.
But a moment later, he understood why he hadn’t protested, any more than Harry hadn’t spent a lot of time asking whether Draco would survive those two days. They had both been reeling under the impact of intense emotions, their hearts crowded with them. It wasn’t the best of times in which to keep a clear head.
Well, maybe it was impossible to do anything then. But all that meant was that Draco would have to keep a clearer head in the future, and do the best he could to keep himself from being taken advantage of.
I want him. I want him so much.
But I want him on terms that will be equal to the both of us.
Draco smiled wryly as he started folding up the letter to send to Harry for his approval. He thought he could see, now, where some of Harry’s concerns over Draco’s potentially lost pride came from.
*
Harry shoved the book away from him so hard that it spun off the table and fell on the floor. Then he picked up his glass of Firewhisky and started to sip it, keeping his gaze on the fire and off the book, as if that would somehow change what he had read there.
But it did no good. He’d stared at the page so long that the words had branded his memory, and there they were, staring at flames or at pages, eyes open or closed.
Though abuse of their gifts by Veela is not unknown, it is rare because, among other things, few Veela can overcome their need for their chosen in order to do such things. They must make their chosen safe and happy. They must do what they can to fulfill their needs, assuming that such is not entirely impossible-and more than one Veela has been driven to misery or madness by demands that are impossible to fulfill in space or time. As such, Veela are easy targets for abuse, and will often give in and sustain their lives under such conditions without protest, if that is the only way they can gain attention from their chosen.
Harry closed his eyes, and waited until the only sound in the room was the crackle and leap of the fire, which at least meant his own breathing had calmed down.
Fuck.
He had known that, vaguely, before. He had read that, he remembered vaguely, in books on Veela before. But he had never understood or absorbed the impact of the words until now, because Draco was so different from Laurent. Laurent had never cringed around Harry or acted less than confident that he could do what Harry wanted.
Great. Another thing I have to worry about, that I’ll hurt Draco as badly as Laurent hurt me.
Harry rubbed at his eyes so furiously that he scratched his left eyelid, and spent the next two minutes cursing and trying out minor healing charms. At least it gave him something different to think about.
But then the worries returned, gnawing around the edges of his mind, snickering in his ear and crawling up and down his shoulder like rats.
I could cause him so much pain. And he can do the same to me just by looking at me in a certain way, or speaking words that he knows I’ll go mad about but which he may not be able to help, or spreading his wings.
Harry experienced another complex shiver of longing, fear, regret, and determination. It would be so much simpler if he could end things now, if he could break free of this trap that it seemed he had caught both himself and Draco in. Leave Draco behind, and that would mean he could find someone he truly cared for, someone who wasn’t as badly damaged as Harry was and could return his love without a problem. And Harry could have peace as he never would when he had to doubt his own behavior like this.
But leaving would hurt Draco, too.
Harry wished irritably that it was possible to live in the world and have relationships with people without causing them pain. It would be so much easier.
But he had been in situations like this before. Hunting Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Standing in front of the Wizengamot and hearing that smug Veela say that Veela never abused their chosen, that it was impossible and Harry must be lying. Facing down a Dark witch who had taken Ron hostage and who would be able to incinerate him, as well as another helpless victim, if Harry touched his wand.
The only way out is through.
And to get through, I need help.
Harry closed his eyes and sat still so that he wouldn’t immediately have the urge to vomit in disgust. To let someone else help him, to confess that he was weak, that he couldn’t do this on his own, hit at the center of everything that he had brought away from Laurent’s abuse of him. He should have been able to stand it on his own. He should have known something was wrong the instant that Laurent tried to start using the allure on him, and making frustrated comments because Harry wasn’t affected by the ordinary allure. He should have-
There were so many things he should have. But they were in the past, and the only thing he could do now was acknowledge his stupid mistakes and get the help he needed.
And that help could not come solely from Draco, though Harry didn’t doubt that he would protest he could offer it. Harry was too tempted to be inconsistent with Draco, gentle one moment in the hope that he could be what Draco needed-because his desire to save people said he had to-and then harsh because Draco had transgressed on Harry’s boundaries without realizing he had done so.
No, he knew someone who could help him, or two people, and he would have to go to them first.
He sat down to write a letter to Owen King.
*
Draco clenched his fists in his lap. It was only the first of the two days that Harry had said he wanted to spend by himself, and it was already hard for Draco not to drop a pinch of Floo powder in the fire and pretend that he had called for a different reason.
But that would only lose him Harry in the end. Draco would have to put up with this and hope that he could continue putting up with it for the next thirty-six hours.
Then the fire puffed to life. Draco leaped to his feet, nearly spreading his wings in surprise, and then paused, raking his fingers frantically through his hair. Had he combed it this morning? Suddenly he couldn’t remember.
And suddenly his head hurt with the clash of his instincts and his emotions. He wanted to talk to Harry, of course he did, but would he have to talk about the conclusions that had come to him yesterday? Would he have to admit that he was angry, and that he didn’t think Harry could control everything and was a fool to try? What would Harry say to that? Would he even allow Draco to finish before he shut down the Floo connection? Maybe he’d called accidentally.
“Malfoy?”
Draco suddenly slumped back on the couch, feeling as if his energy was gone. That was Weasley’s voice, not Harry’s.
“What?” he asked without enthusiasm, watching as the flames shaped Weasley’s face. Then he sucked in his breath again and sat up. “What happened? Did something happen to Harry? Did he faint from the wound? Is he in St. Mungo’s, or is he refusing to go there even though he really needed to?”
“No,” Weasley said, and studied Draco for a moment with something uncomfortably like pity in his eyes before he said, “He wasn’t at work today. I thought you had kept him over, which I would approve of, by the way,” he added, as if he assumed that Draco had been waiting breathlessly for his blessing.
Draco shook his head. “No. Have you firecalled his house?” Jealousy that Weasley was allowed to do such a thing tried to rear its head, but Draco knew that Harry probably wouldn’t appreciate Draco tearing his best friend’s face off.
“Yes,” Weasley said. “No answer. And, well, he did owl me, but I assumed it might have been a letter that you encouraged him to write. He just said that he was getting help from someone you knew and he knew could help him, and that I wasn’t to worry.”
Draco blinked. There was one person they both knew, yes, but he could hardly believe that Harry would have gone to him.
“Perhaps Owen King?” he said. “I assume that Harry did tell you about visiting him.”
“Not much, but a little.” Weasley rubbed the back of his neck, frowning. “It just seems out of character for Harry to go to someone like that, alone, given how much he distrusts the Mind-Healers.”
Draco nodded. “On the other hand, has he ever written you a letter like that before when he was going to go do something dangerous?”
Weasley snorted, obviously taking his point. “No. He raced into the danger and informed me about it afterwards, when he bothered to inform me at all. He did that even before-before. He would go to hospital then, of course, but I was usually only hearing about it secondhand.” Weasley rolled his eyes. “He never seemed to understand that I’d like to join him in those adventures, sometimes.”
“He doesn’t understand that at all,” Draco said, sulkily enough that Weasley gave him an odd look. Draco didn’t care. He was tired of his chosen trying to leave him out of his life, and although two days without Harry might seem like something small in the scheme of things, it combined with the questions he had asked himself the other day to put him in a thoroughly bad mood. “I wish he would.”
“Someone’s going to have to make him, yeah,” Weasley agreed. “He just can’t control everything, no matter how much he wants to.”
Draco nodded. “And since he’s willing to do things like let you have half the office to decorate as you like, why can’t he do other things?”
Weasley frowned. “Well, there I understand it better. Some of his boundaries begin and end with his own body. What he does to it, what he puts in it, who touches it, all of those are his business. And most people would think that’s all right. I think it’s all right. But I can give permission to someone to help me or touch me without my permission if I really need to, and I don’t think Harry can.”
Draco muttered under his breath and folded his arms, not caring if Weasley thought him childish. Harry was the one he needed to impress, and Harry wasn’t here to see him right now.
If Harry really was with Owen, then that might be progress.
But at the same time, Draco felt bad asking him to make progress because of the trauma he’d been through. Maybe Harry was doing the best he could under the circumstances. Maybe Draco should have heeded the warning that Harry had tried to give him back at the beginning and simply avoided trying to date him.
Then Draco shrugged off the thought. Too bad. He hadn’t heeded the warning, Harry had given him permission, and they had to live with what they had, not make up imaginary alternative lives where things were easier.
And I want to explain to Harry what really happened between me and Pansy, and how unlikely it is that they would have managed to find and free Laurent even without my help, and the fact that I had an excuse to keep an eye on her search as long as she was getting her information from me.
“We have to do something,” Draco said aloud. Perhaps saying it like that would convince him that he was getting somewhere.
“I agree. But what?”
Draco started. He hadn’t realized Weasley was still in the room. He battled down a blush that his father would have had no trouble conquering and said, “Harry needs something in his life that will matter more than the Auror program does to him right now. He values his career too much, which is one reason that he takes all those risks for it. But his meaning can’t be me, either. Can you offer any help with that? Is there a hobby that Harry likes, something he does to relax?”
Weasley shook his head helplessly, and Draco wondered with a sinking heart whether Weasley had already tried this tactic and had no success with it. “Harry used to love Quidditch,” he said. “But he hasn’t played in a long time. And I’m not sure that he could love something, have it mean a lot to him, without becoming obsessive about it, honestly. That seems to be the way he is.”
“And Quidditch isn’t much less dangerous than Auror work if you play professionally,” Draco said. He tapped his fingers against his lips. “Perhaps we’re going about this the wrong way. Having a single meaningful thing in his life hasn’t done Harry much good so far, after all. He needs balance. Maybe we can find a way for him to concentrate more on those things he already has, like his friendship with you and with me, without making any of them exclusive of the others.”
“I’m ready to try it if you are,” Weasley said.
Draco smiled at him, and then wondered if Weasley was going to faint. It was probably better for Draco, since he couldn’t see his own smile. “He must be something special, to have inspired a friendship like yours,” Draco said quietly.
Weasley’s ears burned. “Let’s not talk about it,” he said quickly. “What are you going to do?”
“He doesn’t want to see me until after tomorrow,” Draco said. “After that, we’ll see. But he and I need to have an honest conversation before we do anything else. There are some things that we need to clear up.”
Weasley made a face. Draco blinked at him, startled and offended, until he realized that Weasley was probably envisioning sexual information as a part of that conversation. “I hope it works,” Weasley said. “And I’ll send him an invitation to spend the evening with me and Hermione, all right? Usually he and I just go drinking after work, or he comes over to the Burrow to be with the whole family. It hasn’t been just him and us alone since a long time before Rose was born. I think he thought Hermione had enough to worry about, with the pregnancy.”
“And he wanted to be with his work whenever he could,” Draco said, aware that he was thinking aloud, feeling utterly strange doing it with a Weasley in the house, and determined to go on doing it anyway. “Good. That should start moving us down the path.”
Weasley exhaled a troubled breath. “I sort of feel as if we’re plotting about him behind his back.”
“We’ll tell him what we intend,” Draco said. “You can tell him why you’re inviting him over, not just try to make it a casual, subtle thing. I have this idea that you don’t do subtle well,” he added, because he had to.
Weasley rolled his eyes and vanished into the flames. Draco leaned back against the couch, folded his hands behind his head, and pondered what he would say to Harry when he next saw him.
I want him. I need him. I want him to heal.
But I can’t indulge him forever, no more than he can me. And I will tell him the truth this time.
*
Harry shut his eyes. He had come this far, and was he going to back out now? He couldn’t imagine doing so.
He absorbed the calming, peaceful atmosphere of King’s home for endless moments before he knocked. The door in front of him, which he knew led to a room he hadn’t been before, was made of dark green wood, and Harry studied it in silence, filling his eyes with the smoothness of it before it swung open.
King stood on the other side, gravely smiling at him. He gestured Harry into the room with a sweep of his arm, and Harry gave a shaky nod and stepped past him. He looked around, and up. This room mimicked the others he had seen, with alternating bands of color on the walls and large windows that let in a smell of the sea, but the colors this time were black and silver. Harry might have been standing in a winter woods, under branches laden with snow.
Many chairs filled this room in several different clumps, all of them arranged in squares or circles so that everyone would sit facing each other. Harry counted twelve before he turned and faced the person he had sensed waiting for him from the beginning.
She was a tall woman with a sharp face and long pale hair that hung to touch the middle of her back, though if Harry hadn’t known she was a Veela he would have thought that just meant she was old. Her eyes were so bright and piercing a blue that Harry would have wanted to fall back a step without his private, personal fear. She sat with her legs crossed and her hands clasped in her lap, and watched him.
“Miss-” Harry started, not even sure if that was the right title.
“Lucy will do,” she said.
She smiled, but even that didn’t reassure Harry, because it was a sharp gesture. Lucy smiled as if she knew what she was doing; she gestured with one hand towards the chair in front of her as if she knew what her presence did to him and wanted him to get over it. Harry knew it was an unfair impression, but he’d got so used to Draco and Fleur, who both went out of their ways to make him feel comfortable, that he recoiled, unnerved.
King came up beside him and pressed his palm flat against Harry’s shoulder. “She will not harm you,” he said gently.
Harry caught his breath and looked away. “I know,” he whispered. He also knew that King’s reasons for refusing another private meeting-he had been sick recently, and his Veela didn’t want to leave him-were perfectly valid. But being in the same room with Lucy had already made the walls start to spin, slowly.
King had suggested that they meet in a different room of the house, with Lucy outside the door, but Harry had refused that. He would rather be able to see her and know where she was at all times, if she had to be there.
Just because she’s in front of you doesn’t mean you can control her, though.
That was something Harry was trying to remember, to make himself remember. He didn’t want to control Draco, really he didn’t, but that was what it could turn into if Draco’s need to please him made him too subservient.
I’m here to avoid causing pain to Draco.
That made it easier to be here than thinking about being weak and needing help did. Harry forced his nerveless legs to move forwards one step at a time, until he dropped into the chair across from Lucy.
“Let’s start,” he said.
Chapter Nineteen.
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