Chapter Twenty-Five of 'Veela-Struck'- Held
Chapter Twenty-Four.
Title: Veela-Struck (25/34)
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 Twenty-Five-Held
Draco knew he was being selfish and stupid, because his thoughts should have been focused on how they were going to defeat Pansy and this Veela witness and make them pay.
Instead, he was thinking about how warm and heavy Harry was in his arms, and how he had his wings around him at last, and how, if Harry remained as tranquil as he was right now, Draco could hold him safe from the dangers around him forever.
His feathers interlaced in front of Harry’s face. Held like this, Draco was the only one who could see Harry, the only one who could touch him. Hurled spells would break on his wings; attempts to hit Harry would rebound from the feathers. He lowered his head and breathed in Harry’s scent, and wistfully imagined being able to breathe it always, while Harry remained safe from another Veela who might want to sniff it.
Like Laurent, for example.
That thought shook Draco out of his trance. He had to be prepared to face this, and more, to help Harry face it. That would be the harder task. Thanks to his Veela instincts, Draco could receive support from his own mind to stand up for his chosen, but Harry didn’t have that reinforcement. Draco would have to be his shield and his armor.
“Harry?” he whispered, when he judged enough minutes had passed that Harry would probably wake up soon, notice the wings, and panic.
Harry stirred. His head lifted, and his eyes looked drugged. That made Draco’s heart ache, even though he had thought a while ago that he would like Harry to trust him enough to relax like that. He wanted Harry to relax of his own free will, not because his fear had put him into a trance.
He whispered Harry’s name again. This time, as if responding to an echo down a long tunnel, Harry slowly nodded and began the climb back to the surface. Draco flipped his wings behind his back again, and dealt with the surge of panic in his belly that told him his chosen was now unprotected. It was irrational, and at the moment, he needed to be as calm as possible, as sane. He knew Harry needed that.
“What do we do?” Harry whispered.
“We start with Pansy,” Draco said calmly. “Her new friendship is making her do this, but my friendship with her is much older. I’ll go to her and ask her to stop her investigation without revealing any details of the crime.”
“If she’s already spoken with Oblansky, she’ll know it.” Harry’s eyes were still wide, if not drugged, and he shivered and peered into corners. The jerky motions of his head and hands reminded Draco of the way he had looked himself when he was young and had a nightmare, one of those about nameless, formless terrors hiding under the bed, difficult to describe to his parents because the dream was always worse than the waking.
“Oblansky? Is that the Veela witness’s name?” Draco kept his voice determinedly soft, as if he didn’t understand Harry’s panic, and his hand moved up and down Harry’s back. As he had thought it would, the repetitive motion gave Harry something to focus on and calmed him. He took a few hurried gulps of air and then nodded.
“Yes,” Harry said. “Curtis Oblansky.”
Draco curled his lip at the evidence that some parents couldn’t give even Veela children euphonious names, but decided that Harry wouldn’t appreciate hearing an aesthetic criticism right now. “What exactly did he say during the trial?”
*
Harry could relive the trial all too easily, and he didn’t want to. His hands ached with the thought. His throat burned, though he had dry-heaved enough that he knew he had nothing more to bring up. His eyes flickered open and shut, and there was a new scene from the trial each time they closed.
Laurent looking at Harry with a simple hungry expression, and shaking his head, to say that this trial business was all a distraction and they would get out of here and go back home and to bed soon enough.
The members of the Wizengamot seated in stiff, glittering robes, frowning into the middle distance, as if they didn’t want to show favor to anyone. Since Harry knew who had taken bribes from whom, and had known most of that information from the first day of his Auror career, he wanted to laugh bitterly at the sham of it all.
Oblansky, glaring disdainfully in Harry’s direction, his wings rising every time he was angry-which of course made Harry stutter when he tried to tell his side of the story and made him sound less credible. Harry would have thought Oblansky had planned that, but it had begun before he reached the part of the story where he explained what Laurent had done to him with his wings.
So much. So much had happened in that place, during that time, and Harry didn’t want to tell the story to Draco so soon after telling him more details about the rape. But he gritted his teeth, because Draco was helping him-Draco was the only Veela in the world Harry could believe was unconditionally on his side-and pushed forwards.
“He said that it was impossible for Veela to misuse their powers that way,” Harry whispered. “A true Veela took care of his chosen, and made himself responsible for that chosen’s safety and pleasure. The allure was only a tool that would be used for protection, to attract the attention of someone the Veela wanted to charm or to push aside those who might get in the way of him being with his chosen.”
“Never mind that we’d have to trust that the Veela was always doing that for the best reasons, even if it was true,” Draco muttered.
Harry gave him a faint smile. He knew it was faint and wavered ridiculously all over his face, like a light turning on and off, but at least it was something other than a moan or a gasp or a cry. “Exactly what I thought. How do we know that those he wants to push or charm aside don’t have a legitimate reason for standing between him and his chosen?”
“What did Oblansky say when you told the court that you were Veela-struck?” Draco prompted. His hand, thick with claws, rested like a prod along Harry’s spine. Harry licked his lips and tried to think of it as a comfort, too.
“That it wasn’t possible,” Harry said. “That that was a tactic used only on enemies who could resist the allure, and then only to make them leave the Veela alone. I was lying. And his major evidence was that no one can break free of that influence without aid from the Veela, so I must be lying when I said I did.”
He heard his voice tremble, and he ground his teeth. He wouldn’t cry. This was getting ludicrous, how weak he was, how vulnerable to his memories. Besides, he had to keep a steady voice and a calm attitude so that he could tell Draco the story. He wouldn’t interrupt his own recitation with sobs or grunts.
Draco cradled him closer and silently urged Harry, with his hands on neck and back, to lean his head on Draco’s shoulder. Harry resisted. How could he tell a good story that way? For a moment, there was a little struggle, during which Harry thought he might have to break away, but Draco growled in the end and then let him sit back up. Harry licked his lips and went on before Draco could ask him to.
“The court believed me. But Oblansky resented me. I know he didn’t think Laurent was guilty, though what reason I would have to lie about the way he treated me, he never explained. He was still glaring at me when they sentenced Laurent and marched him out to Azkaban.”
“There are some Veela whose loyalty is to their own kind first,” Draco said quietly. “They think of all more-human wizards, except their own chosen, as lesser. And it’s true, there are people who will chase mindlessly after us and attempt to be with us even when we’ve told them we don’t want them. But he was letting his own prejudices blind him if he thought that was the case here.” He paused. “How was Laurent behaving during this?”
“Staring at me like I was his meal who had managed to escape briefly,” Harry said, and tried to muster a chuckle. He really did. It wasn’t his fault it turned into a revolted moan halfway through.
Draco immediately held him close, body pressed to body, despite Harry’s mumbled protests, and began to whisper, “Hush, hush, it’s all right.”
Harry tried to sit up again, tried to tell him that it wasn’t all right, and lying about it wouldn’t make things better, but Draco was too strong.
And the warmth of the chest beneath his cheek, the heartbeat in his ear, the musky smell of a human body that surrounded him-human bodies really didn’t smell that different from Veela-was something he hadn’t felt in so long. Maybe he wasn’t weak if he closed his eyes and rested here? Maybe it wasn’t about a loss of control?
He shut his eyes, and he had no idea when he passed from relaxation and reluctant comfort into sleep.
*
Draco bowed his head in relief when he heard Harry’s breathing steady. He had hoped that just holding Harry close would have the same effect as if he had actually used his allure or his croon to soothe Harry to sleep. He wouldn’t do that, because it was a betrayal of what he and Harry had promised each other, but Harry could use some escape from the crushing pressure of the moment.
He had told Draco more than enough to enable him to plan his next move, assuming that Oblansky still felt the same about Laurent’s sentencing as he had when it took place.
Go to Pansy second and find out how much she knew. And first, approach Oblansky. Draco did have advantages if Oblansky was a Veela supremacist, because there was a strong chance he wouldn’t have told Pansy everything immediately, and he would listen to Draco more politely.
Of course, he would have to go and speak to them without Harry. Draco hated the idea, but there was no way that Harry could face them right now.
He stroked the middle of Harry’s back with his claws, making Harry sigh in his sleep, and considered what he could do. He badly wanted to take Harry to Malfoy Manor, where he would be safe behind extensive wards in case anyone sought him out with intent to harm him, but he didn’t think Harry would agree. Draco definitely didn’t think he would agree to tell Lucius and Narcissa all the details yet.
Even though he has no reason to be ashamed of them.
Draco gazed down sadly at the dark head resting against him. Harry hadn’t done anything wrong; he had gone out of his way to give Laurent a chance, if he hadn’t fled at the first sign of his jealous behavior. And though he had been prejudiced against Veela, he was trying to recover from that. He needn’t have given Draco a chance to date him, after all. He could have said no, and Draco would just have had to choose someone else.
Even though there’s no one I could love as much as I love him. But Draco was wise enough about his own Veela instincts to accept that the thought was partially prompted by them and his growing enthrallment with his chosen.
He wished Harry could stand the fire of public criticism and speculation that would follow the revelation of details about his rape, but he didn’t think he could, even if most of the people were on Harry’s side. And the wizarding world had always been fickle where their Savior was concerned. Some of them had referred to him as “tainted” when he was dating and having sex frequently. What would they think when they realized he had been raped and “hadn’t fought back”? There were those who didn’t understand being Veela-struck and those who would reduce it to a mere affair of magical power and declare that, since Harry had more strength than Laurent, he should have won every struggle between them.
Everything just got harder.
None of which lessened his determination to stay with his chosen, or to see Harry happier one day than he probably ever believed he could be right now.
Draco shut his eyes and closed his claws down, not pressing hard enough to wake Harry, but hopefully hard enough to send small flashes of pleasure through Harry’s dreams. Small flashes of pleasure might be all he would get for a time.
*
“You’re sure this is all right with you?” Harry found it difficult to look at Hermione. He looked at the wall above the fireplace instead, where a portrait hung that he didn’t recognize. It was a tall woman with long blonde hair, in a purple robe, who held a lens to her eye as she examined Harry with interest. The background behind her was an open field and a blue sky with clouds cashing across it. “Who’s that?”
“She was Aphrodite Sears, one of the first female lawyers in the Ministry,” Hermione said calmly. “And of course it’s all right, Harry. Look at me, please. When you’re staring into space with that distressed expression, it makes me think that Rose has done something offensive in the smell department.”
Harry jerked and turned to face her. His friend gave him a small smile and handed him Rose before he could object. “In fact, it works out well,” Hermione went on, sounding as happy as though Harry really had come to her and Ron’s house just to help her. “I’m starting to work from home again, but it’s difficult to concentrate on cases when I’m listening with one ear for Rose to cry. You can hold her and rock her and check to make sure she’s sleeping, and even feed her if I’m too caught up.”
Harry knew the glance he gave her was horrified, but he couldn’t help it. Hermione pointed to a neat row of bottles on the table nearby. “They’re full of my milk,” she said. “She’ll need to get used to it at least some of the time when I go back to work, and the spells for filling the bottles are interesting. Shall I tell you? You just-”
Harry would have clamped his hands over his ears, but he was holding Rose. He did manage to glare at her hard enough that she got the point, and laughed and went off to work on her cases. Harry leaned back in the chair and rocked Rose against his chest, trying to keep his mind off what Draco was doing.
He had said that he was going to talk to Parkinson and Oblansky. He had said it mildly, so Harry could have thought it was a business matter if he didn’t know who these people were.
But that mild tone was only effective if you didn’t look into his eyes. Draco had the silvery sheen that told Harry his Veela instincts were present, and he stroked the wall with claws that made strips of stone peel away. Harry knew he could adjust the hardness and toughness of the claws, but he hadn’t realized they were that powerful.
Then he had escorted Harry to Ron and Hermione’s house, given him several quite unnecessary instructions about safety, and left. Left Harry to hold the baby and sit in the rocking chair while he went into danger.
Harry ground his teeth. Impatience and other emotions burst like stars in his mind if he thought about that too long. He wasn’t some helpless victim who needed to be protected, and leaving him behind made him seem like it. Why did Draco have to do that? There were other ways that he could have faced Parkinson and Oblansky-
And then he calmed down by force, partially because he was squeezing Rose too tightly and he knew it, and shut his eyes. No, he couldn’t have done that, and he knew it. The instant he saw Oblansky, he would want to attack, and Draco could never have gained Parkinson’s trust if Harry was there with him. If she didn’t know the entire truth, she probably would have been able to figure it out then.
He did have to stay here, and murmur to Rose, and try to distract himself by watching the shadows in the fire and wondering why in the world he had been able to submit to Draco’s wings holding him.
An ugly word, submit. Harry had been upset at the time, he reassured himself. He gave in because he just didn’t have the strength to argue right then, and he would have had to argue with Draco to get him to let Harry out of his wings.
He had done what he had to. He was doing what he had to now. He could look forwards to a time when his life wasn’t an endless series of duties, but it seemed that it would never arrive unless he let Draco help him.
Rose woke and cried. Harry sniffed, and found that this time, she had done something offensive in the smell department. Resigned, he took her up and carried her into the other room to figure out how to change her nappy.
*
“Young Master Malfoy. I am more honored by a visit from you than I could hope to express. You are one I have wanted to meet for some time.” Oblansky’s voice was so smooth it might have been oiled.
Draco inclined his head, making sure that his neck was so stiff it looked hinged, and strutted into Oblansky’s house. It was dim in every corner, he saw, the walls made of smoke-darkened wood and the table and the chairs ebony or else a material that could imitate it better than any Draco had ever seen. The windows were shuttered. A hot, close scent assaulted Draco, and he cast a surreptitious charm that would lessen his sense of smell while Oblansky had his back turned, getting tea. It seemed that Oblansky was one of those Veela who preferred to go with his predatory instincts and eat raw meat.
Of a piece with the rest of him, Draco thought as his eyes adjusted and Oblansky turned around to face him again.
A collar of dark silver feathers encircled Oblansky’s neck, and he had to handle the cups delicately, because of the claws that replaced his nails. His wings fanned slowly from his back, filtering air through the room. He was someone who had dark hair and deep blue eyes-unusual looks for a Veela-and Draco wondered if he had started displaying his Veela features in the first place because he wanted to assert his heritage. Now, it didn’t look as if he ever returned to normal human form.
Draco accepted the cup and cast another charm that would test for poison in the tea. Nothing there. There might be later, of course, when Oblansky realized why Draco had come. Draco was going to try and lie, but he would use force if he had to.
His belly rippled, and Draco realized he was in danger of growing feathers there. He tried to will his bloody Veela side down. Yes, he could attack someone in defense of his chosen and get away with it, but it would be harder to do that when Harry wasn’t physically here.
“You surprise me, sir,” he said, taking a cautious sip of the tea and telling himself that the small object under his foot was probably a child’s practice wand and not a bone. “Why would you want to meet me in particular?”
“Because you are one of the few among the current generation who is proud of their heritage,” said Oblansky passionately, leaning forwards. Draco calmed his rising feathers and his rising agitation in the same breath. “You don’t hide what you are. You don’t whimper about wanting to be human instead of Veela. Yes, I find that admirable.”
Draco raised an eyebrow. He might have an advantage here that he hadn’t considered.
“I enjoy your admiration, sir,” he said. “But you may not continue to feel it when I reveal what I’m here for.”
Oblansky gave him a thin smile. “I try to help my kin in anything that I can. You may be surprised, young Master Malfoy. And please, call me Curtis.”
“Then you must call me Draco,” Draco said, with the kind of smile he used on elderly friends of his mother’s who wanted to pinch his cheeks. “I am here on behalf of my chosen. It seems that he heard rumors some years ago of a trial in which you were involved, a trial that has made him reluctant to continue as my chosen.”
Oblansky drew in a sharp breath. “Ah, so the young Parkinson isn’t the only one sniffing about, is she?” He leaned confidingly forwards. “I’ll wager your chosen wants to know what the likelihood of you abusing him is, eh?”
Draco nodded, and kept his expression curious and his eyes alert. He knew Veela hearing wasn’t good enough to make out another’s heartbeat from a distance, but he still wished there was a way of stopping that without dying.
“You can tell him to lay his fears to rest,” said Oblansky firmly. “Yes, the defendant in that trial was a Veela accused of raping his chosen. Harry Potter, to be exact.” He paused, so Draco could make the expected noises of interest and horror. “But a Veela cannot rape his chosen. He would have no reason to. The allure can get him everything he wants, and if it can’t, then he’ll accept that and move on. You must know that yourself, since I’m told you thought the young Parkinson was your chosen for a time.”
Draco nodded. “But why would Potter lie about this?” He let a sneer twist his voice, although it made his muscles physically ache to do so. Harry was his chosen, his, and he should be doing everything he could to protect his chosen against people like Oblansky, his instincts whispered, not oblige them.
Sometimes having Veela instincts was hard.
“Because he was jealous that Laurent du Michel was about to move on, I imagine.” Oblansky nodded impressively. “I know that he was staring at Potter at the trial, but the way you stare at a meal, not your chosen. He must have broken the news that he was considering someone else, and Potter snapped. Who wouldn’t want the chance to keep a Veela by their side, if they could take it?” His laughter sounded like a chain hitting a stone floor.
“A rather strange way to keep du Michel by his side,” Draco murmured.
“Oh, at that point I’m sure du Michel had elected to leave, and this was Potter’s means of getting revenge.” Oblansky stared dreamily at the unlit hearth with his eyes glittering. “I would love to get revenge on him, if I could.”
Draco made a careful decision at that point. Oblansky was still a danger to his chosen. Draco would destroy him. He had to. It didn’t have to be physically, but Oblansky must be removed from a position of power in which he could ever hurt Harry again.
“Thank you,” Draco said. “I’m sure my chosen will take my word for it, now that I have my memories of this conversation to back me up, but would you be willing to talk to him if necessary?” He needed an excuse for a second interview with Oblansky if he could get it.
Oblansky laughed. “Of course!”
Draco started to rise, and then paused as if he had just realized something. “Have you told anything to Pansy Parkinson?” he asked. “I believe it is rather a coincidence that she would start investigating this matter just as I took a new chosen. I think she is jealous that I got rid of her, and I would prefer she not learn many of the details.”
Oblansky bowed from his chair. “Then she will not. You have my word of honor as a Veela.”
Draco bowed back and left the house, suppressing the urge to cast a Cleaning Charm on himself the moment he was out the door. He turned and Apparated to Pansy’s house, already planning out the next part of his strategy in his head. Pansy was going to want an answer as to why Oblansky had suddenly stopped talking to her and why Draco cared.
Draco would have to tell her an-edited-version of the truth.
Chapter Twenty-Six.
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