Chapter Seven of 'Flare'- Fact-Finding Mission
Chapter Six.
Title: Flare (7/15)
Disclaimer: These characters belong to J. K. Rowling and associates. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairings: Harry/Draco, mentions of Ron/Hermione
Warnings: Creature!fic, angst, sex, some violence, OC character death.
Rating: R
Summary: Caught in the middle of a misfired curse, Harry is half-transformed into a phoenix, to the point of carrying wings on his back. He arranges with the Healers for research that will hopefully cure him--only to find that Draco Malfoy has a strange vested interest in him keeping the bloody things.
Author's Notes: This is a story that I've had in mind for a long time, though not always in its present form. The creature aspect is an important part of the fic, so don't read it if that's not your thing. I'm anticipating a story of about 15 parts, with fairly short chapters.
Chapter One.
Thank you again for all the reviews!
Chapter Seven-Fact-Finding Mission
“Most of what I told you about the wings is true.”
Harry paused with his sandwich halfway to his mouth. Malfoy had owled him around one-soon after Harry had come back from the flight he was determinedly not thinking about-saying that he had some experimental results already, but that they were too complicated to explain by a message. Reluctantly, Harry had wrapped his wings in a binding spell and then dropped a clumsy glamour over them. He’d never been good at glamours, since his curse scar burned through most of the ones he put on it and he was piss-poor at changing his very recognizable eye color. But he could manage one that made him look as if he was carrying a heavy crate on his back instead of the wings, and so he’d got safely beyond his wards and Apparated to St. Mungo’s. As long as he kept his head down, not too many people looked at him.
Malfoy had gestured for him to remove the glamour the instant he entered the git’s office, and Harry didn’t think he’d imagined the bastard’s indrawn breath or the way he relaxed when he could see the wings again, his eyes bright with heat. Well, fine. If Malfoy wanted to be creepy that way, then Harry would just have to be cross and demanding back.
And not reveal that he’d flown this morning. That was information for the Healers helping him to work on ways of removing the wings, not for Malfoy, who was only doing research with the feathers.
“Most,” Harry said.
Malfoy nodded. “There are some differences from ordinary feathers, revealed by the potions I tested them in.” He reached out and captured a sheaf of notes from his nearby desk. Seeing them, along with all the other delicate stacks of paper everywhere and the boiling cauldrons and balanced flasks, made Harry glad that he’d retained the spell binding his wings to his back. They didn’t seem to mind it so much, only twitching now and then. The flight must have exhausted them.
And I need to stop acting as if they’re people with their own opinions.
“They don’t seem to have the inborn fire that would renew them in a burst of flame when the phoenix gets old enough,” Malfoy said, and extended a piece of parchment to Harry. Harry took a quick glance at the notes and numbers that covered it, and shook his head. They meant nothing to him. Malfoy practically purred. The idiot liked being useful, Harry thought-or seen as useful and an expert and powerful, which wasn’t at all the same thing. “I aged two of them in a potion that makes years pass for objects in a few seconds, and they simply withered. But then I placed them separately in the potion, and they renewed themselves halfway through the cycle.” He paused and eyed Harry. “Instead of molting them all off and then regrowing them at once, I think what you’ll see is individual feathers burning up when they get bent or broken or ragged, and new ones appearing.”
“Wonderful,” Harry said sourly. He wanted to ask if that would still happen once he cut off the wings and donated them for the education of future generations of Healers, but he had a feeling he knew what Malfoy’s answer would be. The feathers had become new when separated from Harry, after all. He took another bite of the sandwich that Malfoy had made for him-some kind of delicate fish-before he answered. “And what you said about the wings telling me when people are honest?”
Malfoy grinned. The expression was so normal that Harry stared at him before he could stop himself. Malfoy noticed, and the smile turned a shade more private before he answered. “I had one of my apprentices-a lad with a good turn for lying-touch a feather while he talked about his progress in experimental potions. No good. The feather turned black and curled away from him. When he didn’t start speaking until after he’d touched one, then his face turned purple and his voice stopped and he couldn’t go on at all.” Malfoy bent towards Harry insistently. “When the feathers are in greater clusters, the way they are on the full wings, I think they can make people want to speak the truth. It’s not something I would have considered that I owed you before I saw and touched your wings.”
“Seems to me,” Harry said deliberately, with another bite of the sandwich in the middle to make Malfoy wait, “that there’s a lot of things you would never have done in the last day if not for the wings.”
Malfoy smiled at him and put down the page of notes, reaching out so that he could slide one palm down the side of his wing, over the small feathers that stood up there. Harry shut his eyes and made a tiny noise before he could stop himself.
“So beautiful,” Malfoy whispered. “And no, I doubt I would have got up the courage to follow you home and fuck you yesterday if not for the wings.”
Harry nodded and reached up to remove Malfoy’s hand from the wings, because he couldn’t think with it there. The pleasure that spiraled through him was like molten gold pouring through a pipe. God, it was so good, but now that he knew Malfoy only wanted him for these stupid additions to his body-
“But I’ve thought for a long time that I’d like to get to know you better,” Malfoy said quietly, dodging Harry’s motion so that he could keep his hand on the wings. “Conviction that you wouldn’t welcome such a thing held me back.”
“Only that?” Harry opened one eye to study him.
Malfoy laughed softly. “All right, and also the fact that I don’t enjoy being called an evil git every moment of my life. But you’ve done a lot for me, things I appreciated, although I know you didn’t do them specifically for me. Saving my life. Defeating the Dark Lord. Ignoring me so that we could both get on with our lives in the year right after the war. Giving testimony that helped keep my mother free. Hunting down the Death Eaters, who threatened me at one point for being a traitor. Killing Fenrir Greyback.”
Harry frowned at him. “But you know that it wasn’t-I wasn’t thinking about how you’d respond to that, right? Just that it was the right thing to do?”
“I know,” Malfoy said. “And I prefer that, actually. If I had had someone interested in saving my life just so that he could be my personal hero, I think I’d resent him.” He shook his head with a faint grin. “No rational reason for me to do so, but I wanted-I needed-some time to grow up on my own, away from my parents and away from Hogwarts and away from everyone who wanted to watch out for me or thought they knew better than me.” He studied Harry with a jaundiced look for a second. “You fit yourself into that last group a time or two. I know that now.”
“Yeah, I did,” Harry said shortly. He didn’t like being reminded of it. He really hadn’t known much more than Malfoy when he was sixteen or seventeen, after all. “Anyway. That doesn’t explain wanting to sleep with me.”
Malfoy stroked up and down the edge of the wing, and Harry had to fight not to close his eyes and moan with pleasure. “The way that I was reminded of you, the way that I was able to watch you from afar instead of being confronted with you at every turn, the way you saved me, the way I saw you looking with the wings?” Malfoy murmured. “It’s a combination of all those things. And if all those things aren’t enough to qualify someone for sleeping with you, I’m afraid to know what would be.”
Harry shifted, finally standing so that he could tear the wing away from Malfoy’s grasp. The feathers stretched out when he stood, pointing back at Malfoy. Harry didn’t want to think about what that meant. “It’s not a matter of qualifications,” he said. “Just that-if I wasn’t stressed yesterday, I would never have slept with you.”
Malfoy still had the ability to look smooth and polished with nothing more than a sneer. “Of course not. Clearly my technique disappointed you.”
“It’s not that,” Harry said, and leaned his head against the enchanted window in Malfoy’s office, watching fish swim about in a dark green void of water that might have been Hogwarts’s lake. Defending my life and choices to Malfoy. After I slept with him. After I had wings. I must have stolen fire or something in a previous life to have it this weird now.
“Then explain what it is.” From the sound, Malfoy had come to his feet behind him and stood with arms folded. Then Harry rolled his eyes at himself. Really. I think I’m that perceptive about Malfoy? I don’t know him well.
He turned around and found that Malfoy was indeed standing exactly like that. It did nothing to improve his temper. “It was something I wanted to do, and which was fun,” Harry said. “But not anything that can last.”
“Why not?” Malfoy took a step nearer. “I’ve expressed my opinion that, for me at least, it runs considerably deeper than a momentary attraction to your wings. What else would you need to convince you that I’m someone you can trust?”
“That you had done this before I got the wings,” Harry said. “Sorry, but the coincidence is too great.”
“You look beautiful with them,” Malfoy said. “And they’re fascinating, and you were right there in front of me, and I like touching them. Plus all the other things that built up over time.” He paused, staring at Harry. “I won’t lie and pretend that the wings had nothing to do with it, although it’s more than that. I don’t think I could lie, not when the wings encourage honesty like they do.”
Harry regained control of himself. He shouldn’t have let it slip away in the first place. “What else did you find out about the wings?” he asked.
“The feathers are larger than the feathers on the wings of a true phoenix,” Malfoy said, allowing the change of subject, although his eyes still lingered on Harry in a way that said he wished they could do something else. Harry turned his head to the side and stared out the enchanted window again, while the wings strained against the binding spell. “And warmer, too. Most people report only a slight heat when they touch a phoenix, unless they frighten it or the bird is on the verge of rebirth. But yours are warm enough that it’s not uncomfortable for you to go without a robe, is it?”
“I’m only going without a robe because of the position they put me in,” Harry snapped, and the wings spread out to the sides without his permission. Only a quick spell from Malfoy rescued the vials they knocked down.
“Of course,” Malfoy said. “But it means that you’re not shivering.”
Harry shrugged. “We knew about the heat already. Have you discovered any theories for why Rosier’s spell might have changed me this way instead of roasting me or sparing me?” He cast another binding spell, ruthlessly stuffing the wings under it when they tried to pinwheel open in objection.
“I think it passed into your magical core,” Malfoy said. “The Shield Charm probably had nothing to do with it. And in your core, or in your soul, if you like, the spell discovered traits that allowed it to make the transformation.”
“Traits?” Harry caught Malfoy’s eye in his reflection in the window.
“Honesty,” Malfoy said. “Integrity. That desire to do the right thing you spoke of.”
Harry shook his head, slowly. “I’m not that honest. And I rejoiced in Hyperion Rosier’s death, and I killed Voldemort, and I’ve done plenty of things that I’m not proud of.”
“But you do more right things than someone else, on the average,” Malfoy said quietly. “As far as I know, this spell has never been cast on someone who saved the world from a Dark Lord before, or died a sacrificial death.” He paused. “I think it’s the death that’s most important, myself. It gives you another similarity to a phoenix.”
Harry winced. He hated to think about it that way, but Malfoy might be right. “All right. Any information on how to get rid of them?”
Malfoy stepped towards him the way he had in Harry’s house yesterday, the blurring motion that was much faster than it looked. He reached out and caressed Harry’s wing again, and Harry answered with the same soft sound, his head tilting back before he could stop himself. Malfoy’s other hand caressed his throat.
“Consider keeping them,” Malfoy whispered into his ear, breath hotter than the constant simmer at Harry’s back. “From what I can find, it may already be too late to get rid of them without great pain. You could simply regrow them if you cut them off. If you can fly-”
“I can,” Harry said, and then cursed himself. He hadn’t meant to tell Malfoy that. He blamed the stroking of the bastard’s hand, and moved away, mantling nervously, his wings standing out stiff and straight against the force of the binding spell.
“You can?” Malfoy’s eyes were enormous when Harry glanced back at him, his voice breathless. “Can I see?”
Harry found himself swaying towards Malfoy without wanting to. His fascination with Harry was seductive, in a way. Only in a way. And he didn’t look at Harry as an embarrassment or a freak, the way Harry had thought most people would after he turned into a giant chicken. He wanted-
He wants things that you don’t want to give him.
Harry turned his head away, grinding his teeth and pinching one of the feathers near his neck to calm himself down. It hurt. The pain tugged him further away from the mistake he had almost made.
“Harry?” Malfoy, from the sound, stepped towards him.
“I have an appointment with Healer Redusson,” Harry blurted, which was true but not for a few hours, and ran out of the office. He heard something shatter, but Malfoy didn’t call after him in anger.
It would have been better if he had.
Harry slowed his run when he came into a side corridor that was empty and closed his eyes. He would have liked to lean back, but once again, he couldn’t because of the wings.
What Malfoy had expressed for him might be deeper than a quick, fun shag after all. The wings might be here to stay.
But Harry refused to accept that. His life had changed overnight twice: when he first learned that he was a wizard and when he defeated Voldemort. But he liked who he was now, he liked his life and the patterns that he had settled into. He refused to let something that had happened just yesterday, or the day before yesterday, take precedence for him and switch everything into a new kind of life.
I want them gone. And Malfoy will be, too, when he realizes that I don’t mean to keep them.
Chapter Eight.
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