Was it a trick of the light or an actual magical aura making Draco glow a little?
Harry had no idea but it didn't diminish the effect. At all. He decided it didn't matter and just... stared.
He didn't know what was more fascinating; the way Draco stood there, looking imposing but welcoming and a little self-conscious all at the same time. The large wings, which were a beautiful white with light golden feathers at the top and pale grey at the tips. Maybe it was just the radiating warmth of Veela magic that seemed to wrap around him and make him want to do... things.
Whatever it was, Harry had to consciously take a deep breath when he realized the spots blooming in front of his vision were from a lack of oxygen because he actually forgot to breathe.
He didn't think Draco would actually have wings; he thought wings were things of fantasy in cheesy romance novels that catered to witches and their Veela-based fantasies. Or just overly dramatized myth. But there they were—nearly brushing the ceiling and too real to be questioned. He wanted to touch but he didn't know if that would be allowed. Or maybe it would be harmful; a brief flash of memory about not touching a bird's wings or feathers surfaced for a moment.
"Wow," Harry whispered, sucking in another deep breath, completely awed. "Fuck," he murmured, mostly to himself, as his eyes continued to flick around trying to see everything at once. He stood up and inched forward, when Draco didn't move, either to back away or stop him, he ran a hand over one pale gold wing. Oh, Merlin, it was so soft! He quickly pulled his hand away when the wing flicked sharply, the feathers spreading out briefly, and Draco shuddered.
He stepped back, eyes glued to the way the wings flexed outwards with a grand sweeping motion of feathers and then arched upwards, spreading out. The feathers along the top lifted, puffing out a little, and almost looking fluffy now. He had no idea if it was a defensive move or an aggressive one. (Would Draco react like that towards his Mate?) Maybe the Veela was preening? Draco's expression was hard to read and he knew nothing about... er... wing language to help him sort it all out. His memories of Hedwig's body language was fuzzy and he didn't even know if it would apply, anyway.
Harry offered a sheepish smile, tucking his arms behind his back and squeezing his hands together tightly so he didn't reach out again. He didn't want to have this go wrong so soon. "I'm sorry."
Draco shook his head, and took a few deep breathes, trying to calm himself down. Merlin, how did he explain the touch hadn't hurt or was in any way unpleasant? It was indescribable; pleasure, awe, heat... It was all of those and more—a sensory overload. It was all so new and foreign to him, he honestly hadn't known what to expect. His wings had moved without conscious thought or effort on his part. A part of him apparently knew he wanted to show off, display for Harry, but he wasn't entirely sure.
He took another few deep breaths, closing his eyes and trying to center himself. He was still thrumming and prickly-hot all over. Now was really not the time to pounce on Harry... Even if the wizard looked like he wouldn't object. It was, regrettably, too soon.
"No," Draco finally said, opening his eyes and giving Harry a small, reassuring, smile. He really wanted to wrap his fingers around Harry's wrist and pull him closer. Maybe trace his Bonding cuff with the more delicate feathers of his wings—for whatever reason. But he refrained. For now. "It's fine. It just... felt really good," he admitted.
Harry nodded slowly, eyes focused on the still tense Veela. His eyes roamed from Draco's face to the still arched up wings. They were beautiful, magnificent really, and he wasn't feeling intimidated or at all concerned to have Draco practically towering over him. Even with his claws still out and the thick magical aura surrounding him. It actually felt nice. He took a moment to enjoy the sensation before looking at back at Draco's face.
"Is that—" He pointed behind Draco, indicating his wing positioning, "—normal?" He wanted to move closer and touch them again, but he didn't want to do something inadvertently inappropriate.
"I really don't know," Draco admitted, giving Harry another small smile—it was sheepish and awkward this time. "I never got a chance to speak with my father about this... aspect."
It hadn't come up previously, most of his conversations with his father about Veela had been about their history, strength of his new-found magic that came with being Veela and how to recognize one's mate—not what to do once he'd had them, though. He was quite sure he would've been mortified to speak about such things as displaying and mating rituals but it almost would have been preferable over complete ignorance.
Especially now that he was presenting to his mate. He was relieved that Harry looked suitably impressed, however. He hadn't known how Harry would react. He couldn't quell the urge to preen when Harry looked him over again. He felt his wings shift again, stretching out and rising over his head again. Harry was staring again, appreciation and desire plain on his face and in his body language. It would certainly make thing a lot easier...
Harry nodded again and inched closer. He didn't like Lucius, there had been too much bad history there to think he ever would've (he was a little ashamed to realize he was a little grateful he wouldn't have to worry about that issue since the man was dead). He did feel bad for Draco, though; not having his father around to help him. This all had to be so confusing right now. He didn't think he was making things any easier because he was just as ignorant of what should (or would) happen right now.
He was close enough to gently lay a hand on Draco's arm, rubbing it in a soft, soothing manner. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine," Draco said shortly. Harry's touch wasn't exactly soothing, even if he knew that was Harry's intent. He couldn't ask him to stop though, not when he was looked at with understanding and a little sadness. He tried to wave off Harry's concern, mainly because he hadn't intended to bring the mood down with mentions of his father. He stood straighter, making a noise in the back of his throat, when Harry's hand slid up and caressed his wing again, moving along the strong bones and feathers at the top of his wing, as if he couldn't help himself.
He couldn't suppress a shiver and his wings, involuntarily, arched higher and then curled slightly, brushing against Harry's shoulder gently. He leaned in, going with the urge, needing to be closer.
"Holy shit," Harry muttered, shuddering almost violently as soft feathers swept upwards and brushed along the edge of his jaw and along his neck. Was it normal to be so affected by a Veela's wings? Was it because he was Draco's mate? He didn't know but he sure as hell liked it, regardless. Draco was looking at him warily and he smiled, "It's OK," he said, realizing the blonde was waiting for a reaction. Or he'd misinterpreted his reaction as anything less than feeling amazing and... tingly.
Draco couldn't help the relieved smile. He finally noticed the tinge of pink on Harry's cheeks and neck. The dilated pupils. The way Harry was breathing. The way Harry's body angled towards him. Oh. His wings fluttered (apparently now demonstrating his pleasure without his conscious thought) brushing along Harry's neck and shoulder again, ruffling his messy hair briefly. He crooned softly when Harry shuddered and swayed closer. Now that Harry was closer, Draco could smell the effect he was having as well as see it.
Oh, this was all very good.
"How OK?" he asked cheekily, concentrating and drawing his wing lightly down Harry's upper arm.
Harry's eyes slowly opened and trailed over the Veela as he licked his lips with a quick, darting sweep of his tongue. They were suddenly quite dry... "Very."
Draco grinned and stepped closer, focusing on his wings and deliberately drawing one, gently, down Harry's side and making it wrap around the wizard's waist. He hadn't realized his wings were so agile. And strong; he was able to pull Harry against his side with just a thought and small contraction. He didn't think now was the time to wonder at how dexterous his wings could be as well, how fine or delicately he could get the movements, but he couldn't help teasing his mate a little. Harry wasn't complaining and he appeared to be having a hard time keeping himself upright.
"What about now?"
Harry nodded blankly, swallowing with some effort. The caress was warm; both arousing and comforting at the same time. It was indescribable and he only knew he wanted more. "Fuck," he muttered, unable to think of anything else to say when feathers gently slid down his chest, pausing a fraction of a second at his navel before sweeping away. Draco didn't look put-out, though. Matter-of-fact, the Veela looked downright smug. Naturally, he couldn't just stand there and allow that...
He gently grabbed the closest wing and slid his fingers through the larger feathers, the ones that were tipped dove-grey, wiggling his fingers gently. He watched Draco closely and gave his own smug smile when there was a full-body shudder and a soft crooning moan as pale eyelids flickered closed over darkened silvery eyes. Well, that was encouraging.
"Is this OK?" Harry asked quietly, running his palms along the broad feathers with a gentle caress that had Draco's wings fluttering gently and the Veela sucking in a quick breath. They were so soft but he knew, somehow, they could become sharp as razors or even be used protectively like a living shield. Fleur had said something about that, anyway; that a Veela's wings were more than just for show.
"No," Draco said, struggling with the answer and the ability to speak. Harry's hand immediately retreated and Draco grabbed his wrist, his thumb making soft circles over the still jumping pulse-point. He pulled Harry close, tucking him under his arm and wrapping him in his arms and wings. He hated that he'd been misunderstood and his short answer had his mate pulling away.
He gently nuzzled Harry's hair, not-so-subtly inhaling a lungful of the familiar scent. "I didn't mean it bothers me," he said softly, looking at Harry intently. He was trying to convey his thoughts without having to speak, but Harry was only looking up at him with his eyes slightly wide with confusion and absolutely not helping his resolve at all. He really did not like all of the uncertainty, especially if it made Harry pull away.
"It's very... arousing," Draco finally said, almost muttering it. It was slightly embarrassing; he didn't normally have to say such things aloud... "And I— We're not ready for things to progress." He didn't think he'd be able to rein in his instincts past a certain point and neither of them were ready to consummate their union. Soon, but not now. He was deeply regretful he had to stop and he hoped if he managed to keep from fully displaying, if there could be... explorations without fear of going too far.
He really hoped Harry would be amenable to that. Later, of course.
Harry felt his entire face warm, Draco's implication clear. "Right," he said with a nod. It made sense there would be a defined order to things. As much as he was affected by his Veela in full display, he knew they weren't quite at the point of... full consummation. Yet. He felt ready (oh, Merlin, very ready), but he had yet to give Draco is Bonding cuff or any of the other gifts he'd planned to give Draco over the time they waited for the Bonding cuff to be crafted.
He pulled back and slowly brought his hands up to cup Draco's face. He stared, a little mesmerized and fascinated he was looking at Draco Malfoy and the only thing he wanted to do was kiss him. So he did; Draco didn't back away or refuse him either. Wings wrapped around him again. It was warm and sweet, making his pulse jump with heat and something better than desire.
Draco crooned softly, running his hands gently down Harry's sides and sliding them around his waist, his fingers splaying over the small of Harry's back. He just needed to hold Harry close for a few moments, until the raw feeling subsided and he could bear to part with his mate. It was probably because he was in full Veela mode he was unable to suppress that urge like he normally could. Harry didn't seem to mind, so he enjoyed the moment.
He felt a puff of breath against his neck, and he could feel Harry's lips moving, but he was unable to hear what was said. "What was that?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. He knew Harry felt something too... But he didn't want to think his imagination was making him hear things.
"I think—" Harry paused, feeling nervous and shy all of a sudden. He hadn't meant to say anything and he was a little worried Draco would think he'd been influenced... "Will you displaying affect me... emotionally?"
Draco could only shake his head, unable to speak around the heavy lump in his throat for a few moments. He swallowed a few times until he could croak out a soft, but audible, "No."
"Oh," Harry whispered and tucked his face into Draco's neck. He felt silly for asking but he had just wanted to make sure that feeling of love hadn't been influenced or manufactured. But it wasn't; he genuinely loved Draco and it felt like being smacked with a bludger when he was able to identify it for what it was. He knew Draco had a very good idea of what he was feeling because his eyes were practically blazing with emotion. Did he say it now or wait until— "I love you."
Oh. Well. It seemed it was now. He watched Draco blink rapidly and he was suddenly enveloped in white and warmth again. He hummed with contentment, happy to stay where he was forever.
"And I love you," Draco whispered, unable to believe he'd heard those words already. He knew Harry cared about him and even felt affection for him (it wasn't hard to see it, Harry wore his heart on his sleeve and in his eyes). But love? It was almost too good to be true and he slowly loosened his hold on Harry, needing to see.
"Since when?"
He felt wretched asking such a question... What sort of mate questions the love they can feel radiating towards them? He was mostly curious when it came to be, not that it existed, and he was relieved to see that's how Harry took the question: as mere curiosity and not suspicion.
"Well," Harry said slowly, snuggling against Draco's chest and humming with contentment when he was held close without a second thought. "I don't really know," he said honestly, unable to think of a particular time or instance. He almost wished it was like in books or movies: he'd feel a whammy or something and just knowthe moment it happened. But it wasn't that simple; it was just... there.
Draco just nodded, absently rubbing a hand along Harry's upper arm. He was pleased beyond words that his feelings were returned, even if he didn't exactly know how to show it. It just wasn't something he knew how to do. He was a little surprised he hadn't choked on returning the words, quite honestly.
His hand paused by Harry's elbow and he made a conscious effort to push the wizard away. "I don't think I can do this."
"What?" Harry blinked rapidly, confused. He couldn't read Draco's expression but his wings were... droopy. Maybe he'd been pressing too close and temping the Veela past his comfort levels? He hadn't meant to; he knew they had to wait for anything sexual to occur, but he didn't think there was anything wrong with holding each other. He felt tension slowly settle in his shoulders and back when Draco shifted away, sitting down on the sofa and refused to meet his eyes. The Veela seemed to shimmer and melt away, disappearing like a mirage until it was just Draco sitting there, stiff and tense.
He couldn't believe— Was Draco changing his mind about their Bonding? What would that meant for the Veela? Could he even do that? He wanted to get closer, maybe sprawl himself across Draco's lap, and demand answers. But he couldn't move, he was stunned and reduced to just staring at Draco and willing him to explain.
Draco firmly avoided looking at Harry. It felt like a punch to the sternum to realize he would disappoint his mate—Harry. Eventually. And most likely repeatedly. He wasn't a demonstrative man, he'd never really learned how to be; he'd been taught the opposite, actually. He'd been trained since he could remember that showing any emotion or hint of his true thoughts was a sign of weakness, something that someone of his station and breeding just didn't do. He never had a firm grasp on the whole thing, especially around his parents, but he'd always tried his best to seem aloof and unmoved.
Harry had always been an exception, though. Since he'd met the wizard, he'd never managed to keep himself from reacting to him; even if it had been negative for a majority of their relationship. He didn't think years of letting a sneer or a scowl slip past his efforts of a calm exterior counted in the ways that would be important now.
Sure, he didn't mind when Harry twisted their fingers together and held his hand but he never reached first. Hugging was another oddity that Harry always had to initiate first. He never understood how some people could go around hugging all the time, but when Harry would tuck himself under his arms and press close, he sort of got it. Not that he went around hugging people now; just Teddy and Harry. Hermione snuck a few in on occasion, as well, when the witch knew he wasn't going to object.
Draco had no issues kissing Harry, but that wasn't entirely intimate; Harry hadn't put up any resistance and he did enjoy pulling the wizard close for chaste pecks and mind-melting snogging sessions. That sort of thing was easy, for the most part and it was one of the few times he would be able to let what he was feeling out.
Harry deserved someone that would adore him, openly, and return the kind of love and affection that practically oozed from the wizard when he was around those he loved and cared about. Harry deserved it, plain and simple. And as comfortable as he'd gotten with being less reserved around Harry (and Teddy), he didn't have confidence that he'd ever be able to fully reciprocate. He knew he didn't have the sort of strength to leave Harry, not now that he'd found him and he knew Harry loved him as well. But he didn't think he could be what he needed, either.
It was confusing and it was starting to make his head and chest ache.
"Draco?"
Draco's head snapped up, immediately alerted by the choked voice. Shit. He was already failing miserably at this beloved business. His hands clenched together and he didn't know what to do to sooth Harry. "Yes?"
"What did you mean..." Harry trailed off, unable to finish. He just looked at Draco. He was glad Hermione and Teddy weren't home so if he had a completely immature break-down that might possible involve tears or something equally embarrassing, there were fewer witnesses. He didn't relish doing it in front of Draco either, but he felt a little petty at the moment and didn't care if the blonde saw how upset he was. Draco kind of deserved it for pushing him away and saying something like that, like everything that had happened between them was suddenly a big mistake.
Draco cleared his throat. He knew exactly how his words sounded and at the time he meant them. However, looking at Harry's stricken face and feeling the urge to comfort was a revelation. He looked down at his hands. They were twitching a little, most likely with the urge to grab Harry and stroke him with reassuring touches. It was... odd and not something he was expecting. He looked back up at Harry and offered a small, rueful smile.
"I'm shit at being open, Harry."
"I know."
Draco scowled a little. He had honestly expected a little more disagreement...
Harry smiled a little, oddly comforted by the indignant expression wrinkling Draco's forehead and making his mouth pull down. "I know you, Draco. I know you aren't all lovey-dovey and all that rubbish." He slowly sat on the other end of the sofa from Draco.
Draco's scowl deepened and he shifted closer as soon as Harry settled. He didn't blame the wizard for sitting so far away but he didn't like the distance, even if he did deserve it.
"Doesn't that bother you?" He watched Harry carefully and was disheartened to see a suspicious sheen cover Harry's eyes before he looked away. He waited for criticism or maybe an angry demand for the proper treatment someone labeled 'beloved' deserved. Instead, Harry merely shrugged one shoulder and rubbed the heel of his palm into his eye as he looked away.
"A little," Harry admitted, picking at a pill on the sofa cushion. He slowly looked back at Draco, "But I don't think it'll always be like that. I mean, when we first started getting to know each other, I never would have imagined I'd ever see a smile on your face," he teased. "Or that you'd let me hold your hand. Or that you'd sit on the floor and play with Teddy." He smiled warmly at Draco; he treasured that memory. It was the first time he saw Draco playing with Teddy's Muggle toys without a fleeting look of bemusement or making a subtly rude comment.
"I don't know, Harry," Draco murmured, feeling a trickle of hope anyway. Harry had a point; he had changed. Learned. Of course, it hadn't happened overnight, but he barely thought twice about letting himself smile or show small signs of affection—in the privacy of Harry's home, at least.
He even warmed up around Hermione and once the witch showed him open kindness, he would let his Malfoy-ness (as Harry had taken to calling it) crack, offering her a smile or not kicking up a fuss when Harry would hold his hand or other touches in front of her. He'd been extremely embarrassed Hermione caught them on the floor that time, after the fact and he'd been in his right mind again, but she hadn't mentioned it again past making sure they kept touching regularly to keep it from happening again.
"I'll probably never be comfortable with excessive displays in public," Draco said, thinking about the couples he'd see staring lovingly at each other and making gooey eyes at each other over sundaes as they spoon fed each other. It was a little revolting, honestly, and he really hoped Harry wouldn't expect such displays in the future. Holding hands or sitting closer than politely acceptable was one thing, but he didn't think he'd ever get to the point of being an outright Hufflepuff, Veela instincts or not.
Harry snorted and patted Draco's knee. "I really don't mind that, Draco. I'm not exactly into that sorta thing, either." Draco will touch him in public, but the contact was always chaste, even if somehow still intimate. Draco's hand would settle on the small of his back as they walk through doors or he'd let his hand rest on Harry's knee when sitting down to eat. Anything overt would probably make him nervous or tense, expecting gawking and whispering.
"I'm sorry," Draco finally said, feeling foolish. He hated that he made Harry doubt (and almost cry) but he was actually relieved he'd brought it up. Even if he should have done it in a better way. He covered the hand on his knee with his own and was reassured more than words could ever express when Harry's hand turned and slotted their fingers together. It was brief, Harry letting go almost immediately, but it still was reassuring. "I didn't think before I said something stupid."
Harry chuckled, finally letting his shoulders relax. "I think it'll happen a lot," he said with a small smirk. "For both of us," he added. He was pretty sure Draco wouldn't be the only one to say something dumb, blurting something out before thinking. He could appreciate the urge to run away when it got difficult, but he didn't often give in to that temptation. And he'd try to get Draco into that habit as well, if he could.
"Just—" He shifted closer and tentatively reached out for Draco's hand again. He smiled when Draco was quick to slot their fingers together this time and give a squeeze. "Just, say something instead of closing up or running off? I really think we can work out whatever comes our way but only if we try to sort it out."
"Alright," Draco murmured, rubbing his thumb along Harry's knuckles. "That would be a new thing for me, as well." He nearly blurted something about not being a foolhardy Gryffindor, but he didn't. He knew rushing into things was second nature to Harry, but that ended with feelings and such for him as well. He knew enough about Harry to know he was just as unfamiliar with the talking and sharing thing, but he was filled with a sense of determination that was just a part of him. So, Draco would be too.
Harry hummed and moved until he was against Draco's side again. He smiled as he was man-handled until he was tucked under Draco's arm, their linked hands resting against his chest. "Me as well, but I think we can do it."
.|.
Harry watched, quietly, as Hermione paced in his kitchen. Her hands were flying about her head and she was making inarticulate sounds of anger every few turns. He'd tried to get her to sit and calm down, but she hadn't been able to keep seated or still for more than a handful of seconds before she was up and raving again.
He sighed, his eyes drifting down to the table top and this morning's The Daily Prophet; the cause of all the upheaval that was still playing out. He actually liked the picture taking up most of the front page. It was a lovely, candid moment—even if was taken without his permission and a gross violation of his (and Draco's) privacy. He was reluctantly impressed that someone had managed to charm a short video, taken on a Muggle mobile, into a wizarding photo so it could grace the front page.
He was staring at photo-Draco's soft, barely-there smile, fighting the urge to sigh like a love-sick fool, when he was drawn from his thoughts by a sharp smack on his shoulder. "Ow! 'Mione!" He rubbed at his shoulder, pooching out his bottom lip.
"You're spacing out again!" Hermione huffed, tucking her arms against her chest and glaring at Harry indignantly. "I don't care if it's a nice photo, it's— It's a—" She cut herself off with a aggravated sound, her hands coming untucked and balling into fists. She whirled around, unable to finish her thought, and went back to pacing.
Harry nodded dutifully, folding the paper and turning it over so he wouldn't be distracted again by the lovely picture of Draco smiling and looking absolutely gorgeous. He knew Narcissa and Teddy were in the photo as well, on the periphery, but he really could only see Draco. He figured it was his growing Bond with the Veela.
"It's a violation," he supplied for her, watching her pace and sputter. Hermione lost for words wasn't something he'd witnessed often at all.
"Yes!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up. "A violation! And one that shouldn't be taken lightly, Harry." She viciously jabbed a finger towards the paper, scowling darkly. Harry was surprised she hadn't wandlessly cast an Incendio with her glare alone. "This could be very bad—not just for you, but for Draco!"
Harry nodded. He was aware of that. It was really the only thing that kept him from scoffing, cutting out the picture for a scrapbook and just ignoring the whole mess. He slowly turned the paper over and sighed softly as the headline practically shimmied across the page in something that could almost be described as ecstasy.
Draco Malfoy: Veela? Claiming the Boy-Who-Lived as his Mate? was in bold, four inch high letters.
The article underneath was full of questions (barely phrased as questions and more like accusations) about Draco's possible Veela heritage. Reading further, a brief synopsis of their 'history'; from Hogwarts to just after the war. And then proclaimed, proudly, the suspicion that Harry was the Veela's destined life mate. (He wasn't able to stifle at laugh at the article's heavy insinuation at the complete irony of such a thing—he agreed, even though it pleased him thoroughly.) Why else would Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter be sitting together, calmly and what could be called intimately, at a café and making doe eyes at each other? (Which, OK, maybe Harry was guilty of doing just that, but he was sure no one would recognize the look in Draco's eyes as 'doe-eyed' unless they knew him well.)
It wasn't even the only time they'd gone out together, but it didn't surprise him that they'd be 'caught' in one of the more intimate outings they'd had. It should probably piss him off that the good mood of his shopping trip with Narcissa (and part of Teddy's face) was now displayed for everyone to see.
Of course, it was all true. The fact it was there in black and white made him uneasy. He knew Draco hadn't been public about his Veela blood; none of the Malfoys, for generations, had let the information out of the family. He felt terrible to be the one that ruined everything. They hadn't even Bonded properly and they were already the topic of gossip. He groaned softly, unsure what affect this would have on everything.
"I swear, I should've crushed her when I had the chance," Hermione hissed, eyes narrowed and her fist clenching tightly as if she had Beetle Rita Skeeter in her palm. She could only imagine Draco's reaction; there was a reason he hadn't made his Veela heritage known, for Merlin's sake. To be ousted like this...! She didn't have words for how angry it made her, for both Harry and Draco.
Harry cleared his throat, uncomfortable with a blood-thirsty Hermione. Merlin help the poor sod that leaked the story if Hermione got her hands on them... "Please calm down, 'Mione. It's really not good for the baby," he said quietly.
"I need tea," Hermione said without acknowledging Harry's comment, and whirled around to make herself busy. Her magic was wonky these days and doing it the Muggle way would give her something to focus on, so she didn't mind. By the time she was setting two mugs on the table, pushing one towards Harry, she hadn't calmed much. "I'll kill him," she muttered and blew on her tea.
Harry's mug stopped halfway to his mouth. "Who?" he asked slowly. He suddenly got a very bad feeling in his gut when Hermione's head raised slowly and she gave him a humorless smile before grimacing with something akin to guilt. Her gaze lowered back to her tea, watching the steam curl up.
"My lovely husband," Hermione said through clenched teeth. Harry made a strange sort of noise and she looked up. She sighed, nodding sadly when Harry gaped at her. "Why do you think I'm here so early?" she asked, carefully sipping at her tea.
She'd been sleeping poorly the past week or so, trying to get comfortable as her belly grew, and shuffled down to the kitchen for some tea. She was surprised to see Ron up, a steaming mug in front of him as he read a letter. Her suspicious nature, not normally directed at her spouse, was immediately piqued when he tried to hide the parchment the moment he heard her enter the kitchen.
She was faster than Ron gave her credit for and had the parchment in her hand in seconds, her eyes flicking over the words printed there. Naturally, her suspicion grew when she realized it was a Gringott's statement. Why would Ron hide this? Well, that confusion lasted only until she actually looked and saw a large deposit in their account.
All it took was a glare and shaking the parchment, Ronald blinking rapidly at her as he tried to think of a good excuse. She couldn't imagine where the money had come from; Ron never got bonuses that large. It hadn't taken much for Ronald to blurt out the entire thing.
It all boiled down to one thing: He'd sold his friend out for 10,000 Galleons. It still made her hands shake with anger when she thought about it.
"He thought he was helping," she said with a snort. Ronald was smarter than that, they both knew it, but it was the only reason she'd been able to get out of her husband. Well, that, and they could use the money. He even had the nerve to eye her growing stomach meaningfully.
Harry sagged in his chair. "How? This won't help anyone, least of all me."
Hermione nodded sadly. "I know that, Harry. He seemed to think it was helping. I think he thinks you're... not thinking clearly," she offered hesitantly, shrugging sheepishly. Ron had said as much whenever the subject of Harry and Draco came up. He'd insist Harry was being manipulated or flat-out lied to. Or doped with a potion. He still didn't believe Draco was Veela and simply used the excuse to get Harry's sympathies.
It was so ridiculous she hadn't been able to speak. Ron, of course, had taken it for her agreement and nodded understandingly at her, reaching out to take her hand. When she felt her hands itching to grab her wand, she left; it was that or hex her husband into next week. As thick as he was being, she didn't fancy being a single parent.
"Huh?"
Hermione sighed softly. This wasn't a new issue and she really wished Ronald would grow the hell up and visit Harry and Draco with her once in awhile. He'd see the Draco she had come to know and enjoy being around. He'd see with his own eyes how Draco interacted with Harry and Teddy, the warmth and love he practically oozed the moment Harry was in his sight. And, of course, how Draco got on with her. She was reasonably sure Draco would be polite to her stubborn husband, even if Ronald didn't return the favor.
She just didn't understand how Ron could think it was a story or an act to get in Harry's good graces (or his pants).
"He doesn't believe Draco is a Veela," Hermione said. Harry stared, absolutely gobsmacked. He'd been unaware of that. "Nothing I say convinces him."
Harry fought down the urge to blush, remembering very clearly that Draco was indeed a Veela. He had witnessed it first-hand himself. As much as he wanted to share that information, merely to offer confirmation mind, he didn't at the same time. He felt... protective of his Veela, er, Draco; almost possessive. And very unwilling to share such intimate details. And Hermione wasn't the one that needed convincing, anyway.
But he really had no intention of having Draco 'prove himself' to Ronald Weasley, either. He refused to allow anyone else to see the Veela... Well. Unless they were about to be attacked by an enraged Draco, completely displayed in anger. It was quite an arousing thought. Which, surprisingly, wasn't as worrisome a reaction to have (as he might've thought it would've been a few weeks ago). And as tense as things had been with Ron recently, he didn't wish that on his friend.
"What are you thinking?" Hermione asked, looking at the contemplative expression on Harry's face.
Harry startled and willed himself not to blush. "Nothing. I just didn't know Ron was being that big an arse."
"Well, he is," Hermione said shortly as she stood and went back to her slightly-waddling pacing. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be doing this here."
Harry waved a hand at her. "It's fine, 'Mione." As much as he didn't want to see Hermione stressed out, he knew she'd be worse if she hadn't left. He could only imagine how angry she'd had to have been to've left instead of having it out with Ron. "Is there any convin—"
They both started and turned wide-eye towards the kitchen door as it slammed open, the room suddenly filled with an enraged Draco. Harry fancied he could see the shimmering outline of stiffly arched wings. There was probably something a little wrong with him when a shiver of heat went through him.
"Draco?"
Draco stalked into the kitchen, nodding curtly at Hermione as he entered, and slammed a copy of The Daily Prophet on the table. "Have you seen this?" he demanded. It wasn't clear whom he was addressing, but as usual, Harry threw himself at the danger in the room.
"Yes," Harry said quietly, staring at the paper instead of looking at Draco.
He didn't know what to do and he flicked his gaze up at Hermione helplessly as he started to wring his hands in his lap. Was this enough to have the Bonding jeopardized? Delayed? Would Draco want to hide away in the Manor for a few years until the fervor died down? He could read nothing but anger from the blonde and he was genuinely nervous (and starting to get a little scared if he was honest with himself).