Draco Malfoy was thirty-one years old. He had worked hard to build up a new reputation for his family name. Lucius had given Draco this responsibility with a firm handshake and a cloud of dust as he and his wife left for Italy, never to come home again. He was a good curse-breaker, he had written a few potion articles and he gave to charity. He had also shagged Harry Potter every night for the last week, but that was not common knowledge, yet.
Draco was officially eighth part Veela, but there was no way to tell for sure – magical genes were always playing tricks on wizard genealogists. The Veela in Draco was a genetic legacy given to him by lines of pureblood wizards feeling more pure when mixing blood with humanlike magical beasts. He had not inherited the wings or the transformation to a bird when angry, thank Merlin, but he had feelings.
Lucius should really have thought it through before he married Narcissa. To marry the only blond girl in five generations from a pureblood family named Black; he had all but asked for it. The result of their union, Draco, had been suffering from feelings ever since early childhood. Usually it was just a general bitchiness, possessiveness and self-admiration – all quite common Malfoy and Black traits, so that was no bother.
This morning the feelings had come again, but in a completely different way. Draco had realised this as he stood in Harry’s kitchen staring down at the slightly burned things he just had taken out of the oven. He had cleaned the git’s bathroom earlier too, and it was only half passed eight, on a Saturday. Draco was wearing his pyjama pants and a apron, his feet were bare. He was so hot that it felt like a high fever, but his mind was clear.
“Fuck,” he sighed.
He was nesting. Draco had been warned that something like this could happen, though it had never been sure that the occasion would ever arise. When veelas find the one they decide to spend of their life with, their mate, they start to make a home together. Pure-blooded veelas usually built a tree house of twigs and sticks, or something absurd like that – Draco didn’t care. What he cared about was that Harry was not his boyfriend, nor was he what one would call a lover, and if Draco started nesting now…
Merlin, Harry would probably freak out and run away. It was way too soon to ask for something as permanent as “for life”. They had only hooked up seven days ago on that Auror case of Harry’s with the haunted house and whatnot. They had barely talked for ten years before that. It was only supposed to have been a one-night-stand, but somehow it had evolved to a one-week-stand. Every morning Draco had left for work with the intention never to return, only to find himself back wrapped around Harry’s naked body about eight hours later. And now he knew why…
“Fuck,” he repeated
He had to take it slow and force his instincts and desires not to push. With all the other pressure Harry had had to endure though his life, he certainly did not need to be pushed into a relationship with a magic creature. Draco would not die if Harry rejected him, but from what he had heard, it would take quite a long, miserable and painful time to recover enough to find a new mate…
“Draco?” a sleepy voice yawned behind him. “Are you baking?”
“I just couldn’t sleep,” Draco crossed his arms nonchalantly, turning a leaning against the counter. “You snore,” he said fixing his trained features to a mocking smirk.
“I’m sorry,” Harry blushed all the way down his bare chest, Draco looked away. “You could have put a silence charm on me. I don’t mind.”
“It would have woken you up,” Draco looked at the floor beside Harry’s bare feet, it was beginning to get really hot in the kitchen. “You are more sensitive to magic when you are asleep…”
“You noticed that?” Harry smiled and walked over to the stove, taking one of the burned things, smelling it curiously. “I didn’t know you could bake. What is it? Crumpets?”
“Scones…” he could feel tears pricking beginning his eyes as he breathed in Harry’s close scent. Stupid hormones
“Oh!” Harry bit into the cake, it shattered in crumbs over his lips, morning stubble and fingers. “It’s… good…” he chewed. “Little salty, perhaps with some cheese…”
“Don’t bother… I’ll Evanescate them,” Draco raised his wand.
“No, I like them. Thank you,” he gave Draco a quick kiss on the cheek, leaving a trail of crumbs behind that Draco quickly brushed away. “Have you made tea?”
Draco’s traitorous veela heart skipped a beat at he realised that he had not fulfilled one of his chosen mate’s needs. His legs felt a bit wobbly and he had to grab hold of the counter not to stumble. Harry hurried forward and grabbed hold of his arm.
“Are you all right?” Harry sounded really concerned. “You must be exhausted. We were up late, and you were… ehrrm… pretty vigorous. You can’t have slept much. I… I noticed that you alphabetized and colour-coordinated the bathroom…” he led Draco to a chair. “If I did not know you better I would say it was a not so subtle hint about my cleaning. “He gave Draco an accusing look.
“Like you could get a non-subtle hint,” gruffed Draco against his will. Don’t make him angry, stupid!
“I don’t mind, you know… I know I’m a bit unorganized.”
“Ha!” Draco could not hold the mocking remark in, hormones or not. “You’re a complete mess, you are lucky to have…” he put a hand over his mouth. Me.
“Nothing. Where is my tea?”
“Oh, hold on.”
Harry walked over to the sink to get water. Draco sighed. Suddenly he realised that he was holding a wooden ladle in his hand. Where did that come from? Fuck, he thought. I’m doing it! I’m collecting sticks!
How was he going to do this? His veela feelings were screaming at him to make a home for himself with this man. But how do you court someone who you secretly admired your whole life? A man that you already slept with several times every night for a week? On that first night Draco had said ”Don’t think that this means something, Potter. I just want to a fuck.” It had been mutual. Draco knew now why he was coming back, but why was Harry letting him? For the sex? His thoughts were interrupted by a cup of hot tea standing before him.
“It’s like you have moved in,” laughed Harry seating himself next to Draco. “Our first weekend breakfast…” he sighed, cupping his own cup between his hands. “This is moving so fast.” He laughed.
“Wha…” Draco froze.
“Not that I mind, really… Surprisingly, I like having you around. But it’s so fast… You don’t…” he quieted down, looking shamefully on his tea. “… have an ulterior motive, have you?”
“What?” Draco clenched his hands around the ladle, feeling it bending under the pressure.
“It’s just seems a little unlikely… that someone like you… would… with someone like me… Ron said you… were just using me… sexually. Or politically… I mean… we’ve never even been on a date. Don’t you want to be seen with me in public…?”
Harry breathed hard, like he had been fighting a battle with his own words as they came out from his mouth. He looked cute and vulnerable, glancing hopefully over his glasses to meet Draco’s eyes. The red blush was spreading down over Harry’s shoulders now. Draco definably had some kind of fever, it was not right he would get this warm just sitting still and listening.
“But then the day before…” Harry continued in a low voice. “You gave me those new soft bed sheets, when… when I said my…” he lowered his voice “… my arse shafted. And I thought that Ron was wrong… Because why would you do that to someone you just used…?”
“Harry…” Draco broke the ladle in two with a snap.
“And that huge potted plant you gave me yesterday… Why did you do that?”
“It… it was pretty.” Draco was doodling random runic patterns on the tabletop with the broken ladle Shit, this thing has been going on longer than I’ve been aware of. “I thought it would look good in the living room.”
“And today you are baking…”
“Draco… I know that this is really too soon… and, and I really don’t want to scare you away or anything…”
Harry was fiddling with his teacup on the table, turning it around in his hands. He looked so sweet and adorable that Draco’s veela heart missed another beat. This love, love?, could be dangerous to his health. Draco suddenly felt a very strange and strong urge to go up and make the bed, though he would probably mess that up to since he was crap at housework. He also wanted to cook Harry’s every meal for the rest of his life, sort out the closet, learn to knit and buy a puppy. Draco shook his head and tried to concentrate on what Harry was stuttering out.
“So, so, I want to tell you… that... that I have fallen for you.” He breathed out.
Draco just stared. Merlin, what the…
“So…” Harry summoned his wand. “…I’m going out on a limb here… Ramulis Amoris Donum!”
The next thing Draco knew his arms were full of a big bouquet of willow twigs tied together with a red satin bow. Little green spring leaves were already bursting though. Trembling Draco touched the soft white furry buds with his fingertips, they felt like down feathers. He could feel tears prickling in his eyes.
“You knew…” he whispered.
“I knew you were part veela,” Harry was kneeling on the floor, face still red but with hope and confidence in his eyes. “Hermione told me about the about the twigs…” He swallowed. “So what do you say?”
“Well…” Draco leaned forward and brushed some wayward crumbs of the side of Harry’s mouth. “Any man who’s brave enough to eat my cooking is worth holding on to.”
Harry laughed and lightly kissed his fingers. Draco smiled; he was already refurnishing the living room in his head.