Yes, I'm editing it. Again. Partially because it sucked, partially because it made no sense in the timeline of the books. Jeez, I hate my old stuff.

Hypothetically, if Draco Malfoy happened to be a veela, it shouldn't be Harry's problem. He'd lived through enough to make it unnecessary to add extra burdens to his already heavily stressed life, and honestly, a blonde eighteen year old exuding phermones on a five-minute cycle really shouldn't have anything to do with him at all.

Unfortunately, Lucius Malfoy, Narcissa Malfoy, and half the Wizengamot disagreed.

"…so Harry, do you understand your importance in this matter?" the headmistress finished. He looked at her with a flat look, staring head on into her sharp hazel eyes. He shrugged with a sigh, knowing he had no choice in the matter, and his eyes flickered across the room where Malfoy was slumped on the therapist-style bed conjured by McGonagall, shimmering white wings tucked across him like a blanket.

"Not really, but I'm too stupid to refuse, aren't I?" he answered, giving the unconscious veela a dirty look for all the trouble he was causing him. McGonagall seemed to almost sag foreword, massaging the crook of her pointed nose with an almost irritated expression.

"Mr. Potter, only you can watch over him. Make sure he gets food, make sure he sleeps—because sometimes veelas make it a habit of forgetting to. No one else is strong enough to fight him if anything happens and only you are strong enough to protect him," she ever-so-patiently explained. Harry nodded like he was supposed to, looking back at the still-sleeping Malfoy.

His hair looked even paler that usual and so did his face; his skin had taken on an almost silvery sheen that glittered in the right light. His eyes, when open (he'd seen it only once, and the blonde had been reaching at him with a wild gasp at the sight of his face), were perfectly normal, if one ignored the unusually lighter silver-blue pupil. He had slight points to his perfect toothpaste-white teeth, not sharp enough to be called fangs. His nails were five times harder as well, Harry had noted, when he scratched the brunette as he force-fed him the sleeping potion. He was beautiful, Harry supposed grudgingly. Any girl would fall for him in an instant.

"I still maintain Snape put you up to this," he snapped after his careful consideration of the blonde. Snape had been overly excited to give him the information via visit to the Fat Lady—and as he said it, the git had the audacity to smirk at him from his personal painting.

He knew it wasn't the ex-headmaster's fault, though—he knew that the initial order had come from Lucius and his wife, who was getting desperate. After the war, Harry had thought his troubles were over beside going back for seventh year. Everyone had been held back because of the lack of effective schooling the year before, the first-year class larger than normal, and classes were pleasantly ritual, but that was before the blonde's birthday, and everything had gone to hell. Again.

McGonagall threw her hands in the air, exhasperated. "Mr. Potter, you know as well as I do that this is for Mr. Malfoy's own good. Who else can be trusted to look after him? He deserves to be in school, and no one else is strong enough to look after him." Harry groaned, rubbing his face with his left hand.

"I know that," he sighed. "I don't want to, but I know that." Damn his savior heart. He knew that it wasn't his responsibility, knew that he was under no obligation to care for the blonde, but he also knew that Draco would suffer if he didn't.

He didn't have anything against the blonde, not anymore. After the final battle, he'd gotten a quiet apology and an even quieter thank you and one look at Draco's earnest—albeit embarrassed—grey eyes told him that he wasn't just saying it. He accepted it and they'd gone their separate way with the exception of a few half-hearted spats littered in between. It was more for a sense of normalcy, and Harry appreciated it, as well, knowing Malfoy probably felt the same way.

"Mr. Potter. Are you agreeing or not?" McGonagall already knew his answer, he could tell in her deep brown eyes.

"Yes," he answered with a roll of the eyes and walked over to the blonde without hesitation. He'd been introduced to his new room—normally saved specifically for the head boy or girl, hidden at the very top of Gryffindor tower—earlier that evening, before the veela shock. He hadn't been amused when McGonagall had given him that smile and sweetly told him who his roommate was going to be, however. They may have called a truce of sorts, but it didn't mean he wanted to deal with Malfoy day in and day out.

Leaning in to slide his arms under Malfoy's slim body, he wrinkled his nose in half-wonder, half-resentment. He smelled like a combonation of things—some sort of spice, flowers (though he didn't know enough to pinpoint what kind), and what was suspiciously close to honey. He lifted the blonde, instinctively juggling him a bit to get a better hold on the blonde, and was surprised when his wings ruffled before settling again over his arms and the blonde buried his nose in Harry's shoulder. He had a strong urge to drop the boy as he realized just how warm he was, and forced himself to ignore it.

Harry strugged, carrying the eighteen-year-old up and down several flights of stairs. He'd always known that Draco was a skinny thing, but after a while his arms got tired and he was honestly considering pulling out his wand and wingardium leviosa-ing the blonde to his room. He almost did, moving the set the teen down, but he made such a noise of discontent in his sleep as he barely touched the stone floor that Harry sighed and reasoned that they were nearly there anyway.

It took nearly twenty minutes to lug him there, no thanks to the hundred-fourty pound Slytherin dead weight in his arms, and when he did he took no time in conjuring another bed, though larger and more comfortable than the one in McGonagall's office, and placing the blonde on it, taking care not to jostle him too much. The sleeping potion was strong, but that's just what it was—a sleeping potion, and all it did was induce sleep. With the right amount of noise or discomfort, he could potentially wake and Harry prayed that he didn't accidentally trip onto something or otherwise waken the veela.

He looked around the room after covering the blonde in three decently thick quilts, giving it a good once over. It was okay, for a room—spacey, decorated in not so much red as gold. Part of the room was slowly changing from Gryffindor colors to Slytherin and Harry hoped that would be enough to appease him when he woke; while he knew Draco wouldn't like the situation any more than he did, he didn't need an especially bitchy Malfoy on his hands. A bitchy Malfoy was trouble enough.

His eyes went over to the blonde and he frowned as he watched him shiver, even under the quilts. He could recall reading somewhere that veelas, while very warm to the touch, got cold very easily at night and normally needed body heat to stay sufficiently heated. Harry tried not to groan out loud as he remembered that piece of information, moving to quickly change into his pajamas. When he'd done that, he walked over to the blonde and pulled the blankets away, drawing him back into his arms.

Malfoy gladly wrapped his arms around Harry's neck as he was carried to Harry's own king-sized bed, covered in a quilt of his own from Mrs. Weasley and scarlet sheets. He expected them to change to green and was glad when they didn't—he'd nothing against the color, but it was nice to see he took presidence over something.

He pulled the sheets back and set him down before re-covering him, sliding in from the other side. In his sleep, he pulled on Harry's shirt and Harry allowed him to draw himself closer, fitting the thin line of his body against the brunette's own. For a while, Draco's shivering calmed slightly though never quite going away and Harry squirmed just a bit closer, rubbing at Malfoy's back in an attempted to manually warm him up. It didn't work, and he threw a hand over his eyes, gritting his teeth.

Sitting up, he pulled off his button-up cotton pajama top, pulling the covers back once more just enough to pull Draco's t-shirt off, wicning when it was ripped entirely off. His wings had proved to be enough of a problem in clothing removal, and they would have to figure something out about that because he couldn't just go around shirtless all the time. It occurred to him shortly thereafter that he could have just magicked the shirt off, and sighed. Another thing for Malfoy to bitch about when he woke up.

He laid back down, letting Malfoy press every availible part of his upper body along Harry's, sliding his feet up Harry's pant leg to warm them at all. He was done shivering, Harry noted with a sigh of thanks to whomever was looking after him.

Harry didn't know just when he'd fallen asleep, Draco's almost uncomfortable presense becoming nothing more than pleasant warmth, but he did know the moment he'd woken, sunlight streaming from a large window on the far side of the room, filtering a healthy-looking glow on them both. Malfoy has moved away ever slightly, though he was still wrapped in Harry's arms, and now lay there with a peaceful expression, breathing slowly.

He let time pass like that for a while, his thumb rubbing circles in Draco's back, until he heard a soft yawn of awakening and looked down to see dark blonde eyelashes flutter open, revealing bleary silver-grey eyes. The blonde opened his mouth in a tiny pink 'o', yawning again, and stretched. Harry just watched with a half-amazed expression, waiting for the blonde to have a heart attack upon seeing him. "G'morning, Potter," he said instead, his voice ringing almost like a bell, more innocent than Harry could ever remember hearing it.

"… Good morning?" he replied, confused as Draco just settled himself against Harry again, resting his head on Harry's chest. He heard him yawn again and was about to suggest he go back to sleep when he felt the blonde start suddenly, shooting up like he'd been electrocuted.


Okay. There it was. He almost sighed in relief as Malfoy finally responded in a way that made sense. Thank god, he mouthed to the ceiling.

Malfoy rubbed his arms, shivering again as he ripped his body from Harry's, his expression confused and surprised. Harry surprised himself by slightly missing the warmth Malfoy had provided, but he quickly quit thinking about it when the blonde glared at him with a Veela edge.

"What'd you do to me, Potter?" he snapped, his voice a bit higher than normal in what Harry couldn't only describe as fear. He groaned, sitting up and giving the blonde a dirty look as he gestured toward his very visible pants. Draco glanced down, then at himself, but his scowl didn't go away. "What. Did. You. Do?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"I totally raped you," he snapped back. "With your pants on. Definitely. That will show your pants to get in the way again." His sarcasm had Draco coloring slightly. "Just go look in the mirror, veela boy, before you attempt to accuse me of things." He blinked and looked down at his skin again before sliding out of bed and padding over to the mirror Harry had gestured toward.

"Damn!" he moaned when he caught sight of the wings before examining every inch of his reflection. "This was so not supposed to happen…" He rolled his eyes at his dramatics; of course he'd known it would, but Harry couldn't quite bring himself to blame the boy; he'd gone from wizard to creature in the span of a day. "And why the hell am I half-naked?" The glare was back. Harry couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"Because you were shivering," he answered simply, as calmly as he could. "That's why. I'm sure you know why—" But he never finished because Draco had leaned toward him, closing his eyes and taking a deep whiff of the air. His eyes opened again and Harry noted that they were blazing.

He didn't like the look the blonde was giving him as he walked back over, his entire body stiff, his gait slow. Malfoy reached him, leaning in closer, his enticing grey eyes just centimeters away. Harry was frozen, unable to move as he noticed that all anger had been wiped from the blonde's face and he was starting in wonder. "Your eyes are so pretty," he murmured, a hand coming up to stroke the side of his face. Harry winced, trying not to lean into the hand and ignore the way his pants tightened marginally. "And you smell…" He listened as Malfoy made a little noise from the back of his throat, closing his eyes and inhaling. "…delicious."

Somewhere, in between one coherent thought and another semi-coherent one, Malfoy's hand had discovered the source of his squirming and he made another noise that sounded almost like keening. Harry watched in frozen shock as Malfoy's pupils dilated, leaving only a grey ring around molten silver.

A strange, strangled half-groan forced its way past Harry's lips as Malfoy's hand cupped his erection, teasing it to full hardness with slow carresses and quick, almost indiscernible squeezes.

He gulped, trying to force his vocal cords to work again, but Draco's expression took his breath away… almost literally. He wished he could say he was immune to Malfoy's veela phermones, but it simply wasn't true. "You smell so good when you're aroused," Draco whispered, leaning in and letting his tongue flicker out to swipe along his lower lip. Harry almost pushed him away but Draco let out a desperate little groan and molded their lips together, his hand working in a fervent rhythm, his other hand quickly becoming tangled in Harry's hair. "God, you—" He didn't finish right away because he'd kissed him again, harder, almost desperately. "Taste so good…"

Harry gasped, rocking up into Draco's hand against his will, but that one action of assent (willing or not) surprised Draco enough to gain control over the veela in him trying to take control.

"Harry… I… no!"

Malfoy had flown—literally—across the room, pressed against the wall. He was panting, trying to sneer at Harry and failing, his too-pale cheeks flushed dark red. "Why'd you let me—" He almost collapsed back onto the bed, his breath coming out in awkward little gasps as he tried to reign in his own lust.

"I didn't mean to," Harry managed while his heart rate slowed… at a much slower pace than he liked. He could still feel it thrum in his chest from the strain. "I'm sure you know all about your veela charm." He tried to be sarcastic, but it came out more breathless than anything. Draco let out another little moan and—still pressed against the wall, for the most part—dipped his head forward, inhaling again.

"Oh my god," Draco choked, his pupils still dilated so prettily, Harry had a hard time staying away from him. "I just… you smelled so…" His words were lost in the most beautiful, needy sound Harry had ever heard in his life. "I'm sorry." His voice had dropped to a whisper. "I couldn't control myself. I don't know why."

"Didn't your dad ever explain it to you?" Harry asked, scandalized at the thought of Draco being completely ignorant of the main part of his coming-to-age. Draco shook his head mutely.

"Not about this," he answered, his voice a little raw. "Not about this… god, will it be like this with everyone?"

Harry frowned, biting his lip. "No, at least—I didn't think so. I'm not exactly sure why you're reacting like this now, actually. Technically, it's everyone else who's supposed to react like this, not you."

Draco snorted, but it was weak. "Were you affected, Potter?" Harry thought the answer was pretty obvious—he took a look down as an indication. "Um… stupid question." Draco took a shaky breath, wincing when the air tainted with the scent of Harry's arousal hit him once more. Harry tried not to watch as Draco's own erection grew only slightly, a bulge in his nice school slacks that were now creased from over-night wear. "Do you know why I feel like this?" he asked instead, blushing from embarrassment and shame.

But Harry didn't quite feel amused by Draco's embarrasment because he was embarrassed as well—especially because he now had to explain the concept of veela mating to the teenager who had once been his arch-nemesis. "Well, yes, but—"

"Tell me." Draco's voice was flat, though it wavered slightly. Harry sighed.

"Veela technically have a 'mating system', which I'm sure you'd figured out." Draco nodded. "It's the most important part of coming into your inheritance, really, mating. Which is why I'm confused. You need to find your mate, but McGonagall and your dad said you have to stay with me for the first month or so, and that I can't let you out for classes or anything. Maybe they're trying to figure out who it is, or something."

"So you think the reason that I attacked you just now is because I need my mate?"

Harry nodded. "Maybe you just attack everyone until you're properly mated, and after that you won't be affected by normal people anymore." He shrugged. "I wouldn't worry about it, so long as we avoid being around each other…" He glanced down again. "… in this condition." Draco nodded sharply. "Until you get taken, of course, then you'll probably be out of here, anyway."

Draco blushed a little deeper, his knees buckling and he slid to the floor, his hands trembling. "Taken?" he squeaked. "What makes you think I'm the one getting taken?" Harry raised an eyebrow; it had to be obvious to Draco that he had developed into a submissive veela, though alarmingly rare. Most male veela were dominant, meant for taking either females or other less dominant men, but Draco, apparently, wasn't. Harry knew this for a fact; he'd seen enough dominant veela—like Draco's father, for instance, when Harry had initially refused to take care of the blonde.

He hoped to never piss off Lucius Malfoy again.

Draco didn't argue the point, knowing that Harry's expression was enough to answer his question, but he didn't move. "I really have to get taken?" he asked miserably after a minute or so.

Harry nodded, slowly backing up just the slightest bit as those big silver eyes almost manipulated him into going over and fucking the blonde raw. "Taken."

I'm seperating this into two parts simply to make it easier on myself to edit them. I hope you're enjoying this a bit more than before, and if you haven't read it before—enjoying it, period!