But before, when Harry licked that wound he himself inflicted, and it healed. I have never thought such a thing possible. I have read every book there is about veela genealogy, their habits and abilities that differ from ordinary humans. Always, every book I have read, has described the brutality of the race, stemming from the dominate side but nothing about what Harry has put forth before me. The power to heal, does it only work with Harry, or maybe only with wounds inflicted by the dominate veela to the submissive? Why did he heal me? And most importantly, can it be defeated? Can any normal mortal defeat the cruelty inlaid from the dominate veela blood?

“We’re here.” Harry says softly.

He’s trying to look nonchalant but he’s scented my father and more than likely it smells of the irremovable scent of my spilled blood. He’s tense and his blood runs like arctic fire I can feel it. He’s preparing himself to face my father and try not to kill him.

He looks down at me, his eyes swimming with a million emotions all mixing into a tangle to thick to decipher. Questions also and fear, he’s afraid. Afraid of what? I reached out and gently brushed his arm, taking in an assault of livid thoughts, he’s afraid…to loose, me.

I reach out and tap upon the door, at the same time with my other hand, opening the creaking doorway. The door opens, revealing a small sitting room with lavish enough furnishings. A rug, couch two sitting chairs, a mediums sized fireplace, cheerfully blazing, and my father sitting before it. He glances over, rising in his fluid grace to come greet me, he stiffens upon seeing Harry.

I feel the hair rise on the back of neck rise as if I can feel both Harry and my father bristling at each other, sizing each other up. I almost expect them to hiss at each other but they simply stand, watching each other. The room permeates with the silence, like a tangible odor that won’t go away. I try to relax but that would be almost impossible given the circumstances. A smile twitches onto my fathers face, disbelief replaced with understanding, “Mr. Potter, what a, pleasant, surprise. What do I give the honor of your visit, especially when I requested only my sons presence?”

Harry watches my father, blinking slowly before a smile spurs his mouth, “Me? I’m just here as a spectator.”

My Father’s eye twitches almost imperceptibly, the first indication of his anger, I tense imperceptibly, fighting the urge to step away.

“My son and I have some, family matters to discus, if you wouldn’t mind removing yourself, Mr. Potter.” his voice clenched with restraint.

“No, I’ll stay, unless Draco wishes me to leave.”

My father’s attentions instantly switch from Harry to me, his eyes demanding my obedience. Times before, when I was young, I once said no to those eyes. Times before, when I was stupid and my response almost got me killed at my fathers hands. Since that time I’ve always said yes but now, no matter how much obedience those eyes command, its not my will to give to him. My obedience lies intertwined deeply within the soul of Harry Potter and I cannot give what has already been entrusted to someone else. Someone who may hurt me but at the same time feels guilt and pain for his actions and never wants to hurt me again. My father is a very physically strong person but his heart is weak. He never tries to restrain the violent strains bred within him, Harry has always been someone better, stronger, powerful in every way, that’s why everyone loves and adores him, including me.

Love, it’s a funny word, before I met Harry it was just that, a word. Then all these emotions sprang up in me, when I first met Harry those feelings were anger, jealousy and a need but even then they were feelings, no one made me feel the way Harry did. It was like a dash of cold water on the face when I met face to face with him around others it seemed as though I walked through a tangible static. Without Harry, I have trouble feeling at all, I can just drift off and leave my body to care for itself, on autopilot. I never wish to leave Harry again.

“Harry will stay.” I breath, lifting my chin to look my father in the eye, lingering over his brief expression of anger and outrage.

Harry brushes my arm casually but I know it was his way of encouraging me, coagulating me in my private victory.

“Let us sit Father, so that we may discuss your urgent business.” I say, walking over the armchair closest to the door and slipping down into the stiff musty cushion.

My father sits down stiffly, eyes trailing after Harry who has declined to sit but leans comfortably on the back of my chair.

My father sniffs slightly and sends Harry a questioning look, “I had no idea that you had a fondness for veela’s, Potter.”

“What ever do you mean, Mr. Malfoy?” Harry says ignorantly, his voice drifting over my head, fully willing to play my father’s game.

“Well, you’ve been seeing a veela haven’t you?” He asks strait forward.

“Yes,” Harry purrs, “I’m quite fond of veela’s but however did you know?” Harry asks back, mock confusion in his voice.

“I can smell it on you, I’m half veela myself.” My father draws away the question.

“Really! I had no idea.” Harry’s voice came back, overly theatrical.

“And I had no idea you were the weakling in the relationship. Did you know that your veela is a dominate?”

I understand now. He thinks Harry’s scent is picked up off of some other veela dominate.

“Umm, father, you wished to speak of something to me.” I venture, trying to distract the conversation from its current course.

“Son, have you been seeing someone? Some one of our nature, perhaps stronger?”

I blink then grasp the concept of the question, blunt but evasive, “Father, Harry knows both about my being veela…and submissive.” I turn my gaze to the fire.

My fathers shock is like a tangible entity, “You told Him?! You know what could happen, you fool! No one outside the family is supposed to know!” His anger, it’s horrible.

I refuse to look at him, to meet his eyes.

“You’ve been claimed haven’t you? Haven’t you you bastard!” He rages, standing up, his hands clench tightly in fists, “I told you never to tell anyone, go near another veela, and what do you do? Go and get yourself claimed!”

He starts forward but I feel the weight on the back of the chair shift and suddenly my fathers advance stops and he steps back slightly, his rage cooling. I can almost visualize Harry’s eyes watching my father’s daring him to touch me.

“It’s unfair of you to become angry with Draco, Mr. Malfoy. You see,” Harry’s arms came down and circling protectively around my neck, “I really didn’t give Draco much of a choice in the matter.”

My father’s eyes open wide, shock crossing his face in the most blatant show of emotion I’ve ever seen on his face, I mean besides anger. Then the expression is transformed into amusement.

“You, Potter? You are saying you claimed my son and you expect me to believe you? I’m not stupid, I know very well you are not of the veela blood.”

I feel Harry’s breath, sift through my hair, his arms around my neck, tighten slightly but not painfully, I hear hiss, softly. Harry’s muscles bunch and his every nerve is on end, I scent his scent, stronger than before, a challenge upon the air.

“I know what I am, Mr. Malfoy, and it is no care of mine whether you believe me or not but, Draco’s mine now.” He hissed the last part, holding me tightly against his arms.

“Impossible,” father whispers, “Draco?” he questions softly, dangerously.

I smile, sighing and leaning back against Harry’s arms, my hands reaching up and gripping Harry’s forearms, “Goodbye, Father.”

My father’s eyes loose their light, he falls back, slumping down in the couch once again, “No…” he murmers, “Draco, do you think I might speak with you, alone, just one last time.” He’s almost pleading.

I feel the hair on the back of my neck once again stand on end but that look in my Father’s eyes, to speak with him just once more, surly it can’t hurt can it? I glance up at Harry standing over me, his eyes question me, I nod silently. Harry’s eyebrows rise, then knit in worry. As he releases me from his arms and his hands come up touching upon the mark that sealed us together, and tracing up my neck and cheek, slipping through my hair. As he leaves I can’t repress the feeling that I should have trusted my feelings, that Harry should have stayed. I should have trusted my feelings.

I close the door behind me, wondering if Draco will be alright. I mean it is the last time he may see his father. I’m not forcing him to stay away from his father, am I? Draco doesn’t wish to be wish him any more. There was fear in Draco, as soon he even heard his father wanted to see him I could scent fear on him. Those scars on his back, the darkness of his mind, these are the result of Lucius. This I know but I can’t help feeling some misgivings about this.

The door opens slowly, Draco’s slim form emerging from the interior, but…something feels wrong. Draco’s mind and feelings are closed off. He glances at me, a smirk creeping onto his face, one I haven’t seen since before I claimed Draco.

“What are you looking at, Potter?” He snipped and stalked off, heading down the hallway and away from me.

What the fuck did that bastard do to my Draco!? I turn and fling the door back open, smashing it brutally back against the wall