Whole

I feel muzzy today. I'm not quite sure why. Today should be a day of celebration, after all, it's my birthday. I'm 16 now. That's practically a man. Hell, I am a man. The thing is, while I knew getting older and gaining experience would change me, I didn't think the changes would take place instantly. I woke up feeling almost mellow. Once, Blaise, filthy Mudblood that he is, smuggled some Muggle weed with him after spring break. Though it was a Muggle drug, I'm not one to pass up a free high. It was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The spells I cast with Greg and Vince behind the shields at the Manor were all uppers. The weed calmed me down incredibly. It made me feel cool and collected, but also dazed and weird. It was as if the two paradoxical states of mind fed off each other. I'd never felt anything that paralleled it's effects. That's how I feel now.

The sun is always in my eyes, it doesn't matter how I turn. I should be inside with my friends but I'm out here on this damn cold day, and I wouldn't know it was cold if it weren't for the snow. I think the burning may be from the sun reflecting on the snow. I almost feel like sitting down because my head is spinning. I know there's something that would make me feel better, something that would soothe my mild neurosis, but I have no idea what I want. There's just this ache inside of me. It's physical and emotional and spiritual all at the same time. I have a stomach ache, but it's not in my stomach. It's deeper and lower. My body is trying to tell me something but I haven't the slightest idea what it wants.

Suddenly, I feel dizzy, and I know I should go see Madame Pomfrey. Everyone is at Hogsmeade celebrating my win. Slytherin's defeat of Gryffindor last night must have been an omen. My reaction is even more of one. I want a rematch. I know it's out of character for me, and knowing it's not how I would usually react almost makes it worse, as if I can see

myself loosing my mind. Though I beat Potter, it was because he was injured. He continued to play after his fall, but he was hurt. He continued to play because he was arrogant. Thankfully, due to everybody's celebration (or the sub-wizards in the other three houses' drowning their sorrows in butterbeer), I run into no one.

I stop outside the infirmary. There's arguing inside and I don't want to interrupt. I'd like to know what they're going on about, but I can't make out the voices, let alone intelligible words. I don't know if it's due to the thick door or the heady rush that enveloped me as I neared my destination. All I know is that everything that is hurting me will be healed by what's on the other side of that door. I can feel it in me, my every cell strains for whatever it is that will make it better. Whatever is on the other side.

I feel faint and lean against the door. My forehead rests on the wood and I feel wetness. I hadn't noticed it but I'm sweating. Most of my weight is on the door and I close my eyes. It feels good here. Not as good as it could feel, but this is way better than before. I am so lost in feeling that I don't notice the yelling stop and I don't notice the sound of the doorknob turning.

I'm on my ass before I know it, having been shoved down the hall by my means of support. I'm dazed and disoriented and I can't pry my eyes open. Laying here on the floor is too nice. The pleasure I felt leaning against the door has been intensified. I hear the door shut but I don't feel any footsteps. Then, an angel speaks. "Silly bint, I am *perfectly* well. It's not as if I plan to run a marathon though Hogsmeade. I just want some butterbeer." I look up, and standing there in all his casually cool glory is Harry Potter. He hears my movement, notices me, and shoots me an icy glare.

"Why are you staring at me?" he demands. I want to tell him that I want him, that I need him, that he's the as epitome of everything I've ever longed for, but words are funny because as clichéd as it is, you can't say things like that with words. I couldn't use my mouth to talk if I could find the words. I was panting like a dog, my pulse had quickened so much at just the sight of him.

Finally, I get out his name. It's almost a prayer. I get off my ass and situate myself on my knees. I can feel that my face is warm and sweat dripped into my eyes. In that most humble of positions with that one word I plead for something I don't know I want.

He looks at me with some concern when he realizes I'm not going to insult his honor or parentage. "Malfoy, are you ok?"

I shake my head. I don't know what's wrong with me though. All I know is I need him.

He comes closer and I feel the familiar sensation of blood rushing to my groin. He easily helps me stand, he's much larger than me, both in height and in build. We're rather close, his arms around my body under my arms. I press myself closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder. If he's noticed my erection he hasn't responded. He doesn't move to take

me to Madame Pomfrey yet. There's a nice expanse of neck right in front of my face. I press closer to him and press my mouth against his neck. He stiffens as I run my tongue along the skin. He tastes so good. Salty, as if he's sweat recently, but hasn't sweat enough to warrant a shower.

Potter pulls back and has the most delicious look of confusion on his face. "Malfoy, what are you-" I cut him off by covering his mouth with my own. I run my tongue throughout his mouth . He stays still, but I know he's just a little shy. I drop my head and murmur against his neck.

"I want you so badly."

Potter pulls back, grabs my wrist, and leads me to what I assume is an unused classroom. He casts the spells and charms required to make any room private, then looks me in the eye. "Malfoy, have you been drugged?"

"Don't think so." He performs a spell. The results are negative.

"Are you playing with me? Why are you acting like this?"

"No. And I don't know. I just woke up this mourning and I wanted you. I wasn't sure what it was then, but now I know," I say. With Potter's presence I'm beginning to regain coherent speech at least. "And now I know exactly what I'd like you to do to me." To me, the last statement sounded like bad smut, but a glance at his crotch told me it had the desired effect.

I get down on my hands and knees and crawl over to him, writhing in what I hope is a sensual manner along the way. When I reach him sit up on my knees and put my hands on his thighs. Nuzzling him though his pants though the gap in his robes seems like a good idea so I do it. I chance a glance up at him and he's looking on with the detached horror that one usually reserves for watching wild animals hunt each other down. Or watching their mating rituals. "Don't you want me?" I ask.

"It's just... I don't know if we should do this. I'm not rejecting you, it's just that you don't seem to know what you're doing at the moment."

"You're not rejecting me? So you do want me then? Good, because I know exactly what I'm doing. I'm getting ready to put your cock in my mouth and suck on it. My mouth is wet and warm, and it will feel so good. Wouldn't you like to come Harry?" Using his given name is a slip of the tongue, but I'm not concerned because I'm thinking about the places I'd like to slip my tongue.

I don't wait for an answer. I've completely removed his outer robe and am starting on the clothing underneath. Each button is important. I know I'll be replaying this in my dreams and in my fantasies and I want to get it right, down to the tinniest detail. I leave his shirt on him but unbuttoned. Only Harry would wear a dress shirt under his robes.

"We have to go somewhere else," he breathes. He stands up and leads me to an empty room nearby. I don't know how he knows it's there, but I don't ask. Instead I run my hands along the outside of his hips.

I'm not getting an objection so I run my hand along the inside of his thigh and his hips rock forward with anticipation. This is going to be so good. Finally, I open the fly of his pants and work the fabric down his hips. Who knew Harry Potter would wear such tight pants? Oh, and he's naughty too; no underwear. I leave the Muggle article pooled around his knees, then I look him over.

He took off his glasses while I undressed him. His eyes are out of focus, and I don't know how but his hair's gotten mussed. Slivers of olive skin can be seen peaking out from behind his shirt, which, even unbuttoned hangs mostly closed. I reach up and push it back so it's hanging off his shoulders instead of resting on them. There, that's much better.

My eyes continue their feast, moving downward. They meet a treasure trial which leads to kinky, wiry hair. I keep on looking and take in the sight of Harry's fully aroused penis. I know he's got nice muscular calves because I'm gripping them, but I can't take my eyes off his cock. I know I'm staring and I hope he realizes it's not a bad stare. It's a complimenting stare.

I reach up with my left hand and gently touch the head. Harry sucks in an audible breath of air. This is nothing like getting myself off. I can't feel what I'm doing so it's hard to judge if I'm doing it right. I work my hand up and down his shaft, stopping at the tip to get the most sensitive areas. I lean in and lick the head along the back. I've only ever sucked off Blaise before. He wasn't cut and Harry is, so this is new.

I continue to stroke with my hand as I take the first few inches of his cock into my mouth. I love the taste. It's musky, salty/metallic and completely Harry. Some of the wetness is from his own precome which had begun to coat the head before I even touched him with my mouth. The smell and taste combined have a soothing effect and I feel much better than I did before. I grin around his cock at the picture we must make, me on my knees with his cock in my mouth and his hands in my hair. Neither of us are properly undressed.

Harry lets out a moan and yells, "Yes," several times in quick succession. Moments later I'm swallowing what seems like an endless amount of come. He pants and I wait for him to catch his breath. I'm not sure what to do next. He came. Are we done? I'd never doe anything else with Blaise. I'd never wanted to go beyond blowjobs with Blaise.

After getting his bearings Harry kicks off his pants and drops to his knees so we're at eye level. He pulls me close to him for another kiss. It seems like he's going to get me off. For a second I irrationally thought he was going to leave. He moves his hand past my robe down into my pants and caresses me though my shorts. His hand is so warm though the fabric and I want to demand that he put it against my bare skin, but I don't. I don't know how much experience he's had and I don't want to frighten him away. I'm so aroused; my shorts are wet against my cock.

He smirks at me and I think he should smirk more often. His other hand trails up to lightly caress my chest, succeeding in doing nothing but teasing me. He expertly unbuttons the buttons on my pants that he hadn't unbuttoned when he copped his first feel. I was a fool to doubt his experience; with the ease with which he touches me and that all-knowing grin he has to have done this before.

"You're going to have to stand up." He's practically fucking purring in my ear.

"Wha'?" I am so entranced by his sight and smell and touch that I am completely out of it. I've heard that after a lot of pain or intense pain some masochists go into a sort of subspace where they aren't really aware of anything except pleasure. I don't think I'm a masochist and there hasn't been any pain save the ache of my cock begging for release, but if I'm not in that state of mind I don't know where the hell I am.

"I'm going to fuck you. Neither of us wants to scrape our knees on the floor. Stand up."

I obey and he soon has me pressed up against the wall, my ass toward him. His fingers run along the cleft, wet and slick. He carries lube. Not a virgin after all.

They say anal sex hurts and you have to take it slow or it will be horrible the first time, but his fingers slip in easily. He knows what he doing and hits a spot that makes me cry out loudly. I push back against him and am soon riding his fingers, mindless of how I look and what he thinks of me. He pulls them out and moves closer, pressing his body against my back.

"This might hurt a bit," he whispers in my ear.

It doesn't. He there, pressing against me, and suddenly I feel full, a feeling like I've never felt before. I feel whole for the first time.

I'd like to say we fucked for hours. I'd like to say it was the best sex I'd experienced, and that nothing that ever followed it could top it. That would be a lie though. I came after two, maybe three thrusts. Set off by my spasming he came in me. He slumps against me, and if it were anybody else I would mind being driven into the wall, but not with him.

A few minuets later he jumps back with a startled yelp. "Gah!" he yelps.

"Hmm?"

"Your back!"

"What about it?"

"You've got... look."

I turn my head, see the cause of his excitement, and it all clicks. The shiny gossamer wings spell it out. How could I have forgotten? I'm about ninety percent Veela. First heat. Coming into my veelian magic. Before, I was semi-excited about being a man. Now, all I see are uncontrollable sexual urges. I hope it doesn't take me a long time to figure the wing thing out. Getting into a shirt until then is going to be a nightmare.

Harry runs his fingers along the side of my left wing closest to my body. I glance back at him. He's utterly captivated. Two millennia of first-heat activated soul binding magic can't be wrong. This might not be so bad after all.