Title: Swan Song – A Veela Love
Story. Second in the Enchantment Series.
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing: Harry/Orignal Male
Veela
Summary: AU of fourth year. The
night Harry's name comes out of the Goblet, he goes down to the Black
Lake where he sees a beautiful mute swan who, unknown to him, is a
pure Veela in its natural form.
Warnings: Dub-con, Underage
sexual relationships, Bestiality, Slight violence.
Swan Song – A Veela Love Story
Second in the Enchantment Series
Part the First
Harry could not sleep, the accusations
of his best friend ringing through his mind and the nightmarish
vision of his name coming out of the Goblet replaying in his
thoughts. Tearing the sheets from his restless body, he sat up in the
darkness, his breathing heavy in anger and his hands shaking as they
clutched at the shreds of reality.
Slipping out of bed, he stilled as he
listened to the sounds of his dorm mates breathing into the night,
Ron snoring as he usually did. He had to get out, away. He felt like
he was suffocating—no one believed him, not even Ron who was
supposed to be his best mate.
In a single moment an entire friendship
was ruined. His first friend other than Hagrid. His first friend his
own age was now nothing to him.
Sighing, he grabbed his invisibility
cloak from his trunk, and slipped out of the castle, delighting in
the cold October air against his heated skin. Not certain where to
go, he made his way toward the Black Lake, the moonlight playing
across the waves in the darkness.
The Durmstrang ship stood proud and
strong upon the water, magically tethered to one place so it would
not run ashore. All of the lights aboard were off, showing that the
students from the Northern school had all fast asleep.
He sighed.
As he walked toward the lake, he
allowed the cloak to billow around him, hauntingly revealing snatches
of his pajama bottoms or the slight movement of his arm. Harry knew
he was being careless, that he should either hold the cloak close to
him or just take it off, but he couldn't bring himself to in the
ethereal darkness.
He felt a yearning, a call almost,
pulling him forward in the night, and his feet continued onward with
little thought.
The sound of wings flapping against the
water turned his attention back to the waves, and he inhaled softly
when he saw a magnificent swan swimming under the moonlight. He had
never seen a swan at Hogwarts before or in fact during his entire
life. He had always been entranced with the idea when he was younger,
secretly hoping as a child that he was like The Ugly Duckling and
would grow up to be beautiful and loved for what he was and not hated
for being scrawny and a freak.
The swan's silver-gray plumage glinted
in the moonlight and it moved beautifully through the cold water,
it's neck stretched out and its eyes blinking up at the waxing
crescent above them.
Rustling about him, the wind moved
through his cloak and the swan beat its wings against the still lake
once again, turning its black glinting eyes toward him. As Harry's
invisible eyes held its unearthly gaze, he swallowed. He had never
seen anything so beautiful, so enchanting, so magical than the swan
in that moment. His heart pulled him toward the mystical creature,
almost as if its soulful black eyes were calling for him, entreating
him to wade into the lake and come towards it; it was almost as if
the swan could actually see him through the cloak.
Breathing deeply, Harry calmed himself.
The swan must be magical, he determined. A beautiful, magical
creature.
Tilting his head slightly to the left,
he smiled softly when the swan mimicked his movements, the gray
feathers of its neck glinting silver in the moonlight.
The young swan beat its wings against
the lake, creating ripples of movements, that drifted out upon the
surface until they reached the shore near Harry's feat, the water
lapping slightly onto the shore and onto his slippers—a gentle
greeting.
"Hello," he called back, and
the swan's black beak dipped beneath the surface, before jerking it
out again, water splashing around him in the distance.
Harry laughed softly at its antics
before sitting down on the shore. As the moon gently set, he watched
the beautiful bird continue to swim about the lake, occasionally
diving to catch a fish as a snack. When the dawn finally began to
lighten the sky, he ran across the still lake and took off into the
air, leaving Harry behind on earth.
... … … … … … …
As soon as Harry awoke the following
noon, he quickly got dressed and ran down through the Common Room,
uncaring that his former friends were whispering about him.
"Harry!" Hermione called to
him, grabbing his arm, but he quickly pulled away.
"Not now," he ground out,
only thinking of the beautiful swan and how he could still feel its
silent call.
"Harry, wait!" she called
again, but he was already out the portrait hole, uncaring in that
moment that Hermione was following after him.
As he reached the Great Hall, he slowed
briefly so that he could walk in and grab several slices of toast and
drink down a gulp of pumpkin juice, giving Hermione just enough time
to catch up to him.
"Harry, really," she wheezed
as she caught the edge of the Gryffindor table. "What possessed
you to run down here?"
"Not now, Hermione," he said,
not wanting to hear her berate him for putting his name in the
Goblet.
She, however, wouldn't listen. Putting
a hand on his arm, she caught his eye. "Harry—I need to
know—did you put your name in?" she asked softly, searching
his face.
"You know the answer to that,
Hermione," he replied just as quietly, but a few Gryffindors
around them heard him.
She sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I
was afraid of that."
He looked at her, hurt, before turning
away. "Fine, if that's what you think," he muttered, not
caring that he left tears in her eyes and whispers behind him.
Rushing out the doors to the castle, he
felt the weight of the world slip away from him, and he hurried to
the lake, his eyes scanning it for the ethereal creature that had
been able to see him through his cloak. In his peripheral vision, he
saw a Beauxbatons student standing not far from him, his hair a pale
silver blonde like his school's champion, his eyes a misty gray. The
swan, however, was absent, and the earth seemed suddenly empty as his
heart cried out for the creature.
The Beauxbatons student's head snapped
toward him, and a gentle sigh met his ears. "You 'ave a
beautiful lake," he offered and Harry turned toward him,
surprised to find a handsome man staring back at him. His features
were aristocratic, his form tall and broad, and his hair was clipped
neatly about his head.
"Er-yes," he offered, not
certain what else to say, before looking back out toward the lake.
"You are zee other 'Ogwarts
Champion, non?" he asked and Harry nodded, not meeting
his eyes. "Bonne chance," he offered.
"Sorry?"
The student laughed, the tone deep but
kind. "Eet means 'good luck' in French. You are 'Arry?"
"Yes."
"Aubrey Roland du Lac." He
bowed deeply and Harry, uncertain what to do, bowed clumsily back.
Aurbrey smiled at him and Harry, strangely, found himself smiling
back.
… … … … … … …
Over the next few days, Harry found
himself visiting the Black Lake when he was not in class, and each
time found that the swan had not returned. On that Tuesday, after
dinner, he decided instead to go to the library to try and find
anything about magical swans, but found nothing in the various
creature books. At night he dreamt of the swan, calling to him,
singing to him in the pale moonlight.
Every morning he would wake up cold,
his blankets shoved from him, and his heart calling out to the nearly
grown cygnet of the Black Lake.
When he went down to breakfast he would
always sit alone, Ginny occasionally smiling sadly at him or sitting
beside him. They never spoke, and her many friends would sit around
her, pointedly ignoring him.
He could feel everyone looking at him,
whispering at him, but the only eyes he ever met were Aubrey's, the
French student offering a soft smile to him before Harry looked away
again.
After a week of not seeing the swan,
Harry found himself walking the halls at night, the invisibility
cloak drawn around him. Stepping out onto the grounds, he let the
cloak fall from his shoulders, and made his way to the Lake where he
heard water gently lapping upon the shore. The beautiful cygnet
raised its head in greeting, a silent cry erupting from his lips, and
Harry smiled as it gently swam toward him, waiting twenty feet from
shore.
Harry dropped his cloak on the stony
shore, kicking of his slippers. Without even thinking about it, he
rolled up his pant legs and stepped out into the freezing cold water.
He shivered as the water gently caressed his legs, a silent lover,
and with a determined look, he walked out until he was only a few
feet from the gorgeous creature.
"I went to the library," he
whispered, hoping the swan would understand, and the cygnet looked up
at him with intense, dark eyes. "I know you're magical, know you
can see me. I know that you call to my heart somehow," he
admitted, not certain why.
The bird flapped its wings against the
waters, revealing the white underside of its plumage, and Harry
laughed as he was splashed with cold lake water. When the swan
calmed, Harry let his arms fall, submerging them to the wrists, a
soft gasp escaping his lips.
"I couldn't find a magical swan,"
he continued, looking the swan in the eye as it now cocked its head
in thought. "I know I'm missing something—I know you're
magical and-and sentient." He laughed quietly and the swan
dipped its head under the water, its beak gently nipping at one of
Harry's fingers, before it came back up for breath. "Hermione
would know, but she thinks I put my name in the Goblet, so we're not
really speaking. I'm not speaking to anyone really" —a flutter
of wings— "except for you."
He smiled hesitantly and the bird swam
closer to him, circling him as if to take in every angle of his form.
"You're so beautiful. More
beautiful than the French champion who thinks I'm nothing but a
little boy," he whispered in wonder. "How can you be so
beautiful?"
Harry found himself standing in the
water, his body gently shivering, watching the swan swim around him
and occasionally float off to find fish, the moon glinting off its
enchanted feathers. Still he could not move, and when the sun finally
rose and the swan took flight, he found himself heartbroken as he
returned to his warm bed.
… … … … … … …
Soon, Harry spent none of his nights in
Gryffindor Tower, instead sneaking out to see the swan under the
moonlight, until he fell asleep, wet and shivering on the lake shore,
the swan draped over him tenderly to break him warmth, its black beak
nuzzled into his hair. As the sun would rise, the magical being would
flap its wings against him, awakening him before it took off into the
heavens, Harry sadly watching it as it left him until the next
evening.
He didn't know what he felt—why he
craved the swan's attention and beauty, why it called to him during
the day and silently sang to him every night when the moon shone. No
one but the swan mattered to him, and he found himself walking
through the day as if nothing but a wraith, silently completing his
schoolwork and dreaming only of the cygnet.
When Hagrid told him to follow him one
night—the night he saw the dragons—he quickly ran back to the
Black Lake, and not caring who saw and who was out, he plunged head
first into the lake, swimming through the cool water until he came up
near the swan, taking it into his arms and stroking its gray
feathers. "I'm sorry, so sorry," he murmured, the cygnet
burying its beak in his shoulder and biting it slightly.
Harry's hand faltered before resuming
its movement, a small gasp erupting from his lips when the swan
continued to bite his shoulder until finally it slipped back into the
black waters.
The swan submerged itself completely
under the waves before resurfacing, ruffling its feathers as the
water slipped from its body.
"Dragons," Harry whispered,
and the swan glanced up at him. "The first task is
dragons—that's where I was. There are dragons in the Forbidden
Forest."
The cygnet flapped its wings, splashing
Harry with water, and Harry quickly brought his arms up to shield his
face.
"It's not my fault," Harry
protested, somehow knowing what the gray bird wanted from him. "I
swear—it's not my fault."
Looking at him suspiciously the
enchanting being stilled, its feet moving gently beneath the surface
so that it could come closer to Harry.
"I really didn't put my name in
the Goblet of Fire," Harry whispered brokenly. "Please
believe me—hardly anyone does. I've lost most of my friends, and
everyone insults me, not that I'm not used to it, but—"
Moist feathers brushed against his
cheeks and Harry looked up, shocked, to see the swans brilliant beak
only an inch from his face. It nudged his nose in affection and Harry
sighed in relief.
"Thank you," he said softly
before reaching out and stroking its head lovingly. Hesitating, he
took the swan back into his arms, smiling as it flapped its wings
gently, and buried his face in its feather, breathing in deeply. "I
don't understand," he whispered dejectedly. "You're all
that I can think about. What are you, my swan? What does this mean?
Why do I do everything now just for you?"
The swan wrapped its long neck across
the back of Harry's head, nibbling softly on the ends of his hair,
causing him to laugh slightly.
"I know, my hair," he sighed
happily. "Aunt Petunia hates it and has taken scissors to it so
many times and yet it just keeps on growing back over night. It's a
curse—the Potter family curse, of sorts. Dad had hair just like
mine."
A gentle puff in his air caused him to
pull away, smiling down at the swan in his arms. "If you needed
to get past a dragon, my swan, how would you do it?" he asked
rhetorically and the swan stretched its neck to the skies, flapping
its wings.
"You'd fly would you?" he
murmured, gently stroking the powerful wings that he dreamt about
each night. "I don't have wings."
He gently dropped further into the
water, already cold and wet, only allowing his nose to hover above
the surface so he could breathe. He tipped his head back, soaking his
hair completely. He watched the cygnet beat its wings against the
cold lake, creating ripples as it lifted into flight, its powerful
body blocking the light from the moon.
Harry smiled up at his friend, leaning
back until he was floating in the water, watching the swan swoop
around him.
"We should go flying sometime
together," he whispered, knowing the swan couldn't hear him. As
the words filtered through his tired thoughts, he sat up quickly,
disturbing the now clear surface of the water, and smiled happily up
at the swan. "Fly, swan. I can fly my way around the dragon!"
Later that night, when he drifted to
sleep once again on the cold shore, the swan settling heavily on his
back, a smile played on his lips as he dreamt of Firebolts and the
flight of the gray swan, his truest friend.
… … … … … … …
The morning of the first task, Harry
awoke to the blinding sun in his eyes, a hand gently shaking his
shoulder. Blinking rapidly, the hazy memory of the swan's wings
lovingly caressing him before taking off into the dawn reentered his
mind, and he groaned. He must have fallen asleep again.
Looking up, he saw the amused face of
Aubrey staring down at him. "Eet eez time for breakfast, I
think," he murmured before helping Harry to his feet.
Harry blushed slightly at the handsome
student before glancing down at himself, seeing that he was wearing
pajama bottoms and a turtleneck that had barely dried in the morning
light.
"I'd better go change," he
admitted, looking away again, and Aubrey chuckled. He quickly bent
down and picked up his wand, holding it his hand and remembering the
long hours he had spent the night before, trying to summon a bemused
looking swan from across the lake. He found that he learned so much
better when he was rewarded with the caress of feathers against the
back of his neck.
"Perhaps," Aubrey conceded.
"I will walk you as far as zee Great 'All, unless you object."
"N-no," Harry answered
quickly, too quickly. "I don't mind."
"Bon." Aubrey
stretched out his arm, silently telling Harry to lead the way. After
several moments of almost comforting silence, he finally spoke. "Do
you often sleep by zee lake, 'Arry?"
Harry shook his head. "No. Just
thinking of the task," he admitted.
"Ah, yes. I cannot decide eef I
shall attend, but I fear not knowing what 'appens will
be—unbearable."
"Are you friends with Fleur then?"
Harry asked, but Aubrey shook his head. "Related then? You look
similar," he explained.
"Yes and no. I am—she eez a
quarter-Veela, as I am sure you 'ave 'eard."
Harry nodded. "She said something
about it when our wands were weighed."
Aubrey hesitated before stopping,
looking deeply into Harry's eyes. Harry searched his gaze, something
familiar about the gray eyes, similar to something, but he could not
place it.
"You 'ave not seen many Veela, I
think," he said softly, his hand reaching out toward Harry
before he quickly drew it away.
"I've seen a few," Harry
admitted, breaking eye contact and walking again toward the castle.
"I went to the World Cup and several Veela were the Bulgarian
team's mascots."
A deep yet gentle laugh escaped
Aubrey's throat, and Harry turned to him, smiling slightly.
"Ah yes. I was also in attendance.
My cousin—Florence—eez one of zem. She quite enjoys eet,
een fact."
"Y-you're Veela?" Harry
asked, astonished.
"Mais oui," Aubrey
replied. "You did not think zat zere were only female Veela, did
you?"
Harry blushed.
"A common misconception,"
Aubrey waved it off. "Not much eez known of us except een Muggle
stories, and eet eez rare zat one such as myself, a pure Veela, would
attend a wizard institution for my education."
They reached the Great Hall and Harry
paused, looking up at Aubrey.
"Now, eet eez only eight and I
believe zere eez a full 'our before your classes, 'Arry."
With a nod and a parting glance, Harry
quickly hurried away, his mind full of what legends Muggles told of
the Veela and the gentle brush of wings.
… … … … … … …
As Harry's feet touched the ground, the
egg clasped under his arm, he sighed in relief. The audience cheered
around him, but he hardly heard, his eyes instead searching the skies
for a lone cygnet, but he saw nothing. He often wondered where the
swan spent its days after it flew away from him, but he knew better
than to follow it, if it even could once it had taken to the open
skies.
Madam Pomfrey quickly ushered him into
the medical tent and he dropped gratefully onto a bed, finally
releasing the egg. The matron fussed around him, but he barely
noticed, his eyes instead hovering shut as he drifted off into sleep.
"Come, Potter," a voice broke
into his dreams of a sleek neck and a grey beak, "it's time to
get your scores."
Shaking himself from his dreams, Harry
stumbled out of the tent, his Firebolt still clutched protectively in
his hands. He was given equal points with Viktor Krum, Fleur a far
away third, and Cedric trailing in fourth place as it appeared he was
the only one who hadn't known about the dragons somehow.
Just as he was making his way back to
the tent, a familiar hand alighted on his arm, and he pulled it away,
glaring angrily at a stunned Hermione and defiant Ron.
"Yes?" he asked harshly and
she flinched away.
"Harry, we just wanted to say—that
is—"
He sighed, lifting his hand to his eyes
in emotional exhaustion. "Just say it," he half-begged her,
wanting to find somewhere warm to sleep until Hogwarts was covered in
darkness.
"Where are you, mate?" Ron
interjected, his ears going slightly pink. "We never see you and
you don't even sleep in the dorm anymore."
Harry's head snapped up and Hermione
turned her head so quickly that she winced slightly in pain, before
turning her attention back to Harry.
"You don't sleep in the dorms,
Harry?" she asked, strangely concerned about his well being now
that he survived facing a dragon. "Where do you go?"
"What does it matter where I
sleep?" he said tiredly, before turning away, wanting nothing
more than to sleep rather than to talk about it with people he barely
exchanged words with anymore.
"Harry," Hermione persisted,
following him into the tent, but Harry ignored her. "Where do
you sleep?"
"Here at the moment," he
snapped as he lay down next to the golden egg.
"How long has this been going on?"
she asked Ron, who had unfortunately followed them both in.
Ron shrugged. "I don't know.
Around the time his name came out of the Goblet—or a bit after."
Hermione made a disgruntled sound at
the back of her throat before turning back to Harry and resting a
hand on his shoulder.
He shrugged it off. "Don't touch
me, Granger. We haven't been friends in over a month."
"Mate, don't say that—" Ron
began, but Harry turned around and glared at them.
"Don't say what? You stopped
talking to me because you were jealous about something I had
absolutely had no control over—"
"You put your name in," he
defended but Harry rolled his eyes.
"Right. Of course I did. How
strange that I have no memory of actually doing that. Thanks
for that, Weasley."
"Whatever," he muttered
before leaving the tent, but Hermione unfortunately didn't follow.
Harry glanced around the tent, noticing
that the other three champions were looking at them intently. Cedric
had appeared to have charred half of his face and now had an orange
goo plastered over it. It looked painful—maybe he should have told
him about the dragons, but his thoughts were so focused on how to get
his Firebolt to the arena without physically bringing it with him and
on his swan, that it never even crossed his mind.
"Harry—you said yourself you put
your name in," Hermione whispered, but her words carried
throughout the tent.
"I said," Harry
growled, "that you knew the answer to the question when you
asked me. I'm tired of saying I didn't do it, and frankly I don't
care what you or Ron think anymore."
"You don't mean that," she
said, crossing her arms, and Harry just turned around again, willing
her to go away. "Harry!"
"Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey
chided. "This tent is a place of healing and relaxation. If you
can't be quiet, I'll ask you to leave."
"Please do," Harry mumbled,
but the matron either didn't hear him or didn't heed his request, not
that he was surprised. She bustled out of the tent, leaving Hermione
behind her.
"Harry," she hissed before
taking a seat beside him. "Harry, this is really ridiculous. I-I
miss you," she admitted before placing her hand again on his
arm.
It felt invasive
somehow—wrong—deceitful. The thought of beating wings and
brilliant black eyes flashed through his thoughts, and he somehow
felt that he couldn't let Hermione touch him, especially when her
fingers were curled within his wizarding robes possessively. His swan
was the only one who could lay any claim to him. The magical being
was his, and he was the swan's. He didn't understand how this came
about or why he felt this way. He just knew it was the truth.
He pushed off her hand and closed his
eyes.
"Why are you being like this?"
"I don't take kindly to people who
believe I'm a liar. I spent my entire childhood like that. I don't
need it at Hogwarts." He turned over and his green eyes glinted
in the tent, everyone's attention on him.
"I didn't—Harry—I—" she
reached for him again, but before she could rest her hand on his arm,
a firm hand wrapped around her wrist.
"I think 'Arry wishes for you to
leave now," Aubrey said quietly and Harry looked up at him
gratefully.
Hermione shivered as she turned toward
Aubrey, her eyes glazing slightly, and her lips parting almost
suggestively.
Harry shuddered at the thought.
"Sleep, 'Arry," he gently
commanded before tugging Hermione out of her seat, and Harry closed
his eyes gratefully.
Just as he was drifting off, it almost
felt as if cool fingers were ghosting across the back of his neck,
almost like the feathers of a swan.
… TBC …
ExcentrykeMuse's Note: Here's
the first of three chapters of Swan Song. Obviously it's a bit
-different- than my other fics. Once again, please do review.
cheers, cen.
The Enchantment Series. A series
of short fics centering around otherworldly enchantments.
One. Thanatos. Written for
Valentine's Day 2010. (Harry)/Draco. [Death]
Two. Swan Song--A Veela Love Story.
Harry/Original Male Veela. [Veela]
Three. Vitula: My Beloved.
Harry/Sanguini. [Vampire]
Four. Beneath the Ympe-Tree.
Harry/Fred. [Fairy]
Title: Swan Song – A Veela Love
Story. Second in the Enchantment Series.
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing: Harry/Orignal Male
Veela
Summary: AU of fourth year. The
night Harry's name comes out of the Goblet, he goes down to the Black
Lake where he sees a beautiful mute swan who, unknown to him, is a
pure Veela in its natural form.
Warnings: Dub-con, Underage
sexual relationships, Bestiality, Slight violence.
Part the Second
Harry blinked in astonishment as he
tried to process Professor McGonagall's words. She stared at him, her
eyes never leaving his face, almost like a cat who had spotted a
mouse.
He never wanted to feel like a mouse
again.
"I can't," he finally
admitted.
She blinked at him several times. "I'm
sorry, Mr. Potter, but you must."
He sighed and then shook his head. He
didn't want to go the Yule Ball, he'd much rather spend the night
floating in the Black Lake with the swan, not with some girl whose
name he hoped he would never have to use again.
Several excuses started running through
his mind. He briefly considered telling McGonagall the truth—I
can't escort anyone or dance with her because my swan is probably the
jealous type—but instantly decided against it. She'd probably take
off points for being disrespectful.
"I'm in a relationship," he
finally said. It was technically true, he saw the swan every night
and he felt closer to it than to any human he'd ever met.
"Excellent, Mr. Potter. Then you
can escort your girlfriend to the Yule Ball and dance with her."
He grimaced. "H-They're not
attending a wizarding institution. I'm afraid it's out of the
question and I couldn't possibly ch-cheat on them by taking somebody
else."
Cheating. Taking someone else would be
cheating somehow on the swan. He just—felt it. He shook himself
mentally. This was, by far, the most bizarre situation he had ever
found himself in.
"I'm sure the young lady will
understand when you explain it to her in a letter," she said
kindly and Harry's eyes widened. "Now, there's nothing for it,
you must open the ball with the partner of your choice. Take your
friend, Miss Granger, even. I'm certain she would do."
He clenched his jaw. Clearly it had
escaped her notice that he wasn't actually speaking to Hermione.
"I don't think—"
"If the lady is not understanding,
Mr. Potter," she said, as she hurried him out of her classroom
into the crowded hallway, "then she is perhaps not the type of
young lady you wish to be in a relationship with. Simply tell her
your attendance is mandatory and you're doing a favor for the witch
you escort."
"I don't want to escort—"
"Young love. Yes, I know, but
really, Mr. Potter, you must do this for your school and your
country."
A few girls around him began to giggle
and he glared at them.
The next few days he spent moping,
barely talking to anyone and not even able to confess to the
beautiful gray swan. Every night he would still sneak out to the
Black Lake and wade out into the dark waves, his clothes now
discarded, and watch the swan swim around him or fly into the sky as
he tried to discover the secret of the golden egg.
The cygnet would always splash him
angrily when he opened it and the wailing released itself into the
night sky, each time getting more and more violent in its protests.
"Swan," Harry whispered.
"Please. I need to figure out the clue of the egg."
The night before term ended, the cygnet
got so upset that it flew directly at Harry, causing him to drop the
screeching egg into the water.
"Swan!" he shouted before
diving beneath the surface after it. He wasn't too far out, so it
wouldn't sink too deeply, at least, but when he broke beneath the
surface, he heard the most beautiful singing coming from the egg.
Staring incredulously, he listened as the mermaids sang their song,
before closing the egg again. He resurfaced, gasping for air.
"Swan," he murmured, looking
at the disgruntled bird that was preening its feathers. "You—you
have to hide."
The cygnet looked up at him, confused,
its black eyes darker than midnight, its gray feathers having
lightened to a beautiful silver over the past few weeks.
"I—it, they'll take you, Swan,"
Harry admitted. "I don't want them to take you."
Flapping its wings slightly, the
graceful bird swam toward him, its neck outstretched until it wrapped
itself around Harry's upper arm, a feathery embrace, and he stroked
its feathers lovingly. "If they come for you—the people of the
lake or even a wizard—promise me you'll fly far away. It doesn't
matter if you can't come back—" The swan nipped his shoulder
and Harry smiled. "I just need you to stay safe. Birds can't
breathe under water, after all," he mused to himself.
Webbed feet pawed against his thigh,
and Harry reached down, clutching the bird to him, the egg falling
from his grasp. He looked into the black eyes, a flash of silver
running through them for a moment, and he narrowed his gaze.
"Swan, are you an Animagus?"
He ruffled the feathers teasingly and the bird looked down, shaking
its head.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't be."
He sighed. "Just a thought—wishful thinking."
Nudging his shoulder, the swan flapped
its wings several times, trying to get comfortable.
Harry yawned. "I suppose it's time
to sleep," he finally mused and the swan ruffled its wings in
agreement. "We do make an odd pair, don't we," he
continued, as he slowly walked toward the shore, the egg forgotten on
the floor of the lake. "My first friend was a boa constrictor,
so I guess it makes sense in an strange way. Of course, he could talk
back to me, but we only knew each other for about twenty minutes
before my cousin Dudley got in the way. If you ever see Dudley, Swan,
fly in the opposite direction. You'll be a much happier bird—trust
me. I'd fly away from him, if I could."
He hadn't spoken so much in over a
week, and Harry was happy to have confessed to his confidant again.
Stretching out on the blanket he now brought with him every night,
Harry settled himself on his stomach, the swan pressed firmly against
him, wings outstretched in a quiet embrace.
Tomorrow, he thought in resignation,
the words unable to escape his lips. Tomorrow I have to invite
someone to the ball.
… … … … … … …
After far too much thought than he was
willing to admit to, Harry decided to ask his former crush, Cho
Chang, to the Yule Ball. He managed to get her alone—without all of
her giggling friends—only to find out that she was already going
with someone.
Now he was not only dateless but also
humiliated.
Stripping off his clothes, he waded
into the cold water, swimming out to the swan under the new moon. He
found himself brushing against the feathered underbelly, webbed feet
tapping against his stomach and thighs, until he broke the surface,
rivulets of cold lake water running down his pale shoulders.
"Swan," he whispered
desperately, taking the bird that called to him into his arms, the
webbed feet padding against his groin, trying to gain purchase.
"Swan," he moaned again and, burying his face in the sweet
wings, wept for the first time in years.
The cygnet's elegant neck arched
upward, its face and beak burying itself in Harry's wet hair,
offering silent comfort in the night.
"It was horrible," he finally
whispered, his tears spent and mixed with the ripples of the Black
Lake. "I have to ask someone to the Ball—so I asked Cho—and—"
Flapping its wings harshly, the swan
pushed itself away from Harry's embrace, causing him to fall
backwards into the dark waters, his breath stolen from his lungs.
Harry flailed uselessly beneath the
surface, the cygnet's wings beating him down, its dark webbed feet
pounding against his arms and chest, its beak even dipping down
beneath the waves and pecking at him mercilessly.
"Swan!" Harry tried to
screech, as he fell deeper, until he could barely see anything about
him. He did not know which way was up or down, all he could sense was
blackness, darker, darker, no air.
Still the wings kept coming, beating,
flapping, pushing him down, down, downward.
His glazed eyes opened in fear and he
saw merpeople all around him, watching the swan that was now beneath
the waves, clawing at him with its feet, its beak nipping cruelly at
his hair. He silently called for their help, but only bubbles escaped
his lips, and the merpeople did nothing, simply watching in
fascination.
Kicking his legs up, he tried to push
the swan away, his hands wrapped protectively over his face, and he
felt the great water-logged wings clasp beneath his knees, holding
his legs up as its slippery webs pushed against the back of his
thighs.
A sudden blow.
Harry felt himself tense, the wings now
flapping against the back of his thighs, urging them upward, and in
the surreal pain and grayness that was now overtaking his vision,
Harry complied, wishing for release from his cygnet's feathered
embrace. The swan stretched out its neck, its wings flapping lazily
in the water as it thrust into Harry, catching Harry's neck in his
bill, holding him still as the last remnants of air left his lungs in
a silent cry.
An alien heartbeat against his own,
anchoring him to the mute reality of the moment, as the gray rush
leaned against him lovingly and a shudder in its loins solidified
their strange union, the beak gently releasing Harry from its
embrace. Strong wings beat against the water pulling them upward
where they were still joined until, gasping for breath, Harry broke
against the surface, his thighs loosening as the feathered glory slid
from him.
Rain poured down on them, a full
tempest having erupted while they were beneath the water, and waves
crashed harshly against Harry's aching form.
"Swan," he murmured, barely
able to keep himself above the water. Soft feathers splayed against
his chest as he was gently pushed toward shore where he finally
rested, blood staining his pale skin. The rain fell on him, getting
gentler every minute, washing all evidence from his body. "Swan,"
he said again, looking into concerned black eyes, and found that he
could not be angry at his silent companion, no matter the pain and
the hurt.
He belonged to the cygnet just as much
as it belonged to him. As he drifted off to sleep that night, he knew
he could take no one to the ball, and instead held the swan tightly
to him, silent tears falling unnoticed in the darkness.
… … … … … … …
"It was horrible," Ron said
and Harry sighed, wishing that he weren't in the Gryffindor common
room. He glanced out the window, turning briefly away from the large
tome in his hand, and saw that the sun was setting, and was undecided
as to whether to venture out of doors again. He had forgiven the
swan, understood in a way—as long as the cygnet never did it again.
He would never stray—could never stray from the haunting majesty
that called to him, beckoning him out into the night. He would be
content to live with the swan by his side for the rest of his days,
untouched by human hands or cygnet feathers, with the companionship
of one who still caressed him lovingly after inflicting such pain.
The ethereal being was magical and
sentient, if an entirely different species from him. If only he were
human, he thought, but quickly tore the thought from his mind.
Nothing would come from vain wishes that could not come true.
"She was just there—walking—I
love how they walk."
Harry snorted. It appeared he wasn't
the only one recently humiliated. This had to be good then.
A few heads turned toward him and he
didn't look up from his book on wizard marriage laws. He'd gotten it
from the library and, since he knew that swans were monogamous, was
morbidly curious to see if last night somehow qualified as a magical
bonding. He wouldn't put it past wizards. Hagrid was half giant and
Flitwick had Goblin blood. Fleur Delacour was part Veela, and they
transformed into winged harpies, which was more bird than human. If
all of their ancestors had been able to marry another species, it
wasn't completely out of the realm of possibility that he was now
bonded legally to a sentient magical being—the silver swan.
"And then—I just—I just asked
her," Ron continued, his voice strangled. "She didn't even
look at me and just turned and walked away. How could I do it?"
Ginny and Hermione appeared to be
cooing over Ron. At least they weren't paying attention to him, then.
"It's the allure," Hermione
said importantly. "She should really try to control it better.
The full-blooded Veela controls his perfectly. Did you know that
there are legends that Veela can transform into horses and other
animals? I've walked out on the grounds a few afternoons, hoping to
see him, but I haven't come across him at all. They're more water
beings, however. They can control storms, even, when they're angry."
A thought tugged at the back of Harry's
mind, but he ignored it, trying not to relive the feel of angry rain
washing away his blood.
Harry tuned her out when she started
talking about every single form a Veela could take.
"Hermoine—you're a girl,"
Ron finally stated, and then proceeded to ask her to the ball. She
blushed slightly and stuttered that she would, not having a date,
though rumor had it that Neville had asked her but she had turned him
down for some reason.
"Harry," Parvati asked. "Who
are you going to the ball with?"
"Er-what?" he questioned,
looking up from the large book.
"Who are you taking to the Yule
Ball?"
"No one," he stated flatly,
turning back to his book.
"What, no one?" she asked
loudly, drawing the attention of all four Weasleys and Hermione.
"No. No one."
"Harry," Ginny said quietly.
"Aren't you supposed to lead the dance?"
"Supposedly," he responded
before turning the page. He was now on werewolf marriage laws, who
were often classified as a "beast" and not a "being."
At least he seemed to be getting closer. He really wished that the
entries were in alphabetical order, though, when he came across laws
regarding marriages to Centaurs.
There had never been a recorded case
and one had to file at the Ministry.
He didn't want to have to file at the
Ministry for Magic, if he could help it … if he even wanted to be
married to the magical being.
"What are you doing?" a soft
voice inquired, but he only shrugged.
He closed the book shut, the spine
pressed to his stomach so no one could read it. "Nothing
special," he answered in a voice that he hoped was casual,
leaving the Common Room, the book still pressed against him.
He moved almost like a wraith, his mind
elsewhere, to the gentle call in his heart, and as the moon quietly
rose, no more than a sliver, he found himself on the edge of the
Black Lake, the book abandoned on the rocky shore. Pulling off his
clothes hesitantly, he waded into the water, the biting cold
reminding him of the night before, when he was trapped beneath the
waves, drowning, his cygnet gloriously claiming him with strong,
meticulous movements.
Swimming out into the darkness, he
barely paused when he heard the flap of wings in the sky, the swan
moving toward him until its pale wings caressed his aching back.
With a splash the swan landed, its
webbed feet glistening in the dark glow, its neck outstretched as it
called, silent, to the heavens, its throat undulating majestically as
no sound was released from its black beak.
Harry found himself relaxing, and began
to speak, the swan's head tilted, listening to his every word.
"Ron—my former friend—asked
Fleur to the Ball and she completely ignored him," he whispered.
"He seemed—rather upset. Hermione then started going on about
the allure." He paused. "Aubrey doesn't have an allure—not
that I've noticed."
The swan glided over, its pale neck
stretched upward, until it placed its head firmly on Harry's chest.
Harry smiled hesitantly down at it, stroking the soft plumage. "This
is nice," he admitted, his eyes never leaving the black ones
until the swan stretch up, its mouth open, and bit down on Harry's
cold nipple.
"Nng," Harry gasped, inhaling
deeply as sensation assaulted him.
The cygnet beat its wings powerfully,
splashing water at Harry, driving him back until, panting, Harry
pulled himself upon onto the cold shore.
"Swan?" he asked, but the
swan never released him, still biting down mercilessly until Harry
moaned in pain-filled pleasure. "Swan," he gasped.
Dark, webbed feet, found purchase on
his thighs, flapping its wings until Harry lay completely on the
shore, his head thrown back and contorted, a hand grasping tightly
against the swan's shoulder. With each powerful stroke, the swan
lifted itself up as if for flight, before landing against Harry, its
movements stroking Harry until he was whimpering in unwanted
pleasure. The smooth feathers caressed his hardening member,
worshipping it silently as the swan continued to bite down on Harry's
chest, blood leaking from its bill.
"Swan—please—stop," Harry
moaned, unable to push the large bird from him. It was too precious,
too dear to hurt it, so still it ravished him under the dark sky, fog
swirling about them, until with a faint moan Harry released himself
against the plumage.
As Harry rode out his pleasure, tears
fell down his cheeks and his dulled green eyes looked helplessly at
the bird that now rested against him, ruffling its feathers as it
preened itself in his lap.
"Why?" he whispered brokenly,
but the swan did not acknowledge him. "Why, Swan?"
A wing gently tapped his knee in answer
and Harry sighed into the night. Glancing at the large book discard
near them, he summoned it to him and opened its pages dusty pages
once again. He could barely see, the little light there was
reflecting off the Black Lake as deep shades of gray, but he needed
to know—needed an answer.
"Where are you?" he asked
quietly and the swan, startled, looked up at him. "Where are
you, Swan?"
… … … … … … …
"I hate you," Harry muttered
dejectedly as the swan thrust into him again and again, its wings
caressing the nape of his neck. Nearly every night he had gone to see
the swan; no matter how gentle or affectionate he was, the cygnet
would still rise up against him and take what it obviously craved.
There were only four days left until
the Yule Ball and now, even when Harry stayed in Gryffindor Tower,
the cygnet would come and find him, lovingly stroking him with soft
feathers and webbed feet, before claiming him again and again.
He despised himself for being unable to
deny the swan, for allowing it to caress him and bring him to
pleasure when he did not want it.
Every moment his heart yearned for the
beautiful creature, and he found himself trapped in a nightmare world
where the fowl was too far away but always too close to him. When he
finally faded off into fitful sleep, his skin would burn until the
swan would take him again against the crimson sheets, its head thrown
back in silent song, while Harry dreamed of gray eyes and soft lips
kissing every inch of him until he moaned out in his sleep, once
again degraded and ashamed.
When he walked the halls during the day
he felt dispassionate, disconnected, almost as if this were a dream
and the only truth he knew was of feathers and passionate release.
Soon he wasn't even paying attention to Ginny who would sometimes try
to speak to him during meals, her words falling on deaf ears that
could only hear the beating of feathers and the splashing of waves.
Several times he had gone to the
Hospital wing, only to stand around the corner, trying to determine
whether or not to go in. He knew the swan was magical—that it was
other. He dreamt of it transforming into a man, and searched for the
same black eyes, only to find his mind focusing on Aubrey du Lac and
the pensive gazes and long looks he sent Harry whenever their eyes
would meet.
He knew anything could happen in the
world of magic and with that many couplings, bringing them both to
completion, the unforeseen circumstances could be horrific. Not only
was he possibly married to the elegant bird, but his body contained
its essence. He'd never heard of a wizard getting pregnant, but it
was not out of the realm of possibilities that he himself might be
transformed.
Vampires changed a human just by
feeding it their mixed blood. The untold possibilities of Harry
exchanging bodily fluid with a magical being could possibly even do
that.
"How long have you been having
intercourse, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked when he finally
forced himself to enter the Hospital Wing and vaguely outline the
problem.
"Er—four days," he mumbled.
"Have you been using
contraception?"
He flushed. "Er—that's not
really the problem."
She raised her eyebrows in an unspoken
question.
"I—that is—it's not—he's not
female."
A concerned look crossed her face.
"Have you been using any protection, Mr. Potter?"
He shook his head. "It's not an
option," he admitted quietly. "I just—I need to know—if
he's not h-human," he swallowed and Madam Pomfrey blinked at him
before setting aside her clipboard, "will there be
any—reactions?"
"What type of being are we talking
about?" she asked as she sat down beside him. She didn't offer
any more comfort, her back erect and professional, but still he liked
that she seemed to care just a bit.
"I don't know."
"You don't know? At all?"
"I can't figure it out."
Her lips thinned and she nodded. "You
haven't seen fit to ask before now?"
Harry shivered, thinking of the
magnificent swan. "Even if I asked, I wouldn't be able to get an
answer I understood."
"A foreign student then."
He shook his head.
"A Hogwarts student?"
He didn't respond.
"A professor from one of the
institutions?" she inquired, voice hushed and eyebrows furrowed
in disapproval.
"No."
"Then—who?"
"It's—he's—I don't understand.
I feel—drawn," he began to babble, relieved that he could
finally speak about it. "It started when I first saw him—so
beautiful, so perfect, and my heart has gotten to the point when it
feels it can barely beat without him there."
"Definitely not human," she
hummed to herself. "Something else, then."
"I just—I love him so much. Even
when he does this, I can't fully hate him, even when I say I do. I
don't understand. Why is he doing it? Why does he need to? I
apologized for asking Cho to the dance—I know he can understand
every word I say—yet still he comes every night when I don't go to
him. Every night and it gets harder and harder to breathe without him
there."
"Is your—" Madame Pomfrey
paused delicately "—companion a vampire?"
He laughed. "No. That I could
figure out." He sighed before getting up.
"Mr. Potter, you really must tell
me—"
"I can't. Not to him. He's
too—dear to me."
She sighed, knowing there was nothing
she could do.
"Is there a potion I can take or
spell that can tell you if I'm not fully human anymore?"
Pomfrey shook her head sadly. "I'm
afraid the only spell was banned by the Ministry. During the war, it
was used too indiscriminately and as a weapon. I'm sorry, Potter."
He nodded once before turning to leave
the room.
"Potter?" she called after
him and he paused. "If you notice anything different about
yourself—any change—come and find me immediately. Certain beings
and creatures have different—needs as well as allergies that may
need to be addressed. —And ask this young man. Please."
Nodding for the final time, he quietly
left the Hospital wing.
… TBC …
ExcentrykeMuse's Note: So, I'm
certain half of you are in shock, for which I apologize. I hope you
all managed to read the warnings, if not, free butterbeer and
shortbread for all! Please, do tell me what you think. All types
of review (except for flames) are welcome and I read each and every
one. There will be one more part to "Swan Song" and for
those who need to know -- there is a happy ending (and it's not like
"Pygmalion" so you don't have to worry). Thanks for
reading, cheers, cen
The Enchantment Series. A series
of short fics centering around otherworldly enchantments.
One. Thanatos. Written for
Valentine's Day 2010. (Harry)/Draco. [Death]
Two. Swan Song—A Veela Love Story.
Harry/Original Male Veela. [Veela]
Three. Vitula: My Beloved.
Harry/Sanguini. [Vampire]
Four. Book of Hours. Harry/James
Sirius. [Cupid]
Five. Beneath the Ympe-Tree.
Harry/Fred. [Fairy]
Six. Weeping Lament.
Harry/Colin. [Banshee]
Title: Swan Song – A Veela Love
Story
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Pairing: Harry/Orignal Male
Veela
Summary: AU of fourth year. The
night Harry's name comes out of the Goblet, he goes down to the Black
Lake where he sees a beautiful mute swan who, unknown to him, is a
pure Veela in its natural form.
Warnings: Dub-con, Underage
sexual relationships, Bestiality, Slight violence.
Part the Third
Harry couldn't ask the swan that night
when he lay awake in bed. The nights had turned unnaturally cold, and
Harry found he preferred—joining—with the swan in the comfort of
his own bed than in the freezing water of the lake or the harshness
of the pebbled shore. He wasn't sure how the cygnet knew where to
find him or even how it opened the high tower window, but just after
midnight, a wind rushed through the room followed by the gentle
flapping of wings.
Opening the curtains wide, Harry
greeted the magnificent bird by pulling it to his chest and stroking
its wings gently.
"Swan," he murmured lovingly,
despising himself for his own weakness and the swan nipped playfully
at his ear. "Swan, I need to talk to you."
The cygnet moved its bill up and down
the side of his neck, causing a shiver to run through Harry.
"I know—I know you're not a
Muggle swan. I need to know what you are." Tears formed in his
eyes and the swan leaned up gently and nuzzled them as they fell down
Harry's cheeks. "I need to know if I will—change from all of
this. Swan, please," he begged.
It ruffled its feathers and Harry let
it go.
"Vampires change humans when they
exchange blood. I need to know."
Black eyes gazed hauntingly into his
and Harry looked away, picking up a book he had taken out earlier
from the library entitled A young wizard's guide to Magical
Beings. He'd looked through it for any type of being that was a
swan, but still he had found nothing. It was more comprehensive than
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and The Monster
Book of Monsters, as it included both spirits and beings.
The swan ruffled its feathers and
wiggled its tail. Harry's eyes roved lovingly over it. Whenever the
cygnet came to him, sang its silent song, the aching in his heart
would ease and he could find he could not blame the creature for its
misguided attentions. He hated himself for allowing it, for not being
able to put an end to the surreal situation, but he could not blame
his beautiful swan.
He opened the book to the five page
long table of contents and held it up in front of the swan.
"Anything?" he questioned.
The swan stared at him and Harry
sighed, though he didn't give up hope. Turning the page he repeated
the question, only to find the cygnet looking away toward the new
waxing moon.
"Swan," he whispered.
"Please. It doesn't—it doesn't matter. How can it matter
when—after—" His voice broke off into a quiet sob and the
swan turned to him, its feathers rustling, concern in its dark eyes.
"Please," he whispered again and the swan dutifully looked
at the page before glancing away in answer to his question.
Turning finally to the last page, Harry
waited, holding his breath when the cygnet reared up and flapped its
wings expressively.
"Here then?" Harry whispered,
stunned. "It's on this page?"
Wings flapped again.
"Alright," he murmured
turning to the back of the book. "I'm glad you're not a
mermaid," he admitted. "That would be—difficult."
He began to slowly turn the pages
again, waiting for the swan to make some signal that he recognized
itself. When he finally came across the entry for Vila, the swan
ruffled its feathers again and Harry looked at it, shocked.
"Veela?" he breathed in
wonder. "Veela can turn into swans?"
The cygnet cocked its head to the side
and Harry gulped, quickly turning the book around so he could read
the entry. Skimming it, words and phrases jumped out at him as he
absorbed the information … Vila … Slavic fairies or nymphs …
beauty, lust … fidelity … usually female … shape shifting …
swans, horses, snakes, wolves … beautiful … long flowing hair …
naked or dressed in white … intermarriage rare … control of
weather … chosen beloved … fierce warriors … vengeful …
healing and prophetic powers … magical voice … plucking the hair
will kill the Vila … secretive … not much known of their ways,
even when married to wizards …
He glanced up, his eyes full of wonder.
"You're a Veela?"
The swan nudged the book from his hands
and flapped back into his awaiting arms, and Harry held onto it
protectively.
"My swan," he murmured, tears
once again falling from his face. "I am your beloved then?"
The cygnet—the Veela—reached up and
drank in his tears, and Harry took this as confirmation.
Harry stroked his neck gently,
affectionately, love swelling in his heart. "Why then?" His
voice cracked. "Why did you—rape me if I'm your chosen
beloved? Why, Swan? It hurt so much—you nearly drowned me—and
then after, again and again—why if you love me?"
Feathers stroked against his neck and
Harry threw his head back, moaning softly. Gently, webbed feet pushed
down his sleep pants, leaving Harry free to the cold night air. Harry
bit his lip, remaining perfectly still and willing the tears forming
again in his eyes not to fall.
The Veela—his swan—loved him. He
was the chosen beloved, he reminded himself. Not much was known of
the ways of Veela. Fleur and Aubrey had not offered much information
to him on their ancestry and the swan had at least told him what it
was so that he would know and not be left to wonder.
And the swan was loving him the only
way it could in this form. Harry knew he could not comprehend its
reasoning, he had known that since the first time the cygnet had
taken him beneath the surface of the lake. It was sentient, yes, but
not human. Its culture and perceptions were different and no matter
how betrayed Harry might feel in the depths of his mind, he knew the
cygnet adored him and loved him. He was the swan's and he would never
be anyone else's.
Feathers stroked his thighs and Harry
sighed as he allowed his emotions to slip away and gave himself over
to the sensations his swan could coax from him. Rubbing gently
against him, the great waterfowl hissed softly, the first sound to
escape its dark beak, as they shuddered together, one heart beating
in their two breasts, sweat slicked skin caressing downy feathers.
"Swan," Harry sighed as he
reached for his wand to clean them, but the swan pecked his hand
away.
Webbed feet padded across his stomach
and its long neck wrapped around Harry's throat.
He smiled gently. "My swan."
… … … … … … …
Harry discovered quite quickly that
there was very little information about Veela in the Hogwarts
library. He learnt that 'Vila' was the native Slavic term for the
nymphs and that 'Veela' was an English variant, as well as the French
'Wili', but that hardly helped him. He doubted his Veela was English,
and wondered what term or spelling he preferred. He was a full Veela
to be able to transform into the form of a swan, and Harry suspected
there was a reason why her never transformed back to his nymph form
unlike Aubrey and Fleur, who was only a quarter Veela, by her
admittance.
She had said her wand core was a hair
from her Veela grandmother's head, and he shuddered at the thought. A
Veela died when a hair was plucked from her head—and to admit so
casually the death of a loved one disturbed him. He could not imagine
his swan dead, gone even. His heart was pulled toward him too much,
and he suspected it was more than just the Veela allure. Fleur had
little if any affect on him and the Bulgarian mascots only could hold
his attention while dancing. This—this was something else—the
hauntingly silent swan song called to his very heart and sometimes he
felt like he could barely eat when he was away from his swan.
The book on magical creature marriage
laws, however, did give him some insight. As his swan was in its
'natural form' the bonding was considered a magical union, a wedding,
and could not be undone. It was a tradition, a sacred ceremony to the
Slavic nymphs, the reason though a mystery to wizard society.
If the Veela had been in its harpy form
certain words would have to be spoken before and after the act and it
would mean nothing if they were human, as non-bonded Veela were known
for entrancing young wizards and witches to dance with them—which
could sometimes end in a rapturous union before the Veela disappeared
into the night air, or the cruel treatment of the wizard before he
was left alone and lost in the wilderness.
He, Harry James Potter, was married—and
yet he did not even know his swan's name or his nymph form, which he
prayed the cygnet would soon reveal to him.
"Veela," he whispered to
Madam Pomfrey. He had returned to the Hospital Wing for his own peace
of mind. He knew that Veela did not transform their partners into
Veela—Fleur Delacour's existence proving that humans remained human
after taking a Veela wife and their children were of mixed
descent—but there still could be unseen effects. Werewolves could
impregnate human mates, even wizards occasionally although wizards
weren't supposed to be able to carry children, and he needed to make
certain nothing like that could happen to him.
The matron looked up at him and eyed
him critically, a second year Hufflepuff sitting before her.
"A Veela in his natural form,"
he clarified and she nodded.
"You realize that I am honor bound
to inform the Headmaster about this, especially if the Veela in
question is, by any chance, Monsieur du Lac?"
Harry blushed and looked away. He
hadn't considered that his swan might be Aubrey—that his friend
might have kept his dual identity a secret, but it made sense. Aubrey
had been reluctant to attend the first task but said it would be
unbearable not to know. He even admitted he was not friends or
closely related to Fleur Delacour, and they were never in each
other's company. Aubrey's eyes followed him whenever they were both
in the Great Hall and he came and saw him after the first task, the
gentle feel of feathers against his neck as he fell asleep.
He swallowed. His swan very well could
be the French Veela. Glancing back at the curious second year, he
tilted his head toward Madam Pomfrey's office.
She nodded and a few minutes later
bustled in, looking at him sternly.
"I'm married," he confessed.
"I won't have anyone take that away from me. I checked the laws
and there's nothing anyone can do to us since he was in his natural
form. What does it matter who he really is when not—well, not a
sentient and magical animal?"
She clucked her tongue and sat down
behind her desk. "Several international agreements were signed
for the Tournament to even take place. Although Veelas' rights are
protected internationally, if this happened against your will—"
He shook his head. "I will never
claim anything of the kind."
Madam Pomfrey looked at him
appraisingly before nodding once again. "The headmaster still
needs to be informed. Do you know your husband's identity?"
"No. I don't."
She sighed. "I don't think we've
ever had such a situation in Britain. It is rare even within Eastern
Europe."
A chime sounded magically through the
office and she looked up.
"I appear to have another
patient," she said before getting up. "Expect to hear from
Professor Dumbledore within the next day or so. If you can find out
who your husband is, it might be helpful."
She quickly walked out and Harry
followed her, startled when he saw a weeping Cho Chang in the arms of
Cedric Diggory.
"What happened, dear?" Madam
Pomfrey asked as she and Harry took in Cho's changed appearance.
Her eyes were swollen and tears ran
down her cheeks, but what was truly startling were the streams of
blood that were pouring down her neck and the fact that clumps of her
hair appeared to have been ripped from her scalp and other swaths of
her black hair appeared to almost have been chewed shorter.
"I was just—outside. Talking to
Cedric," she admitted and he grimaced. Neither of them had
noticed Harry's presence. "We were talking about the Yule Ball
and I mentioned who else might have asked me." She blushed.
"Was it a large swan with silver
feathers?" Harry asked quietly and the three turned toward him.
"Y-yes," Cedric admitted,
holding Cho close. "It just—it came out of nowhere and
attacked, ripping at her hair. I've never seen anything like it. It
was so fierce and yet so beautiful."
Cho cried even harder and Harry stared
at her briefly.
"Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey
asked sternly, a question in her eyes.
"Yes. It's him."
"I'll call the Headmaster."
She quickly drew a partition, hiding Cho, Cedric and Harry from any
prying eyes that might walk in and quickly ran into her office.
Harry looked over at Cho and Cedric
warily before taking a seat in the only chair. He figured Cho and
Cedric could sit on the bed if they needed to. Cho continued to cry
on Cedric's shoulder and he kept on casting curious glances at Harry,
who stared at his hands not wanting to look at either of them.
Thoughts swirled through his mind and
all he could concentrate on was the thudding of wings and the splash
of water when his swan first claimed him—when they were bonded. He
knew this was connected. If the cygnet had such an extreme reaction
to him, it was plausible that he would stake his claim on Harry in
other ways including attacking Cho and destroying a symbol of her
beauty. He sighed. He needed to learn more about Veela—if that was
even possible.
He hoped international law protected
his swan—his husband—in this situation.
Glancing back up at Cho, he took in the
ruined sight of her hair and found that it barely moved him. He used
to find her pretty; he still did, objectively, although perhaps not
with her new hair. When he had to ask a girl, he decided on her
because he had once fancied her, but now all he could think about was
the cygnet and the repercussions that would befall him.
The door to infirmary swung open again.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Dumbledore's voice asked and within a few
moments, they were both standing in front of the three students. "I
see," he said quietly. "A Veela in its natural form did
this?"
"His," Harry whispered. "His
natural form."
Dumbledore looked at him, his bright
blue eyes stern and appraising, before he nodded.
"What happened, Miss Chang?"
he asked, but Cedric repeated the story.
"We were up in the owlery, just to
have some time alone. She was teasing me about the fact that Harry
asked her to the Ball."
Harry looked up at Cho, shock on his
face, and Dumbledore glanced over at him again.
"I see. Continue."
"Next thing we knew, there was
this large swan with silver feathers. It just—attacked her. It
pulled at her hair and started ripping it out. It happened so quickly
and I couldn't get it away from her. Then, it just flew away. I
brought her straight here."
"And Mr. Potter?"
Harry looked away.
"Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey
supplied quietly, "came in yesterday with questions about—a
magical creature bonding with him. He didn't know what it was, but
figured it out before this morning, when he came to tell me that he
had been married to a Veela in its natural form. It turns out it was
this swan."
Cho looked up, startled, her eyes
drying briefly as her dark gaze fell on Harry.
Dumbledore sighed. "A male Veela?"
he asked quietly and Harry nodded. "When exactly were you
married?"
"The night after I asked Cho to
the Ball," he admitted. "I told McGonagall I couldn't
escort anyone at all—but she was rather adamant and, well, I did.
Swan was—angry and it—happened."
"Was it against your will?"
Harry shook his head. "No. Swan is
dear to me."
He nodded sagely though he looked like
he didn't fully believe Harry. "Miss Chang, Mr. Diggory, I need
to know exactly what was said before the attack."
Cedric gulped, fidgeting, and glanced
at Harry. "I was telling Cho she should feel special that I
asked her—I was teasing her—and then she said that three other
boys asked her to the Ball including, well, the Harry Potter, and
clearly he was in love with her and was so—sweet. That if she
wanted, she could probably still go with him and be—well—Mrs.
Potter one day."
Harry shivered.
"She only said it to make me
slightly jealous," he added hurriedly.
Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore exchanged
meaningful glances.
"Do you know the identity of your
husband, Harry?" Dumbledore asked kindly.
He shook his head.
"What can be done, Professor?"
Cedric asked, stroking what was left of Cho's hair. "Surely
this—Veela—must be punished."
"I'm afraid there is nothing to be
done. The Veela chose to mate with and marry Mr. Potter. From what we
wizards understand, this is sacred to Veela."
"I thought they had a mate?"
Dumbledore laughed quietly. "A
wizard myth, nothing more. A Veela has a chosen beloved, Harry in
this case. This bond is recognized internationally by wizards as a
legally binding marriage that cannot be broken, even in death. My
congratulations, Mr. Potter," he added quietly with a nod of his
head, though his eyes were sad. "You will be greatly loved."
Harry smiled slightly.
Cedric cleared his throat.
"Unfortunately," Dumbledore
continued, "Professor McGonagall clearly did not know of the
forming bond between Mr. Potter and the Veela and urged Mr. Potter to
ask a young lady to the Ball, and he chose Miss Chang. The Veela,
most likely feeling threatened by any interest Harry might show to
one of his own kind, solidified the bond. When Miss Chang claimed in
his hearing that the Veela's husband was in love with her instead and
that she could one day marry him, he took action to prove his
dominance over her and punished her for a slur against his union. As
I said, international law protects this bonding. There is nothing I
could do, even if I knew the identity of the Veela. I am sorry."
Cho was now only crying gently against
Cedric's shoulder and Madam Pomfrey, during the conversation, had
bustled about, stopping the bleeding and sheering the hair so that it
was a semi neat cut around her face. Cho looked completely
transformed, almost like a different witch.
Harry briefly wondered why he ever
fancied her. All he could think of was the swan and how beautiful it
was in its majesty.
There was little left for him in the
wizarding world—everything, his heart, his mind, his body, belonged
only to the Veela.
… … … … … … …
Harry sat in a corner of the Gryffindor
common room, gazing out onto the Black Lake which mirrored the blue
sky above it. It was now Christmas Eve, the day before the Yule Ball,
and he still didn't know the identity of his husband.
He hadn't seen Aubrey in the Great Hall
and refused to ask Fleur anything about Veela and their culture. He
knew he could ask the swan, but he feared its wrath if he guessed
incorrectly. The swan could even be a few of the Durmstrang students
who had the signature silver Veela hair, even if they didn't have any
Veela heritage.
It was likely that his swan was a
foreign student as he had appeared just after the foreign
delegations, but it was not completely certain. There might be other
Veela in England that chose Hogwarts for some reason. It was rare, as
Aubrey said, for a pure Veela to attend a wizarding institution and
it might be a tradition to travel if they hadn't fully come into
their maturity like his swan—who was a juvenile swan, he had
learnt, while researching the waterfowl in the library.
"Coming, Harry?" Fred asked
him, causing him to visibly start.
"Er—what?"
"Coming to lunch?" his twin
said.
"Er—right. Yeah, sure." He
stood up slowly, wondering why he could never think of food when away
from his husband, but shook himself mentally. It could be part of the
allure—if what he felt was an intensified version.
"Have a date yet, then, Harry? For
the dance?"
He shook his head as they exited the
portrait hole. "No, I don't."
"You really need to get on that,"
George noted, before turning to his twin and starting a conversation
on Chang's mysterious attack. Dumbledore had asked all of them not to
speak about the incident, but many students had seen Cedric rushing
Cho to the Infirmary, Cho babbling about a swan and her hair. Rumors
had run rampant through Hogwarts.
Harry didn't bother to listen in.
When they reached the Great Hall, Harry
sat at the end of the table, as was his custom, but was startled when
Fleur Delacour stood at the sight of him and walked gracefully over,
the entire male population of the hall staring after her.
Harry looked up at her and she smiled,
flipping her hair back. He felt nothing for her.
"Mon ami," she
greeted, leaning down and kissing both of his cheeks in friendship.
"Felicitations on your marriage."
He blinked at her. "He told you?"
he asked in awe.
"But of course! When I 'eard of
zee swan I knew instantly eet was 'im. 'Ow could I not?"
Harry just nodded in disbelief.
She sat down across from him and Ginny
and her friends, who were sitting next to Harry as they usually did,
looked over him in curiosity.
"You're married?" Ginny asked
quietly and Fleur scoffed.
"Of course 'ee eez married!"
she declared to the Great Hall at large. "Eet eez an 'onour. Not
many 'umans are chosen to be loved by Veela, and 'is 'usband even
wants to take 'im into zee sacred veils, once you are finished wiz
your education, of course," she added kindly to Harry. "Not
even I am permitted to go and my grandmozzer was Veela!"
She began to serve herself some cod and
picked up her silverwear prettily.
Ginny gaped at them. "You're
married to a Veela?" she asked and Harry smiled slightly. "Since
when?"
"Friday."
"Was eet romantic?"
Harry stared at Fleur. "Not
really."
She waved a hand at him. "I should
'ave explained. To a Veela, zee elements are often called, air or
water usually. A sign of deep devotion is the joining with a form of
nature. Veela are nymphs of nature. To violently connect with one eez
zee goal."
"It was romantic then," Harry
said slowly.
"Wheech one?"
Harry stared at her.
"Air, fire, earth, water—"
"Water. I was nearly drowned."
She smiled beautifully and Ron, who was
about five seats away, almost passed out from the intensity of it.
"Très bon. But forgeeve
me, zere is anozzer reason I 'ave come over, zough I weeshed to
congratulate you, of course." She paused before taking out her
wand and casting a privacy spell over them. "I understand 'ee
'as not revealed 'imself to you, yet?"
"Yes," Harry admitted. "I
don't know why."
"I thought as much." She
paused and delicately placed a piece of fish in her mouth, savoring
the taste before continuing. "You 'ave not proved zat 'ee is
beloved. 'Ee weell not transform until you do, 'Arry. 'Is 'eart eez
breaking and 'ee cannot bear to look upon you wiz 'is 'uman eyes. Zat
eez why 'ee is not 'ere at present."
"Is he—" Harry paused and
took a long drink of pumpkin juice. "Is he Aubrey du Lac?"
She looked at him appraisingly before
nodding. "I 'ope 'ee does not disappoint."
Harry shook his head, smiling, thinking
of his dreams when his swan transformed into the handsome and kind
Aubrey. Part of him wondered if they weren't dreams after all. Did
his husband—Aubrey—transform and take him lovingly when he was
sleeping and burning for him?
"Thank you," he said quietly
and she smiled before taking down the spell.
"Not at all. Not at all."
… … … … … … …
Harry stared at his reflection in the
mirror, looking at the green dress robes that Mrs. Weasley had picked
out for him.
"Are you mental?" Ron asked
him again, not paying attention to his own horrible robes. "You
married a Veela?"
He sighed, wondering why Ron suddenly
cared. "It's not like it's Fleur, so you don't need to be
jealous."
"Jealous? Jealous! I'm not
jealous."
"Of course you're not. You only
stare at Fleur even when Hermione is around." He turned away and
walked out of the room. He only had a few minutes before McGonagall
expected him in the antechamber next to the Great Hall for the
processional. He'd tried to find Aubrey to ask him to the Ball, even
if he was in his swan form, but the cygnet had not appeared the night
before and, too tired to go out into the freezing night, Harry had
fallen asleep, alone and unhappy.
He didn't pay attention as McGonagall
fussed over his lack of a date or when Fleur smiled kindly at him
from the arm of Roger Davies, a sixth year Ravenclaw. Cho was looking
pretty but sad beside Cedric and Krum was escorting a pretty
Beauxbatons student.
As he processed in, his eyes sought out
Aubrey, but he saw him nowhere and had to sit beside Percy Weasley
who droned on about how important he was.
Harry couldn't pay attention to him,
his heart pulling him toward his beloved swan, and he kept glancing
out the large windows toward the Great Lake that was barely visible
through the thick rain.
"A peety eet should rain,"
Viktor's pretty date was saying. "I 'eard zey were supposed to
'ave les fées for zee gardens."
Krum quietly agreed with her.
Harry didn't care about the gardens or
the fairies; all he cared for was his missing husband, out alone in
the rain possibly. The rain …
He stood up quickly, knocking over his
chair. It was raining and Veela controlled storms. The only other
time he had done it, the swan—Aubrey, he mentally reminded
himself—had been upset that Harry had asked someone else to the
stupid Ball. It was the way he cried, Harry realized, and without
looking back, he rushed out of the Hall and into the rain.
"Aubrey!" he called but the
storm swallowed his words. Making his way toward the Black Lake,
Harry began to strip off his soaking robes. He knew no one could see
him, half naked. He probably wouldn't care if they did. All that
mattered was Aubrey was upset and needed to know how desperately
Harry craved him—how much he adored and loved him.
Kicking off his shoes and stripping off
his trousers, he plunged head first into the turgid waves and swam
toward the center of the lake where barely, just barely, he could
make out brilliant white feathers shining against the dark pools of
water.
"Aubrey," he said softly as
he reached the swan who appeared to come into his full maturity over
the past week, his feathers lightening from gray to silver to white,
its beak still a gray-black, however.
The swan looked up, startled, and Harry
smiled, pulling it into his arms. Plunging them beneath the waves, he
stroked his feathers and gasped in water when he could feel the
familiar flapping of wings against his thighs, and he opened himself
willingly for his husband to claim him in nature's domain. His thighs
loosened with every thrust of the feathered glory and Harry called
out when he felt Aubrey shudder against him. Swimming hastily to the
surface, Harry gasped for breath, the swan flapping beside him in the
rain.
Harry reached out hesitantly and gently
stroked the cygnet's head, kissing the top of it gently. "I love
you," he murmured, knowing this was right. "I love you,
Aubrey."
Feathers struck against the water,
blinding Harry in the rain, and he pulled back slightly from the cold
until strong human arms encased him and brought him to the smooth
chest of his husband. He looked up in the rain to see Aubrey, with
gray eyes and a large smile, gazing lovingly down at him.
"Took you long enough," he
murmured before kissing Harry thoroughly in the rain.
When dawn broke the next morning, Harry
awoke to soft lips against his own and smiled against them, tangling
his hand in silky silver hair.
"'Arry," Aubrey murmured
lovingly, the sun shining down on the two oblivious lovers on the
shore of the Black Lake.
- The End -
The Enchantment Series. A series
of short fics centering around otherworldly enchantments.
One. Thanatos. Written for
Valentine's Day 2010. (Harry)/Draco. [Death]
Two. Swan Song—A Veela Love Story.
Harry/Original Male Veela. [Veela]
Three. Vitula: My Beloved.
Harry/Sanguini. [Vampire]
Four. Book of Hours. Harry/James
Sirius [Cupid/Love]
Five. The White Stag.
Harry/Peter Pevensie [white stag; swan maiden theme]
ExcentrykeMuse's Note: There it
is -- a HAPPY ENDING like I promised. Thanks to everyone for reading.
The ENCHANTMENT SERIES continues next Monday with Vitula: My
Beloved, a Harry/Sanguini two shot. My chaptered fic Of
Princes and Fireflies continues every Wednesday as well, but
Beautiful, the Dark Heir is currently on hiatus. I just
completed a one shot (SLASH, the pairing's a surprise) entitled
Crayon Colored Lupines that should be posted within the month.
Thanks for reading, and once again please review and tell me what
you think. cheers, cen
Aucun commentaire:
Enregistrer un commentaire