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When Harry was 14 years old, he didn't think much about the fact that Veela rarely affected him. Sure, when they turned their full powers on him, he would act a little recklessly, but he could walk past one with minimal issues. He figured that he just had a higher tolerance to magic like that, a theory that was strongly supported by his ability to throw off the Imperius Curse.
When Harry was 18, he realized that, while he was attracted to women, he was attracted to men just a little bit more, which is how he was able to be so calm around Veela. He was grateful that male Veela didn't exist, or at least weren't common. He was pretty sure he would be a blithering mess around them, and he's had enough embarrassment for a lifetime, thank you very much.
So when, at the age of 25 a male Veela appeared in his clinic, Harry knew it was fate laughing at him once again.
After the war, Harry wanted more than anything to continue helping people. He had toyed briefly with becoming an Auror, but both Ron and Hermione had swiftly talked him out of that, telling him that he had fought enough for a lifetime. After a lot of thought, Harry decided to become a Healer, opening up his own clinic at the age of 21 after flying through the coursework. He had thought about working at St Mungo's, but having a clinic in Diagon Alley that catered to all magical beings seemed to be a better fit for him. It didn't hurt that Ron was working just down the street at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, helping out Fred and George now that they had expanded to the continent.
Harry's clinic quickly gained popularity, bolstered by his name at first, but keeping clients for his excellent care. Non-wizards especially loved his clinic, as Harry treated them all equally, and hired non-magical nurses to help out.
He had even had a few Veela patients before, and they were pleased that Harry was unaffected by their presence, which is probably why he found himself with an injured male Veela on an early Saturday morning in November.
"Good morning," Harry said as the door jingled just minutes after he had unlocked it, jotting down a note for himself. "You're the first one here, so I'll just take you to the back right after we get your informa-"
Harry broke off as he glanced up at the patient, struck momentarily dumb as he saw the most beautiful man standing before him. His hair looked as if it were made of bronze, and his eyes were a gorgeous, sparkling grey. Harry briefly wondered if setting his desk on fire with nonverbal magic would impress the man before realizing what was going on.
"Ah, sorry. I'm going to have to ask you to stop using your allure in here," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I'm not using my allure," The Veela said, clearly confused.
"You're not?" Harry frowned, trying to ignore the desperate need to impress the man in front of him.
"I promise," The Veela said. "Our community respects you too much to try and allure you."
"Thank you, that means a lot," Harry said, feeling pleased to have gained their respect. "Right, well, can I get a name?"
"Yes," The Veela smiled, making Harry's heart do somersaults. "My name is Cedric Diggory."
"Right, Mr Diggory," Harry said, jotting down the information. "And what seems to be the issue today?"
"My mother accidentally burned me," Diggory said, offering up his arm as proof.
"Ah," Harry jotted that down. "Come with me into the exam room, and we'll take a better look at it. I'm assuming it's from Veela fire?"
"Yes," Dirggory said, trailing behind Harry as he led the Veela to an exam room. "She got rather heated with me during a routine argument, and her hand was still scalding when she touched my arm."
"A routine argument?" Harry raised his eyebrow at Diggory, patting the seat where he wanted the Veela to sit. "I thought fireballs and wings only appeared during extreme anger and duress."
"Well, in her mind, it's extreme duress," Diggory said with a roll of his eyes, sitting down on the seat. "She's been nagging me since I first molted that I need to find my mate."
"Ah," Harry pulled out a burn paste specifically designed for Veela burns from the cupboard. He squeezed some into his palm. "And you don't want to?"
"It's not exactly the same process for Veela as it is for wizards," Diggory said, looking amused as Harry's hand hovered above his arm, not yet closing the distance. "You're allowed to touch me, you know?"
"Yes, but it feels like you're using your full allure on me," Harry said with an exhale, "and I'm trying to brace myself."
"Sorry about that," Diggory said with an apologetic smile, "I didn't realize I would affect you this way. Even when I use my allure to its full power, I don't normally hold much sway over people."
"But you're stunning!" Harry blurted out, flushing when he realized what he said. "I-uh...sorry, Mr Diggory. Normally I have better control over this. That was unprofessional of me."
"It's quite alright," Diggory said, preening at Harry's compliment.
"So, you mentioned that finding a mate was a different process?" Harry said, trying to distract himself as he prepared to touch the Veela. "What does that entail?"
"You mean you don't know the ins and outs of Veela courting, Healer Potter?" Diggory teased. "Well, with Veela biology, we've only got the option of one or two mates in our lifetime. We can form relationships with those that aren't our mate, but they're never as strong, and our lifespans are much shorter than if we find our mate."
"That is a lot of pressure to find one person," Harry said as he closed the distance between their bodies to apply the paste. "How do you know when you've found your mate?"
Gold and silver sparks shot from his and Diggory's skin when they touched, making both men jump back in shock. Diggory looked at Harry as if he had never seen him before.
"I'm terribly sorry about that, Mr Diggory," Harry said, looking at his own hands in horror, burn paste smeared on Diggory's burn as well as Harry's hand. "I haven't done accidental magic since I was 13. I didn't even feel my magic in that."
"It's alright," Diggory said softly, his cheeks red, "I...I don't think it'll happen again. If you want to continue, that is..."
Harry took a breath, reaching forward to touch Diggory's arm again. He sighed in relief when he didn't cause any additional accidental magic. Harry began to massage the paste into the skin, pleased to see the burn vanishing beneath his hands. "So, Mr Diggory-"
"Cedric," Diggory interrupted, grey eyes locking with green. "Please, call me Cedric."
"Cedric," Harry repeated, swallowing thickly. "Before I so rudely interrupted you with my magic, I had just asked you how you knew when you had found your mate?"
"Oh," Cedric flashed Harry a smile that seemed to hold a deeper meaning. " That . Us Veela, we just...know."
"Hermione," Harry said later that evening, lounging in the Granger-Weasley living room after their traditional Saturday night dinner. "Have you heard of accidental magic happening around Veela?"
"Hm," Hermione hummed, her hand carding through Ron's hair, his head in her lap. "I don't suppose you're talking about the magic that is done to impress the Veela while under their allure?"
"No, something different." Harry said. “It was silver and gold sparks…I don’t even think I felt my magic create them.”
“That’s odd,” Hermione said. “I’d have to look into it. Where did you see it happen?”
“In Diagon Alley,” Harry said, glossing over the fact it happened to him. “It was a male Veela, I’ve never seen one of them before.”
“They’re pretty rare,” Ron piped up, his eyes closed as he enjoyed Hermione’s ministrations. “The female presenting Veela are the hunters and protectors, from what I remember. The male presenting Veela are usually the ones that raise the children, take care of the home. Things like that. They protect the male presenting ones fiercely.”
“Huh,” Harry replied. “That’s good to know. Did you know that Veela have mates that are predestined, or whatever?”
“I thought I had read something about that,” Hermione mused. “It’s not Veela dependent either. Their mate can be any gender, or magical species.”
“Why the sudden interest in Veela?” Ron asked, opening an eye to look over at Harry.”
“Oh, you know,” Harry shrugged. “I run a magical healer clinic. Never know when these sorts of things will come up.”
Harry spotted Cedric the next Monday in Diagon Alley as he came back from visiting Ron up at the joke shop during his lunch break. Cedric was standing in front of Harry’s clinic, looking strangely nervous. Several witches and wizards had turned to gawk at him, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Afternoon, Cedric!” Harry said, ignoring the urge to climb on top of his clinic and jump off in an impressive show of bravery. Cedric startled, turning to look at Harry like he had been caught doing something wrong.
“Healer Potter!” Cedric exclaimed, making a witch behind him swoon. “It’s good to see you, though I’m sorry to be bothering you so quickly.”
“You’re not a bother at all, Cedric.” Harry replied, gesturing for him to come in. The clinic was busier than it had been on Saturday, his vampire secretary busy answering the phone as goblin nurses helped patients in other exam rooms. “It looks like your burn healed up nicely.”
“Yes, thank you again for that,” Cedric replied with a smile. “I’m afraid it happened again, though.”
“You got another burn?” Harry asked.
“Yes. Not from my mother, though.” Cedric replied hastily. “The was a little Veela having a temper tantrum, and I got caught in the crossfire.”
Cedric tugged at the neck of his shirt, showing off the burn on his upper chest. Harry tried to contain himself, mouth watering at the newly exposed skin.
He’s injured, you creep! Harry complained to himself as he grabbed the burn paste, quickly preforming a wandless sanitation charm on his hands before squeezing out a generous amount of paste. Cedric would be horrified that you’re drooling over his injured bloody chest.
“You seem to have all the luck this week,” Harry told Cedric, rubbing the paste onto the new burn.
“Yes, well. I did get to meet you out of the deal, Healer Potter,” Cedric told him, and Harry felt his breath catch as they locked eyes. “So, I consider myself very lucky, indeed.”
“Harry,” He managed to get out, “You can call me Harry.”
“Harry,” Cedric repeated happily, and Harry’s hand felt warm where it was still resting on Cedric’s chest. “Thank you again for fixing me up.”
“Not a problem,” Harry said, removing his hand rather unsubtly. “It’s what I do. Heal people.”
“Yes, you do that quite well,” Cedric said. “I’ll see you around, Harry.”
“Not too soon, I hope.” Harry called after Cedric, “I don’t want to see you hurt.”
Cedric quickly became a regular at Harry’s clinic, coming in at least every other day with some medical mishap or another. His visits became so frequent that Ron met him just before the beginning of December, the meeting itself an odd event in itself.
Ron had stopped by to pick Harry up for lunch and had been immediately cornered by an angry Veela. Or at least, that’s how Ron told the story.
“He rounded on me as if I were an enemy!” Ron told him, though he wasn’t upset. If anything, Ron found the whole thing hilarious. “He demanded to know who I was, and what my purpose was with you.”
“You’re being dramatic, Ron,” Harry rolled his eyes.
“I’m really not,” Ron snorted.
Cedric had seen it a different way, of course.
“You’re known to have enemies, even this long after the war,” Cedric explained later that afternoon, as Harry treated him for a broken finger. “I was making sure he was safe.”
Of course, Hermione was the one to finally let him know what was truly going on with Cedric.
“I discovered that when a Veela touches their mate for the first time, there are gold and silver sparks that are produced.”
And wasn’t that interesting?
Harry let his employees go home early Christmas eve, leaving him alone in the clinic. It was sort of a tradition of his, as things slowed down and people wanted to spend time with family. It was a rare occasion that Harry had any patients in the clinic that day, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case today.
“Hello, Harry,” Cedric said, whirling into the clinic like he usually did, snowflakes caught in his hair. “Sorry again to bother you.”
“Well, I’m sorry you’re hurt,” Harry responded, “But I’m always glad to see you. What did you need, Cedric?”
“My finger hurts something fiercely,” Cedric said, holding his hand out for Harry to inspect.”
“Yes, I see the problem,” Harry said, peering at Cedric’s perfect hands. “You have a hangnail.”
“A hangnail?” Cedric said, looking shocked. “What does it take to cure that?”
Harry grabbed Cedric’s hand, giving into his instincts to press a kiss to Cedric’s fingers. He heard the Veela gasp, and he glanced through his lashes to see that Cedric’s face was a lovely rose hue.
“A kiss should suffice,” Harry said.
Cedric blinked at him, before holding out his other hand. “This hand hurts as well.”
Harry beamed at Cedric, pressing tiny kisses to Cedric’s fingers. “We wouldn’t want them to hurt. It’s Christmas after all.”
“That reminds me,” Cedric said, and he pulled out a small gift, handing it over to Harry. “I brought you a gift, to apologize for always coming in here.”
“ You didn’t need to bring that ,” Harry said. “ Your presence is enough of a gift to me .”
“There’s one other place that hurts,” Cedric said after a moment, his grey eyes wide.
“Where is that?” Harry asked.
“My lips.”
(Later, Harry would ask Cedric why he didn’t tell him the truth about being mates. And Cedric would tell him that he wanted Harry to like him as he was, not because of the allure. But that’s a story for a different time.)