Chapter Text
❀you made flowers ❀ grow
in my ❀ lungs
❀and although they❀ are❀
beautiful
❀i cant fucking ❀ breathe.
Contrary to popular belief, Draco actually hadn’t taken a liking to Regulus Black until the very day he turned fourteen. It was a crazy fault, since they happened to be cousins, and Regulus made sure to never miss a Malfoy-Black-and-all-the-other-lines reunion for the life of him. Narcissa had initiated these horrible attempts at family bonding short after Draco aged into Hogwarts, and merlin, their family tree went in loops. Horribly long ones.
And so within this family, Draco frequently found himself in the company of Luna Lovegood, who was…also a cousin. Honestly, one could never do with too many of those, apparently.
She was, surprisingly, the only one he tolerated until Regulus, who, in all fairness, despite clearly being a prickly asshat, tried his best to be nice to his younger family members.
Luna adored him, and said as such.
Draco wanted nothing to do with him, and said it loud and proud.
It wasn’t like Regulus had done anything either. Maybe Draco was the prickly asshat. Well, no maybe about it. He knew damn well that he was.
Stood on it too.
Every month or so these “family bondings“, that made Draco want to open his casket and climb in, occurred and with them came a bushel of niceties his Mother scolded at him to permit. The only good part of having to smile at Sirius Lupin-Black was that he didn’t have to smile at his ghastly Mother, Walburga, who had, thankfully, taken to ignoring everyone else’s existence outside her and her husband’s own.
Good riddance, Draco could only think. He’d met the woman one time, and she attempted to murder him with a fork, but that was a story for another time.
See, Draco could half-heartedly manage to tolerate these torture summonings for his Mother’s sake. Narcissa had finally gotten back in touch with her sister Andromeda, and they were clearly mourning Bellatrix, who (thank heavens) was locked away in Azkaban for nefarious crimes not to be mentioned, and also for being a complete and utter bitch.
Once a year, Narcissa dragged Draco to that abdominally cold prison to visit, so yes, he would know. He was sure that if Bellatrix could, and if she had one, she’d try to kill him with a fork as well. Family full of loony bins, was what he had.
Anyways, the other part of Draco showed his disdain for these gatherings as much as it was allowed, and that included scowling at Regulus whenever he came near, and his Mother wasn’t looking. He was forced to smile when Narcissa turned his way. That’s how everyone and their Grandmothers thought they were all hand and hand throwing flower petals and skipping and dancing and being nice favorite cousins.
Like Draco would ever skip and dance.
It all changed though, when he turned fourteen. Precisely at midnight is when it happened.
See, someone really should have told Draco that his family was nutters. Someone at least should have told him that veela was a dormat trait along the Black family line. Always with that line. He would disown it if he could.
It just so happened he and Regulus were the two resident male veela’s probably in the entire wizarding Britain. As soon as the stupid humongous white bird wings snapped out of Draco’s back and sent him almost flat on his face, Regulus was there, ready to help.
Draco didn’t bother to ask where he’d come from until after he finished having his nice little mental break, and side eyeing the wigs he couldn’t control.
The conversation they had went something like this:
”Where’d you come from?”
”My flat in Wiltshire.”
”How’d you get here so quick?”
”I apparated, genius.”
”I’ll scratch your eyes out. Why’d you come?”
”I smelled you.”
Draco glared at him. “Are you trying to tell me I stink, Black?”
”I meant, I could smell your veela scent, you great asshole,” Regulus glared back. Good, they were on the same terms of nonfriendliness. “I couldn’t smell you before you Changed.”
”Alright, how do I change back?”
”Putting your wings up, and controlling your allure will take time, but—“
”No. I meant how do I stop being veela.”
Regulus stared at him. “You don’t.”
This prompted Draco to throw a fit, and a few glasses among the room shattered. His magic, Regulus informed, was stronger now that his Change had occurred, and said scoldingly that if he didn’t quit behaving like an incoherent child he would get slapped.
Draco pursed his lips and sat still for as long as his bothersome wings would allow.
Becoming close with Regulus after that was easy, Draco supposed. He resisted it for all of two weeks, before he gave in and just did what the hell Regulus told him. He was his veela fact informant, and he told Draco all he needed to know about being one.
Like these:
1. Veela’s did not die if they didn’t find their mate, or if their mate didn’t want them. Sometimes a veela didn’t even have a mate. They were creatures of love, but they were free to whoever and whatever they chose. (Draco had just about jumped for joy at this one. Wizard’s were old gruffy liars when it came to magical creatures.)
2. If a veela did have a mate, it wasn’t “pre-destined” or whatever. Or it wasn’t purely based off that. Mating was based off of attraction. If Draco had a mate, it wouldn’t be some bloody pillock he didn’t like, it would be someone he was largely attracted to, and whatever bonding magic was in his veela blood would guide him to someone he could fall in love with, and that would suit him. (Not that he wanted it to.)
3. The wings were purely for show (not like Draco cared because he’d really rather not be flying around looking like a great big bird) but they were adherently very sensitive. Regulus, with no shame, had told Draco that sometimes his popped out during youknowwhat, and Draco had run away screaming. He’d come back only when Regulus had promised to never talk about that again, and was lectured on how he should never let anyone touch his wings. He didn’t say why, but it was a veela thing, he supposed.
4. Enough allure and you could become the king of the world. Enough allure, and you could also be facing three years in Azkaban. So, Draco was to control his allure at all times. Not many could resist the pull of a veela, and so he wasn’t allowed to use it on anyone, even his worst enemy. (Like his worst enemy deserved his allure anyway.)
So all in all, being a veela was fucking lame. The whole thing was basically for fun and fucks, was what Regulus liked to say. Draco certainly found no fun in having to groom his wings every two weeks, or having to control not only his allure, but his magic when he got overwhelmed. Being a veela was boring and bothering.
At least he could complain about it to another.
⚘
Draco had taken up running to his favorite cousin whenever something happened to him, whenever the time may be. Regulus could be in the middle of taking a shower and Draco would let himself in and sit against a wall in the bathroom sulking and complaining about his life, until Regulus yelled at him to get out so he could shower in peace.
Draco often flooed from Severus’ Office in Hogwarts, and that was a message within its self. He flooed from Hogwarts, where he spent most of his time, and therefore the blasted school was the root of all his problems. Or most of them anyway.
This time his flooeing happened around 8pm, and he was sporting a rather cruel bruise on his jaw, thanks to (and are we even surprised) Harry sodding Potter.
Draco was convinced he’d hate the git in every single universe. They were just made to be enemies it seemed.
Regulus sighed when Draco stepped out of the flames, looking very obviously put out. “Potter punched me.”
”Did he, now?” Regulus was standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of pasta. He was also, Draco noticed with avid disgust, not wearing a shirt, and his neck was littered in dark marks.
”Do you have company?” Draco asked. “Is it Crouch?”
Regulus rolled his eyes. “Merlin, Draco you never listen to me do you?”
”I do!” Draco flopped down on the couch, peering at his older cousin. “You and Crouch broke up last year. Yippee. Great for you. I also remember you telling me days after that you two were still fucking.”
”Wow, I’m so proud of you,” Regulus deadpanned. “You finally said the word ‘fucking’ in a sexual manner without violently convulsing and turning green.”
”Fuck you,” Draco grumbled. He cast a glance toward the hall that lead towards Regulus’ bedroom. “So is it?”
”It is not,” Regulus informed him. “As it may be, the last time I saw him was a few weeks ago.”
”Uh huh,” Draco nodded. “Do put some cheese in that pasta, Reg—and this is a tale you’ve yet to tell me.”
”The last time you visited you spent two hours ranting about how much you hate Harry.” Regulus moved to get some cheese from the fridge. “And anyways, I’ll tell you when company is gone.”
“Is company referring to me?” A man with cheeky green eyes and golden hair stepped out of Regulus’ room. His skin was a light brown, and sprinkled with freckles. He looked positively exotic. “You called me ‘a good time’ earlier, Reg.”
Draco fought the urge to jump into the floo head first. He shot Regulus a look, and Regulus shot one back before pointing him to get up and watch the pasta while he crossed the room to go engage in his company. Draco scowled but got up anyway. Regulus acted like such a muggle sometimes. He could put a charm on this pitiful looking pasta. It looked unappetizing as Regulus’ taste in men, not that Crouch was anything short of hot.
He also happened to not be short of crazy either.
Draco sighed and got to cooking. He’d be over for a while anyways, and he’d like to have edible food to eat.
”Marx, meet my younger cousin, Draco,” Regulus ushered Marx into the kitchen. Draco rolled his eyes. What a stupid name. Who named their child Marx? Why not Mark, or Max? Why a combination? Honestly, he must be a muggle.
”Nice to meet you, Draco.” Marx held his hand out for Draco to shake, and Draco, being himself, looked at him with visible disdain before turning away to tend to the pasta.
”He’s a bitch,” Regulus informed Marx. “He’s not nice to anyone and has no friends.”
”Can’t believe you’re describing yourself right now, Regulus,” Draco responded.
”I have plenty of—“
”In your imagination.”
Regulus glared at him. “You wait five minutes, Draco, and my foot will be up your arse.”
”I’m so scared,” Draco said. He turned to Marx with an unimpressed eye. “Will you be staying for dinner? I don’t particularly like you.”
Regulus sighed.
Marx looked skittish. “No, I should go. See you next week, Reg?”
Draco pointedly ignored the kiss that ensued after that, and glared into the pasta until he heard the front door close. As soon as it did, he turned to Regulus with a look. “Was that a muggle?”
”Tired of wizard company,” Regulus shrugged.
”You know, if you still associated yourself with Walburga, I’d say you’d taken up a muggle just to anger her,” Draco said, turning back to the stove.
“As much as I love the thought, no,” Regulus leaned against the counter next to Draco. “Barty has come to a sudden realization after 16 years that he’s in love.”
Draco raised a brow. “With you? Shocking, really, it is, seeing as he was your fiancé. Bloody pillock, why wouldn’t he be in love with you?”
Regulus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Not with me. Do you really think the universe favors me that much? He’s in love with Evan.”
Draco paused in his vigorous stirring of the pasta. “The one who went off to Spain?”
”Yes, that one.”
”The one who doesn’t talk to any of you anymore?” Draco asked, astonished. Honestly, these adults were crazy. Rosier had been in Spain for six years now, and Regulus and Crouch had been engaged for two of them. So the math wasn’t mathing, clearly.
”Yes, that Evan Rosier,” Regulus said. “Barty realized rather suddenly after what I would call a round of passionate hate sex—“ Draco pretended to choke himself at that—“that he was in love with him. Has been in love with him for ages.”
”Is that why you and him split?” Draco asked, after he had recovered. The amount of brain damage done to him by being informed of his older cousins late night activities was irreversible.
”No, we—“ Regulus waved a hand at him. “We weren’t right, and I’m not discussing this all with you right now. You said something about Harry punching you?”
Draco narrowed his eyes at him. “You call him that like you’re his cousin.”
”Sirius and Remus parade him around to that point,” Regulus shrugged, then waved at Draco to tell his story.
It wasn’t a particularly long one. See, Draco was a git. Not a huge one, and not even on purpose half of the time. He just really hated people. He had a disdain for probably every living soul not close to him, and that just so happened to include Potter. He was on a special hate list actually. They just…didn’t like each other. Never had, never would.
It all started when Sirius had swept into the Manor one day with Potter in tow. Oh, Draco was about seven then, so he carried around his favorite snake stuffy everywhere he went.
Potter carried around his lion one.
Nothing bad would have happened to it if he hand’t called Draco’s stuffy scary and ugly. Mr. Lion wouldn’t have ended up stomped on and dragged around the Gardens if not for that. Draco took desperate offense to his favorite stuffed animal being called ugly. He knew it was scary. That was the point. But ugly? Yeah, well, after that Mr. Lion was very ugly indeed.
Yeah, Draco was definitely a prickly asshat.
Potter never did come around the Manor after that. Not that Draco wanted him around anyway. He could hold a grudge for life. His snake being called ugly was not a forgiving matter.
This was how they went from throwing insults about stuffed animals to throwing punches. Of course, calling one’s favorite childhood toy an “ugly monstrosity” (Merlin, who knew Potter knew such big vocabulary) wasn’t just their main problem. They found things wrong with each other besides that.
Like today. Draco still thought he was perfectly innocent in this case. Potter was the one who came up to him all angry while he sat in the library, hissing like Draco had offended him personally, which he had not.
”What did you do to Susan?”
Draco had been reading a book then, and was not inclined to look up from it just because Potter wanted to annoy him like a raving lunatic at the moment. “Bones? Not a damn thing, Potter.”
”You broke her heart!”
Draco rolled his eyes and flipped the page. “She was a goddamn Hufflepuff, trying to ask me out, of course I said no.”
Among other reasons, regarding gender…
”Just because she’s a Hufflepuff?” Potter demanded. “You pretentious git!”
”No, Potter.” Draco finally looked up. “Because she’s a Hufflepuff and not my type. Your Ginerva has a better chance with me than Bones does.”
That was ultimately the wrong thing to say. And he knew it was. Ginerva Weasley and Harry Potter had been a sore topic for months now, and Potter sure wasn’t one to take shit about it from Draco of all people.
Draco should have seen the punch coming.
He didn’t, but at least he got a few in for himself.
Regulus shook his head when Draco finished talking. By then, he’d made the pasta look edible. “Not going to apologize either, are you?”
Draco snorted. “Would you?”
”Well, no.”
”Exactly. Get out of the way so I can get a bowl, and please tell me you have wine.”
”You’re too young to drink.”
”And yet that never stops me from doing it.”
Regulus sighed, and Draco grinned wickedly, nicking two cups from the cupboard. Regulus went and flopped on the couch in the living room dramatically. “Fix me a cup would you? You know where I keep the good stuff.”
Draco was already making eyes at a bottle. Oh, he’d go back to Hogwarts completely sloshed tonight.
❀And although i
cannot breathe ❀ it is
❀nothing❀
❀compared to the fact
❀ that it will be no one❀
but you❀