Chapter Text
Draco woke up to Potter screaming and scratching at the window. It was morning and rather windy, and evidently the half-harpy had felt the uncontrollable urge to jump out the window and fly to his heart's content. What had actually happened was the eighth-year's dormitory had activated it's safety walls to prevent a student falling and captured him in ropes.
Draco watched him flail, trying not to grin. He was normally so calm, but whenever he was restrained he seemed to revert to a wild and frantic state. No, Draco shouldn't think that. It was rude to call someone wild, to compare them to an animal.
But it was just so hard to not poke fun. That, and it was a good way to cover his incredible attraction to those feathered black wings.
They were wide and extremely powerful. Extending from Potter's shoulder, they were a trait from his father and a sign of his harpy heritage. The feathers were both sharp and soft, almost jagged on top while soft on the underside. Draco had found and promptly hidden a few down feathers, marveling at how delicate they seemed. He wanted, more than any other, to have a primary feather - the ones on the exterior, the ones that stretched outwards.
Sometimes he'd catch Potter preening and grooming his wings when he thought no one was watching, and stop and stare until he was inevitably caught and told off. Potter had this habit of pulling his wings up and flaring them when he was startled or agitated, and whenever he did that Draco couldn't help but find himself blushing.
They were beautiful.
They were also incredibly strong. Wings strong enough to lift a person, and to fly at very high speeds, were also strong enough to do serious damage to whoever was hit with them. One of the first times they'd met, Draco hadn't been able to resist reaching out to touch. Shortly after he'd been escorted to the hospital wing for a broken finger and Potter to detention.
He watched as Potter struggled, waiting until he was too tired to smack him with a wing before he helped. He could only brush Potter's wings with his hand, but the touch made him shiver.
He wanted to know what it was like to fly without a broom.
What it was like to be Potter.
"You're so silly," he found himself saying. "You keep me up at night with your flapping." That was true. He was grateful that their beds were on opposite sides of the room, preventing him from being smacked in the face.
Potter would roll around in his sleep, wrapping himself in his wings, stretching them. He was stretching them now, as he mumbled thanks to Draco for freeing him. Harpies prized freedom above all else.
He arched his back, flexing his wings, and Draco had to hold back a groan.