The Fall of Darkness

Chapter 9

Later that night found Draco and Harry sitting across from each other in the living room of Draco's flat, casually sipping on fire whiskey and soda.

"So this brood, you're like a family, right?" Harry asked, swishing his drink around. Draco nodded, taking a swig of his own.

"Oh yes, very much so. I love them dearly, especially Millie and Kestral. I promised Blaise I would look out for her when he passed."

"How did that happen?"

"Rogue Veelas. I took care of the last two- the ones that killed him, he died in my arms, his feathers all wilting out. Hestia, his Chosen and another Veela- also a member of my brood, was already gone."

"I'm sorry, Draco, that really is terrible." Harry said, imagining if it had been he and Ron. Draco shrugged, looking around for a brief moment as though Blaise were there,

"I've come to mourn him already, buried him with some of my own feathers."

"You still have those?" Harry asked, perking up a bit.

"Yes, they're at the Manor. Mother is having them sew into a blanket or some other such nonsense. A gift of sorts, though I don't know if she expects me to give it to my Chosen or if it's to comfort me for the loss. You never stop mourning the loss of your wings."

Harry laid back on the couch, thoughtful for a moment.

"What are they like, your Chosen?" he asked, gazing up at the ceiling.

"I've told you, Harry, I'm not going to give them away." Draco said, rolling his eyes. Harry grinned, turning to look at the blonde.

"I won't go looking for them- Gryffindor's honor."

"No." Draco retorted, finishing his drink and going to make another, "I'll tell you how I feel about them, how's that?" he asked, pouring more firewhiskey into his glass than he had before.

"You've already made *that* clear," Harry said, grinning, "you're plum smitten." Draco laughed, rolling his eyes again,

"I'm my Chosen's Veela, Harry, of course I'm smitten. So what about you, any love prospects?"

"Nope," Harry said, snickering to himself, "can't find anyone who doesn't know who I am. You know how annoying that is? Every man I've found is more than happy to climb into bed with The Boy Who Won't Die- as I believe you put it. None of them give two shits about Harry Potter. I am so drunk, sorry."

Draco staggered to his own seat, carrying his drink and the whiskey and soda with him for Harry to refresh his own drink.

"It's alright," he drawled, falling back into the chair, "I am too. You *are* the boy who won't fucking die, though. That's a part of it, you should see that."

"I do, but there's more than that," Harry sighed, taking another drink.

"Like?"

"Like... like Quidditch and flying, and my Godfather, Siriussss," Harry slurred a bit, laughing, "and a deep love for treacle tart and chocolate frogs. I like to cook, it's relaxing. I like soft beds, and reading mysteries... I enjoy swimming, though I prefer to just stay home most of the time. Unless I'm working, it takes my mind off the empty house and that blasted house elf Kreacher. He just won't die." Harry said, laughing to himself.

"And you like blokes?" Draco asked, arching an eyebrow, "hadn't seen that one coming."

"Yes, didn't know until fifth year and denied the hell out of it."

"Why?" Draco asked, incredulous.

"Oh! I grew up with some bashing muggles. I didn't know the wizarding world was so accepting. Kinda fancied you for a bit, actually. Merlinstrousersineedtoquitdrinking." Draco snorted, nearly spitting his own drink out.