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Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns all I am merely playing.
Draco Malfoy shifted uneasily away from his bed partner, his nose crinkling as if a truly horrendous odour had offended him. He was truly distraught, and not for the first time he did wonder if being a Veela sucked.
“Potter, I would appreciate your arse more in this lambent atmosphere if my desires for salacious activities were not impeded by your ephemeral necessities.”
Harry sighed and rolled over on the bed. He looked at his lover longingly. Draco’s blond hair sparkled in the dim light of the night, and his skin glowed like the full moon outside their bedroom window. He longed to touch his lover. However, thanks to Draco’s inheritance his desire was hampered by instinct…
“Fuck, Draco! Just once can’t you say that you hate the fact that I go into heat once every three months without all your poncy, Snape-like, fancy, high-browed, mumbo-jumbo language. It is your fault after all. YOU are the Veela.”
“I hardly see where that matters, Potter. My contribution to this situation hardly bares import to the fact that lying beside you at this particular moment is like lying next to an unwashed hippogriff.”
Harry glared at Draco, and then his eyes filled with tears.
“Well I wouldn’t smell like that to you, Malfoy, if your ancestors had the good sense not to mix with Veela, now would I!” Harry turned his back to his lover, sniffing pathetically. “It’s only the one day, why do you have to be such an arse about it?”
An arse, really! Draco was offended, that is until he looked over at his mate and lover. Harry had his back to Draco, his shoulders shaking slightly as Harry struggled with his emotions. The blond man sighed heavily.
He realised in that moment, that he really was being a bit of a prick. After all, Harry was right. Male Veela mates had one day every three months where their bodies prepared for insemination. Since any sexual activity could throw off the chemical balance needed, Mother Nature had created this ‘Veela stench’, as Draco had come to call it, to warn off the dominant male partner. Draco understood this, but it hardly made up for the fact that Harry, to Draco, stunk and that could hardly be Draco’s fault now could it.
“Perhaps we should consider separate sleeping accommodations during your odious malodorous quarterly malaise, Harry,” he suggested haughtily.
“YOU INSENSITIVE WANKER!” Harry sobbed. With tears streaming down his face, Harry threw back the covers and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Draco watched his mate's retreating form, wincing slightly at the reverberation of the swinging door.
“I absolutely hate breeding season,” he said to himself as he clambered out of bed to go after his distraught lover.