HP Fanfic: Sometimes The Mirror of Erised Does Foretell the Future (1/2). NC-17
Title: Sometimes the Mirror of Erised Does Foretell the Future
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Prompt: #129 from the 2010 do_me_veela fest
Rating: NC-17 (PG-13 this part)
Word Count: 13,730 in total
Summary: It’s seventh year, and Draco has just found out he’s part Veela. Not only does he have to fend off the entire population of Hogwarts and find his mate, but he discovers he also wants someone to fall in love with him, not just his Veela allure.
Beta: The lovely mathnerd. Any remaining mistakes are completely mine.
Era: 7th year AU. Only canon-compliant through most of PoA, but borrows bits and pieces from later canon.
Warning(s): (highlight to read)*angst (with a happy ending), anal sex, Bottom!Harry, Top!Draco*
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Sometimes the Mirror of Erised Does Foretell the Future
Draco is used to turning heads. He’s done it all his life, and has always relished the attention. But this...this is something different. He isn’t sure he can take it. Nearly all eyes are on him, weighing him down and pressing against his flesh. Some tingle at the base of his spine welcomes the attention, tries to curl through him and weave its way through his body, gripping at his insides with a painfully pleasant intensity, but he fights it. It isn’t supposed to be this way.
~*~
He’s been through a lot in the past months. His mother is dead. His father is as good as dead, off following the lunatic who is trying to take over the world. Draco doesn’t have much of anyone left. So when strange things had started happening to him, dreams and physical symptoms and feelings he couldn’t explain, he’d gone to the one person he could still trust, not sure if he could even begin the new term without answers.
“You’re positive?”
“It took some researching to be sure, Mr. Malfoy, but yes, we’re sure.”
“We?”
Snape raises his eyebrows at him and lets out a sigh. “I consulted with the Headmaster on the matter.”
“You-He-Why?” At least nothing had been mentioned in the Headmaster’s remarks at the end of the feast.
“Because with your...situation, certain precautions must be taken. Having a Veela-” Draco blanches at the word, but Snape goes right on “-in this school has the potential to disrupt things. Beside that, Mr. Malfoy, there is the matter of finding your mate. You only have so much time until the bonding ceremony must be completed.”
“Or I die, right?”
Snape grimaces. “Yes, you’ll die. But you’ll go mad first.”
“So…about this mate,” Draco says slowly, his mind already at work to find the most beneficial solution. “Will anyone do?”
“No. Your mate’s already set. You have no real choice in the matter. Fate decides for you, but it’s someone you’ll meet before the deadline. No one halfway around the world. Fate can be mischievous, but it isn’t that cruel.”
Draco has a sudden flash of horror. “But what if it’s someone I dislike? Millicent Bulstrode, or-or-a Weasley?” The very thought makes him feel ill.
“There is no guarantee your mate will be someone you already have pleasant feelings for. If you prefer your...sexual partners to be of one sex over the other, than your mate will be in line with your desires in that regard.” It is clear Snape is made hideously uncomfortable by having this conversation. Draco isn’t enjoying it much, either.
“Okay.” He wishes that his mother could have been the one to break all of this to him. “So let me get this all straight. I have a mate. I can’t change who it is. And if I don’t bond with hi-er, them, by a certain date, then I’ll go mad and die. How long is that, exactly?”
“You turned seventeen in June... How long ago did you have your first dream about sprouting wings?”
“Night before last.” It had been exhilarating, but absolutely terrifying at the same time. He had woken, drenched in sweat, with his shoulder blades in agony, sure the dream had come true.
“Then you have until approximately the end of February. Any longer than that, and life will become very unpleasant for you.”
February. That gives him some time. Six months, give or take. “That’s not so bad. So I find my mate, who is probably here at Hogwarts, and that will be clear, and we bond somehow, and all is well.”
Snape holds up a hand. “While you are, technically correct about most of it, there are some nuances you’ve missed. First: you’ll know when you’ve found the right person, but not by sight. You’ll know it when you touch. Second: you have no choice as to your mate, but your mate is not similarly bound. They can deny you, if it is their wish. Hence, the allure that comes with being a Veela. You must successfully enchant…him. Third: the emotional bond is quite important, but it is not finalised until you are-” he grimaces again “-intimate. And if he rejects you after the bond is complete, well… let us just say you’ll wish you had died without bonding.”
Draco just stares at the Potions master mutely. This is getting worse and worse. After a few more moments of silence, Professor Snape dismisses him and Draco makes his way to his house common room for the first time this year. He walks in and flops limply onto a plush green armchair. While Snape is likely Obliviating some of the more unsavoury details of their conversation from his memory, Draco is stuck with the reality of it all. He wants to dismiss it as some cruel joke. But a sharp-nailed hand trails its way over the back of his neck, and Draco knows it’s all real.
“Draco,” Pansy purrs, running her lacquered fingernails down his back. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
He looks up at her, tired already of her pursuit. He’s been trying to make it clear for the past two years that he has no interest in her. She knows he prefers males, but that hasn’t stopped her entirely. Something in her dark eyes flashes, and he knows this isn’t the usual flirtation. There is something more sinister, more base, lurking there. She licks her lips and smiles.
Draco grins weakly. “I was just having a conversation with Professor Snape. I haven’t been feeling quite myself lately.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” she coos, now running her hand along the side of his cheek. He shudders. At least he is sure his mate isn’t Pansy. He wonders if he could somehow manage to bump into every student in school during the first week of classes, just to narrow down the list of potential mates. He would be happier if his mate was male, of course, but he could live with a female if... No exception comes immediately to mind. Snape had said Fate wasn’t cruel, but only mischievous. Draco isn’t so sure.
Apparently, Draco knowing that Pansy isn’t his mate doesn’t mean that she isn’t still interested. It doesn’t appear to go both ways. He shoves her hand away, and she looks hurt. “Don’t, Pansy.”
“What’s the matter?”
He can’t tell her. Even if he isn’t still trying to wrap his mind around these new developments, she still has that predatory look in her eye. “Look, don’t worry about it. I just need some sleep.”
“But it’s early, Draco. Come up to my room. We could find a way to make you feel better.”
That tone, which she no doubt means to be seductive, turns his stomach. He looks around the room and sees that she isn’t the only one staring at him with desire in her eyes. Daphne, Millicent, and a few of the girls in the years below him are giving him similar looks. Is this how it’s going to be all year? He might be spending a lot of time alone in his room, or locked in the dungeons with Snape for safety. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to bed. Alone,” he adds firmly, looking around and meeting the eyes of those staring his way. He retreats quickly to the solitude of his dorm, never more grateful that seventh years have their own private rooms.
~*~
Things only become more awkward as classes begin. Girls shoot him coy little looks as he passes, and a few of the bolder ones reach out to grab his hand, eager to stop him and keep him there in conversation. The only benefit he can find to this is that he is now sure of forty-six people who are not his mate.
His friends seem to notice something is not right with him, but he can’t bring himself to speak with them about it. He is surprised, really. Crabbe and Goyle aren’t generally observant, but Goyle at least seems concerned. And best of all, Goyle hasn’t made a move on him. Draco has caught Crabbe looking at him oddly at times, and the thought is worrisome. He’s been careful not to touch Crabbe, just in case; death might be preferable to being bonded to Crabbe for the rest of his life. He still wonders just how mischievous Fate can be, and he’s not sure he wants the answer, after all.
Whenever it is possible, Draco situates himself at the back of the classroom, where at least the professors can tell off the students who turn around to stare at him. To his great relief, few of the teaching staff seems affected by whatever allure he is giving off. Professor McGonagall seems less likely to take points away from Slytherin and less inclined to snap at him, and Professor Sprout smiles at him, but she’s always done that-one of the few instructors not to play house favourites. Even Professor Lupin seems awfully friendly, but Draco figures it could be worse. At least none of them are pawing at him.
Besides the obvious, there is something different about this year at Hogwarts, and it takes Draco a solid two weeks to put his finger on it. Against his better judgement, he lets Pansy drag him down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the newly assembled Slytherin team practice. Crabbe and Goyle flank either side of him, helpful for fending off some of the more persistent suitors. They quickly dispatch a Hufflepuff as Draco ducks behind them, and he knows he’ll have to tell them soon. He’s finally told Pansy, and while she still gives him that look like she’s hungry and he’s the only meal in the vicinity at times, he’s caught her at least attempting to restrain herself.
He is waiting for the Gryffindors to leave the pitch and let the Slytherins take their turn, when he figures out part of the problem. “Where’s Potter?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Pansy asks him, her eyes now on Zabini, who has sauntered over.
“That’s the Gryffindor team. Why isn’t Potter with them, as their captain?”
Zabini looks at Draco and scoffs. “He isn’t captain anymore. He doesn’t even play. Finally figured out he’s not the prodigy he always thought he was, I suppose.”
Something about it feels wrong. He has given up his own spot on the team this year, replaced by Harper, but why would Potter stop playing? It almost pains him to admit it, but Potter actually is as good as everyone said he was. Before everything in his world had gone to hell after his birthday, Draco had been looking forward to finally showing Potter up on the pitch and proving that he was just as good. Without a spot on the Slytherin team, this isn’t a possibility this year anyway, but there has always been something exhilarating about watching Potter play and now he won’t even get that chance. “Oh.”
“Come on, Draco,” Pansy says, tugging on his arm, and he follows her up to the top row of bleachers, distracted. What could have made Potter quit? And now that he’s thinking about it, how has he not had an altercation with the Golden Boy yet this year? They’ve never gone more than a few hours of stepping onto the Hogwarts Express without firing off an insult or two, and it’s been two weeks without a word or glare exchanged between them. It’s more than the fact that Draco’s been trying to hide himself from everyone; that’s never stopped Potter before. No, something else is responsible, and Draco finds wondering about it to be a distraction from his own problems.
He thinks about this lack of interaction during classes, as he stares at the back of Potter’s untidy head. Is he being ignored? Has something rendered Potter mute? Draco racks his brain, but cannot recall even a single time this year when he’s heard that voice, so familiar he’d recognise it anywhere. He hasn’t even heard him prattle on with those friends of his. He glances across the room curiously, seeing the Weasel muttering something to Granger, who waves him away impatiently, but even Draco can see that she isn’t angry. Potter sits on the Weasel’s other side, but whereas they’ve always looked like a very definite group before, now they somehow…don’t. Potter is no longer part of the tight-knit threesome. Draco doesn’t know why he knows it, or how, but he’s sure.
As if he can hear Draco’s thoughts, Potter turns around and looks over his shoulder towards the back of the room. Draco averts his eyes, pretending to be interested on the spell Professor McGonagall has pointed to on the board, but for just a moment their eyes lock on each other, and Draco thinks that Potter’s not getting any more sleep than he is himself. The dark circles under those green eyes mirror his own. After a moment, Potter slowly turns back around. No glare, no scowl, no look of suspicion. Something is very wrong, and Draco has no idea why the lack of antagonism or instigation bothers him so, but he can’t shake it.
~*~
Draco doesn’t realise how much a part of his life Harry Potter is until he isn’t. He’s always been a distraction and if there is anything he needs right now, it is a distraction. In Potions, he waits for Potter to screw up, just so he can say something, but his Nostalgia Potion is passable and almost as warm a shade of rose as Draco’s own. It’s the same in Charms and Herbology. Potter does quiet, adequate work, and Draco can find nothing to comment on. But next is Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Draco knows it will be different. This is Potter in his element.
Only Potter’s still quiet. When Professor Lupin pairs the class up, Draco holds his breath and is rewarded. “Mr. Malfoy, you’ll work with Mr. Potter. Do try not to hurt each other too badly, hm? I doubt Madame Pomfrey wishes to have you both in the hospital wing. Yet again.”
Draco smiles. The last time they’d ended up in there together, he’d had a broken nose and Potter’d had a dislocated shoulder. They’d been put as far away from each other as possible. But that had been almost a year ago. “I’ll try,” he says, favouring their instructor with a charming smile. Maybe too charming, he realises a moment too late, but Professor Lupin just shakes his head as if he’s clearing it. Draco looks at the other boy, but Potter only glances up at their professor and nods. Highly unsatisfying.
Draco sighs. “I’ll hex first, you defend.” He thinks that will get a response at least, some crack about how of course he’d take the opportunity to be the first to hex, but there’s nothing.
Potter nods again and assumes a defensive stance, but, irritated, Draco throws a hex at him before he’s completely ready. It’s not the one they’re supposed to practice defending themselves against today, but it doesn’t matter; Potter deflects it easily, and Draco finally gets what he’s looking for-a reaction. “Watch it! That was a bit early.”
“What, do you think your enemies are going to wait until you’re properly positioned and readied before they try something?”
Potter just closes his eyes, looking weary, and his response is the last thing Draco expects. “We’re not enemies, Malfoy.”
“How do you figure th-” he manages before the other boy smiles just a little and throws the correct hex at him and Draco’s legs give out, depositing him on the ground. “Nice distraction, Potter,” he mutters. “That was nearly Slytherin of you. Maybe you were sorted incorrectly.”
Potter offers a hand up, but Draco waves him off and gets unsteadily to his feet. “I almost did end up in Slytherin, actually.”
“Hmph. Shows sometimes.”
Potter laughs, and while it isn’t the reaction he is looking for, it’s much better than nothing. It’s a genuinely warm, pleased sound and Draco finds himself smiling back. They are standing in their own corner of the classroom, and, for once, the other students are all so busy trying to hex their partners, or deflect those hexes, that no one is paying him any attention. There’s just Potter, who doesn’t seem the least bit interested in molesting him. It’s more than he can say for some of the other animals in their classes.
The class is over far too quickly, and Draco dreads being out in the hallways, having to scamper to his next class like a woodland animal afraid of becoming some predator’s next meal. “You know, I did mean what I said earlier,” Potter tells him as they gather up their things.
“What, about being sorted Slytherin?”
“Well, that too. But I meant the other thing. About us not being enemies. We’re not.” With that, Potter claps him on the back and leaves the room. Draco stands there for a moment, not sure what to make of the last two hours. In the past, they’d have each used today’s opportunity to hex the other into oblivion. Instead, they simply did what they were assigned. Potter had knocked him flat on his arse nearly a half-dozen times, actually apologising for some of them, and then eventually giving Draco some pointers on deflection. By the end of class, Draco had finally managed to give it back to the other boy, pleased with his accuracy and force, but not for the reasons he might have expected. He doesn’t apologise, but only because he’s bitten back the ‘sorry’ on his lips. Potter doesn’t seem to mind, either. He simply tells him it’s a job well-done, getting up after regaining control of his legs.
There is something else, too, Draco realises as he darts out of the room. Potter had touched him, and he’d felt nothing. He has reached the point now where he has narrowed down the student body considerably, without finding his mate. Maybe this won’t be as easy as he’s thought.
~*~
When Professor Sprout divides the class up into pairs a week later, Draco isn’t really surprised that he lands Potter again. The Weasel nudges Potter and says something Draco figures is ruder than usual, because Granger smacks him on the back of the head. Draco smirks behind his hand. Maybe she’s not quite as bad as he’s always thought. Potter doesn’t seem to be, after all. The Weasel, though… Well, there’s always a bad apple.
“The rest of this term and most of the next, you and your partner will be working together to plant, cultivate, and harvest a number of specimens. Two groups will have a bit of additional work when it comes to harvesting and, as compensation, they will have fewer written assignments. One of these pairs will be harvesting Aurora’s Bloom, while the other will be working with Midnight Blossom.” She flicks her wand and small bits of parchment rolled into scrolls make their ways to the students. “Weasley and Finnigan. Hopkins and Boot. Potter and Malfoy.” The bit of parchment flutters lightly into Draco’s hand and Potter slowly makes his way over to him, still looking tight-lipped from whatever it was that Weasley’s said.
“Stuck with each other again,” Draco says with a sigh, though it could be a lot worse. “For the rest of term and beyond.”
Potter mutters something, articulate as always, but when Draco asks him what he’s trying to say, Potter just clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nothing. What’s our assignment?” He tries to grab the scroll, but Draco holds it up out of reach. Potter may have grown significantly in the last few years, but he’s still shorter than Draco is.
“Patience, Potter. I realise that your upbringing may not have taught you this, but you must actually wait for some things.” He unrolls the paper, enjoying the frustrated look on the other boy’s face. “Milkweed, blood root, valerian…Midnight Blossom. Looks like we’ll be spending a few late nights together as well.” Upon seeing the flush creep up Potter’s neck, he smirks. “Not to worry. Nothing your girlfriend should get indignant over.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Malfoy.”
“Oh? Then it’s Granger’s wrath I have to face if you’re out too late? I’ll keep that in mind.” He thinks about smirking some more, but decides against it. Granger’s wrath isn’t really anything to laugh at. From what Draco remembers, she’s not above taking her anger out on someone physically. He rubs his face absently at the memory.
“Please just drop it.”
The ‘please’ is what startles Draco, making him unable to think of additional taunts. “Alright.”
Professor Sprout walks by just then, smiling at Potter, but positively beaming down at Draco. Frankly, it makes him feel a bit nervous. “Gentlemen. You’ll find your supplies, including your seeds and cuttings, awaiting you in the cupboard. As you’ve been assigned the Midnight Blossom, you’ll be required to come down here at half-past eleven three nights this term. Once to pick new leaves, once to pick some of the budding flowers, and once to harvest the full blooms. I’ll notify your Heads of House well beforehand. Unless either of you have any objections?” Both boys shake their heads. It could be worse-they could have to deal with each other before dawn. Or Draco could have been paired with Weasley. Though the plots in the greenhouse are fairly deep… but no, it’s the first place they’d look for a body that went missing during a Herbology assignment. “Excellent. I advise you to get to it.”
Draco looks up as she walks away and sees that many of their classmates have already secured spots to start their gardens. “You get the supplies. I’ll find us a spot.” Potter heads off without argument, and Draco surveys the rest of the greenhouse. He finally selects a plot off in the corner, where Longbottom and his partner have started tilling the soil. It’s as good a place as any. And of Potter’s friends, Longbottom’s the one he’ll likely get the least flack from. Longbottom hasn’t said an unkind word to him since the year before last. That’s more than he can say for a lot of their classmates. Hesitantly, Draco walks over and brushes by the other boy, shrugging internally when he feels nothing.
“Did you need something?” Longbottom asks, looking up from his bit of dirt.
“No. Sorry,” Draco adds quickly. “Just lost my balance.” It had been worth a shot. While he might have just elected to off himself at the prospect of being mated to the Gryffindor, pure-blood or not, just a few years ago, it seems that this whole Veela situation has made him a bit desperate. He looks at the Hufflepuff working alongside Longbottom. Maybe he’ll bump into her on the way out, just to be safe. It isn’t the worst fate he could be handed. As Draco toys absently with a handful of soil, waiting for Potter to return with their supplies, he thinks again about what Snape said about Fate and goes through the list of people he knows aren’t his mate, and those he has yet to test. What if it’s a professor? Lupin, or Flitwick, or Snape, or even Hagrid? He still can’t quite bear to consider those real possibilities.
“Get lost in the cupboard?” Draco asks when Potter finally returns.
Potter snorts, his hands firmly gripping a rather large tray so full of things that Draco can’t even see his face behind it all. “Could have helped, you know.” This is something close to what Draco’s been missing-the tone of irritation or exasperation in Potter’s voice, the way he knows he’s having an effect on the boy-but it’s not the same as it used to be, and Draco doesn’t know why. Just like he doesn’t know why Potter has told him they’re not enemies, or why he thinks he’s okay with that, and with being paired up with him in their classes. The world no longer makes any sense. Really, being mated to Snape at this point wouldn’t be too much of a shock.
They set to work, Draco giving occasional orders and Potter following them without question. Draco supposes the submissive attitude is a learned behaviour, a result of Potter working with Granger for so many years. Whatever the reason, it works out in his favour. When class is dismissed, Draco follows everyone else out, surprised to find that Potter isn’t walking with his friends-any of them. He makes his way to the castle in much the same way Draco does-alone.
~*~
It is mid-November when someone leaks the information about Draco’s predicament and all the touching, all the flirtatious looks and seductive smiles, intensify a hundredfold. “I don’t know who decided to inform the student body that I am part Veela and looking for a mate, but when I do find them, there is going to be a very slow and painful death involved.”
Pansy just looks at him from where she is lounging on a couch in their common room. Outside the entrance, they can both hear the sounds of fourth years pleading to come in. Draco knows it’s a pair of Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor-they’ve been trailing him halfway across the castle. “I don’t know that you’ll find a one-person source, Draco. People talk. Really, it’s not the world’s biggest riddle. You’re blond. You’re seventeen. No one can keep their eyes off you-”
“Or hands,” he puts in, shuddering.
“-no matter if they liked you before or thought you were an insufferable git.”
“Who thinks of me that way?”
“The point is, Draco, that it’s a bit obvious. That allure of yours does nothing to discourage them. They all think they’ve got a shot.”
“At being my mate?” He doesn’t relish the thought of having to stand up in front of the entire school and tell them that really, it’s only the males who have a shot, and he would kindly appreciate the girls stop pawing at him.
“No, at getting you into bed.”
“Just because I am attractive doesn’t mean I’m easy, Pansy.”
She snorts at him. “You think I, of all people, don’t know that? Are you somehow oblivious to the rumours?”
Draco sinks down wearily into another chair. “What rumours?”
“You’ve never heard how amazing sex with a Veela is supposed to be? How even just snogging one can make you feel as if nothing bad could ever happen to you again? About how much Veela enjoy it, and don’t mind sharing some of that joy? Where have you been, Draco?”
He just shakes his head. “It’s not true! I mean, maybe sex with me would be the most amazing thing ever, and in fact, that sounds quite plausible. But I most certainly don’t feel like shagging everyone in this bloody school. Isn’t there some way to control this? I can’t be attracting everyone like this. It’s ridiculous.”
“Didn’t Snape give you some literature?”
“Yes, but most of it had to do with bonding ceremonies and registering at the Ministry and other practicalities around finding my mate. There was nothing on how to keep yourself from being torn to pieces by amorous fourth years.” He shoots her a desperate look. Years of her throwing herself at him, and she’s somehow one of the few who seems able to keep her head amidst all this madness. “Help me figure this out. There’s got to be some practical information somewhere.”
She looks at him and sighs. “You look so pitiful, I can’t say no. I’ll go to the library between classes tomorrow. Snape might even let me into the Restricted Section if I grovel.”
“Pansy, you’re amazing.”
“I know, Draco, I know. Pity you only learnt this now.”
~*~
“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Pansy tells him as Draco sits beside her in the library. “Which do you want to hear?”
“Bad news.” He doesn’t want there to be any, but if he has to hear it, better to end with the good.
“Bad news is that there’s not a hell of a lot of information along the lines you’re looking for. And almost none of it seems to be confirmed.”
“Give me an example.” His head is killing him. He hasn’t slept well in weeks, and it’s only getting worse. At night he dreams of another body underneath his; soft, warm flesh and tight muscles, but he can never see who it is. He wakes each morning with his chest aching and his heart heavy and, more often than not, his shoulders burning where something says his wings should be.
“Peppermints. There was something about how eating them makes you impervious to the allure of a Veela.”
“Peppermints? Are you serious? You couldn’t find anything more helpful than that?”
“I’m not bloody Granger, you know. Why don’t you ask her if you need help with research? Most other quick fixes are just as improbable. Bathing in absolutely vile concoctions to keep people away, though something else says that’ll just increase your allure, as it fights to bring your mate to you anyway. Standing naked on one foot during the full moon, reciting an old Druid spell, while a virgin washes your bits with her tears. As charming as you are, I don’t see that one happening. McGonagall’d have your head, and not even the Headmaster could stop her.”
“You said there was good news?” What that could possibly be, he didn’t know. But he needed something, anything, or he might just throw himself off the Astronomy tower before the madness got to him completely or he died in February.
“Yes. According to several sources, you can control the allure. It seems to be a conscious-effort or will power thing. There are no specific instructions. Unfortunately, it’s not all that easy, and long-term, it’s detrimental to your health. But it can be done. Just like you can intensify the effect, if you choose to. It’ll intensify on its own once you figure out who your mate is and stay that way until you bond, but you can boost it yourself if you want.”
“Pansy, that is the very last thing I want right now.” He sees the hurt look on her face and attempts a smile, putting his hand on top of one of hers. “But thank you for the effort.”
She smiles at him, looking dizzy and enthralled. “You’re welcome. I’d love to help some other way, if you want to-”
Draco pulls his hand away. That had been a mistake. She’s not immune to it. “Thank you, but that’s fine. I should get going. I have things to do.” He doesn’t, but he needs to get away before she does something one or both of them will regret later. He has to get this thing under control.
He darts out of the library, pausing just inside the entrance, where he can hear raised voices. One of them he recognises instantly as Potter’s. After a moment, he places the other two as belonging to the Weasel and Granger. Of course.
“Harry, you can’t be serious. You like him?” Granger sounds desperate to hear that whatever Potter’s telling them is just some poorly-conceived joke.
“I am serious. I didn’t plan it. And it’s not something new or sudden; I just didn’t want to admit it to you two, because I knew you’d react this way. It’s how I feel and nothing’s changing it.”
“Mate, I’m with Hermione on this one. How could you have a crush on him?” Weasley sounds as if he’s about to be ill and, quickly, before they can notice him there, Draco ducks back into the library and out another way. He’s surprised that he feels something like guilt for overhearing their conversation, and also a bit amused to find that Potter’s apparently attracted to men when there are plenty of girls who wouldn’t mind taking the future saviour home to meet Mother. Fate is kind of funny after all.
~*~
What is not funny is the way the rumours have taken hold of damn near every student in school. Ernie MacMillan corners him one evening outside the Great Hall, and Draco knows that look in his eyes all too well. “Doing anything tonight?”
Draco shifts his eyes and looks past the Hufflepuff’s shoulder. “Actually, I am.” It’s a lie, and probably an obvious one, but the prefect doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy running a finger down Draco’s robes.
“Break your plans. Come back to my room. Just for a couple of hours.”
Draco can feel the other boy’s breath against his cheek and wonders how he’s gotten so close so fast. Maybe he should start carrying peppermints in his pockets, just in case they do have an effect. As MacMillan strokes Draco’s cheek, he decides that, in the very least, he could hope his potential suitors choke on them. “No.” When MacMillan doesn’t back away, Draco grips his wand a bit harder. “Get away, or you’ll regret it,” he says through clenched teeth. The other boy doesn’t listen and Draco hexes him with the spell he and Potter had been practising in class, grateful when the Hufflepuff tumbles to his knees.
He runs outside the castle, breathing hard. Really, death is starting to look better and better. Perhaps he’ll ask Snape just to lock him away until February. He wonders how Professor Sprout will react when he tells her just how ungentlemanly her prefects are acting, accosting other students who are walking alone at night, and a ragged sound escapes his throat, something between a sob and a laugh. This is too much.
Draco stands against the wall of the castle, not even caring how the wind bites through his clothes, numbing him already. After a while, he gets hold of himself and notices his surroundings. He really should get back to his room. He’s not dressed to be outside, and it’s late.
He starts to head back, but something catches his attention and he stops. There, carried by the wind, is the sound of someone crying. Someone else might be having as bad of a night as he is, and whereas two years ago he’d have laughed and walked away, something in him has changed and he doesn’t feel right doing it. Instead, he slowly follows the sound, stepping as quietly as possible. He seems to be on top of it, as if it is only an arm’s length away, but he still doesn’t see the source. But then something flaps near his foot and disappears, and he is startled enough to lose his balance, tripping over something on his way down and landing with an ‘oomph.’ He gets up slowly, noticing that there’s a small tear in the knee of his trousers, but he doesn’t care. “Potter?”
The figure huddled on the steps makes a move to cover itself back up, and Draco now recognises the Invisibility Cloak he’d overheard the Weasel mention years ago. More than just rumour, it seems. “Potter, I know it’s you. Stop hiding underneath that damned cloak. Or move over and share, because it’s bloody freezing out here.”
A short moment later, Potter reappears. “What are you doing out here?”
“I needed some air. Why are you out here crying?” Potter looks both embarrassed and angry, and surprising himself, Draco kneels and puts a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “I’m not going to make fun of you. You seem like your night’s been about as bad as mine has.” Without waiting for an invitation, which is good because it will probably never come, Draco sits down next to the other boy. “Look, I don’t know why I’m saying this, but do you want to talk about it?”
Potter looks over his shoulder at Draco’s hand, which is still on the Gryffindor’s shoulder. Draco removes it hastily. “You promise you won’t laugh?”
“After everything I’ve experienced in the last year, I hardly find pleasure in the misery of others. I promise. Look, I know I don’t have to worry about saving the world and all the burdens that entails, but it’s not as if I feel I have control over my own life right now, either. Now. What’s wrong?”
Closing his eyes, Potter sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He takes a deep breath and looks Draco in the eyes. “I’m lonely.” He flinches as if Draco’s said something cruel, but relaxes after a moment, when there’s only silence.
Finally, Draco comes up with a response. This is not on the list of things he’s ever envisioned himself doing-sitting alone with Potter, having a heart-to-heart. “What about your friends? It’s always been the three of you. The Golden Trio.”
“We… aren’t spending much time together this year.”
“Is it because you’re gay?” That slips out, but he can’t take it back now that he’s said it, and he feels his face go red.
“What? You know about that? I mean no, it has nothing to do with that. Ron figured it out back in third year, and I told Hermione two years ago. They’re not the kind of people who would care about something like that.” Draco nods, figuring he must have misheard part of that conversation outside the library then. Or maybe Potter just has bad taste in men.
“Well then, why aren’t you spending time together?”
Harry laughs, still looking miserable, and Draco doesn’t much like the combination. It’s a bit distressing. “Because I told them to stay away. I’m afraid letting anyone get too close will only put them in harm’s way, and I’ve risked their lives too many times as it is. They argued at first, but they’re going along with it, for the moment. So now I find I’m without friends.”
“You know, Harry,” Draco says slowly, pausing once he sees Potter’s startled look, and taking a moment to realise why it’s there. “Is it okay, calling you Harry?”
“Yeah,” Potter-Harry-whispers, looking a little less miserable.
“Well, Harry, I feel the need to remind you that you yourself said we’re not enemies. If we’re not enemies, does that mean we could be friends?”
“You-you’d want to be my friend?”
“I don’t see why not. We get on alright in class now. I can think of worse things.” Like being mated forever to certain members of the faculty he thinks, and suppresses a shudder. “You can count me as a friend, if you wish. But you’d have to call me Draco. None of this ‘Malfoy’ business.”
Potter finally smiles, tear-bright eyes shining. “Alright. Friends.”
They just sit there, looking at each other for some period of time Draco can’t pin down, and for a moment, just one oddly terrifying but not awful moment, Draco thinks that Harry’s going to lean in and kiss him. This Veela thing is out of control and he doesn’t like it. But that’s over as soon as they hear a plaintive meow behind them. “Mrs. Norris,” Harry whispers, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and Draco thinks for the first time that they’re not as dreadful as he’s always thought. “Filch must be nearby.”
Draco straightens up. Sure enough, they can hear the wheezing of the caretaker, carried closer by the steady wind. Without another word, Potter envelops them both in his cloak until Filch calls Mrs. Norris away. They wait another several minutes, pressed shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, before Potter removes his cloak and stands. “We should go. It’s after hours. Can you get back to your dorm without being caught?”
Draco nods. “Yes.” And if he can’t, he can always see if his genetically-enhanced charm can get him out of it. “Good night. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Potter nods. “Good night...Draco.” A small smile appears on his mouth as he says the name, and Draco can’t help but think that it’s a very nice mouth.
And with that, he disappears again, treading lightly enough that Draco has to strain to hear him. Draco slowly heads the other direction. After tonight, he thinks he might be able to get along with Potter fairly well. It’s almost a pity he isn’t Draco’s mate, he thinks sleepily as he crawls into bed.
~*~
Continue to Part Two
Pairing: Harry/Draco
Prompt: #129 from the 2010 do_me_veela fest
Rating: NC-17 (PG-13 this part)
Word Count: 13,730 in total
Summary: It’s seventh year, and Draco has just found out he’s part Veela. Not only does he have to fend off the entire population of Hogwarts and find his mate, but he discovers he also wants someone to fall in love with him, not just his Veela allure.
Beta: The lovely mathnerd. Any remaining mistakes are completely mine.
Era: 7th year AU. Only canon-compliant through most of PoA, but borrows bits and pieces from later canon.
Warning(s): (highlight to read)*angst (with a happy ending), anal sex, Bottom!Harry, Top!Draco*
Disclaimer: This piece of fiction is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offence is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.
Sometimes the Mirror of Erised Does Foretell the Future
Draco is used to turning heads. He’s done it all his life, and has always relished the attention. But this...this is something different. He isn’t sure he can take it. Nearly all eyes are on him, weighing him down and pressing against his flesh. Some tingle at the base of his spine welcomes the attention, tries to curl through him and weave its way through his body, gripping at his insides with a painfully pleasant intensity, but he fights it. It isn’t supposed to be this way.
~*~
He’s been through a lot in the past months. His mother is dead. His father is as good as dead, off following the lunatic who is trying to take over the world. Draco doesn’t have much of anyone left. So when strange things had started happening to him, dreams and physical symptoms and feelings he couldn’t explain, he’d gone to the one person he could still trust, not sure if he could even begin the new term without answers.
“You’re positive?”
“It took some researching to be sure, Mr. Malfoy, but yes, we’re sure.”
“We?”
Snape raises his eyebrows at him and lets out a sigh. “I consulted with the Headmaster on the matter.”
“You-He-Why?” At least nothing had been mentioned in the Headmaster’s remarks at the end of the feast.
“Because with your...situation, certain precautions must be taken. Having a Veela-” Draco blanches at the word, but Snape goes right on “-in this school has the potential to disrupt things. Beside that, Mr. Malfoy, there is the matter of finding your mate. You only have so much time until the bonding ceremony must be completed.”
“Or I die, right?”
Snape grimaces. “Yes, you’ll die. But you’ll go mad first.”
“So…about this mate,” Draco says slowly, his mind already at work to find the most beneficial solution. “Will anyone do?”
“No. Your mate’s already set. You have no real choice in the matter. Fate decides for you, but it’s someone you’ll meet before the deadline. No one halfway around the world. Fate can be mischievous, but it isn’t that cruel.”
Draco has a sudden flash of horror. “But what if it’s someone I dislike? Millicent Bulstrode, or-or-a Weasley?” The very thought makes him feel ill.
“There is no guarantee your mate will be someone you already have pleasant feelings for. If you prefer your...sexual partners to be of one sex over the other, than your mate will be in line with your desires in that regard.” It is clear Snape is made hideously uncomfortable by having this conversation. Draco isn’t enjoying it much, either.
“Okay.” He wishes that his mother could have been the one to break all of this to him. “So let me get this all straight. I have a mate. I can’t change who it is. And if I don’t bond with hi-er, them, by a certain date, then I’ll go mad and die. How long is that, exactly?”
“You turned seventeen in June... How long ago did you have your first dream about sprouting wings?”
“Night before last.” It had been exhilarating, but absolutely terrifying at the same time. He had woken, drenched in sweat, with his shoulder blades in agony, sure the dream had come true.
“Then you have until approximately the end of February. Any longer than that, and life will become very unpleasant for you.”
February. That gives him some time. Six months, give or take. “That’s not so bad. So I find my mate, who is probably here at Hogwarts, and that will be clear, and we bond somehow, and all is well.”
Snape holds up a hand. “While you are, technically correct about most of it, there are some nuances you’ve missed. First: you’ll know when you’ve found the right person, but not by sight. You’ll know it when you touch. Second: you have no choice as to your mate, but your mate is not similarly bound. They can deny you, if it is their wish. Hence, the allure that comes with being a Veela. You must successfully enchant…him. Third: the emotional bond is quite important, but it is not finalised until you are-” he grimaces again “-intimate. And if he rejects you after the bond is complete, well… let us just say you’ll wish you had died without bonding.”
Draco just stares at the Potions master mutely. This is getting worse and worse. After a few more moments of silence, Professor Snape dismisses him and Draco makes his way to his house common room for the first time this year. He walks in and flops limply onto a plush green armchair. While Snape is likely Obliviating some of the more unsavoury details of their conversation from his memory, Draco is stuck with the reality of it all. He wants to dismiss it as some cruel joke. But a sharp-nailed hand trails its way over the back of his neck, and Draco knows it’s all real.
“Draco,” Pansy purrs, running her lacquered fingernails down his back. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you.”
He looks up at her, tired already of her pursuit. He’s been trying to make it clear for the past two years that he has no interest in her. She knows he prefers males, but that hasn’t stopped her entirely. Something in her dark eyes flashes, and he knows this isn’t the usual flirtation. There is something more sinister, more base, lurking there. She licks her lips and smiles.
Draco grins weakly. “I was just having a conversation with Professor Snape. I haven’t been feeling quite myself lately.”
“Oh, you poor baby,” she coos, now running her hand along the side of his cheek. He shudders. At least he is sure his mate isn’t Pansy. He wonders if he could somehow manage to bump into every student in school during the first week of classes, just to narrow down the list of potential mates. He would be happier if his mate was male, of course, but he could live with a female if... No exception comes immediately to mind. Snape had said Fate wasn’t cruel, but only mischievous. Draco isn’t so sure.
Apparently, Draco knowing that Pansy isn’t his mate doesn’t mean that she isn’t still interested. It doesn’t appear to go both ways. He shoves her hand away, and she looks hurt. “Don’t, Pansy.”
“What’s the matter?”
He can’t tell her. Even if he isn’t still trying to wrap his mind around these new developments, she still has that predatory look in her eye. “Look, don’t worry about it. I just need some sleep.”
“But it’s early, Draco. Come up to my room. We could find a way to make you feel better.”
That tone, which she no doubt means to be seductive, turns his stomach. He looks around the room and sees that she isn’t the only one staring at him with desire in her eyes. Daphne, Millicent, and a few of the girls in the years below him are giving him similar looks. Is this how it’s going to be all year? He might be spending a lot of time alone in his room, or locked in the dungeons with Snape for safety. “Thank you, but no. I’m going to bed. Alone,” he adds firmly, looking around and meeting the eyes of those staring his way. He retreats quickly to the solitude of his dorm, never more grateful that seventh years have their own private rooms.
~*~
Things only become more awkward as classes begin. Girls shoot him coy little looks as he passes, and a few of the bolder ones reach out to grab his hand, eager to stop him and keep him there in conversation. The only benefit he can find to this is that he is now sure of forty-six people who are not his mate.
His friends seem to notice something is not right with him, but he can’t bring himself to speak with them about it. He is surprised, really. Crabbe and Goyle aren’t generally observant, but Goyle at least seems concerned. And best of all, Goyle hasn’t made a move on him. Draco has caught Crabbe looking at him oddly at times, and the thought is worrisome. He’s been careful not to touch Crabbe, just in case; death might be preferable to being bonded to Crabbe for the rest of his life. He still wonders just how mischievous Fate can be, and he’s not sure he wants the answer, after all.
Whenever it is possible, Draco situates himself at the back of the classroom, where at least the professors can tell off the students who turn around to stare at him. To his great relief, few of the teaching staff seems affected by whatever allure he is giving off. Professor McGonagall seems less likely to take points away from Slytherin and less inclined to snap at him, and Professor Sprout smiles at him, but she’s always done that-one of the few instructors not to play house favourites. Even Professor Lupin seems awfully friendly, but Draco figures it could be worse. At least none of them are pawing at him.
Besides the obvious, there is something different about this year at Hogwarts, and it takes Draco a solid two weeks to put his finger on it. Against his better judgement, he lets Pansy drag him down to the Quidditch pitch to watch the newly assembled Slytherin team practice. Crabbe and Goyle flank either side of him, helpful for fending off some of the more persistent suitors. They quickly dispatch a Hufflepuff as Draco ducks behind them, and he knows he’ll have to tell them soon. He’s finally told Pansy, and while she still gives him that look like she’s hungry and he’s the only meal in the vicinity at times, he’s caught her at least attempting to restrain herself.
He is waiting for the Gryffindors to leave the pitch and let the Slytherins take their turn, when he figures out part of the problem. “Where’s Potter?”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Pansy asks him, her eyes now on Zabini, who has sauntered over.
“That’s the Gryffindor team. Why isn’t Potter with them, as their captain?”
Zabini looks at Draco and scoffs. “He isn’t captain anymore. He doesn’t even play. Finally figured out he’s not the prodigy he always thought he was, I suppose.”
Something about it feels wrong. He has given up his own spot on the team this year, replaced by Harper, but why would Potter stop playing? It almost pains him to admit it, but Potter actually is as good as everyone said he was. Before everything in his world had gone to hell after his birthday, Draco had been looking forward to finally showing Potter up on the pitch and proving that he was just as good. Without a spot on the Slytherin team, this isn’t a possibility this year anyway, but there has always been something exhilarating about watching Potter play and now he won’t even get that chance. “Oh.”
“Come on, Draco,” Pansy says, tugging on his arm, and he follows her up to the top row of bleachers, distracted. What could have made Potter quit? And now that he’s thinking about it, how has he not had an altercation with the Golden Boy yet this year? They’ve never gone more than a few hours of stepping onto the Hogwarts Express without firing off an insult or two, and it’s been two weeks without a word or glare exchanged between them. It’s more than the fact that Draco’s been trying to hide himself from everyone; that’s never stopped Potter before. No, something else is responsible, and Draco finds wondering about it to be a distraction from his own problems.
He thinks about this lack of interaction during classes, as he stares at the back of Potter’s untidy head. Is he being ignored? Has something rendered Potter mute? Draco racks his brain, but cannot recall even a single time this year when he’s heard that voice, so familiar he’d recognise it anywhere. He hasn’t even heard him prattle on with those friends of his. He glances across the room curiously, seeing the Weasel muttering something to Granger, who waves him away impatiently, but even Draco can see that she isn’t angry. Potter sits on the Weasel’s other side, but whereas they’ve always looked like a very definite group before, now they somehow…don’t. Potter is no longer part of the tight-knit threesome. Draco doesn’t know why he knows it, or how, but he’s sure.
As if he can hear Draco’s thoughts, Potter turns around and looks over his shoulder towards the back of the room. Draco averts his eyes, pretending to be interested on the spell Professor McGonagall has pointed to on the board, but for just a moment their eyes lock on each other, and Draco thinks that Potter’s not getting any more sleep than he is himself. The dark circles under those green eyes mirror his own. After a moment, Potter slowly turns back around. No glare, no scowl, no look of suspicion. Something is very wrong, and Draco has no idea why the lack of antagonism or instigation bothers him so, but he can’t shake it.
~*~
Draco doesn’t realise how much a part of his life Harry Potter is until he isn’t. He’s always been a distraction and if there is anything he needs right now, it is a distraction. In Potions, he waits for Potter to screw up, just so he can say something, but his Nostalgia Potion is passable and almost as warm a shade of rose as Draco’s own. It’s the same in Charms and Herbology. Potter does quiet, adequate work, and Draco can find nothing to comment on. But next is Defence Against the Dark Arts, and Draco knows it will be different. This is Potter in his element.
Only Potter’s still quiet. When Professor Lupin pairs the class up, Draco holds his breath and is rewarded. “Mr. Malfoy, you’ll work with Mr. Potter. Do try not to hurt each other too badly, hm? I doubt Madame Pomfrey wishes to have you both in the hospital wing. Yet again.”
Draco smiles. The last time they’d ended up in there together, he’d had a broken nose and Potter’d had a dislocated shoulder. They’d been put as far away from each other as possible. But that had been almost a year ago. “I’ll try,” he says, favouring their instructor with a charming smile. Maybe too charming, he realises a moment too late, but Professor Lupin just shakes his head as if he’s clearing it. Draco looks at the other boy, but Potter only glances up at their professor and nods. Highly unsatisfying.
Draco sighs. “I’ll hex first, you defend.” He thinks that will get a response at least, some crack about how of course he’d take the opportunity to be the first to hex, but there’s nothing.
Potter nods again and assumes a defensive stance, but, irritated, Draco throws a hex at him before he’s completely ready. It’s not the one they’re supposed to practice defending themselves against today, but it doesn’t matter; Potter deflects it easily, and Draco finally gets what he’s looking for-a reaction. “Watch it! That was a bit early.”
“What, do you think your enemies are going to wait until you’re properly positioned and readied before they try something?”
Potter just closes his eyes, looking weary, and his response is the last thing Draco expects. “We’re not enemies, Malfoy.”
“How do you figure th-” he manages before the other boy smiles just a little and throws the correct hex at him and Draco’s legs give out, depositing him on the ground. “Nice distraction, Potter,” he mutters. “That was nearly Slytherin of you. Maybe you were sorted incorrectly.”
Potter offers a hand up, but Draco waves him off and gets unsteadily to his feet. “I almost did end up in Slytherin, actually.”
“Hmph. Shows sometimes.”
Potter laughs, and while it isn’t the reaction he is looking for, it’s much better than nothing. It’s a genuinely warm, pleased sound and Draco finds himself smiling back. They are standing in their own corner of the classroom, and, for once, the other students are all so busy trying to hex their partners, or deflect those hexes, that no one is paying him any attention. There’s just Potter, who doesn’t seem the least bit interested in molesting him. It’s more than he can say for some of the other animals in their classes.
The class is over far too quickly, and Draco dreads being out in the hallways, having to scamper to his next class like a woodland animal afraid of becoming some predator’s next meal. “You know, I did mean what I said earlier,” Potter tells him as they gather up their things.
“What, about being sorted Slytherin?”
“Well, that too. But I meant the other thing. About us not being enemies. We’re not.” With that, Potter claps him on the back and leaves the room. Draco stands there for a moment, not sure what to make of the last two hours. In the past, they’d have each used today’s opportunity to hex the other into oblivion. Instead, they simply did what they were assigned. Potter had knocked him flat on his arse nearly a half-dozen times, actually apologising for some of them, and then eventually giving Draco some pointers on deflection. By the end of class, Draco had finally managed to give it back to the other boy, pleased with his accuracy and force, but not for the reasons he might have expected. He doesn’t apologise, but only because he’s bitten back the ‘sorry’ on his lips. Potter doesn’t seem to mind, either. He simply tells him it’s a job well-done, getting up after regaining control of his legs.
There is something else, too, Draco realises as he darts out of the room. Potter had touched him, and he’d felt nothing. He has reached the point now where he has narrowed down the student body considerably, without finding his mate. Maybe this won’t be as easy as he’s thought.
~*~
When Professor Sprout divides the class up into pairs a week later, Draco isn’t really surprised that he lands Potter again. The Weasel nudges Potter and says something Draco figures is ruder than usual, because Granger smacks him on the back of the head. Draco smirks behind his hand. Maybe she’s not quite as bad as he’s always thought. Potter doesn’t seem to be, after all. The Weasel, though… Well, there’s always a bad apple.
“The rest of this term and most of the next, you and your partner will be working together to plant, cultivate, and harvest a number of specimens. Two groups will have a bit of additional work when it comes to harvesting and, as compensation, they will have fewer written assignments. One of these pairs will be harvesting Aurora’s Bloom, while the other will be working with Midnight Blossom.” She flicks her wand and small bits of parchment rolled into scrolls make their ways to the students. “Weasley and Finnigan. Hopkins and Boot. Potter and Malfoy.” The bit of parchment flutters lightly into Draco’s hand and Potter slowly makes his way over to him, still looking tight-lipped from whatever it was that Weasley’s said.
“Stuck with each other again,” Draco says with a sigh, though it could be a lot worse. “For the rest of term and beyond.”
Potter mutters something, articulate as always, but when Draco asks him what he’s trying to say, Potter just clears his throat and shakes his head. “Nothing. What’s our assignment?” He tries to grab the scroll, but Draco holds it up out of reach. Potter may have grown significantly in the last few years, but he’s still shorter than Draco is.
“Patience, Potter. I realise that your upbringing may not have taught you this, but you must actually wait for some things.” He unrolls the paper, enjoying the frustrated look on the other boy’s face. “Milkweed, blood root, valerian…Midnight Blossom. Looks like we’ll be spending a few late nights together as well.” Upon seeing the flush creep up Potter’s neck, he smirks. “Not to worry. Nothing your girlfriend should get indignant over.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend, Malfoy.”
“Oh? Then it’s Granger’s wrath I have to face if you’re out too late? I’ll keep that in mind.” He thinks about smirking some more, but decides against it. Granger’s wrath isn’t really anything to laugh at. From what Draco remembers, she’s not above taking her anger out on someone physically. He rubs his face absently at the memory.
“Please just drop it.”
The ‘please’ is what startles Draco, making him unable to think of additional taunts. “Alright.”
Professor Sprout walks by just then, smiling at Potter, but positively beaming down at Draco. Frankly, it makes him feel a bit nervous. “Gentlemen. You’ll find your supplies, including your seeds and cuttings, awaiting you in the cupboard. As you’ve been assigned the Midnight Blossom, you’ll be required to come down here at half-past eleven three nights this term. Once to pick new leaves, once to pick some of the budding flowers, and once to harvest the full blooms. I’ll notify your Heads of House well beforehand. Unless either of you have any objections?” Both boys shake their heads. It could be worse-they could have to deal with each other before dawn. Or Draco could have been paired with Weasley. Though the plots in the greenhouse are fairly deep… but no, it’s the first place they’d look for a body that went missing during a Herbology assignment. “Excellent. I advise you to get to it.”
Draco looks up as she walks away and sees that many of their classmates have already secured spots to start their gardens. “You get the supplies. I’ll find us a spot.” Potter heads off without argument, and Draco surveys the rest of the greenhouse. He finally selects a plot off in the corner, where Longbottom and his partner have started tilling the soil. It’s as good a place as any. And of Potter’s friends, Longbottom’s the one he’ll likely get the least flack from. Longbottom hasn’t said an unkind word to him since the year before last. That’s more than he can say for a lot of their classmates. Hesitantly, Draco walks over and brushes by the other boy, shrugging internally when he feels nothing.
“Did you need something?” Longbottom asks, looking up from his bit of dirt.
“No. Sorry,” Draco adds quickly. “Just lost my balance.” It had been worth a shot. While he might have just elected to off himself at the prospect of being mated to the Gryffindor, pure-blood or not, just a few years ago, it seems that this whole Veela situation has made him a bit desperate. He looks at the Hufflepuff working alongside Longbottom. Maybe he’ll bump into her on the way out, just to be safe. It isn’t the worst fate he could be handed. As Draco toys absently with a handful of soil, waiting for Potter to return with their supplies, he thinks again about what Snape said about Fate and goes through the list of people he knows aren’t his mate, and those he has yet to test. What if it’s a professor? Lupin, or Flitwick, or Snape, or even Hagrid? He still can’t quite bear to consider those real possibilities.
“Get lost in the cupboard?” Draco asks when Potter finally returns.
Potter snorts, his hands firmly gripping a rather large tray so full of things that Draco can’t even see his face behind it all. “Could have helped, you know.” This is something close to what Draco’s been missing-the tone of irritation or exasperation in Potter’s voice, the way he knows he’s having an effect on the boy-but it’s not the same as it used to be, and Draco doesn’t know why. Just like he doesn’t know why Potter has told him they’re not enemies, or why he thinks he’s okay with that, and with being paired up with him in their classes. The world no longer makes any sense. Really, being mated to Snape at this point wouldn’t be too much of a shock.
They set to work, Draco giving occasional orders and Potter following them without question. Draco supposes the submissive attitude is a learned behaviour, a result of Potter working with Granger for so many years. Whatever the reason, it works out in his favour. When class is dismissed, Draco follows everyone else out, surprised to find that Potter isn’t walking with his friends-any of them. He makes his way to the castle in much the same way Draco does-alone.
~*~
It is mid-November when someone leaks the information about Draco’s predicament and all the touching, all the flirtatious looks and seductive smiles, intensify a hundredfold. “I don’t know who decided to inform the student body that I am part Veela and looking for a mate, but when I do find them, there is going to be a very slow and painful death involved.”
Pansy just looks at him from where she is lounging on a couch in their common room. Outside the entrance, they can both hear the sounds of fourth years pleading to come in. Draco knows it’s a pair of Ravenclaws and a Gryffindor-they’ve been trailing him halfway across the castle. “I don’t know that you’ll find a one-person source, Draco. People talk. Really, it’s not the world’s biggest riddle. You’re blond. You’re seventeen. No one can keep their eyes off you-”
“Or hands,” he puts in, shuddering.
“-no matter if they liked you before or thought you were an insufferable git.”
“Who thinks of me that way?”
“The point is, Draco, that it’s a bit obvious. That allure of yours does nothing to discourage them. They all think they’ve got a shot.”
“At being my mate?” He doesn’t relish the thought of having to stand up in front of the entire school and tell them that really, it’s only the males who have a shot, and he would kindly appreciate the girls stop pawing at him.
“No, at getting you into bed.”
“Just because I am attractive doesn’t mean I’m easy, Pansy.”
She snorts at him. “You think I, of all people, don’t know that? Are you somehow oblivious to the rumours?”
Draco sinks down wearily into another chair. “What rumours?”
“You’ve never heard how amazing sex with a Veela is supposed to be? How even just snogging one can make you feel as if nothing bad could ever happen to you again? About how much Veela enjoy it, and don’t mind sharing some of that joy? Where have you been, Draco?”
He just shakes his head. “It’s not true! I mean, maybe sex with me would be the most amazing thing ever, and in fact, that sounds quite plausible. But I most certainly don’t feel like shagging everyone in this bloody school. Isn’t there some way to control this? I can’t be attracting everyone like this. It’s ridiculous.”
“Didn’t Snape give you some literature?”
“Yes, but most of it had to do with bonding ceremonies and registering at the Ministry and other practicalities around finding my mate. There was nothing on how to keep yourself from being torn to pieces by amorous fourth years.” He shoots her a desperate look. Years of her throwing herself at him, and she’s somehow one of the few who seems able to keep her head amidst all this madness. “Help me figure this out. There’s got to be some practical information somewhere.”
She looks at him and sighs. “You look so pitiful, I can’t say no. I’ll go to the library between classes tomorrow. Snape might even let me into the Restricted Section if I grovel.”
“Pansy, you’re amazing.”
“I know, Draco, I know. Pity you only learnt this now.”
~*~
“Well, there’s good news and bad news,” Pansy tells him as Draco sits beside her in the library. “Which do you want to hear?”
“Bad news.” He doesn’t want there to be any, but if he has to hear it, better to end with the good.
“Bad news is that there’s not a hell of a lot of information along the lines you’re looking for. And almost none of it seems to be confirmed.”
“Give me an example.” His head is killing him. He hasn’t slept well in weeks, and it’s only getting worse. At night he dreams of another body underneath his; soft, warm flesh and tight muscles, but he can never see who it is. He wakes each morning with his chest aching and his heart heavy and, more often than not, his shoulders burning where something says his wings should be.
“Peppermints. There was something about how eating them makes you impervious to the allure of a Veela.”
“Peppermints? Are you serious? You couldn’t find anything more helpful than that?”
“I’m not bloody Granger, you know. Why don’t you ask her if you need help with research? Most other quick fixes are just as improbable. Bathing in absolutely vile concoctions to keep people away, though something else says that’ll just increase your allure, as it fights to bring your mate to you anyway. Standing naked on one foot during the full moon, reciting an old Druid spell, while a virgin washes your bits with her tears. As charming as you are, I don’t see that one happening. McGonagall’d have your head, and not even the Headmaster could stop her.”
“You said there was good news?” What that could possibly be, he didn’t know. But he needed something, anything, or he might just throw himself off the Astronomy tower before the madness got to him completely or he died in February.
“Yes. According to several sources, you can control the allure. It seems to be a conscious-effort or will power thing. There are no specific instructions. Unfortunately, it’s not all that easy, and long-term, it’s detrimental to your health. But it can be done. Just like you can intensify the effect, if you choose to. It’ll intensify on its own once you figure out who your mate is and stay that way until you bond, but you can boost it yourself if you want.”
“Pansy, that is the very last thing I want right now.” He sees the hurt look on her face and attempts a smile, putting his hand on top of one of hers. “But thank you for the effort.”
She smiles at him, looking dizzy and enthralled. “You’re welcome. I’d love to help some other way, if you want to-”
Draco pulls his hand away. That had been a mistake. She’s not immune to it. “Thank you, but that’s fine. I should get going. I have things to do.” He doesn’t, but he needs to get away before she does something one or both of them will regret later. He has to get this thing under control.
He darts out of the library, pausing just inside the entrance, where he can hear raised voices. One of them he recognises instantly as Potter’s. After a moment, he places the other two as belonging to the Weasel and Granger. Of course.
“Harry, you can’t be serious. You like him?” Granger sounds desperate to hear that whatever Potter’s telling them is just some poorly-conceived joke.
“I am serious. I didn’t plan it. And it’s not something new or sudden; I just didn’t want to admit it to you two, because I knew you’d react this way. It’s how I feel and nothing’s changing it.”
“Mate, I’m with Hermione on this one. How could you have a crush on him?” Weasley sounds as if he’s about to be ill and, quickly, before they can notice him there, Draco ducks back into the library and out another way. He’s surprised that he feels something like guilt for overhearing their conversation, and also a bit amused to find that Potter’s apparently attracted to men when there are plenty of girls who wouldn’t mind taking the future saviour home to meet Mother. Fate is kind of funny after all.
~*~
What is not funny is the way the rumours have taken hold of damn near every student in school. Ernie MacMillan corners him one evening outside the Great Hall, and Draco knows that look in his eyes all too well. “Doing anything tonight?”
Draco shifts his eyes and looks past the Hufflepuff’s shoulder. “Actually, I am.” It’s a lie, and probably an obvious one, but the prefect doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy running a finger down Draco’s robes.
“Break your plans. Come back to my room. Just for a couple of hours.”
Draco can feel the other boy’s breath against his cheek and wonders how he’s gotten so close so fast. Maybe he should start carrying peppermints in his pockets, just in case they do have an effect. As MacMillan strokes Draco’s cheek, he decides that, in the very least, he could hope his potential suitors choke on them. “No.” When MacMillan doesn’t back away, Draco grips his wand a bit harder. “Get away, or you’ll regret it,” he says through clenched teeth. The other boy doesn’t listen and Draco hexes him with the spell he and Potter had been practising in class, grateful when the Hufflepuff tumbles to his knees.
He runs outside the castle, breathing hard. Really, death is starting to look better and better. Perhaps he’ll ask Snape just to lock him away until February. He wonders how Professor Sprout will react when he tells her just how ungentlemanly her prefects are acting, accosting other students who are walking alone at night, and a ragged sound escapes his throat, something between a sob and a laugh. This is too much.
Draco stands against the wall of the castle, not even caring how the wind bites through his clothes, numbing him already. After a while, he gets hold of himself and notices his surroundings. He really should get back to his room. He’s not dressed to be outside, and it’s late.
He starts to head back, but something catches his attention and he stops. There, carried by the wind, is the sound of someone crying. Someone else might be having as bad of a night as he is, and whereas two years ago he’d have laughed and walked away, something in him has changed and he doesn’t feel right doing it. Instead, he slowly follows the sound, stepping as quietly as possible. He seems to be on top of it, as if it is only an arm’s length away, but he still doesn’t see the source. But then something flaps near his foot and disappears, and he is startled enough to lose his balance, tripping over something on his way down and landing with an ‘oomph.’ He gets up slowly, noticing that there’s a small tear in the knee of his trousers, but he doesn’t care. “Potter?”
The figure huddled on the steps makes a move to cover itself back up, and Draco now recognises the Invisibility Cloak he’d overheard the Weasel mention years ago. More than just rumour, it seems. “Potter, I know it’s you. Stop hiding underneath that damned cloak. Or move over and share, because it’s bloody freezing out here.”
A short moment later, Potter reappears. “What are you doing out here?”
“I needed some air. Why are you out here crying?” Potter looks both embarrassed and angry, and surprising himself, Draco kneels and puts a hand on Potter’s shoulder. “I’m not going to make fun of you. You seem like your night’s been about as bad as mine has.” Without waiting for an invitation, which is good because it will probably never come, Draco sits down next to the other boy. “Look, I don’t know why I’m saying this, but do you want to talk about it?”
Potter looks over his shoulder at Draco’s hand, which is still on the Gryffindor’s shoulder. Draco removes it hastily. “You promise you won’t laugh?”
“After everything I’ve experienced in the last year, I hardly find pleasure in the misery of others. I promise. Look, I know I don’t have to worry about saving the world and all the burdens that entails, but it’s not as if I feel I have control over my own life right now, either. Now. What’s wrong?”
Closing his eyes, Potter sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.” He takes a deep breath and looks Draco in the eyes. “I’m lonely.” He flinches as if Draco’s said something cruel, but relaxes after a moment, when there’s only silence.
Finally, Draco comes up with a response. This is not on the list of things he’s ever envisioned himself doing-sitting alone with Potter, having a heart-to-heart. “What about your friends? It’s always been the three of you. The Golden Trio.”
“We… aren’t spending much time together this year.”
“Is it because you’re gay?” That slips out, but he can’t take it back now that he’s said it, and he feels his face go red.
“What? You know about that? I mean no, it has nothing to do with that. Ron figured it out back in third year, and I told Hermione two years ago. They’re not the kind of people who would care about something like that.” Draco nods, figuring he must have misheard part of that conversation outside the library then. Or maybe Potter just has bad taste in men.
“Well then, why aren’t you spending time together?”
Harry laughs, still looking miserable, and Draco doesn’t much like the combination. It’s a bit distressing. “Because I told them to stay away. I’m afraid letting anyone get too close will only put them in harm’s way, and I’ve risked their lives too many times as it is. They argued at first, but they’re going along with it, for the moment. So now I find I’m without friends.”
“You know, Harry,” Draco says slowly, pausing once he sees Potter’s startled look, and taking a moment to realise why it’s there. “Is it okay, calling you Harry?”
“Yeah,” Potter-Harry-whispers, looking a little less miserable.
“Well, Harry, I feel the need to remind you that you yourself said we’re not enemies. If we’re not enemies, does that mean we could be friends?”
“You-you’d want to be my friend?”
“I don’t see why not. We get on alright in class now. I can think of worse things.” Like being mated forever to certain members of the faculty he thinks, and suppresses a shudder. “You can count me as a friend, if you wish. But you’d have to call me Draco. None of this ‘Malfoy’ business.”
Potter finally smiles, tear-bright eyes shining. “Alright. Friends.”
They just sit there, looking at each other for some period of time Draco can’t pin down, and for a moment, just one oddly terrifying but not awful moment, Draco thinks that Harry’s going to lean in and kiss him. This Veela thing is out of control and he doesn’t like it. But that’s over as soon as they hear a plaintive meow behind them. “Mrs. Norris,” Harry whispers, his eyes wide behind his glasses, and Draco thinks for the first time that they’re not as dreadful as he’s always thought. “Filch must be nearby.”
Draco straightens up. Sure enough, they can hear the wheezing of the caretaker, carried closer by the steady wind. Without another word, Potter envelops them both in his cloak until Filch calls Mrs. Norris away. They wait another several minutes, pressed shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, before Potter removes his cloak and stands. “We should go. It’s after hours. Can you get back to your dorm without being caught?”
Draco nods. “Yes.” And if he can’t, he can always see if his genetically-enhanced charm can get him out of it. “Good night. I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”
Potter nods. “Good night...Draco.” A small smile appears on his mouth as he says the name, and Draco can’t help but think that it’s a very nice mouth.
And with that, he disappears again, treading lightly enough that Draco has to strain to hear him. Draco slowly heads the other direction. After tonight, he thinks he might be able to get along with Potter fairly well. It’s almost a pity he isn’t Draco’s mate, he thinks sleepily as he crawls into bed.
~*~
Continue to Part Two