Chapter Text
Draco was ready. He knew what was coming; he had been aware of it since he was 10. It was fine, but his whole life was about to change.
Okay, maybe he was a little worried, as worried as a Malfoy could show. I mean, who wouldn't be? He was about to transform inside and out in one night. What if he's an entirely different person when he wakes up? What if he can't keep his dignitaries intact? What if people know this and ask questions?
They're going to ask questions. He was aware of that. Why wouldn't they? He would grow a lot more from the last time they saw him before the most recent break, grow more beautiful and alluring. Then again, what's the point of having a whole glow-up if he will be solely devoted to this so-called mate for the rest of his life?
He doesn't even know if he wants a mate, someone who would hold such power over him, be his whole reason for living or dying. I mean this person could say the wrong thing one and have Draco ready to slit his own throat.
Not that his thoughts today would matter by tomorrow; by then, he will only care about finding his mate and making them his. But maybe having someone to love and protect, and for them to do the same right back to him, would be the best thing that ever happened to him. His father told him that being with his mother was the best thing in the world and that a veelas love is like no other.
He decided to try to get some sleep before his transformation began. Merlin knows he won't be sleeping much when it starts.
1:07 AM
It began with a slight itch that woke Draco from sleep, an unwelcome interruption to the most wonderful dream — one where he was flying on his broom, smiling, and having fun with someone. But the dream ended before the person turned to face him, so he never saw who they were.
Draco sat up in bed and reached around to scratch his back, only to feel a hunk of flesh fall off into his hand.
"AAAAAAaaaaaa!"
He heard screaming, though his burning throat barely registered as he thrust his torso back onto the bed. The itch had transformed into an all-consuming burn, a fire scorching his skin. His body shook violently, sweat dripping from his chin, and after what felt like days of agony, his body finally gave in and allowed unconsciousness to take him.
He awoke to the gentle touch of a damp cloth on his forehead.
“Mmmm,” he tried to speak, but his throat was raw from screaming.
“Don’t try to talk, darling. You must be exhausted after last night.”
It was his mother. That meant the transformation was complete; otherwise, she wouldn't have dared come near. It was dangerous for anyone other than a Veela’s mate to be around one in distress — especially during the first transformation. Veelas had been known to kill intruders with their black feathers. Unlike their white ones, the black feathers were poisonous, sharp like blades, and lethal to all but their mate.
“You rest up. You’ve got your ride to school tomorrow, and your mate may very well be on that train,” she said with a small smile, then exited the room.
Draco hadn’t yet considered his mate, but the possibility that they might be so close — that he might meet them the very next day — was staggering. The rest of the day passed with him resting, his thoughts consumed by one thing: his mate.
As he approached the gleaming train on Platform 9¾, Draco felt eyes on him. He knew why. His hair, already pale, had turned a stark, almost glowing silver. His face was sharper, more defined, and his eyes had shifted from faded grey to a vibrant, metallic silver. Most striking of all was his physique — he had grown nearly a foot taller over the summer, now sported defined abs, broader shoulders, and a frame much larger than last term. (Yes, all over.)
"OMG, DRACO??"
The familiar screech came from behind him just as he slid into his usual compartment. Pansy was rushing to catch up.
"What happened to you over the break? You look like you stole someone else's body and stacked it onto yours," she said, eyes roving excitedly over his form. But Draco barely heard her — his instincts were flaring.
He heard Pansy mumbling in the background and then saw a blurry figure pass outside the compartment. Suddenly, it hit him — like being struck by an Accio charm. The scent was sweet and spicy, like a potion lab and home all at once. It was warm, intoxicating, and absolute.
It was them — his reason for being, his light, his warmth, his mate.
Before his mind could fully register the realization, his body was already moving with inhuman speed toward the source of the scent. Moments later, he found himself at the very end of the train, outside the last cabin. Only a fogged piece of glass and a wooden door separated him from his mate.
Draco reached for the door, but before he could touch the knob, the figure inside moved toward it and began to speak.
“Ron, why are you just standing ther—”
Then he saw him.
Harry Potter.
His mate.
Draco should have felt something — resentment, confusion, anything — after years of animosity.
But in that instant, all he could think about was how he had never noticed how bright Potter’s green eyes were. How soft his hair looked. How wide his eyes became as they looked him over. Neither of them spoke, yet something ancient and immutable clicked into place between them.
Draco reached out, needing to make contact, and when his hand met Harry’s arm, it was indescribable — electric, euphoric, undeniable. How could one person feel so perfect? But it only got better when Harry pulled him closer, burying his face into Draco’s neck to inhale his scent.
Draco guided them into the compartment and sat in the corner, pulling Harry into his lap. He buried his nose in Harry’s hair and breathed in deeply. Everything was stronger now — the scent, the heat, the clarity — and he never wanted it to end.
Harry’s hands explored Draco’s shoulders, rubbing gently, and Draco reached for the spot on Harry’s neck where his mark would one day go. When he touched it, Harry released a soft moan, sending a jolt of possessive joy through Draco.
“Harry, you’ll never believe who everyone is talking abou—”
“HOLY MERLIN, HARRY!”