Chapter Text
Draco finds out who his true mate is on the very first day he returns to Hogwarts, for his sixth year of school. He’s tense all day, body jittering with nervous yet excited energy, as he knows his mate is somewhere around. They must have just turned sixteen over the summer, since he didn’t feel this way before his fifth year ended. He wondered all day about who it could be.
It isn’t until dinnertime that he truly, truly realises who it is– and the predicament he’s found himself in. Because he’s not sure if his nose has gone broken, or the wires somewhere in his brain crossed. No, it just couldn’t be who he thinks it is, he tells himself forebodingly. Surely it’s not– not Potter . Harry Potter, the boy he’s had a rivalry with since their first day of classes? The boy who has held nothing but distaste for him for five entire years– quite unfounded, might he add. Sure his attitude was not the best when approaching Potter, but he was merely stating facts at the time. And he wasn’t, still isn’t wrong for doing so.
It’s all Potter’s fault that their relationship has soured into this.
So why on Godric’s green Earth would anyone think it wise to make them, of all pairs, true mates ? Thus why he keeps denying himself the truth, each time he passes by Potter and gets a whiff of the other boy’s delectable scent. It was no secret to Draco’s family what his secondary gender would be. He’s an Omega through and through. He has a soft, feminine body, silky blonde hair, and luminescent skin. Why, he’s the prettiest of all the Omegas in Hogwarts, if he says so himself.
Regardless, he can’t deny how affected he is by Potter’s scent each time they cross paths. And this is something he’s done for the past– week, now. Walking by and lying to himself, trying to hold his breath so he didn’t do something stupid like– like moan or whimper . Oh, heaven forbid he did something like that.
Still, on this very day, he isn’t able to lie any longer. He had to accept the reality that Potter is his true mate. His alpha. Fuck . Potter is his fucking alpha. He’s not the worst person to have as a mate, given his status in the Wizarding World, his last name, and how much sheer power he holds within his body. But given their relationship circumstances… well, overcoming everything will be difficult, to say the least.
Draco is willing to put in the work. Believe it or not, he cares a great deal for the entire true mates business, although you won’t find him admitting that fact to just anyone. Except for Pansy. She’ll be eager to reveal all the details on that matter– how Draco had spoken of meeting his true mate ever since he found out about such a thing. Pansy, an Alpha, has yet to meet hers, but Draco knows she’s just as excited about it, too.
He is a little lost in one aspect, however. Potter has smelled him, right? He must have clocked in how Draco’s scent is different to how others smelled– typically, for those who weren’t your true mate-slash fated mate, you would smell very mild; something sweet for omegas, and something earthy for alphas. Betas stayed completely neutral of any scent, of course, the poor gender.
Potter must have sensed Draco in some other manner, as well. Doesn’t he feel jittery, or anxious? Like his skin is about to jump off of his bones whenever he’s around Draco? No, he must have noticed those things– but… oh, please don’t tell him the other boy has no clue what it means .
He’s not sure if muggles have any concept of true mates and whatnot, but the thing about scents– it should be common knowledge why he smells more intense than others. He must ask Potter about this matter. But, how?
Why haven’t you approached me yet, Potter? Can’t you smell me? I’m your true mate!
…Okay, perhaps opening a conversation like that wouldn’t be the wisest idea. He’ll approach the other boy tomorrow.
Or so he wished to, because as he’s about to approach Potter the coming afternoon, he overhears a conversation occurring between him and his entourage; Granger and Weasley. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but Draco can sense the frustration in his alpha’s voice, the anger sown onto his face as he wildly throws his hands about. Draco’s brows furrow. He hopes he’s not interrupting them in the middle of something important–
“Do you guys even hear yourselves right now? My true mate? Malfoy is not my true mate!”
Draco’s heart stops beating, it feels like, for a few seconds, as he halts in his steps. He quickly hides behind a bannister, his breaths coming out short. They’re talking about him. And Potter isn’t… of course he isn’t, Draco thinks, swallowing down the ball that’s formed in his throat.
“Harry,” Granger frowns, “what you said about his smell coming off that way; it absolutely means he’s your true mate. You can’t change that–”
“To Hell with that!” He says, discarding his whispered voice. “There has to be a way, Hermione. We can find one, I’m sure! He just can’t be my fucking–”
“True mates have existed for an extremely long time,” Weasley throws in, equally as disapproving of Potter’s outburst. Draco isn’t sure why the two aren’t more upset on their best friend’s behalf– shouldn’t they be encouraging Potter to find a solution? Shouldn’t Granger be reassuring him; that there is something they can do about the fact Draco is his true mate?
However, Weasley’s next statement is correct.
“If there was a way to undo such a thing… I’m sure we’d have heard about more folks doing it.”
“And things like this aren’t usually wrong,” Granger adds, taking a step forward. Potter takes one back, curling his hands into fists.
“Well it must be wrong now. First time for everything, right?” He glowers, hardening his jaw. Granger sighs.
“I’m just as confused about how… Malfoy can be your mate, but I’m sure there is a good reason why,” she lowers her voice again. “Please. Just– give it a chance, will you?”
Potter looks at the ground for a moment before returning his eyes to her. In the end, he simply shakes his head.
“I’m sorry, Hermione, I can’t. I won’t accept it’s him. Anyone but him.”
Draco presses himself against the wall to hide further as Potter separates from his friends. He holds both hands against his neck to disguise as much of his scent as possible, and while Potter stopped a second to sniff the air, his nose wrinkling in disgust– he didn’t survey the area to check for Draco. Small miracles, the blond thinks wryly.
…Or not miracle enough, he decides, as he finally processes the conversation he’s just overheard.
He couldn’t be that awful of a mate, could he? Potter won’t even give him a chance to prove that wrong! How is he meant to– how can he even– Draco groans in frustration, cradling his head in his hands. He can’t continue to stand here where others can be privy to his spiralling emotions right now, so after wiping the back of his hands over his eyes, he hastens back to his dorm room.
Over the next few hours, he realises that Potter does, in fact, have every reason to despise him.
“I was a complete prick,” he relays to Pansy, a sullen expression on his face. She nods in agreement. “You were, too.”
“I was simply going along with your whims,” she says.
“You should have stopped me,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t mean those words. Certainly, he could’ve been stopped with some– okay, a lot of guidance, but aside from teachers giving him stern looks, and Potter’s friends glaring at him (of which were all responses he expected, and even delighted in receiving) – he wasn’t punished much.
Okay, no. Draco was just an asshole, and he needs to take accountability for that fact on his own. No one else is to blame for their lack of interference. He just wasn’t the best person to be around for those who weren’t Slytherins.
“You’ve come to a realisation, have you?” Pansy asks curiously.
“Nothing I haven’t already noted. I am the worst kind of person. The worst kind of Omega,” he says morosely. “I mean, aren’t Omegas meant to be sweet and gentle? I got off on bullying people.”
“Did you really get off to that?”
“Not literally ,” he rolls his eyes. “But I did find enjoyment from the attention that I got as a result of the bullying.”
“So you were just looking for attention from them– from Potter,” she corrects. “I think that’s completely appropriate for male Omegas at your age.”
“Still doesn’t make it excusable,” he shakes his head. “And what am I meant to do now, that he won’t even give me a chance to be his mate? Is that even… possible?” Draco asks, his voice dropping as he frets about the answer. Pansy considers the question for a moment.
“I don’t know,” she replies honestly, frowning a bit. “It’s Potter. Who knows? He might be able to make it possible.”
Draco swallows. He’ll have to see to it that Potter changes his mind about that. True mates were made for a reason. He’s sure there were more absurd pairings in the past– Potter is just being a right prick about it now. He’ll come to realise, eventually, that Draco is meant to be his true mate. For the time being, he’ll have to work his way into Potter’s good graces, and make up for all he’s done in the past.
“Do you think he can ever forgive me?” Draco can’t help but wonder. Pansy gives him a smile at that.
“Well, you really won’t know unless you try, right?”
Taking her question to heart, Draco sets about on his mission to apologise to Potter, Granger, and… the Weasel. Truthfully, the latter is the one he most dreads apologising to, if only because he knows Weasley will make the ordeal difficult for him. Granger will most likely consider his apology, and Potter is a toss-up at the moment. He’s high on negative emotions after discovering that Draco is his true mate, but Pansy is right– there’s no point in stewing in these thoughts. He needs to take action.
The best way to apologise, he thinks, would be to do so while courting Potter. Typically this duty befalls the Alpha first, but… circumstances must. He’ll subvert secondary gender stereotypes by being the first to reach out! And with that, he drags Pansy along to Hogsmeade and browses the stores for something Potter and co. might enjoy.
“You’re courting Potter,” Pansy says, looking through some windows as well, “why must you buy gifts for his friends as well?”
“To show my sincerest apologies to them,” he answers. “Of course, I am well aware this won’t be enough to get into their good graces. But I don’t plan on stopping just here.”
“Of course not,” she agrees with him. “Alright then… where to first?”
“Granger likes books. Tomes and Scrolls?”
And so they purchase a book that he’s heard Granger mutter under her breath about for the past two days; something she can’t get her hands on. He puts in an express order with the owner of Tomes and Scrolls, flashes his status as a Malfoy , and smiles in success when the order is confirmed. He’ll be back the next day to retrieve the book.
Afterwards, he goes to the shop for sporting gear, and while not the most invested in Quidditch himself, he knows how to pick a good broom.
“Potter will enjoy this, I’m sure,” he tells Pansy, holding out something flashy and, not to mention, fast . “It’s crafted very well, I can tell.” And so he purchases it, having the item sent right to his Hogwarts dorm room so he wouldn’t have to carry it around all of Hogsmeade in search of– the Weasel’s gift. He huffs quietly in displeasure. “I’m tempted to buy the boy sweets, or some other edible item. He likes food.”
“I agree. Honeydukes?”
They go to Honeydukes, and Draco purchases everything he thinks Weasley would like, searching through his memories to see which candied items the red-head fancies most. At the end of the day, he’s knackered, and could really do with a nice, hot bath. Unfortunately, he’s too tired for even that , so he glances at his presents and decides to wrap them all the next day, and promptly falls face-first on his bed to sleep.
He hands his first gift to Granger with nervousness clear on his face. He’s been sweating all day, wondering what the best way would be to present her with the book. But he needn’t have dreaded so much, as after glancing at him in trepidation, she carefully unwraps the gift and gasps softly at what awaits inside.
“This is…” She mumbles, glancing at Draco again. The blond clears his throat and answers.
“I overheard you talking to– yourself about it, and how it’s been impossible to get your hands on that book. So, I thought I would… purchase it for you,” he shrugs, showing it was no big deal. She thins her lips at his response and traces the letters on the book with her fingertips.
“I will thank you for the gift, but what is that you want? Surely you wouldn’t have purchased this for me without a reason?”
“Oh, but I have done just that,” Draco corrects, his eyes glinting mischievously. Granger shakes her head.
“Harry is your mate,” she says.
“I will admit that is partially the reason I’ve bought you that book,” he relents as a frown titters on his face. “But that’s just partially. I really– well, it’s not much, but I thought I would begin apologising to you by… you know, finding a book that you’ve been having difficulty with doing yourself. You see, I only behaved that way because I was an attention whore. Quite common for Omega males my age, you see.”
Granger doesn’t gawk, laugh, or huff at his piss-poor explanation. And he feels a little lost; discouraged by her reaction and questions, even though they’re completely warranted. She has no reason to believe that his generosity was without condition, nor his reasoning, but– there really was no condition, or good reason other than being a complete, yes, attention whore. Other than to get in her good graces and show he’s serious about reform, of course, as well as the fact that he knows he’s been an idiot.
“Begin apologising,” she repeats slowly, ignoring the other bit of information. Rightfully so, he thinks. “Then you’ve purchased something for Ron as well?”
“I have,” Draco confirms, perking up, “a box of his favourite sweets– or, at least, I think they are.”
“I see. Would you like me to give them to him for you?”
“No,” he shakes his head with a small huff. “I’d like to do this myself, but thank you for the offer. It would be ingenuine if I asked you to do that.”
“Well, you wouldn’t really be asking,” she says, giving him a friendly smile. And just that expression on her face makes some of the tension in his body bleed out. He relaxes, and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, unsure of where to head from here. Luckily, she fixes that for him. “Malfoy… I can’t say for sure that Harry will eagerly accept anything you’ve purchased for him. He’s– well, he’s not at all happy about being your mate.”
“I wouldn’t imagine he is,” he smiles sadly, recalling the conversation he eavesdropped on, though he doesn’t mention that to her. “It’s no matter. I intend on atoning properly to him, to make up for how much of a prat I’d been these last few years to you all.”
“Because you were an attention… whore,” she says with a mild grimace. “Are you courting him in the process of that, then?” Granger wonders, curiosity lighting her eyes. He nods. “Then, I wish you the best of luck. You really will need it,” she snorts, reaching out a hand to gently pat his shoulder. “Thank you again for this. I look forward to seeing what you hand me next,” she calls over her shoulder as she walks away.
Draco lets out a long, slow breath. Well. That certainly went much better than he expected it to go. He shuts his eyes as he thinks about the next person he must reach out to. Weasley.
But he needn’t approach the other boy himself, as he comes storming up to Draco the next day with a red face and clenched fists. Draco braces himself for impact– physical or of the magical kind, as he has no plans of defending himself if he wishes to get in the Weasel’s favour– but he never receives such a thing. He peeks one eye open to see Weasley halt in front of him, and though his chest expands and contracts with heavy pants, he makes no move to attack Draco.
“...Um, yes?” Draco tentatively asks, trying to put on some of his usual confidence. “May I help you?”
“Hermione says you’re the one who bought her that book,” Weasley says, glaring at him. Although the last bit is no surprise. Draco blinks.
“Well, yes, I did.”
“I wanted to buy that book for her,” he scowls, “and you completely up and stole my thunder!”
“You can purchase the next book she mumbles about,” Draco promises him, understanding where the other boy was coming from. Then another possibility hit him– “are you… trying to court her?”
The red on Weasley’s face shifted from anger to definite embarrassment. Aha.
“If I’d known, I would’ve bought her something else,” he frowns.
“ Why are you buying her things to begin with?” Weasley barks, demanding to know. Draco sighs. Well, it’s now or never. He thanks her quietly for not telling Weasley that Draco has a gift for him, too, and so he pulls it out of his bag with little flourish and enlarges the box of sweets.
“For you,” he says simply, and holds the gift out. It’s wrapped in red and gold– traditional Gryffindor colours, of course, and just putting the thing together made him gag. Oh, the lengths he was going to in order to prove his sincerity to them.
Weasley looks between Draco and the proffered box, narrowing his eyes a bit more before grabbing it quickly. Draco can’t hold back his eye-roll and waits for Weasley to unwrap the gift. After doing so, he stares at the contents of the box, sucks his teeth and glares up at Draco again. Dear Godric, what did he do now ?
“You don’t like them?” He asks, raising an eyebrow. Weasley averts his eyes to the floor.
“...It’s not that,” he says, a displeased expression still on his face. “How did you know that– these are my favourites? Were you stalking me, Malfoy?”
“Of course not,” he sneers in disgust at the thought, to which Weasley snorts. He wipes the sneer off of his face and exhales, trying to calm himself down. “Over the years, I’ve simply come to realise what it is you like and don’t like. I’m very observant, you see.”
“I’ll say,” Weasley mutters under his breath. “I will accept these, but you better keep your promise. Don’t go and buy Hermione books that she’s muttering about– that’s my job,” he huffs. Draco nods in reassurance.
“I won’t. However, I’m not sure what I can purchase for her, then.”
The Weasel considers his issue for a moment before his face lights up.
“The weather is getting colder, and Hermione likes scarves. You can buy some for her– and Omegas scent soft items, don’t they?”
“They do,” Draco confirms slowly, and then blanches. “You want me to scent something for her?!”
Weasley shrugs.
“It’s the best way to show you don’t mean any harm. I’m sure she’ll enjoy it. She’s already accepted your gift yesterday, right?”
“...Right,” Draco says, a bit dazed at the thought of gifting Granger a scented scarf. That’s something he only really does for Blaise and Pansy, during their ruts, or– some of his other Omega friends in the Slytherin dorms. Millie, for example. But for Granger ? He’s loath to admit, though, that Weasley does have a point. It’s a clear token of friendship and vulnerability between Omegas. “Fine,” he agrees, “I’ll gift her a scarf.”
“Something soft,” Weasley says, “I know you can afford it.”
“Get out of my face, Weasley,” Draco replies, rolling his eyes. The Weasel takes no offence to it and leaves with a snicker. Draco’s shoulders slouch. Two out of three Gryffindors buttered up… and he can purchase Granger that scarf tomorrow. He bites his lower lip. There’s still the matter of giving Potter his gift, too. He’s certain that with both Weasley and Granger receiving gifts from Draco, Potter will become suspicious of his intentions. He’s likely to approach Draco soon.
He goes back to his dorm room to stare at the broom, unwrapped because– well, it should be quite obvious why you can’t wrap a broom . He cradles it gently in his hands, sure that Potter will appreciate a gift like this. Is there more Draco will need to do to prove himself to the other boy?
No, of course there’s more. A simple gift won’t undo years of shitty behaviour. He sighs, knowing this predicament is all on him. His Alpha doesn’t like him– doesn’t accept him as his mate– all because of his own actions. Though if he’d known before… there’s absolutely no chance he’d have been that way. Or is there? He doesn’t know the answer to that. He doesn’t know the answer to what if’s .
He only hopes now, though, that Potter will at least accept this gift and allow him to continue making amends– to court him properly. And one day he’ll reciprocate the courting and allow Draco to take a step back– flourish the blond with gifts, flowers, scented items, etcetera. Draco grasps the broom a bit tighter, imagining what a time that would be. It’ll happen, he’s sure of it.
He sighs and sets the broom down.
Draco wonders, the next day, when the best time would be to approach Potter to hand the gift over. And he realises, there truly isn’t a best time, although he’ll have to make sure not to do it in an extremely public setting. So the great hall was out of the question. Catch him in the halls somewhere, on their way to a shared class? Possibly. Pull him aside and hand it somewhere else that’s more secluded? Potter isn’t likely to simply follow him anywhere, is he…?
He huffs and shrinks the broom to place it inside of his bag before trudging down to the great hall for breakfast. Immediately, his eyes launch to where Potter sits, looking for all intents and purposes– extremely tired? The school semester hasn’t been so difficult already, has it? Draco’s brows furrow and his lips purse. Well, if he is having difficulty in his classes, perhaps he can provide a helping hand?
…Gift, first. Let’s not get too ahead of yourself here, Draco.
Just as he’s about to turn away, Potter’s eyes snap up to meet his, as if sensing he’d been staring– which, he probably can, now that Draco thinks about it. Draco takes a deep breath, trying to see if he can catch Potter’s scent. Though he’s been around the boy frequently in the halls and in their classes, with so many people around… it’s difficult to catch his scent for what it is all the time. It continuously mixes in with the mild scents of other students, causing Draco to sigh.
Although, when he caught that conversation between Potter and his friends, he was able to get a decent scent. If only he could get closer without too many people around them.
The best way for Draco to describe Potter’s scent is– earthy. Typical for many alpha males, to be honest, but it’s very mild for those who aren’t your true mate. Draco never knew that he could enjoy the scent so much. Additionally, there were undertones of spice– bergamot, Draco thinks, and… something else. Something sweet, but he’s not sure what it could be.
To Draco, the scent was absolutely delectable, but no surprise there, honestly. Your true mate's scent is meant to feel like being in paradise, surrounded by them from every angle– like a soft, warm blanket.
Potter continues to stare at him, and Draco doesn’t waver his own gaze. Until the former seems to remember something, and glances at the box of chocolates Weasley is still ravishing. His eyes then return to Draco, accompanied by a frown on his face, as if trying to make sense of what he’s thinking of.
He sees the other boy mouth something to his friend, to which Weasley answers, mouth filled with chocolates, and the answer– makes Potter’s body stiffen, shoulders raising just slightly. Draco’s eyebrows furrow, watching him hold his hand over the lower half of his mouth, his legs bouncing beneath the table– before he gets up abruptly, sends another glare at Draco, and exits the great hall.
Draco scrambles to run after him, unsure why Potter had such a negative reaction to– seeing Weasley eat some chocolates gifted by him. Is it because they were gifted by him? He knew that the other boy would get suspicious, but not… this angry, he thinks with a nervous swallow.
“Potter, wait!” He calls, a tad relieved when Potter’s steps slow down. He halts fully a few seconds later, but his shoulders rise and fall with each angry breath he takes. Draco’s own steps falter as he becomes unsure about following Potter. He realises that they’re completely alone now– with most, if not all students in the great hall for breakfast.
And the scent he wanted so badly to smell in an isolated space– it’s not… he shudders, wanting to hold his breath from the onslaught of bitterness. The earthy, spicy scent he’d picked up before exists no longer. To put it quite simply, it smells like Draco’s been tossed inside of a swamp, engulfed by the stench of rotting vegetation and– rotten eggs.
Potter’s extremely pissed. At him .
“Um,” Draco stutters, sticking his hand in his bag in search of the minimised broom, keeping his eyes on Potter’s tense back. “I wanted to give you–”
“What’s your plan, Malfoy?” Potter asks, turning around to face him. While his face is incapable of becoming as red as Weasley’s, there are still obvious tells of just how mad he is. Despite this, his mouth is pressed in an impatient frown, his jaw set firm, and his eyes attempting to dissect every bit of Draco– his body language, the deer-caught-in-headlights expression on his face– everything.
His eyes flickered to Draco’s arm, still searching around in his bag. Potter laughs mockingly.
“Looking for your wand in there? I’d think you’d have it prepared if you were going to follow me out here.”
“I’m not trying to hex you,” Draco says firmly, hating that Potter would even think so. But such an action isn’t completely out of line with what he’s done before.
“Then why chase after me?” Potter demands, eyes hardening further, “why give Ron and Hermione those fuckings gifts? What is your plan ?”
“Nothing!” He yells, finally grasping the broom. “Godric, I’m– I’m not trying to instigate anything,” Draco huffs, his hand trembling as he holds the item forward. Potter doesn’t take it. Draco raises his eyebrows and lifts the hand a little, insisting. Potter still makes no move to take it.
“What is that?” He asks, and it’s then that Draco realises he didn’t even unshrink the item. Not his fault– it’s Potter’s, for standing there looking so good yet smelling so awful. He unshrinks it, and thrusts the broom to Potter, uncaring if he accepts it willingly or not.
“It’s a broom,” he says, though it’s quite obvious now. Potter examines it for a moment; green eyes grazing from the sleek, gold-decorated stem, to the bristles, designed fashionably. The broom has both style and functionality, and with a smile, he thinks that Potter is sure to love it.
“No thanks,” Potter rejects, and something shatters in front of Draco’s eyes.
“Ah… pardon?” He stutters, eyes glancing to where Potter holds the broom forth for Draco to take back. The blonde shakes his head. “No, I can’t. It’s yours now.”
“I don’t accept,” the other boy reiterates, and instead of waiting for Draco, he squats to set the broom on the ground. “You can use it– or return it, if you’d prefer that.”
“...I don’t have the receipt,” he mumbles, still not believing that Potter just– rejected his gift. His first apology gift. His first courting gift. Granted, Potter doesn’t know the significance but… how is Draco meant to apologise at this rate, when he has no intention of accepting anything?
He internally shakes his head. No, he’ll just need to try again. He’ll need to try harder.
“That’s not my problem,” Potter scoffs, and Draco chews his bottom lip.
“I suppose I can give it to Blaise,” he mutters absentmindedly under his breath, bending over to pick up the broom. And in a flash, the broom is snatched from his hands. There’s a stormy expression on Potter’s face again, not unlike the way he looked in the great hall. Once again, Draco has no idea why he’s angry. “You have really sudden mood changes,” he points out, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why are you mad now? I’m doing as you asked.”
“I said to return it, or keep it for yourself. Not to– to give it to Zabini ,” he spits out the name. Draco’s lips press into a thin line as he tries to understand, but Potter doesn’t wait another second for him to catch on. He walks past Draco to return to the great hall, the broom clasped firmly in his right hand. The blond blinks in astonishment.
Where does he even begin to unpack this?
“I think he might’ve been jealous,” Blaise tells him that evening when they’ve all retired to their dorms. Draco’s nose scrunches in disbelief. Blaise rolls his eyes. “No, I’m serious. Why else would he get so pissed after telling you to keep the broom for yourself?”
“He’s been in a pissy mood lately,” Draco points out, his voice hinting at how sad he was, “I don’t think finding out I’m his true mate is helping any.”
“He’s being a bitch about it, in my opinion,” Pansy throws in. “Like, it’s not the best situation for him, but he’s got to be willing to work it out. He’s a Gryffindor, for Merlin’s sake.”
“Don’t call him a bitch,” Draco frowns, thinking that Potter does have very good reasons to not enjoy the predicament he’s in. He tells his friends as much, but they shake their heads, disagreeing. Draco considers the possibility Blaise brought up for the rest of the night while doing his homework. Potter, jealous of Blaise ? Perhaps part of it was due to hurt Alpha pride– that is a thing, he’s pretty sure. You know, hearing that your Omega is about to give a gift to someone who isn’t you could damage your ego, and all.
He shut his books with a sigh and turned himself in for the night. He’d get no homework done with thoughts of Potter and his mood swings in mind. Although, if there’s one thing he can feel giddy about, it’s the fact that Potter ended up taking his gift, anyway– no matter what the reason was. He stuffs his face in his pillow and giggles, just slightly.
Okay, maybe he can make this work after all.
The next day he goes to the library and picks up several cookbooks. Books on desserts, books on lunches and dinners, and every meal in between. He’s got a determined set to his face as he checks all of the books out and rushes down to his dormitory, immediately flipping through them and memorising recipes that stand out. Naturally, he’ll start with Potter’s favourites.
Come next morning, he enters the kitchens before the elves can begin preparing breakfast for the students. Which is to say, he’s in there at four AM, eyes darting around to see if anyone’s inside. He doesn’t need someone to walk into this, just in case it turns out to fail massively– which it won’t. He’s determined not to let it fail. He’ll try over and over again until it’s to his tastes, if he has to.
Thankfully, the recipes aren’t too difficult to follow. He is a natural at potions, after all, and baking is extremely similar. He keeps his eyes on the tarts as they bake, wondering if he can just cast a spell to make this go faster, but… no. Patience is the utmost key. He’s patient whilst making potions, and so he can stand to wait a bit longer for the tarts to finish baking.
Still, it’s a restless kind of energy simmering beneath his skin that has him pacing in the kitchen, biting his bottom lip until he winces from the sting. He sets the puffy appendage free and checks on the tarts again, beaming when he sees that they’re entirely finished. Quickly setting them down to cool, he’s able to cast spells this time to clean everything– and just on time, too. He can tell the elves will be apparating in soon to begin cooking for the students. Although, in his haste to hurry out of the kitchen, he oh-so brilliantly forgets the tray is still quite hot, and instead of simply levitating it, he grabs the damn thing with his hands.
No matter. A burn like this will be gone just as fast with a bit of ointment. The tarts are placed under a stasis charm, concealed neatly, and with his baking adventures finally catching up to him, he falls asleep as soon as he places his head on his soft pillow.
Come next morning– the restless and anxious energy is back in full blast.
“There’s a burn mark on your hand, hun,” Pansy frowns, a worried edge to her words. He glances at the red patch and curses under his breath, but rushes to apply the appointment before it has the chance to get worse. “Were you up baking all night?”
“Not all night, but for an hour or so, yes,” he confirms, flurrying to the tray and removing the concealment charm. Pansy makes a sound of awe at the baked treats, one hand sneaking forward to grab a tart– but he swipes them away from her thieving hands before she can contaminate it. “Not for you,” he huffs, making her roll her eyes.
“Yes, yes, I know. They’re for your beloved fated mate. But hey, if he rejects it, you know where to find me,” she smirks. Draco’s heart drops, and the smirk wipes off from her face. “Wait, no, I’m just kidding. He won’t–”
“But what if he does ,” Draco cries, fingers tightening around the tray ‘til his knuckles are visibly white. “Oh, Merlin , Pansy, I’m about to piss myself.”
“Whoa, not in the common room,” Blaise warns him, and then he looks at Pansy pointedly. “You really must watch the jokes, you know. He’s already stressed enough as it is.”
“I know,” she wraps her arms around Draco’s waist, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. He won’t reject them, Draco.”
The blonde breathes in deeply before exhaling from his stomach, eyes closing for several seconds as he calms himself. Okay, okay. He needs to believe in himself– and if not in himself, then in the universe and its magic, because it wouldn’t set him up for failure like this. Potter is his fated mate, meaning that they are quite literally destined for each other. And destiny wouldn’t purposely fuck Draco over like this, right?
Or maybe it would. Karma , as they call it, although he’s sure Granger would call that a bunch of hoaxes. His dear cousin Luna, on the other hand, would have some roundabout way of telling him that he’s utterly fucked. Okay, so back to having faith in himself, then. And in Potter’s kind personality… hmm…
“He won’t reject me if I do it in the great hall during breakfast, would he? Not in front of so many people. He’s not that cruel,” he contemplates. He’s not cruel at all , despite being less than amicable to Draco’s advances so far. Pansy and Blaise agree with him, and with one last calming breath, he decides to just go for it. Exit the dungeons, up the stairs, a few twists and turns, in front of the great hall, the tray still held tightly in his hands like a bloody lifeline. It’s a comfortably warm temperature right now, so it’s not likely to burn Potter’s fingers or his tongue when he takes a bite.
“Now or never, Draco,” Blaise reminds him.
“Right,” Draco mutters, and sets forth to the Gryffindor table. They certainly don’t hold back or have any shame in turning their heads to watch him, sneers and disgusted glares on their faces. Why, the slightest shift in their personality could’ve easily plopped any of these faces into Slytherin. He meets their eyes impassively, not wanting to rise to their bait and sully their opinion of him any further, lest they begin whispering to Potter in the Gryffindor common rooms.
And then he spots Potter and his two closest friends, plating their respective breakfasts with bleary eyes. Well, Granger’s eyes were much clearer compared to Weasley and Potter, and despite the way he looks a right mess– hair uncombed, some grease stuck to the corner of his lip, eyes blinking slowly every few seconds– Draco thinks that he still looks quite handsome.
He tries to focus his senses on Potter’s scent, and finds himself instantly calming from how relaxed he is this early in the morning. Tired, but content.
At least for a few good seconds, because then his nose begins to twitch and scrunch, and he lets out the most unbecoming sneeze. His eyes dart around, not taking long to land on Draco, who has frozen still now that he’s under the scrutinising gaze of his fated mate. He swallows, gives the other boy a tentative smile, and takes a couple of steps forward ‘til he’s standing right in front of Potter and his friends.
“Hello,” he greets, thankful his voice doesn’t wobble.
“...Hi,” Potter replies, his eyes dropping to the tray filled with treacle tarts– his favourite. They narrow into a distrustful glare and flick back up to Draco’s face. Okay, not a great start so far, but that’s… alright. “What are these?” He asks, inching his head backwards– which is completely immature and uncalled for, if Draco’s being honest.
“Treacle tarts,” he answers confidently, finally setting them down on the table and pushing them forward. “For you.”
“No, thanks,” Potter dismisses coolly, and returns to eating his own breakfast. “You’ve likely poisoned them, haven’t you?”
“Harry!” Granger hisses at him, sending an apologetic glance at Draco. Very quickly, any hope the Slytherin had of not being rejected in the great hall diminishes. But stupidly, he continues pushing, although it’s not without any bite to his words.
“Scared, Potter?” He snarks. “Of a few treacle tarts? Really?”
“If they’re made by you, I’m well within my rights to be cautious,” Potter smirks, eyeing them again. “Even if you weren’t trying to poison me with a potion, I’m sure your cooking is so horrendous I’d get food poisoning, regardless.”
“Mate, stop,” Weasley sighs. “I’m serious. You can’t–”
“Like Hell I can’t!” Potter scowls, and stands up from his seat. “Yes, I can . You guys keep going on about destiny and fate but fate wouldn’t–”
He gets cut off with a loud sneeze, his hand flying up to cover his nose. He sneezes again, and then sniffles, and he looks so distraught that Draco takes a step back. And then another, until Potter doesn’t look like he’s about to collapse. Is his scent really that terrible? To his own true mate?
He looks over at Granger– and then to Weasley– who are having a silent conversation, grave expressions on both of their faces. A few seconds later, Potter gathers himself, and takes his seat once more, not bothering to acknowledge the tray full of treacle tarts sitting alone just a couple inches away from him. Draco knows when he’s dismissed– when he’s clearly not wanted. He’s overstayed his welcome by a good amount of time. He should have just walked away when Potter said no the first time.
The rejections sting, but he doesn’t want to stand in front of the Gryffindor table any longer– doesn’t want to let any of them see him in such a vulnerable state of mind. The pitying looks on their faces are too much. The disgust is too much. The whispers are too much .
“True mates?” He hears someone whisper. “No, that can’t be right. He can’t have Malfoy as his fated, right?”
Right. Potter can’t possibly have him, Draco Malfoy, as his true mate. It’s just unthinkable. The universe wouldn’t do the boy-who-lived dirty like that. This must be some cosmic joke being played on Draco– a way to get his hopes up and then squander them through multiple rejections, each one picking away at his heart and at his resolve.
He walks away before the self-deprecating thoughts can get the better of him. They’ve already begun to sow doubts inside of his mind, and he can’t– he can’t just quit here, can he?
“I deserve this much,” he says to himself, “but I’m not a quitter. I can’t do that.”
Slytherin’s are categorised for their ambition. And really, what’s more ambitious than this goal of his? He can’t think of anything. Though, he thinks with a pouty frown, the fact that those treacle tarts would likely be wasted is saddening to him. Something like that wouldn’t typically be distressing to him, but it was his hard work and love that went into creating those. And he didn’t take Potter for the kind of person to ever waste food.
The burn mark on his hand makes itself known just then, eliciting a hiss. He sits down beside Pansy, eyeing the deep red mark slowly beginning to heal itself. He should take something for the pain.
“Rejected the tarts, huh?” Pansy frowns, and then she takes out her wand and levitates the tray. Draco blinks at her display of drawing the tarts over to the Slytherin table, and clearing her throat, announcing that everyone should feel free to take a piece for themselves. “There’s definitely enough to go around,” she tells him, and hands him his own tart.
The other Slytherin’s observe with bated breath as he takes a bite, being sure to chew slowly to savour all the flavours. Brilliant. His eyes light up at the taste– “My goodness. I’ve truly outdone myself. Beyond my expectations,” he states, and that’s enough for the rest of the Slytherin’s to reach for a tart. There’s a bit of pushing and pulling, but nothing he can’t twist away from.
Draco finishes up his tart and licks a bit of cream off from his thumb, when someone’s– Blaise’s– hand appears in the corner of his vision.
“You’ve got a bit of cream right here,” the other boy murmurs, gently wiping it off with a towel. Draco makes a sound of appreciation, staying still until Blaise finishes up and sets the towel down.
A loud sneeze from across the hall startles him. His scent is bothering Potter all the way from here ? He chances a curious glance in that direction and sees a hateful glare aimed at him, from none other than Harry Potter himself. Draco sighs. Seriously? He hasn’t even done anything this time!
“I still think he’s jealous,” Blaise snorts. “What else could that reaction mean?”
“That he hates me,” Draco counters, letting out another sigh, before stuffing his mouth with another treacle tart.
True to his word, he hasn’t given up all hope yet. It’s a constant rollercoaster. A push and pull, a yes and no, a stop and go . His self preservation instincts are begging for him to hit the brakes before this can hurt him any more, but his ambition is propelling him forward– to where, he has no clue! But over the next few months, he tried relentlessly, over and over and over again to at least– get Potter to look at him with something other than complete hatred and ire.
None of it seemed to be working well. He turned away from Draco most of the time, refusing to acknowledge him. Other times he’d glare at whoever was standing beside Draco– typically Blaise or Theo– and finally, he’d just… seethe at Draco from across the great hall, or wherever it was that he’s standing at. There was always distrust and a current of disbelief, yet more than that, Draco could smell the distress radiating from Potter.
It continued to pick away at his resolve, until one day–
The final match of the Fall Quidditch season, right before the students would be off for Winter hols, took place. And this time, Slytherin won . He’s extremely proud of his house, despite having dropped Quidditch in fifth year. The tension between Gryffindor and Slytherin remained high, the stadium at the edge of their seat, and while he would’ve cheered for his fated mate… he had loyalties to his house too, you see.
After the game is over, spirits are still high, and McGonagall allows them a trip to Hogsmeade to celebrate. Gryffindor’s are also encouraged to go on the trip– and, well, with two of the houses already going, the remaining had to be given permission to join the celebration as well. And thus Hogsmeade fills with Hogwarts students third year and above, the Slytherin’s all joined in The Three Broomsticks with butter beer to make a toast.
The Gryffindor’s are in their own corner of The Three Broomsticks as well, although a lot more subdued than the Slytherin’s boisterous attitude. Draco falters at the deflated set of Potter’s shoulders, his face in an equal measure of gloom. Spirits are extremely low, and it seems like even he isn’t in the mood to give his teammates a pep talk. Draco supposes there’s very little chance of that, anyway, considering holidays would be starting soon.
He sighs to himself, wondering if he should walk to their table and perhaps… give a few words of sympathy? No, he would be depulso’d all the way to the other end of Hogsmeade. So he props his head up with one hand, butter beer held loosely with his other hand, and tries not to make it too obvious that he’s looking at Potter.
He fails at that, of course, since Potter just seems to have a good sense of when Draco’s watching – and so his head lifts up, green eyes locking with grey. While Draco does startle, he doesn’t look away, keeping his gaze right on Potter as if encouraging him to make some kind of move. Which, really, might have not been the best idea, but– Potter doesn’t give into it. His face completely closes off, the previous gloom etched onto it disappearing in the blink of an eye. He looks to his team members and mutters something, to which they nod and push out of their seats.
They’re all out of The Three Broomsticks in less than a minute, leaving Draco cold and empty. Suddenly, his house's victory doesn’t seem all that joyous to him anymore. Not if it means Potter hating him even further , despite his significant lack of contribution to the Slytherin team winning. Filling with conviction, his drink makes a sharp thunk when he sets it down on the table, and sets off after Potter and the rest of the Gryffindor team.
This is stupid. He’s being stupid. Why is he running ? He should just go back inside, he should ignore Potter’s sullen face– it’s nothing he hasn’t seen before, first through fifth year. But now is different. It’s so different. He can’t explain why; if it’s just due to his pull to his fated mate, or some other reason, but he can’t let Potter stew in his disappointment.
But what are you going to do? A voice inside of him taunts. He doesn’t like you. He recoils at the sight of you! Do you really think you’ll make his day better?
He halts in his steps quite suddenly.
It’s enough of a reason to turn around. He’s glad something knocked sense into him before he could make a great mistake. He can’t… not in front of so many people… he can’t do that to himself. And Potter. Hah. Draco’s face wouldn’t make him feel any better. It would make him feel worse, if anything. So he pivots, ready to head back to The Three Broomsticks and mull about this for the rest of the week–
“He is NOT my true mate. You can’t keep feeding me this– this lie , Ron! I thought you, of all people, would be on my side about this! And what about Hermione, hm? Are you going to forget what sort of shit he’s said to the girl you love ?”
The outburst draws a crowd. A small crowd, at first, but once they see who’s at the centre of it– Harry Potter– more folks gather together. Potter’s face is red, his fists balled at his sides, and his body so tense that Draco’s afraid he’ll jump up like a spring at the smallest trigger. Weasley must know this too, as he’s hesitant to even continue speaking, and instead, his eyes dart to the crowd.
Blue snatches on to grey, and it’s all downhill from there.
Potter’s attention whips over to him, making anxiety spike through his body. The other boy’s nose twitches as he holds back a sneeze, straightening his posture so Draco’s got no choice but to tilt his head up. Typically Potter slouches– a relaxed curve to his spine that makes Granger groan and correct his stance, lest he get early onset scoliosis, she said. Draco doesn’t really need to tilt his head up so high to look at Potter at those times, but now…
He swallows, feeling caged in at every corner by random faces– all faces that he likely knows, but right now, his brain is too scrambled to tell one apart from the other. Potter approaches him slowly, face losing its colour as it returns to a similar impassiveness it held inside The Three Broomsticks.
Draco can’t feel anything but tension, from the tips of his fingers to his temples. He knows there’s a migraine brewing inside of him, but he can’t really notice that either– not when all of his attention is taken up by Potter stopping in front of him, his eyes swirling with detestation. Draco really, truly , should have stayed with the other Slytherin’s.
“For someone who is supposedly my true mate,” he says lowly, low enough for the crowd around them to not hear, “you have no problem flaunting yourself around with other Alphas, do you, Malfoy?”
It takes several seconds for the words to process inside of Draco’s head. Flaunting? Flaunting ? With other Alphas– which other Alphas is he– Blaise and Theo ? Potter can’t be serious. He can’t be. But he said it. He said it and now he’s just– walking away as if he hadn’t filled Draco with so much unbelievable fucking rage and. And… defeat.
Who needs their partner’s scent to know how they’re feeling, Draco muses with a self-hating snort, when their actions and words tell you all that you really need to know . A slag. Potter thinks that he’s a fucking slag, who has no issue being with other Alphas, of whom are his friends . His friends! He’s not allowed to have fucking friends?
Jealousy, Blaise kept telling him. Yeah. Yeah, that’s right, it is jealousy. The stupid oaf is jealous, but the reaction to it makes Draco feel everything but elated and joyous. Harry Potter is his true mate. Harry Potter has no problem thinking of and calling him a slag. Harry Potter makes him feel worthless and used , despite him being far from.
Draco knows that breathing exercises aren’t likely to help him here, and so without bothering to tell his friends where he’s off to, he makes his way out of Hogsmeade. He sees Weasley eye him nervously from somewhere, but ultimately the ginger, too, turns away from him, and goes off with Potter. No matter– it’s not like he savoured the Weasel’s tentative acquaintanceship, anyway. What little he had of it. He and Granger can dance around each other all that they want to. At least he had the courage to go for what he wanted; what can they say about that?
He feels foolish. He’s sure he looks the part, too, and while he’s packing up for Winter hols, he thinks it’s high time he urges himself to get over Harry sodding Potter.
“It’s just. I don’t know of anyone who successfully broke off a tie to their true mate,” his mother frets, pacing back and forth as he flips through a textbook. When he can’t find anything inside of that either , he levitates it away from him and brings another book over. He begins flipping through that calmly, letting her mumble to herself behind him. “Or of anyone who has willingly done so, you know? It’s a great shame. It’s social suicide for us purebloods, Draco, you must know this.”
“I’ve already faced a great deal of shame in Hogsmeade that day, mum,” he reminds her, his eyes becoming downcast. He shakes his head and doubles his researching efforts. She paces, frets, and fans herself for a few minutes more before rushing out of the room. Draco sighs, exhausted beyond belief. He hates to even admit this, but his mother is right. Severing the tie between true mates is a great social suicide, supposedly reinstating the fact that if even your destined mate can’t love you, then who ever can?
Draco knows, somewhere inside of himself, that that is complete bollocks. Betas can love each other perfectly fine without destiny having to intervene in their relationships. It’s always been… different, for Alphas and Omegas. Knowing your fated mate– the person the universe decrees you should spend your life with– should be a good thing. Some Betas are envious of this; that, he knows.
But lately, he’s beginning to loathe the fact that he was even assigned Omega for his secondary gender, in the first place. If only he could’ve been a Beta, like his mother and father.
He sighs again, and goes back to studying. It’s only several hours later that he finds something worth considering– the bond between two true mates can be severed if both of them have lost feelings for each other entirely, or if they can not stand each other to a similar degree.
“If Fate deems that you two will be unable to remain a good fit for one another, she will intervene,” he reads aloud, and then scowls at the book. “Well it’s already been going pretty shit, so Fate is an asshole! Do you hear me, you stupid fucking cunt? You’re an asshole!”
He shuts the book and slams it on the ground, storming out of the library and back to his room. He hears his mother and father discussing something on the floor below, and by the few words he can catch, it’s definitely about him. Draco just doesn’t understand it. He’d been so happy a few months ago– happy but anxious rightfully– of the prospect of being Harry Potter’s mate.
All he’d ever wanted to be was something to Harry Potter. Be it his friend, or his rival, and then Fate decided to intervene and supposedly make all his dreams come true. And now… just remembering that look on Potter’s face makes him shudder. It’s like he means nothing to the other boy anymore. He’s just someone that Potter wants to get out of his mind– out of his life. He feels like a fucking pest .
“Is that what you wanted from me?” He scoffs. “You wanted me to feel like a bug under the great Harry Potter’s feet? I would have been happy just remaining his rival.”
…He wonders why the bond hasn’t been severed yet. Clearly, he despises Potter just as much as Potter despises him now. They hate each other on equal measure– fate should fucking intervene by now, shouldn’t she? How would he even know that the bond was broken? Would it hurt, or feel freeing, or…
He sighs and lays flat on his bed. Perhaps it was just a whole lot of shit that he read. Perhaps it’s true– no one’s ever successfully broken off a bond made by fate. He could imagine the only work around being to just ignore how everything was laid out for you. That’s what Potter’s trying to do, isn’t he? Ignore the will of fate? Draco thought he’d give in eventually; come to Draco as was written in the stars, the magic of the universe, but– ah. That hope died back in Hogsmeade.
But the blonde knows, despite being unable to sever the bond, he can’t just let himself continue being disrespected like this. He’s a Malfoy , for Merlin’s sake, and a beautiful Omega. If Potter doesn’t want him, then… he’ll accept that now. He will, and he’ll try to fall for a very nice Beta, or fool around with an Alpha who has yet to meet their true mate.
He can do that much for himself, at least.