Chapter Three
The Status Quo
As Crabbe and Goyle took his luggage to their usual car, Draco dropped himself off at the train door.
Goodbye mother, he said in his head.
Goodbye Draco, Imaginary-Mum replied, waving tearily. Have a good year, study hard, and write to me every day!
Of course, mother.
Satisfied, Imaginary-Mum faded away into her true form—nothingness—and Draco strode through the train's hall until he reached his car.
Sitting between Pansy and Blaise and across from Crabbe and Goyle, Draco pulled out his sketchbook and animation quill.
"Thanks for the presents, you guys." Draco gave them all a small smile. "I really like them."
"Good to hear, Drake." Blaise grinned at him. Pansy giggled, blushing, and Crabbe and Goyle mumbled 'your welcome's.
Blaise then began a discussion on his summer and Draco dismissed them, leaning over his sketchbook and drawing up what would soon be a new animation.
First he drew himself, sitting with his arms crossed; then a simpering Pansy, a blathering Blaise; then just-barely-different Crabbe and Goyle, drooling. Draco put down the quill, smiling, and watched his animation come to life.
"…Where is my THRONE?!"
Draco smirked and quickly drew in a makeshift throne in the middle of the bench, which immediately shoved both Pansy and Blaise against the drawn-car's walls.
"Much better." Cartoon Draco assumed his Royal pose, and then speech bubbles appeared by Cartoon Draco's Cartoon friends.
"Blah blah blah," Pretty Cartoon Blaise told them all.
"Giggle giggle HIC!" Piggy Cartoon Pansy responded.
"Ug." Said Cartoon Crabbe to Cartoon Goyle.
"Guh." Responded Cartoon Goyle to Cartoon Crabbe.
Cartoon Draco's gaze slid over all of them and then stopped while looking up at Draco.
"What scintillating conversation." The Real Draco grinned at the knowledge that even Cartoon Draco was fond of sarcasm.
But then the movements on the parchment faded and the figures once more made up only a drawing.
Sighing, Draco stood. "I'm going to the bathroom," He said in response to the questioning looks from his minions.
--
Draco hadn't actually left to go to the restroom, though; he was just sick of his friends.
Or his minions, depending on his mood. Only good for muscle and high connections.
It was unlikely that he could trust his 'friends' with his new veela secret, as they were all insufferable gossips—except for Crabbe and Goyle, but they were incoherent fools, so they didn't count. How was he to find his mate if no one could know about his…condition?
Fortunately for Draco, both he and his aforementioned mate were so lost in their own thoughts that neither one of them were alert enough to avoid crashing into each other and toppling to the ground.
Which they did.
Draco only had a moment to take in the most beautiful of emerald eyes below him before the wave of magic hit.
An almost electric current washed over every nerve, and the scent that had plagued him since his birthday—like rain and forest floor, the finest of riches and spices and herbs—almost overwhelmed him with its sudden intensity.
"Oh," He breathed wondrously. "I found you."
And then he was roughly shoved off of his beloved and onto his back, and a dark and furious visage towered over him. Harry Potter.
"What the fuck are you on about, Malfoy?!"
