Harry Potter and the Trouble with Veela
Chapter 3: Lessons Learned
Draco was agitated. No Malfoy liked to be kept waiting, and it was one small luxury he could still afford, living on the heath the way they were. He hadn't been away from the Manor for so long since graduation. It was an acceptable stretch of land, if not as expansive as he was accustomed, and adequate lodging he supposed, if one were to overlook the way they were cloistered together like nuns or sardines. A Malfoy was used to space, and ample amounts of it, obscene amounts of it really; twenty rooms in the Manor scarcely saw use once a year, but sacrifices must be made at this time. He could accept that, really; at least he didn't have to share a room with some stranger. Certain things could not be tolerated regardless of the extenuating circumstances; this isolation wore on him, as well as his temper. He was a Malfoy after all, not some diseased creature to be held in captivity.
That was a great deal of the reason why he was here, anyway, watching Potter toss and turn in uneasy slumber. He wished the dolt would just wake up already. Potter had been asleep for sixteen hours according to the clock on the wall, which could at least be trusted to tell the time, though there was no guarantee what language it might tell it –in-. Surely that was enough by now?
"Are you just going to lie there like a limp fish forever, Potter, or are you going to get up sometime this century?" Draco asked with a tinge of impatience. He needed something to do, and while Narcissa was resting, Potter was fair game.
Harry stirred briefly, before reverting to his near-comatose state.
"Dammit, get up already, you lazy sod!" Draco half-shouted, kicking the foot of Harry's bed rather more enthusiastically than was strictly necessary.
"'Msorry!" Harry blurted out in a much younger voice, then covered his face with his arms in a defensive gesture as he drifted back into that enchanted sleep of the magically drained.
Draco stared in shock at Harry's sleeping form and frowned as he worked through various hypotheses. Why would someone like Potter respond that way? Did he, too, still revisit the Dark Lord in his dreams the way that Draco did? But if that were true, why would he say 'I'm sorry?' He was by no means an expert on the man, although he felt that he knew enough to say with a degree of conviction that Potter would never apologise to the Dark Lord.
He had heard the rumours about Potter's nightmares of course; they had sparked many a delightful joke in the Slytherin common room on an extraordinary number of occasions, but Draco had always assumed they were nothing special. He should have known better, perhaps, as everything about Potter went above and beyond the mere mediocre.
He stayed there for another twenty minutes or so, mulling things over while Potter talked nonsense in his sleep, then slipped out of the room on silent feet to rouse his mother, although considerably more politely. He scarcely noticed when his feet stopped automatically at the entrance to his mother's room. The gryphon shaped doorknob turned easily in his hand as he stepped into her temporary bedroom, pale walls warmed by the final rays of the setting sun.
"Mother," Draco whispered, settling himself into the plush chair next to her bed, "how are you feeling?"
"I am well enough darling. I have suffered and survived far worse at the hands of more capable wizards than that vulgar thug. Mr Potter saved me from the brunt of what he intended anyway. He really is as noble as rumour says, isn't he, though perhaps he was merely repaying an old debt." She glanced away for a moment then repositioned herself on the down pillows and regarded him closely. He never had been able to hide anything from her knowing eyes. "Whatever is the matter Draco? You seldom look so troubled. Was someone injured in the attack apart from Auror Weasley?"
"It's Potter," he said miserably. "I thought that I was finally rid of him, yet he managed to show up even here. Of all the teams of Aurors, why did it have to be his?"
"Isn't it always?" Narcissa teased him gently, looking much better than she had the last time he saw her. He supposed that he owed Potter for that, too.
"What do you mean?" Draco asked, though he had a faint notion of what she might say.
She pursed her lips for a fleeting instant, before raising one perfect eyebrow as though to ask who he thought he was fooling. "Draco, don't feign ignorance when you know full well what I mean. For over half of your young life, when something was amiss, it could be traced back to Mr Potter nearly every time. The instance when Miss Granger lashed out like a Muggle notwithstanding, you have always had something to say about Harry Potter."
Draco had the grace to look properly contrite. "I see that you remain as astute as ever, Mother." He sighed soul-deep, and met her calm gaze ruefully. "There are some things that I simply do not understand-many things actually, and so I came to you to try and comprehend what I cannot." He searched her face for some kind of explanation.
Narcissa fussed with the comforter the way she had fussed with Draco's dress robes in the past before answering him. It indicated that she was most likely stalling; for what reason Draco could not guess. "Well, what is it that you are unclear about?"
Draco's cheeks felt distinctly warm. "Whatever this, thing, is with Potter. I don't understand it at all. I had no reason to try and protect him during the attack. I've never felt that urge before. Why now? He's an Auror for Merlin's sake; he can protect himself. If it were one of the children, I wouldn't think twice about it, but, Potter?" He was well and truly flummoxed.
"Ah," she said softly, "so that's it. Draco darling, think for a moment. Can you remember what was going through your mind just before those vagrants attacked us? What you were thinking about, doing, or feeling?" She said the last with the subtle emphasis she favoured when she was amused about something. Draco did not find any of this remotely entertaining, and sulked quietly.
"I was arguing with Potter, and angry about his attitude, trying to act as though he cared about any of us," he trailed off when she half-smiled at him, and huffed. "That's all I can really recall, though."
She nodded demurely. "I see. You were angry, distressed over the circumstances, and then they appeared." He wasn't sure if she was going to continue, but at length, she did. "I believe that your instincts took over when Mr Potter was threatened," she said carefully.
Draco scoffed. "The only instincts that I have when he's around are to punch him."
Narcissa sighed. "Don't be difficult, Draco. There is no shame in following your destiny, rather than fighting it as you have for so long."
"What are you talking about Mother? You know as well as I that there is no such thing as a 'destined mate' or some such nonsense. We all have free will," Draco said with no little confusion. It was very unlike his mother to speak of such frivolous things like this.
She gazed past him to the window where dusk had darkened the sky, and the night-blooming jasmine began to open its petals to the balmy evening. "Draco, do you remember what you said to me all those years ago on a night much like this one?"
Draco searched his memories until he came across the one he was sure she was speaking of. "I said that twilight is a special time, neither night nor day, but on the edge of both, waiting to become something more than what it is. I said it was a lot like magic, because if magic had a home, that would be where it lived, on the edge of good and bad. I don't see what a child's ridiculous babbling has to do with-"
But for the first time that he could remember, Narcissa interrupted him. "You're correct, Draco, but that was not the only thing we discussed over our Darjeeling. Do you remember telling me that you had had an awful first week of school and that Mr Potter had chosen to befriend a Weasley over you, but that it didn't matter because you'd make sure to get his attention anyway? And every other little bump in the road over the years that had to do with Harry Potter?"
Draco felt the beginnings of panic stir at the back of his throat, but swallowed it back the way he always did. 'If you are afraid, then you become your fear, and will likely make poor choices as a result,' Narcissa Malfoy, circa 2006. "At the risk of sounding incompetent, Mother, I still don't understand what you are trying to say." It was true; Draco was altogether at a loss.
"What I am saying, dearest, is that every moment has been leading up to this for some time now. Perhaps even since that day in Madam Malkins your path has been set. You wanted that boy to notice you, so, your magic listened. But you were untrained, your magic young and wild, and had not yet come into ownership of the strength that you now possess. And so, it didn't quite go the way you'd hoped. You left an impression on Mr Potter that is certain, however, I daresay that the stronger one was left upon you. It is a gradual process, a daunting one, even, but your magic has deemed Mr Potter the best match for you Draco darling. At any point over the years, you could have drifted off of this path, but you never did. You never could quite get that boy out of your head, could you?" She smiled gently at him, holding her hand out for him to touch, and clasping his fingers in hers as though to ease the sting, the humiliation that he had brought all of this upon himself. "It is not often that a Veela's underlying magic intervenes in the selection of a partner, however, the best way that I can think of to explain the unexplainable to you, is this. When someone has such extreme experiences with another person, the way you have with Mr Potter, and so many over time, a bond is formed whether you notice it or not. He has saved your life, the way that you have saved his, the way that I have saved his, and that, my Dragon, is powerful magic. He was the first you attempted to influence, the first whose attention you sought for its own merit, and the first to cause you pain. He has marked your skin in a way that I believe your magic may have viewed as a very dramatic staking of a claim, after a fashion. He is also the first to evoke such a strong example of your heritage."
Draco recalled that incident in the ghost's bathroom with renewed anguish. Always interfering, aren't you Potter? Narcissa's voice crept in on his silent panic. "Alone, these events would have been fairly inconsequential, but, together, they have forged a connection between the two of you that has been made all the stronger by your blood, and Mr Potter's own magic." She paused as though fearing she had said too much, but he had to understand, somehow. "At any point in the past you could have chosen differently, but the choices you've made, have brought us to now, in this room, having this discussion."
"So I sealed my own fate," Draco said slowly, his heart sinking to somewhere around his kneecaps.
"Yes Darling. And I'd say that you rather set things in stone when you used the Allure on him again, to full effect this time, and then shielded him from a threat. Your magic has decided on him, Draco, and I'm afraid that it is extremely difficult, if not impossible, to dissuade it at this stage in the game."
"How difficult is extremely difficult?" Draco asked with feeling.
Narcissa regarded her son cautiously, but not without compassion. "Draco, no one has been able to reverse the process once it's been rooted so deeply, in history recent or long ago, save for one other male Veela who chose to die, rather than accept another man as his Chosen. I believe that you are stronger than he was. You are a great many things, my son, but a coward, you are not. I ask of you not to prove me wrong."
Draco attempted to process this avalanche of indigestible news, and then blanched rapidly. "How am I supposed to explain this to Potter? He'll blame me; he won't believe me, and even if he eventually did, why should it matter to him?" His head sank onto his hands as he tried desperately to think.
"You might try appealing to his sense of duty and justice, and desire for a family. That is something he covets jealously. An unbreakable pledge of loyalty that will give rise to everlasting love might give him reason to consider. Nothing in this world, magical or otherwise, can rival the bond between a Veela and its chosen soul mate. I might suggest gradually introducing these concepts as you court him. Also," she paused just a moment to take his hand and squeeze it gently, "it couldn't hurt to let him get to know the man you have become, and to forget the schoolboy he remembers."
Draco peered up at her hesitantly. "Thank you mother, you have given me a sliver of hope and that is something I had not dared to dream of amidst this chaos."
Narcissa smiled and leaned forward to kiss his cheek affectionately. "It might ease some of your apprehension, to approach this situation as you would one of Severus' more challenging trials. You must be delicate; you must be considerate; you must be patient, and above all, you must be persistent. Do not allow him to take the Veela's call, or you, lightly." She then fixed him with an expression that she only wore under the most grave of circumstances. "That boy is starved for affection and acceptance, and the desperate, consuming need for love. If you can show him those things, then he will surrender all the sooner, and be thankful for it. Come to love him, Draco, and he will not turn you away. And careful usage of the Allure mightn't go awry to ease the way." Her features relaxed and she merely stroked his hair while he trembled under the weight of this new burden that he had to bear, and for now it was his to carry alone.
