Never have I written a whole Harry Potter story, but I thought I'd have a crack at it. I hope I do this story justice. It's an amazing series, and I recommend both the stories and the movies. Srsly. JK Rowling is the epitome of badassery, and I bow to her writing skills. That is all.

This story takes place after the war

Draco Malfoy was pissed.

No. That was an understatement. He was absolutely livid. His parents had ordered him to stay home, while they paraded around with his mate. Who did they think he was? An idiot? He wanted her, and he wanted her now. That didn't make him spoilt, it made him the dominant veela that he is and he'll be damned if they kept him from her for another moment.

As that thought passed through his mind, he threw his covers from his body, fully intent on apparating to his parents and tearing them a new asshole for what they are doing to him, and yet, as he was preparing to leave, Blaise sauntered in, dressed in an obsidian coloured shirt and matching slacks, which appeared to have been moulded to his body by God himself, and smirked down at Draco, in that haughty way that only he could. His indigo eyes trailed over Draco's dishevelled form, and he chuckled into the crease of his fist, content in the knowledge that it wasn't just him who was suffering in relative silence.

"Calm yourself, Drake, or you'll end up sending yourself insane with worry."

Internally, Draco smiled, as only Blaise would be able to call him ''Drake' and still have his head attached to his body. It was a nickname that had stuck ever since he was a podgy child, and even though he acted affronted every time it was brought up, he didn't hate it half as much as he pretended to.

Shaking off those nostalgic feelings, Draco snapped, "I am not worried. I'm pissed. There's a difference."

Blaise chuckled, and replied, "Sure. So you're not wondering about our little tesoro then?"

Draco blanched, and refused to meet Blaise's eye, and grumbled, rather stubbornly, and Blaise smirked to himself, as best he could in his current state. To another person, this might seem like a rather passive gesture, but it was far from that. Draco was simply acquiescing to what Blaise was saying, without really admitting that fact verbally. He hated being proven wrong - that damned Malfoy pride.

The Slytherin pair both sighed simultaneously, and Blaise began, suddenly, his voice full of wonder and awe, "I wonder what she's doing right now."

Draco scoffed, and replied, scathingly, "We don't even know what she looks like, Blaise. She could be a troll for all we know."

Blaise rolled his eyes, and sat on Draco's California King bed, with his back against the headboards, and his ankles crossed, languidly, knowing full well that Draco was simply saying this to try and make his dependence on her seem more trivial than it really was. Both Slytherin's knew that whatever she looked like, she would be the most beautiful woman to ever grace the Earth, and they were thankful that God blessed them with the privilege of being her mates, partners and lovers all at once.

Blaise quickly retorted, in a exasperated tone, "Says the one who was writhing in his sleep over a girl who he cant picture."

Draco's eyes widened fractionally, and he punched Blaise sharply in his shoulder, "You cant talk, Blaise. Weren't you the one who was fit to burst the other night? Your own hand not quite up to the job anymore?"

The pair of best friends, turned occasional lovers, had reached an understanding years ago. They had been warned, by their then-worried parents, that they had been mated to the same little lady ever since they had been children, and after a brief scuffle that resulted in a short trip to just Mungo's, they had sworn to each other that they would both protect and love her, whomsoever she be, with all their hearts, and have kept that promise to this day.

Blaise's expression faded from playful to completely serious in mere moments, and he stated, "I'll let you know that my hand is perfectly fine. It's not exactly my fault, though, I am a vampire. Unlike you, veela-boy, I live off of my mate's aura. Her life-force. I havent met her yet - without her, eventually I'm going to waste away and die… I don't want to go, not yet, Drake. I-Is it wrong that I want her with me now?"

Draco looked anywhere but at his oldest friend, and said, "No.. I feel the same," although anyone could hear the edginess in his tone and if they looked closely, they would notice that he clenched his fists under his sheets, so tightly, in fact, that his blunt nails dug crescent shapes into his pale palm.

Blaise sighed, heavily, and Draco noticed for the first time how tired he truly looked. His eyes used to burn a seductive indigo, and drew crowds upon crowds of people in, and now, they were filmy and almost dead behind his lids. His skin, usually soft and flawless, was sullen, even though he was just as tanned as he had been before his inheritance, a year ago. How Blaise survived so long is completely beyond Draco, but he respected his friend in a way that most could never understand.

After the second, and thankfully final, fall of Voldemort three months ago, things finally were coming to a close - families and friends were reunited, new relationships formed, enemies reconciled, and all of those no-good Death Eater scum were more or less all locked away in Azkaban. The only reason why the Malfoys weren't also in that predicament was because, by magical law, they were protected, as were the Zabinis, recognised as magical creatures of the dark, and therefore unable to face orthodox trial. Yes, they had tried to strip his families name of their glory, but that was not of consequence to them. They had each other, and contrary to popular belief, they were a very loving, close-knit family.

Both Draco and Blaise had been friends, longer than either of them could remember, and their fates were woven together by one silky, silver thread. Their mate. Their undoubtedly beautiful, stunning, perfect mate. Just thinking of her, the sound of her voice, the scent of her skin, the sparkle in her eye - it got Draco's blood boiling.

Draco understood the burning beneath Blaise's skin whenever he thought of his true mate. He understood the uncertainty, the stress, the agony, the fear of not being enough for her. The stinging behind his eyes when he thought of her never knowing him. Those nights he sat awake in his bed because he felt, through their weak bond, that she was unhappy. It was enough to send anyone completely bonkers.

That was Draco's biggest fear. He wanted to be powerful, strong and intelligent enough, to be accepted by his mate, whole-heartedly. The thought of someone else sneaking their way into her heart, because he wasn't sufficient enough to do so, made his stomach quiver with unbridled fury, and it took a few seconds for him to calm down enough to actually be able to look Blaise in his eyes. And when he did, he saw the same rage reflected in his orbs.

"I know, Drake, I know."

And those words were nothing but the truth.

Tesoro is 'treasure' in Italian, and is going to be one of many nicknames that people are going to have for her. Aw, our young, Italian prince. Read, review, and I hope you liked it!