Chapter 1
Severus Snape stood in the dimly lit office, his expression carefully neutral despite the storm brewing inside him. Across from him, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his grand desk, the flickering candlelight casting deep shadows on his already weary face. The burden of the war weighed heavily on them both, but tonight, they would place an even greater burden upon another.
Harry Potter.
The door creaked open, and Harry stepped inside, his green eyes sharp with suspicion.
“What is this about?” he asked, crossing his arms. “You dragged me out of my dorm in the middle of the night.”
Snape exhaled slowly through his nose. Dumbledore, ever patient, gestured for Harry to sit.
“I’m afraid this discussion is of the utmost importance, Harry,” Dumbledore said, folding his hands together. “And it is not an easy one.”
Harry narrowed his eyes but sat nonetheless. “What’s going on?”
The silence stretched for a moment before Dumbledore spoke again. “Draco Malfoy has been given a task by Voldemort.”
Harry tensed. “I figured that much. I’ve been watching him—”
“—And you were right to do so,” Dumbledore interjected gently. “Draco has been ordered to kill me.”
Harry’s breath hitched. He blinked, absorbing the words. “What?”
Snape crossed his arms. “The Dark Lord expects him to fail. It is meant as a punishment—if Draco does not complete the task, he and his family will suffer.”
For a moment, Harry was speechless. He thought back to the pale, drawn look on Draco’s face, the way he had seemed to be unraveling as the months passed.
Dumbledore leaned forward. “We have a way to protect him.”
Harry frowned. “By stopping him? Making him switch sides?”
“Yes,” Dumbledore said, and here, his voice took on a gravity that made Harry’s stomach twist. “By binding him to you.”
Harry’s heartbeat quickened. “What?”
Dumbledore sighed. “Harry, you are an Alpha. Draco is an Omega. What neither of you realize is that you are—fated mates.”
The room was deathly silent. Harry felt like the floor had been yanked out from beneath him.
“That’s not— That can’t be—”
“It is,” Dumbledore said, his voice calm but firm. “It has been confirmed by magic older than even I.”
Harry's mouth opened and closed uselessly as he tried to process what Dumbledore had just said.
Fated mates? Him and Malfoy?
He shook his head, his pulse hammering in his ears. “No. That’s— That’s not possible. I would’ve noticed.”
Snape made a noise of impatience, crossing his arms. “A bloke like you would not notice. You truly never wondered why you’re always hyperaware of him?”
Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”
Dumbledore’s expression was kind, but knowing. “Tell me, Harry—do you always know when Draco is in a room? Do you find your attention drawn to him, even when you don’t mean to look?”
Harry’s stomach twisted. He thought back to all the times his gaze had snapped to Malfoy the moment he entered the Great Hall, how he could pick up his voice in a crowded corridor without even trying. The way he had felt it when Malfoy had started to change this year—when he had begun to look tired, frayed at the edges, the sharp arrogance of his usual self worn down by something heavier.
“I—” Harry hesitated, throat suddenly dry.
Snape’s lips curled in something like satisfaction. “Exactly. It is the same reason why, when you were both younger, there was an incident involving scent.”
Harry blinked, confused. “What incident?”
Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “A rather fascinating one, actually. During your third year, Severus noticed something peculiar—whenever Draco was near, your magic seemed to react to his presence.”
Harry stiffened. He didn’t remember anything like that.
Snape gave him a disdainful look, as if he could hear his thoughts. “Of course you wouldn’t recall. You were too young to notice, and Draco, being equally oblivious, dismissed it as well. But there was one moment that stood out—a brief but telling reaction.”
Harry’s brow furrowed, mind racing. “What are you talking about?”
Dumbledore leaned back. “There was a time when Draco was injured in a Quidditch match. You were in the stands, nowhere near him, and yet—your scent changed. Not just to any scent, but to one that only happens when an Alpha is distressed by their mate’s pain.”
Harry’s breath caught. That match—he remembered that match. It was the one where Draco had taken a bludger to the ribs, knocked straight off his broom. Harry had felt off the entire rest of the game, stomach twisting with something he hadn’t been able to name at the time.
“No,” he said weakly. “That’s— that’s just a coincidence, I don't even smell him anymore..”
Snape scoffed. “Because of scent patches. Magic does not deal in coincidences, Potter.”
Dumbledore’s expression was gentle but firm. “Harry, whether you accept it or not, the bond exists. And right now, Draco is in danger. The only way to keep him safe is to make sure he is no longer under Voldemort’s thumb.”
Harry swallowed hard. His world had just tilted on its axis, and he wasn’t sure how to find his footing again.
Harry shook his head. “You’re saying—what? That I have to—claim him? Just to keep him from—”
“It is the only way to truly secure his safety,” Dumbledore said. “A claim from you will override any claim Voldemort has on him. He will be bound to you, and in that, he will be protected.”
Harry stood abruptly, knocking over his chair. “This is insane! You’re talking about forcing Draco into something—forcing me into something—”
Snape, who had been silent, finally spoke. “You think I find this acceptable, Potter?” His voice was low, controlled, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of anger. “I do not. Draco is my responsibility, and I would not see him used as a pawn.”
Harry clenched his fists. His whole body trembled. “And Draco—he doesn’t know?”
Dumbledore’s expression turned sad. “Not yet.”
Harry exhaled sharply. He felt trapped, caged. “And what if I refuse?”
Dumbledore closed his eyes for a brief moment, as though in pain. When he opened them, they were filled with sorrow. “Then I fear Draco’s fate is sealed.”
Harry’s stomach twisted violently. He had spent years hating Draco Malfoy, but even now, he couldn’t wish for his death. He knew, deep down, that Draco was just another casualty of this war.
He swallowed hard. “When do we tell him?”
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. “Tomorrow.”
The weight of destiny had never felt heavier.
======
Draco Malfoy had spent years perfecting the art of control. Control over his expression, his words, his emotions. But control shattered the moment Snape told him what Dumbledore had planned.
He could barely hear the words past the blood rushing in his ears. His hands clenched at the edge of the wooden desk, knuckles white.
"No," he said, voice shaking. "No, I won’t. I refuse!"
His breathing quickened. This had to be a joke, a sick, cruel joke. Potter? As his—his mate? The very idea made his stomach churn. He wasn’t some prize to be claimed, wasn’t some helpless thing that needed protection. He had a mission. He had—
His instincts screamed at him to run. So he did.
He barely made it three steps before a strong hand wrapped around his wrist. The scent hit him then, something deep and commanding, something that sent a shiver through his entire body. It was overwhelming, primal, something inside him recognizing the Alpha before his mind could reject it.
“No—let me go!" Draco twisted, panic rising in his throat.
Harry Potter was staring at him with wide, darkened eyes, fingers tightening as though he physically couldn’t let go. His entire body was tense, as if instincts he didn’t understand were roaring to life.
Draco wrenched himself away, stumbling back toward the one person who had always been safe. His back hit Snape’s chest, and without thinking, he turned and pressed his face into the man’s robes, desperate for familiarity. Snape’s hand came to the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair, grounding him.
“Shhh, Draco,” Snape murmured, his voice low and steady. “You’re alright.”
Draco trembled, his hands gripping Snape’s robes tightly. His scent masked Harry’s, easing the fire burning under his skin. He felt like a trapped animal, every nerve on edge.
“I won’t do it,” he whispered against Snape’s shoulder. “I can’t.”
Snape’s fingers curled slightly against his hair. There was a long silence before he finally spoke, voice carefully neutral. “I know.”
But there was no real choice, and they both knew it.
Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He forced himself to breathe, to steady the erratic pounding in his chest. He couldn't—he wouldn't—accept this. His father would never accept this.