Just as Draco’s fist collided with Ron’s jaw, Professor McGonagall appeared, her stern voice cutting through the frenzy.
"Enough, Malfoy! Weasley!" she barked, her eyes blazing with fury. With a sharp flick of her wand, she separated them, forcing Draco back with a bit of magic. Ron lay on the ground, breathing heavily, but still seething with rage. He gritted his teeth, glaring at Draco, and Draco stumbled, eyes locked on McGonagall, chest heaving with the adrenaline of the fight.
McGonagall's gaze swept over both of them with sharp, unblinking precision. "Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin, each!" Her voice rang out like a final, unforgiving verdict.
Draco sneered at the ground, frustration and anger boiling just beneath the surface. “You can’t take points from me, that’s unfair—”
“You will both come with me,” McGonagall interrupted, her tone cold and commanding, silencing Draco in an instant. She didn’t even give him the chance to argue, her voice firm enough to quell any resistance. "Now."
Draco’s temper flared, but he couldn’t deny the anger roiling in his stomach. “He started it!” he snapped, pointing an accusing finger at Ron, still breathing heavily on the floor. “It was his fault!”
"I did not, you filthy liar!"
“I don’t care who started it,” McGonagall retorted sharply, her voice unyielding as stone. “Both of you are going to the Headmaster’s office. Now.”
Draco clenched his jaw, his fists balled at his sides, but he had no choice but to comply. He shot one last venomous look at Ron, who was slowly picking himself up, still glaring at him with fiery hatred.
===
Draco barely registered how he got here. First, he was fighting with Ron, and then, he was dragged to the Headmaster's office for punishment. Well-it was to be a punishment, but Dumbledore decided there was no time left but to get on with the mating bite. To allow Draco to accept the bond, accept Harry as his alpha and pack leader, Dumbledore said.
As soon as Harry entered the room, Draco's body reacted strongly--badly. His mind was a haze, his body on fire with something he didn’t understand. The world felt too bright, too loud, too much. He curled on the floor, head resting in Snape’s lap, fingers clinging desperately to the fabric of his robes as though they were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. His breath came in ragged gasps, his chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven.
"Please," he choked out, though he wasn’t sure who he was begging or for what.
Above him, Dumbledore watched silently, hands clasped before him. His usual twinkle was gone, replaced by something solemn, something weighted.
Snape’s fingers combed through Draco’s hair, slow and deliberate. "I know," he murmured, voice the only thing steady in the storm. "It will pass."
It wouldn’t. Draco knew that.
"No," he gasped, weakly reaching out to Snape’s robes, seeking something solid, something familiar. "No, please—don’t let him—"
"Draco, listen to me," Snape’s voice was low, firm, but there was something in it that Draco couldn’t quite place. "You have to stay still. You’re making it harder on yourself."
But Draco couldn’t stop, couldn’t calm the frantic panic inside him. His omega side was screaming at him, pulling him toward the inevitable. Harry was too close, too near, and Draco couldn’t escape the pull of him, even as every part of him rejected it.
Dumbledore stepped closer, his gaze soft but filled with an undeniable understanding. "Severus," he said gently, his voice carrying a weight of experience, "perhaps a calming draught would help ease his distress."
Snape’s sharp gaze met Dumbledore’s. "It won’t help him, Albus," Snape replied, his tone curt. "It will only make it worse, as if he lost control. If he can’t even control his body, consequences will be far more damaging."
"I don’t want this," Draco whispered hoarsely, his voice breaking.
Dumbledore’s face softened, his age showing in the weary compassion that filled his eyes. "I know, Draco," he said gently, "but sometimes we must do what is necessary, even when it is the hardest thing of all. He is not mating you now, only claiming you with the bite to ensure your safety."
"Him not shagging me doesn't change anything."
"On the contrary, my boy, the bite serves as proof of your bond. Consummation comes later, due to our circumstances."
Through it all, Harry was close. Too close. His scent wrapped around Draco like an unshakable force, filling his lungs, his veins, pulling him under. The Alpha in him had settled into something predatory, possessive—watching Draco like he was something to be claimed, something to be his.
Draco whimpered, twisting, trying to hide further in Snape’s robes. "Make him stop looking at me like that," he pleaded, voice breaking.
Snape exhaled through his nose. "Potter."
"He's my mate," Harry breathed out, his voiced ragged with restraint. "He needs to understand that he can't reject me or his packmates."
“You can’t force me into your pack!”
Harry's hands flexed at his sides. He was trying—trying—to hold back, but his instincts were clawing at him. He had never felt something so overwhelming, something that demanded take, take, take. His jaw ached, teeth sharp with need.
“That’s enough, Potter,” Snape warned, his voice laced with a deep, cold fury. “Use your mind, not your impulses. Control yourself before you make another rash decision.”
Harry ignored him. Draco was his. The knowledge pulsed through him like a second heartbeat. His Omega. His mate. He wanted to soothe him, to claim him, to make everything right.
But Draco was fighting it.
Harry took a step forward. "I won’t hurt you," he said, though his voice was strained, rough.
Draco’s heart pounded, fear and anger mixing in equal measure, but he refused to back down. “I’d rather die than accept you!” he snarled, voice raw with emotion.
A growl rumbled in Harry’s throat. His patience snapped.
Before Snape could stop him, before Draco could escape, Harry was on him—gripping his arm, yanking him forward, pressing him close.
He barely had time to react before Harry’s teeth sank into his neck. The sting was sharp, but the heat that followed was overwhelming. Draco’s body tensed, a strangled cry escaping his lips as the sensation flooded him—pain, heat, and something deeper, something that twisted inside him as the bond began to take root.
Draco’s hands flew to Harry’s chest, instinctively pushing, but Harry was relentless. His grip tightened, his other hand holding Draco in place as the mark deepened. The ache spread through Draco’s entire body, and his knees buckled, his breath coming in shallow gasps.
“Stop, stop!” he cried, his voice breaking, but Harry didn’t relent. He bit down harder, each pull of his teeth a sharp reminder of the connection that was now forming between them.
Harry’s growl vibrated against his skin as he bit down harder, making sure it stuck, making sure everyone knew.
Mine.
Draco sobbed, twisting against the agony, but Snape’s hand was there, pressing over his, grounding him.
“It’s alright,” Snape murmured, his voice soft, soothing, unwavering. His fingers ghosted over Draco’s forehead, over the sweat-damp strands of his hair. “You’re alright, Draco.”
Harry's mouth hovered over the mark, and then, with a low growl, Harry licked it, soothing the sting. The gesture was gentle, tender—almost loving—but it only deepened the ache in Draco’s chest. The warmth of Harry’s mouth spread through him, and for the first time, Draco didn’t feel just the pain of the bite. He felt the rawness of Harry being so close, his desperation, his need to keep Draco close.
“You’re mine, Draco,” Harry whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I need you. This—this bond—it's just as much a part of me as I am of you.”
It was too much, and yet, it wasn’t enough. The heat that had begun to settle between them had only intensified, and Draco could no longer ignore it. Harry was his Alpha. And even if he didn’t want to accept it, deep down, part of him already had.
