Harry Potter and His Unfortunate Soulmate

Harry had never really considered the concept of soulmates before— growing up, soulmates were just some kind of fantastical idea that romance writers had made up. Granted, Harry realized that if magic could end up being real, it shouldn't have come as a surprise that soulmates were real too.

He had heard the concept being discussed once or twice in his younger years, mainly from the gossiping of teenage girls, but he had never thought they were serious.

So, you can imagine what a shock it was when he happened upon Hermione and Draco sat at opposite armchairs in the 8th year common room animatedly discussing the prospect of having one.

Draco and Hermione were a formidable duo at best, vicious at worst, and Harry found himself vaguely regretting unknowingly becoming the catalyst for a friendship that would undoubtedly result in own undoing in more ways than one.

It was that evening that Harry was informed that soulmates were very real— although rare— and if you happened to be one of the lucky few, you'd know right away the minute you turned eighteen; a burning need to see them and a much more physical burning on your chest as their name was etched, quite literally, into your heart.

Harry had listened with awe, but hadn't thought much else of it otherwise. It wasn't like he'd end up with one after all, so the information left his mind as quickly as it’d taken root.

Problem was, today was Harry's eighteenth birthday. Or, it had been for twenty minutes so far. Twenty minutes in which he had jerked awake at midnight— feeling as if Draco was the air he breathed and he was currently being suffocated— and threw himself into the bathroom to heave helplessly, clutching the sink as he looked up and watched with wide eyes as a searing “Drac” and the beginnings of an O glared back at him from his chest.

“Shit,” he exhaled shakily.

Draco Malfoy was his soulmate. 

Draco Malfoy was his soulmate and it ruined everything.

                                ×××

It took all of three days filled with not-so-secret glances and not-so-veiled attempts to avoid Draco before Harry remembered that Draco's birthday was almost a month before his.

Harry felt like the biggest moron ever because Draco knew, and he had known for almost a month more than Harry, and he had Harry's name seared into his chest, and Harry had to see it.

Then Harry felt strangely vindictive because Draco knew and he hadn't told Harry!

Thus, Harry found himself marching straight into the dorm and pushing Draco up against the nearest wall as he jerked his shirt up over his chest to stare at his name in awe and lightly trace his finger over the letters. 

Meanwhile Draco sputtered and turned the prettiest shade of pink Harry had ever seen and Harry couldn't help but kiss him. 

As he pulled away, Draco glowered and mumbled with faux derision, “Merlin, at least take me out to dinner first…”