Chapter 32
Draco sat stiffly in the chair, his silver eyes fixed on Regulus with a mixture of suspicion and reluctance. The tension in the room was palpable. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he regarded his nephew.
“I’m going to tell you something that I’ve never shared with anyone else before” Regulus began, his voice calm. “Because I think it’s the only way to help you understand what’s happening to you. But I need you to listen.”
Draco’s lips pressed into a thin line, nodding reluctantly and Regulus exhaled— a small sigh Draco thought might’ve been in relief, though he didn’t particularly care enough to feel guilty. If it were an option for him, he’d leave the small house they were in immediately and go back to the castle. Unfortunately, Severus was giving him a look that said there were in fact no other options.
Draco adjusted himself into the chair and attempted to convey an expression of interest. Luckily, he must’ve done a good enough job, because Regulus smiled annoyingly at him, and then began speaking.
“It started when I was a first year. Back in the day. Honestly, I could argue it began on the Platform at King’s Cross, but really, I think it was hours later during the sorting. My mother was a storm that day. All tension and chaos within her footsteps. I remember I was trying so hard to not stand out. So terribly focussed on blending in with my cousins so she couldn’t be angry. The idea of not living under her roof was thrilling but I was rather terrified I might upset her somehow and she would keep me home for another.” He chuckled wryly. Draco pretended he didn’t know what that feeling was like.
“Then on the train I sat with my brother, Sirius. He had all of these friends, they were a hoard of excitement all on their own. Siri was under the impression I’d fit right in—” A scoff cut Regulus off and Draco glanced over to see Severus sneering. Regulus sneered right back. “It’s been over twenty years, Severus, get over it.”
“I’ve no idea what you’re referring to.” He answered stoically, if not petulantly.
“Do you want me to explain it to you?” He offered harshly. When a response never came he turned back to Draco. “Ignore him. They’re all idiots anyway. The point was, I sat with Sirius. The first time I even spoke to someone from my own year happened before the sorting. You know? When McGonagall bunches everyone together outside the hall?” He looked at him expectantly.
“Not quite.” He grimaced at the idea. Durmstrang did things entirely differently. “I’m afraid I haven’t the pleasure of such an experience.”
Regulus’s brows jumped and it seemed to click. Had the man not noticed Draco’s uniform?
“Oh. Right. Er—okay. Well, then” he scratched his head. “I suppose there’s no point to this part. Hm, okay. You get the short version, nephew. I met a boy.”
“You met a boy!” Draco mock gasped at his excitement. Regulus’s expression fell flat.
“Do shut up.”
“Right. Sorry.”
“As I was saying, I met a boy. His name was Barty Crouch.” Regulus’s tone softened, as if the memory was something precious to him. “He was a first year like me, and that night, he was sorted into Ravenclaw, while I was sorted into Slytherin. From the moment we met in that group, both of us filled with terrible nerves at where we’d be placed and what was to come, something clicked. There was just something about Barty that drew me in. And I couldn’t understand it at the time either. But I knew—or, I thought, that Barty was just the most fascinating person I’d ever met.”
Draco frowned slightly, his brows knitting together. “Barty Crouch? You mean the death eater?”
Draco was well versed in what had taken place during the first war. Partially because of his own curiosity, and partially because his father kept a book on everyone and everything that had happened within their library, and one of the duties of the heir, he said, was to be familiar with all of it. He must know their allies.
Honestly, the sum of it which he’d found had been an insurance policy. Theo’s father had kept a similar book, and they’d compared both. Neither head of house had actually had much interest in the war. Lucius was undoubtedly prejudiced against blood status, but Thoros had been raised in another culture almost entirely. The Notts were taught to respect knowledge over blood. Their ancestors could care less if you were a halfbreed so long as your family brought something of value to the table.
But nonetheless, they had both participated and been marked—though Draco knew for a fact his father despised the symbol on his arm that declared allegiance—at the urging of Abraxas Malfoy. Draco’s grandfather, it seemed, had been convinced Voldemort would win, and was determined that they Malfoys and Notts come out on top when it happened.
Luckily for Lucius, Thoros Nott had been less than eager to commit murder, and had, as a result, negotiated their roles to something more administrative. They tortured death eaters and snatchers, keeping them in line. They kept records of anyone and anything that happened under their watch. And at the end of the war they used that information to talk themselves out of heavy sentencing and into a fine.
Draco had read the records. Several individuals were repeat offenders—abundantly. His aunt and uncles, for example, Antonin Dolohov, Corbin Yaxley, and more notably, one Barty Crouch Junior. Draco could not help it if his expression was something of disbelief. He was having a hard time imaging romanticizing someone whose signature trick involved disembowelment during torture.
Regulus nodded with a slight grimace. “Well, yes. Alright, yes. One and the same.” When Draco’s brows jump in surprise, he threw up a hand. “But you have to understand—back then, back then he wasn’t…Barty wasn’t like that.”
“A psychopath?” Draco asked in disbelief.
“Trust me.” His face scrunched. “I’m aware. But—but you have to stay with me on this, okay? I promise, I’m—I’m not like that. I’m not…I’m not condoning it. I just—at the time, we were kids, okay? He was a kid. He wasn’t like that. I mean—shite, he was, he was clever. Barty was clever and funny, and he had this way of making everything around him just feel…brighter.” Regulus ran a hand through his hair, contemplating. “I honestly thought we were just fast friends, you know? The kind of bond that comes around only once in a lifetime for most people, but happens so easily? We had all the same interests and passions, and it felt a bit like luck.
“We were inseparable, back then. Always together when we weren’t in class. People noticed. Our housemates were arseholes about it for a while—as teenagers are. But we never cared. Or, at least we never let it stop us. I wonder now if we couldn’t’ve let it stop us.” He pondered for a moment. “Our magic had clearly recognized each other, pulling us together in every way. Perhaps neither of us though was aware enough to see it wasn’t normal.”
Draco shifted in his seat, awkwardly. The wizard was smiling dazedly, but Draco was still rather stuck on his father’s notes of Barty’s predilections. It made him more confused. “I thought you said you grew up knowing about veelas. You never considered that it could have been that?”
“Ah, good!” Regulus looked surprised that he’d been paying attention. “But no. I didn’t say that. I said that you received your veela gene from your mother. Which you did.”
“I don’t understand. So it’s not in the family?”
“No. It is. The Black family has carried the veela gene for over five centuries. We are direct descendants of a full blooded veela from an original colony. But it’s hard to explain. Our heritage isn’t something that’s spoken about openly or really acknowledged, even within our family.”
“Because they’re ashamed?” Draco asked, both totally confused and repulsed by everything he learned. “No one talks about it, even within the direct line because they know the truth of it would tarnish their reputation—has tarnished their reputation forever? I fail to see the benefits of it or what the point of this cross-breeding might have been if it was forever going to be a stain on the house.”
“Oh don’t be dramatic. It’s not animals, Draco. Grow up.” Regulus said sharply. “There’s nothing vulgar about it, so calm down. And you’re greatly oversimplifying things you cannot understand.”
“So let me understand them.”
“Not today. Alright? One day, but not yet. All you need to know is what was done. Yes, a vela married into our family during the sixteenth century. And yes, her genes have passed down our bloodline ever since. The details are not important, except that we do not talk about it until it arises.”
“And when is the issue considered risen?”
“When a vela presents.” Regulus took a deep breath before Draco could ask him what he meant. “Presentation begins when a veela first makes a kind of connection with their mate. It can happen at any time and really with anyone. Most veelas don’t present until their older. For the majority of them in my family that was the case, and because of it, there was always a certain security about it.”
“Because they were older?”
“Because it gave them more control over it. You can’t chose who your mate is, but generally speaking, a veela can feel when presentation is coming. I could feel my own before it had even begun. Being older gives you more of an ability to hide it. Our greatest secret was never in danger of being found out.”
“But then you must have grown up knowing about veelas. And if you didn’t, how come you didn’t know it the moment you met Crouch when you were eleven?”
“That’s what I mean. It’s about presentation. The veela in me was drawn to Barty from a young age. And yes, I knew we had a connection but…” Regulus shook his head, a faint, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “You have to understand, not all Blacks are Veelas. My parents weren’t. My grandfather was, but the gene skips generations, and it doesn’t always manifest. I assumed I was like my brother Sirius—he’s completely human. The gene never manifested in him, at least as long as I knew him.”
He paused, his expression closed off slightly. “And there was the other reason. Rather ignorant to consider now, but it seemed so important back then. I hadn’t known a veela could want a male mate. It wasn’t even a possibility to me.”
Draco’s frown deepened. “Why not?”
Regulus hesitated, running a hand through his dark hair and nodding back and forth in consideration. “I suppose, in some ways, I’d internalized the expectations of my family. The Blacks were proud of their bloodline, of their traditions. Even as a child, I knew I would be expected to marry well. Produce heirs to continue the family name. The idea of a male mate doesn’t quite fit into that narrative.”
Draco’s gaze dropped to his hands, his mind churning with unspoken thoughts. Regulus let the silence linger for a moment before continuing.
“For the first few years at Hogwarts, I was blissfully unaware. Barty and I were just…Barty and me. We studied together, laughed together, planned jokes on our classmates. And when we were apart, I felt like a part of me was missing, but I chalked it up to friendship. I thought it was normal.”
Regulus’s voice grew softer, more introspective. “But things started to change when I was in my fourth year. It wasn’t immediate. It was subtle. I began noticing how I would light up the moment he walked into the room, how my magic would hum whenever he was near. And then there was the jealousy.”
Draco’s head tilted slightly. “Jealousy?”
Regulus nodded, a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. “Yes. I hated it when he spent time with others, especially other boys. I…I couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else taking his attention. It was irrational, but I couldn’t help it. And then one day, it hit me. The way I felt about him…it wasn’t just friendship.”
He leaned back in his chair, his gaze searching Draco’s face. “Have you ever felt that way about someone, Draco? Like they were the centre of your world, even when you didn’t fully understand why?”
Draco shifted uncomfortably, his jaw tightening. “I don’t see how that would be relevant.”
Regulus’s lips quirked upward, but he didn’t press. Instead, he continued his story. “At first, I tried to ignore it. I told myself it was a phase, that it would pass. But it didn’t. If anything, it grew stronger. And the more I tried to suppress it, the more it hurt. By the time I realized Barty was my mate, and had presented, I was terrified.”
Draco’s eyes widened slightly. “Terrified? Why?”
“Because I didn’t know how he would react,” Regulus admitted. “I didn’t know if he would accept me, if he would feel the same. I was young, confused, and convinced that revealing the truth would ruin everything. So, I kept it to myself. For months, I bottled it up, and the stress of it all…it started to affect me.”
Regulus’s gaze turned inward, his voice tinged with regret. “I got sick. Veela magic is tied to emotion, and I was a mess. My body couldn’t handle the strain. I stopped eating, stopped sleeping. I thought I could endure it, but I was wrong. And then one day, Barty found me. He cornered me in an empty classroom, demanded to know what was going on.”
Draco leaned forward slightly, despite himself. “What did you do?”
Regulus’s expression softened, a flicker of warmth crossing his features. “I told him the truth. I told him everything. That he was my mate. That I was a veela. That I…that I loved him.”
Draco blinked, caught off guard by the raw honesty in Regulus’s voice. “And what did he say?”
Regulus’s smile shifted into something almost amused. “He smirked. That infuriating, knowing smirk of his. The prat. And then he kissed me. Just like that.”
Draco’s eyes widened, and he quickly averted his gaze. “Hmm.” He grunted, not quite sure what the proper reaction was.
Regulus chuckled softly. “It gets better. When he finally stopped, I was absolutely stunned. And Barty laughed at me. Full-on cackled, if I’m being honest. And then he said, ‘No shit, Merlin. I’ve been waiting months for you to do that, you idiot.’”
Despite himself, Draco’s lips twitched upward. “He knew?”
“Of course, he knew,” Regulus said, his tone fond. “He’s a Ravenclaw. Brilliant and curious to a fault. When he started noticing the way our magic reacted to each other, he did what any Ravenclaw would do. He researched. He found a book on Veelas in the library, purely out of curiosity at first. But the moment he read about mates; he knew. He…he knew before I did.”
Draco’s curiosity deepened. “And he didn’t say anything?”
Regulus shook his head, his smile tinged with awe. “No. He said he didn’t want to rush me. He wanted me to figure it out on my own, to come to him when I was ready. He…he cared about me that much, back then.”
Regulus’s voice softened further, the weight of the memory evident in his tone. “And when I finally did, he just smiled and said, ‘Obviously, I love you too.’”
Draco’s was indecipherable, even to himself as he processed everything. He hadn’t even realized that much time had passed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Regulus was leaning forward, his gaze study. “Draco, I know this might seem complicated, but I promise it’s not. Not really. The things you’re feeling, the changes you’re going through…they’re part of who you are. Just like they were part of me.”
Draco’s jaw tightened, his voice low and doubtful. “I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Regulus’s gaze didn’t waver. “That’s alright, mate. You’re not ready to admit it yet. And that’s okay. But I’m here to help you, Draco. I’ll tell you everything I know, everything I’ve been through, if it means helping you understand.”
Draco sat back, his silver eyes sharp and questioning. Regulus’s story had stirred something in him, a strange mix of intrigue and unease. As the room fell silent, Draco’s gaze lingered on his uncle, scrutinizing the man who seemed both painfully vulnerable and unusually wise. Finally, he broke the silence.
“Why do you talk about him in the past tense?” he asked, his voice cautious. “What happened? You said you’re not like him, but then I don’t understand. No one develops what he became overnight. How could you love someone who became a murderer?”
Regulus’s expression darkened for a moment before softening into something weary, almost resigned. He leaned back in his chair, his gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of the question had drawn him downward.
“It’s a fair question,” Regulus admitted, his voice quieter. “And one I’ve asked myself more times than I can count. I suppose that to understand, you have to know what it was like back then. What it was like to love him.”
Draco said nothing, though his curiosity was evident. Regulus took a slow breath and began.
“Barty wasn’t always the man you’ve heard about,” Regulus sighed. “When we were young, he was… brilliant. Ambitious. The kind of person who could walk into a room and make everyone else feel like they were standing in his shadow. He had this confidence that was intoxicating, and he cared deeply about the people he loved. I trusted him implicitly. I loved him implicitly.”
Draco’s brow furrowed. “And that made you follow him?”
“It made me believe in him,” Regulus corrected gently. “When the war began, I wasn’t blind to what Voldemort was. I knew he was dangerous. Ruthless. But Barty… he made it all sound so noble. He said we were fighting for a better world, a stronger world. He believed it, and because I believed in him, I followed.”
Regulus’s voice wavered slightly, but he pressed on. “At first, it was easy to ignore the cracks. The cruelty. To convince myself that what we were doing was for the greater good. Barty had a way of explaining things that made even the darkest acts sound like necessary sacrifices. And I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe in us. That we had a future, and that it was bright.”
Draco’s lips thinned. “So you became a Death Eater because of him.”
“Yes,” Regulus said, his tone steady despite the admission. “My parents were already heavily invested in Voldemort’s forces. They were pressuring me all on their own to take the mark. Barty doing it first only sent me over the edge of that decision. And for a while, I didn’t question it. Barty and I were happy, and I thought that as long as we were together, we could handle anything. But over time… things began to change.”
He hesitated, his blue eyes darkening with the weight of memory and he looked away from Draco. “The first time I truly doubted was when I saw him use the Cruciatus Curse. It was a mission, no where near one of our first. Voldemort had ordered us to interrogate a Ministry official. I… I thought we’d question him, maybe use magic to extract information. I knew the man. He was a higher up. Famous in the papers. He had a family, young kids, his wife was a healer at Mungo’s. His worst crime was advocating for equality. He wanted to make our world more balanced. He’d not even been in the position long enough to make a change, just enough to be in the papers for suggesting it.” Regulus’s voice faltered, his hands tightening into fists as he ran a palm over his face. “He was innocent. Completely so. There was no reason for—” he started on his words. “And yet, Barty—He didn’t hesitate. He cast the curse without a second thought. And he enjoyed it.”
Draco’s stomach churned, but he said nothing, letting Regulus continue.
“I told myself it was an act,” Regulus said, his voice heavy with regret. “That he was playing a role to survive, to protect us. That he killed the man to protect us. But the more I watched, the harder it became to believe. He wasn’t pretending. He was changing. Or maybe he’d always been that way, and I was just too blind to see it.”
Regulus leaned forward, his gaze piercing. “I tried to talk to him. To make him understand that this wasn’t what I’d signed up for. That it wasn’t the acts of the man I’d grown to love. But every time I brought it up, he’d get angry. He’d call me disloyal, accuse me of doubting him. And when that didn’t work, he’d guilt me into staying. He’d remind me that we were soulmates, that we were in this together. And I…” Regulus’s voice cracked. “I let him. For so long.”
Draco’s jaw tightened. He couldn’t help the anger that brewed in him at Regulus’s words. “So you just stayed? For years? You let him torture people like that?”
“I stayed because I loved him,” Regulus said, his tone sharper. “Because I thought I could save him. I thought if I just tried hard enough, if I was patient enough, I could bring him back to the man I fell in love with. But it wasn’t enough. And then came the moment I knew I couldn’t stay. Because it did come, nephew.”
Draco’s gaze narrowed. “What happened?”
Regulus’s hands trembled slightly, but he steadied himself. “It was after Voldemort learned of the prophecy. He believed there were two children who might one day destroy him: Harry Potter and Neville Longbottom. Voldemort decided to target the Potters himself, but he sent Death Eaters after the Longbottoms to ensure there were no loose ends.”
“Who are the Longbottoms?”
“Aurors,” Regulus explained. “A married couple who fought for the Order of the Phoenix. Brave, loyal, good people—Sirius was friends with them. I know he cared greatly for them, but they were completely unprepared for what Voldemort’s followers would do. What Barty would do. He hadn’t even been summoned for the initial mission—I think that was the part that broke me first. He’d been pissing off with Rudolphous and decided to tag along to…assist.”
Regulus’s voice dropped, and his next words were spoken thick with disgust. “He came back that night, covered in blood. He didn’t even try to clean himself up. I’d been waiting for him for hours. Worried about where he’d been. And he’d been laughing. And then he told me about it. How they had tortured Alice and Frank, how they had left them empty, mindless. And he was proud. He said it was a victory.”
Draco’s stomach twisted. Regulus’s expression grew haunted as he continued.
“I didn’t sleep that night. The next morning, I read the articles in the Prophet. It described what they’d done in horrifying detail. And all I could think was that I had loved this man. That I had trusted him. And that trust had led me to this. To be complicit and supportive.”
Regulus leaned back, his gaze fixed on the floor as he sat up straight. “That was my breaking point. I realized I couldn’t save him. The Barty I loved was lost, and I couldn’t keep losing myself trying to find him. So I left.”
Draco’s silver eyes were wide, his voice barely above a whisper. “You left him?”
“I did,” Regulus said firmly. “And it killed me in ways I can’t even begin to describe. A Veela’s magic is tied to their mate. Without him, my magic has never been as strong. I found a way using some old Black heirlooms to help with it.” He pulled a gold chain out from underneath his shirt, and Draco was immediately reminded of the mysterious chain around his own wrist. “I’ve lived every day knowing what I lost. Feeling it. But I’ve also lived knowing I made the right choice. Love can’t excuse evil. And no matter how much it hurt, I couldn’t be with someone who could do what he did.”
Draco swallowed hard, his throat tight. “And you’re okay with that? With… being torn apart?”
Regulus’s gaze lifted to meet Draco’s, steady and unflinching. “I’ve learned to live with it. It’s not easy. It never will be. But I’m proud of the choice I made. Once, I dreamed he would give up everything for me. That he would walk away from Voldemort, from the darkness, because of our bond. But dreams don’t always come true. And Barty… he got what he deserved in Azkaban.”
“Was he mad?” Draco asked softly.
“Barty?” Regulus bit his lip in contemplation and looked at Snape. “Fucking furious. I left a note. Left the house while he was on assignment, and left a note explaining that I’d gone. Not where I’d gone to, obviously, but that was enough. I don’t actually think he expected me to ever do anything. I think he believed that my veela would keep me chained to him. As though my magic was enough to override his worst intentions. He certainly did not appreciate realizing he was wrong.”
Draco looked away, his mind processing. Regulus’s voice softened.
“After I left, I went to your mother. Narcissa was the only person I trusted fully, the only one who could understand. She didn’t hesitate. She hid me, helped me disappear, even though it put her at risk. She saved me, Draco. And because of her, I’m still here.”
Draco was silent for a long moment, his thoughts swirling. Finally, he looked up, his silver eyes meeting Regulus’s. “You gave up everything. For what?”
“For my soul,” Regulus said simply. “And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
Neither of them spoke for several minutes. Possibly longer than that.
Draco sat in heavy silence, his mind churning. He had always prided himself on being composed, on having control, but right now, he felt as though he was coming apart at the seams. There was too much information to process, too much shifting beneath his feet. His body felt strange—restless, charged, like his skin was buzzing with something he couldn’t name.
Finally, with a sharp breath, Draco pushed himself up from the chair, needing to cross the room. He needed movement, needed air, even if it was just through glass. He stopped at the nearest window and pressed his palms against the cool sill, his eyes scanning the dark forest beyond.
It was dense, sprawling in all directions, and for a moment, he wondered where they were. How far north they must be from the school. Or if they were very far from it at all.
It didn’t matter. He doubted he could find his way back even if he tried.
Draco exhaled, letting his mind settle, letting the tangled mess of thoughts slowly weave themselves into something that made sense.
And then, finally, he settled on what he needed to ask next.
He turned back toward Regulus, still sitting by the fire, watching him with patient understanding.
“…Do you think I’m presenting?” Draco asked, his voice quieter than he expected.
Regulus didn’t hesitate, though he did seem relieved by the change of subject. “No.”
Draco blinked. “No?”
He shook his head. “Most Veelas present as young adults, or later. It’s easier for them. Their magic builds up over time, and when it happens, they can understand it. They can control it.” He paused, giving Draco a meaningful look. “But you, Draco… you were different.”
Draco folded his arms. “Different how?”
Regulus studied him for a moment, as if weighing how best to say it. “Most Veelas aren’t exposed to their mate until they’re older.” He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “But you knew your mate from infancy. And because of that, you didn’t present as a Veela at seventeen, or eighteen, or even twenty. You presented when you were a child.”
The words landed starkly, and Draco felt something shift inside him as he processed this information.
“That makes no sense,” he said slowly, but even as he said it, his own magic buzzed in a way that told him otherwise.
Regulus smiled wryly. “It’s rare. Extremely rare. But it’s not impossible.”
“Then why—” He stopped, inhaling through his nose as he tried to understand again. “If I’ve already presented, why is this happening now? Why was everything so different today.”
Regulus tilted his head. “It’s not presentation. Not exactly. It’s a manifestation of your Veela traits in some sort. A response to your mate.”
“A response? What do you mean?”
“Veela magic is deeply tied to emotion. Anger, longing, and, one of the strongest emotional triggers for manifestation, jealousy.”
Draco frowned. “Malfoys don’t get jealous.”
Regulus’s smirk widened slightly. “Right. Of course. But humour me anyway. Have you had any reason to feel jealous lately? Particularly, I suppose, about another bloke interactign with Emmeline?”
Draco frowned, the words bouncing around his head before suddenly his stomach twisted.
“I—” He hesitated, then felt heat crawl up his neck at the idea. “That’s ridiculous.”
Regulus arched a brow.
Draco’s fingers twitched at his sides. “I just… Yesterday, I ran into her and she was—” He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “She was talking with Krum—my classmate.”
Regulus’s eyes lit up. “And?”
Draco scowled. “And she may have mentioned that Viktor Krum was taking her to the dance.”
Regulus grinned triumphantly, pointing at him. “Exactly.”
Draco’s stomach dropped. “No,” he muttered. “That can’t be—”
“That’s why this is happening.” Regulus nodded, his voice firm. “Your Veela genes are reacting. They sense competition. They sense that your mate might bond with someone else, and so they’re going off course trying to attract her attention.”
Draco took a step back. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” Regulus’s smirk grew. “Think about it, Draco. Have you noticed any… changes in your appearance lately?”
Draco stiffened.
Regulus continued, unfazed, standing up and walking towards. “Gotten any taller? Sharper features there? Longer hair? Maybe—oh, I don’t know—did your hair suddenly decide to look like your Aunt Bella’s on a good day?”
Draco’s breath hitched, his mind spinning.
Because obviously, he had. And wasn’t that humiliating? His entire body, his entire image, controlled by some creature inside him and acting against his will?
All to catch Hermione’s attention because even his veela knew he wasn’t capable of doing it on his own. Some creature has to do it for him.
Draco swallowed hard, his face burning as he felt Regulus watching him.
“This isn’t random,” Regulus he said kindly—as though that was his embarrasment. “It’s not a coincidence. Your magic is waking up, Draco. It’s responding.”
Draco inhaled sharply, forcing himself to hold Regulus’s gaze.
He didn’t want this. He didn’t want any of this.
But it was happening anyway.
And there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Finally Regulus smiled, like he was giving some good news, Draco rather thought it was his own death sentence. “And it’s all just beginning, I promise.”