Un-Mate

His hair looked atrocious.

Between the weeks that had elapsed he had only managed to sneak out to the muggle world once to grab another box of the hair dye, but even in spite of that, a strong finger width of blonde regrowth was poking out underneath the almost greyed hair he now had.

Pulling at the strands errantly Draco stared into his own blank face.

His clothes were freshly laundered, tailored professionally only several weeks before; a signet ring sat lose and large on his ring finger, not really his but close enough now; and a fresh new wand sat snuggly against his wrist in a holder.

Draco let his eyes drag down to the drawer at this top right hand side, his old wand discarded there as anytime he raised his hand to hold it, he could barely keep it in his grasp from the tremors that wracked through him.

The new wand was different; despite being longer and made with stronger elements it almost felt lighter in his hand, as if it more closely matched the new parts of him; as if it was just as vulnerable as him.

Shucking his shoulders in irritation he set his jacket lapels straight and surveyed himself further in the mirror. He looked an odd between of himselves; the not so black hair washed out his parlour and the dark bruising around his eyes furthered the distressing image, the clothes were snug but showed how little he’d eaten in the past months even despite their fine taste, and despite his posture, he couldn’t seem to shake the feeling of an overwhelming weight on his back.

Draco stilled for a moment as he heard his mother’s footsteps down the hallway.

“Let’s get this over with,” muttered Draco, turning abruptly from the mirror and catching Narcissa off guard as he opened the door just as she came to knock.

“Ready darling?” asked Narcissa, her eyes taking in the still dyed hair and the dull look in his eyes.

“Of course, Mother,” replied Draco, extending an arm out for her to take.

Narcissa’s hands gripped a little too tightly to the thin arm under the fabric but she didn’t say a word as Draco simply led her back through the house and out the front door.

*****

Draco would’ve been happy to say that the train ride to Hogwarts was uneventful, but it wasn’t.

Busier than normal, the platform had felt suffocating as he’d manoeuvred through the crowd, but that wouldn’t have bothered him so much if it wasn’t for the reactions that quickly came after the people realised who had just passed them.

Words overlapped in quick whispers until it was almost a film of sound that coalesced around him. At first it was his family name, sharp and succinct in disparaging tones that he caught most, but then, it was that word that began to infiltrate the conversations as some around him caught his scent.

Omega. Malfoy. Omega. Malfoy. Omega.

Draco had had to bite his tongue, drawing blood, in order to stop the anguished scream from escaping him again. He wasn’t entirely sure what the scream was made of, only that it quieted at times and then came out in gut wrenching glory whenever he heard that word echoing. It felt to him as if he’d simply started screaming all those weeks ago in St Mungo’s, but hadn’t actually stopped, it was just that only at certain times did it actually make it past his lips.

It was this action that seemed to draw the attention of the last person Draco wanted to interact with; in fact, he’d been so studiously ignoring making eye contact with everybody that the sudden hand that grabbed him almost made his composure slip. He held on for a second more as…

“Draco,” came the familiar voice with the hand, soft and a little censured as he was pulled to the side of the throng.

Draco would’ve known him simply by his hand alone; he’d seen it too often, perpetually outstretched and always just a bit faster than him. When he was younger it’d annoyed him that he carried that small sense of familiarity; except today it didn’t. Today it felt like a lifeline.

Draco lifted his eyes defiantly, more than a little disgruntled that Harry Potter seemed to have grown a further two inches in height since they’d last stood this close.

“Potter,” offered Draco as greeting, his voice lacking its usual bite as he became even more aware of the eyes on him.

Something must have shown because the split-second look Draco had flicked around Harry’s side had caused the man to shuffle a little, effectively blocking Draco from view.

“Draco, what…” Harry’s voice trailed off as it stuck on the ends of his destroyed hair, “Are you okay?” Harry’s voice was softer than Draco wanted it to be, but the thing that slipped under his skin most was the way that Harry’s scent swept over him with the tone. Rich, tinged with oak and almost smelling exactly the way Draco reminded festive fires used to smell in his youth; it soaked into his pores in a way that was sure to leave him reeling in deep breaths for the rest of the day. Draco’s fingers settled, tiny half moons impressed into the soft pad of his hands as his body swayed ever so slightly closer to the taller man.

“Of course Potter, why wouldn’t I be? Perhaps I should ask you the very same question since you decided, despite us not being on common terms, to apprehend me on my way to the train,” the words were corded and tricky on his tongue and Draco was sure he slurred at least a few of them. Talking hadn’t felt difficult a second ago but something had unwound part of him and a bone drenching tiredness swept over his body.

Two seconds was all it took for Draco to sway closer again, Harry’s hands coming up to grip his upper arms. “I thought we were past this,” remarked Harry, eyebrows pulling down as he regarded Draco keenly. Draco watched as his nostrils flared wider than necessary, pulling in the overlap competing scents that Draco knew were mixed in with him.

“You’d do better not to think Potter, might strain yourself.”

Again, the words felt sticky on his tongue as Draco managed enough sense to rip myself from Harry’s grasp. The world cascaded into him in an instant and the thrumming of those two words almost sent him to his knees. It was all he could do as his own brain sought out the sounds over and over again.

All of a sudden, the lights were too bright, and Draco felt his own arm come into collision with his forehead in an attempt to brace against it. His chest felt like a band was being pulled taut around him and he couldn’t seem to grab purchase of his own stability, floundering a step back before coming to a stand still again.

Harry was still watching him carefully. Passersby, or what had been, stopped to watch his uncertain steps. The reaction was instantaneous inside of him. An instinct he didn’t know he possessed had his feet thudding on the tiled floors of the train station, and arm stuck out to catch a pole on the side of the train and wrench himself up the stairs in one single step and then back first with a sharp jolting paint to the back of his head as he settled into the far corner on his seat.

His breathing was so ragged dark spots started to form in front of his eyes that took several determined shakes of his head to completely remove.

Safe. Alone.

Draco lurched forward, his nails catching as he fumbled to close and lock the door to the compartment. The trembling was starting, jarring his fingertips against the wood as he fought to unholster his wand.

“Colloportus,” slurred Draco, the wand somehow responding despite the haggard spell casting.

He threw himself back again, gentler this time and let his racing heart sing to him in his chest.

Safe. Alone. Hidden.

The words echoed over the cacophony of the students who boarded, some attempting to the open door, others seeing it closed and not bothering.

Safe. Alone. Hidden.

“Damn Potter,” was all Draco had the energy to murmur, his head slipping to the side, breath fogging the glass that cooled his cheeks as consciousness slipped from his mind; the deep, rich scent stuck to the arms of his robes.