Un-Mate

“Any abnormal heat flushes?” asked Madam Pomfrey as her cold fingers pressed tightly in the crux of Harry’s wrist, feeling his pulse as it pounded through his veins.

“What would be classed as abnormal?” queried Harry, his eyebrows coming together tiredly.

Madam Pomfrey sighed her exasperation as she dropped his wrist, “Any flushes that wouldn’t be attributed to the weather. I’m sure you’d know well enough what I’m talking about Mr Potter.” Her eyes narrowed at him as he shrugged a little.

“You do know why you’re here, do you not?” she asked with her short, clipped tones.

“I am aware,” replied Harry, trying his best to ignore her eye contact as he looked out the window.

“Mr Potter, this may not mean much to you but given your recent actions we are concerned of you coming into a rut without any prior experience and in a situation that appears to be rife with,” she paused as if to consider her words, “turmoil”.

“It’s not rife with turmoil,” remarked Harry, standing off from the bed and shaking out his arm, “My actions were reasonable. I doubt you of all people would sanction the use of someone’s classification against them. I am an Alpha, it’s my job to protect Omegas. I was doing what I’m compelled to do.”

“You are not compelled to almost throw another student over a desk. You are legally an adult Mr Potter, and those sorts of childish actions are not reasonable. You may have a very overwhelming array of hormones and urges overtaking you, but your actions were not of an Alpha simply protecting an Omega. If you have a mate to claim then that is something that needs to be considered with great care for the coming year, if however, you are coming into a rut you need to be even more aware and careful,” admonished Madam Pomfrey as the vials she’d taken gently clinked in her hands.

“These will be sent to St Mungo’s for assessment, and if they come back with elevated results you will have to come back for treatment Mr Potter, whether that be in singles units or with a patch.”

Harry nodded, “I swear to comply with any treatment I am recommended.”

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips before leaving him beside the bed without another word.

Harry cracked his neck to the side and looked down at the bloody scuffs of his knuckles, flexing his fingers gingerly. He wasn’t looking forward to returning to the Common room after all the commotion of the day, but he wasn’t sure where else to go for the remaining afternoon.

Bracing his hand, Harry pushed himself off the bed and righted his cloak around his shoulders, unneeded in the current climate but definitely useful for hiding the large rip in his shirt that ran over one shoulder and down into the back of the fabric. Tenderly, he touched the side of his cheek which was remarkably not as swollen as anticipated and gave a deep sigh.

Harry exited the Hospital Wing, took one look at the woman standing outside for him and almost turned himself directly back around again.

“None of that now, Mr Potter,” said the stern voice of Headmistress McGonagall, “I would like you to take a walk with me.”

Harry sighed, “Would it make any difference if I told you why I did what I did?” he asked tiredly.

The Headmistress quirked a single brow at his remark before running her eyes up and down his form. “Not particularly Mr Potter. Come now, I’ve already spoken to Miss Parkinson and Mr Zabini and their comments have been dealt with.”

Harry watched as McGonagall started leading the way, trudging along a little out of step, making him feel as though he were 11 years old again.

“Mr Malfoy has also been advised of the events that have occurred,” remarked McGonagall, giving a very non-subtle side-eye to him.

Harry nodded, refusing to show any outward response to the words.

“His response was that people should know better than to be idiots in front of you,” continued McGonagall, her eyes gazing around the walls of the castle, as if needing to remind herself it still stood; as if to remind herself that they hadn’t lost, even in spite of their losses.

“Well yeah, I would say the same thing,” confirmed Harry, as he gave her a short studying look, “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No Mr Potter, you’re not, though it goes against my better judgement to say so. The world…” she started, coming to a short stop in the main hall, “The world has just begun to change in ways we can’t really determine yet. It is up to all of us to make use of this flux time to ensure that the new world we step into is better. Old ideas will out eventually.”

“Did Dr-“ Harry stopped his words, clearing his throat awkwardly, “Did Malfoy say anything else?”

“Perhaps you should ask him yourself. He appears to have determined his classes to be optional as opposed to compulsory, and was last noted standing at the edge of the lake.” McGonagall took to start walking again and quickly held up a hand to stop Harry, as he automatically started to follow. “I do not want to hear another report of a physical altercation Mr Potter, am I understood?”

The question had no edge, sounding more a request as Harry looked into her tired, lined face. “I will try my best,” agreed Harry, not bothering to voice the second part of the statement that they both knew existed; that he would try his best to ensure she didn’t hear another report only.

“The day is young, I’d advise you to enjoy the sunshine a bit,” concluded McGonagall, walking away purposefully to one the large staircases and leaving Harry alone near the front doors of the castle.

Looking around and noting only a few seventh year students, but none who gave him any mind, he walked out the large double doors.

The sun hit his face with a welcome warmth and he closed his eyes to it for a moment before turning to lake, intending to seek out the almost-blonde haired man, but his stomach flipped instantly as he did indeed find the man in question, standing beside the dark-haired Pansy Parkinson.

Harry took off quicker than needed and had to forcefully stop himself from running; a quick, jaded walk that easily drew the eye and caused Draco to blanche slightly at this face.

Harry watched as he raised a hand to Pansy’s arm to push her slightly to the side, whether out of the way for him to reach Harry, or out of the way to stop Harry from physically reaching her first, Harry wasn’t sure but the sound of his blood thrummed recklessly through his veins.

“Potter, you’re looking…” Draco paused as Harry came to stand a mere metre away, his hand still raised on Pansy’s arms as his eyes grazed to the evident slip of tanned skin exposed by Harry’s ruined shirt. “You look…” attempted Draco again, swallowing thickly as his sat, mesmerised by the skin he could see.

Harry stood stock still as Draco stepped forward hesitantly, hand leaving Pansy’s shoulder causing the woman to turn more to face him. Thin, pale fingers reached out cautiously to grab the torn edge of his shirt. The warmth emanating from Draco’s fingers radiated into his chest, feeling warmer than even the touch of the sun.

“Why is your shirt ripped?” asked Draco quietly, eyes unmoving from his exposed skin as his fingers shifted the material. “Why is his shirt ripped?” asked Draco again, this time turning on Pansy, his features turned sharp and voice seething.

“I told you there was an incident,” stated Pansy, crossing her arms across her chest and giving an exasperated sigh.

“You made it sound like an argument! This is…” Draco started, eyes wide and frantic as his gaze erratically tracked from Harry’s face, the bruise forming on the underside of his jaw, and Pansy’s attempt at nonchalance. “This is a fight. Is this why Blaise didn’t come to talk to me about it? Does he look the same? Did he think I wouldn’t agree to talk to Potter if he looked like –“ words started and stopped in his mouth, “-looked like, like, like-” Draco gestured wordlessly.

Harry saw the moment something seemed to break inside Draco. The fingers that before had been inquisitive were now shaking against his chest, a small sheen on the edge of Draco’s face and tense short breaths that didn’t seem to relieve anything in the man.

“It’s not like either of them were severely injured,” replied Pansy without conviction, giving one quick glance at Harry who remained silent; his entire focus zeroed in on the unpleasant scent of burning flesh that seemed to be growing in the space between them all.

“Parkinson, you need to leave,” stated Harry simply, looking at the woman whose nose had scrunched up as she’d taken a step back. Pansy gave one more quick look at him, then settled back on Draco who now stood with eyes locked onto the ground.

“Whatever. Come speak to us when you’re back to being yourself Draco,” she said before walking off, back to the castle.

“Draco,” said Harry softly once she was out of earshot, his hand coming to settle over the first of Draco’s paler one which had scrunched up a good portion of his remaining shirt.

“Draco, we need to sit,” tried Harry again. Draco’s eyes remained looking at the ground but a strange wheezing sound seemed to be coming out of him.

Harry tried to push a scent out, something calming and relieving but it was quickly enveloped by Draco’s overwhelming response to the situation.

Harry felt sure he could handle this, whatever it was, but as Draco’s face raised to his he felt the Alpha part of him prowl to the surface.

Tears glistened on the Omega’s cheeks, and the soft wheezing sound he’d heard was cries, barely held back cries attempting to be muffled by a clenched jaw and pursed lips. Without thinking Harry’s other hand came up to the back of Draco’s head and he lowered his forehead onto Draco’s.

The touch seemed to set something off, and the previously held back cries gave out as Draco slumped forward. A breaking wail echoed around Harry as he held Draco’s body to him, the weight becoming more pronounced as he slowly lowered them both to a kneeling position on the ground.

Choked, gasping breaths broke between the agonised cries, the warmth of Draco’s tears hitting Harry’s own cheeks as he completely drew Draco into his chest.

“It’s okay, you’re okay I promise,” whispered Harry, “Whatever it is, you’re safe here. I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay.”

The words seemed to calm Draco a little, the influx of tears starting to dry up minutely as he seemed to choke to speak.

“Why? Why did you do it?” asked Draco as best he could, sniffling back as his forehead pressed harder back into Harry’s. “Why do you save me?”

Harry paused, the words sinking beneath his skin, deeper and deeper into his memory, over and over again, as he saw it, and felt it, as it sunk through his veins; Draco’s wide, scared eyes, in the bathroom, in the room of requirement, in the courtyard, on the train, in his mind over, and over, and over again.

“I- ah, because I think,” Harry started, gulping down the feeling and the acknowledgement that he’d never before considered, “Because I don’t think I could be okay in a world where you didn’t exist.”

The words fell down and down and down into the space between them.

Draco shuddered, “I think I know how that feels,” he whispered back.