Fate\'s Victim

Though he hated to do it, Draco once again found himself standing in front of Dumbledore’s office, reciting every sweet he knew to the statue in the hopes that he would get it right and it would move aside. He had been enraged when he arrived at the statue, so much so that he had thought to yell at, even threaten the Old Wizard, but now, after several minutes of reciting sweets to it, he felt rather put out.



When he got it right and it moved out of his path, Draco grudgingly took the stairs up to his office. He arrived at the door, knocked, and without waiting for an answer, went in. The Headmaster was sitting there, waiting. The twinkle was still in his eyes was still there, and greeted Draco even as Dumbledore offered his usual lemon drop.



Draco ignored the offer, and instead, jumped right into why he had come.



“You lied to me, Dumbledore. You said that I wouldn’t have to deal with inheriting the Veela genes from my family.”



“No, my dear boy. I didn’t say that. I believe I said that I doubted it would cause you to end your own life, should you discover you were Veela and had a Mate. And I stand by that, Mister Malfoy. Or have you discovered something to go against my beliefs?”



Draco thought about it. As much as he hated to admit it, the Headmaster was not wrong. He was pregnant with Harry Potter’s child, and oddly enough, Harry Potter was his Mate. That was one thing those dreams had been good for.



Perhaps being impregnated with his fated Mate’s seed started the bonding process early. He shouldn’t have known that Harry was his Mate until his seventeenth birthday, but apparently things had taken their own path.



“I suppose you weren’t incorrect.” Draco said, sitting down in the chair he had been when he accepted this whole deal. It was then that the horrible thought hit him. “You put it in the contract that I’m not to have anything to do with my own child when it is born.”



“That’s correct.” Dumbledore said, a smile on his face, his eyes crinkled with the amusement of seeing the young blond man before him figuring it all out.



“You knew all along. You knew I would inherit the Veela gene. And you knew I would ask for help. You meant to use me from the very beginning, as well as keeping me away from Harry so you could manipulate him how you want to.”



The Old Man didn’t reply. So Draco stood and left.



-xXx-



Without thinking much about it, Draco went directly to where he thought Harry would be. And there he was; sitting in the Great Hall, playing Wizard’s Chess with Ronald Weasley.



The blond walked up to the pair, and touched Harry’s shoulder lightly to get his attention.



“Harry.” He said quietly, his voice questioning.



The Gryffindor looked up, startled from the shock of magic that had raced through him when the hand touched his shoulder. His eyes took in Draco, noting that the blonds’ eyes weren’t harsh like they used to be. He could also feel an undercurrent of magic running into him, where the hand connected the pair.



“Uh…yes Malfoy?” He sounded less then eloquent, but he wouldn’t have been able to if he tried at this moment.



“I need to speak with you. Now if possible.”



Ron took that moment to wrench himself out of his stupor of staring at Draco, and let out a startling cry as he heaved himself up onto the table and scrambled across it at the blond he thought of as his enemy.



“Get away from him, Malfoy!” he screamed, throwing a punch at the blond that met with surprisingly little resistance. Another punch followed, three more fast on its heels. When it became clear that Draco wasn’t resisting the punches, and that he was losing horribly, Harry pulled Ron off his ex-enemy and practically threw him back at the Gryffindor bench.



“Get a hold of yourself, Ron!” he snarled, before kneeling down to help the Slytherin up.



Once Draco was settled onto the bench farther down from Ron, Harry sat, making sure he was between the two. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk about, Malfoy?”



Draco glared past Harry and down the way, before replying. “I believe this discussion would be best had in privacy.”



Harry sighed, ran a hand though his messy hair, and nodded. “Fine. Let’s go somewhere more private.” He couldn’t believe he didn’t feel more suspicion about the blond Slytherin then this. But then, the Slytherin hadn’t done anything to him, hadn’t even spoken to him, in about four and a half months.



He got up and was leading Draco from the Great Hall when Dumbledore’s voice rang out. “Mr. Malfoy. I need you in my office immediately.” The voice wasn’t harsh, but it was commanding.



Harry turned back, looked at Professor Dumbledore, who he still couldn’t bring himself to trust due to the gray mist and the dreams, and caught the look of fear in Draco’s eyes. Eyes that were the same color, he finally noticed, as the mist of his dreams.



Draco’s head was shaking without him seeming to know about it. Harry understood, somehow. He grabbed the other boy’s hand and ran.



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