#alpha draco

The first time Y/N Selwyn imprinted on Draco Malfoy, she was twelve years old and utterly mortified.

It happened in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson, of all places. Professor McGonagall had been mid-sentence about the theoretical principles of turning vinegar into wine when the scent hit Y/N like a stunning spell to the chest. Cedarwood and frost, sharp and cold and absolutely devastating. Her quill clattered to the parchment, splattering ink everywhere, and her eyes snapped up to find the source before her brain could catch up with her instincts.

Draco Malfoy was three rows ahead, laughing at something Blaise Zabini had whispered, his head thrown back in that insufferably arrogant way of his, and Y/N’s entire world tilted on its axis.

The imprint bond snapped into place so violently that she actually gasped, earning a concerned look from Hannah Abbott beside her. Y/N had clapped a hand over her mouth, her cheeks flooding with heat, and spent the rest of the lesson staring blankly at her ruined notes while her omega instincts went absolutely haywire. Every time Malfoy moved, she noticed. Every time he spoke, her ears strained to catch the sound. When he ran a hand through his white-blond hair, her fingers twitched with the inexplicable urge to touch it.

It was, without question, the worst day of her life.

She’d gone straight to her Head of House that evening, trembling and teary-eyed, begging Professor Sprout to tell her there had been some kind of mistake. Imprinting was rare, after all. Surely it couldn’t happen at twelve. Surely there was a way to undo it.

But Professor Sprout had just looked at her with those kind, weathered eyes and explained gently that imprint bonds were powerful things. They weren’t entirely unbreakable, but the only way to overwrite an imprint was through a permanent mating mark from another alpha—a step that was irreversible, deeply intimate, and certainly not something to be considered at twelve years old. As long as Y/N remained unmarked, the bond with Draco would hold.

And so began Y/N Selwyn’s private, three-year-long tragedy of being hopelessly, irrevocably bonded to the one alpha in Hogwarts who seemed to find her very existence an inconvenience.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t understand why. She was a Hufflepuff, for Merlin’s sake. A soft-spoken Hufflepuff who spent her free time knitting scarves for house-elves and tending to the moonflowers in the greenhouse. She had long, silky hair that she usually wore in a messy plait over her shoulder and eyes that were far too expressive for her own good. She cried at sad passages in books and brought tea to first-years who looked homesick and once spent an entire weekend nursing an injured garden gnome back to health.

Draco Malfoy, by contrast, was the epitome of Slytherin aristocracy. Pristine robes, cutting remarks, and a sneer so practiced it might as well have been carved onto his face. He moved through the castle like he owned it, surrounded by his carefully curated circle of pureblood elites, and he had never once looked at Y/N as anything other than an annoyance to be tolerated.

She’d tried, in the beginning, to stay away from him. She really had. But Hogwarts in the twentieth century was not the Hogwarts of old, where omegas had been expected to suffer their heats in silence and shame. The Omega Welfare Act of 1987 had changed everything. Omegas were to be supported, protected, and accommodated. Their cycles were to be tracked by the school’s matrons, their needs anticipated and met. And if an omega had imprinted on an alpha who was present within the school, that alpha was legally obligated to provide comfort and scenting in the days leading up to their heat, regardless of personal feelings on the matter—at least until the omega was properly mated to someone else.

It was, as Draco Malfoy had loudly declared upon receiving his first official notice from the Omega Welfare Office three years ago, “a complete and utter violation of personal autonomy.”

Y/N had been standing right there in the corridor when he’d said it, clutching the matching notice she’d just received, her face burning so hotly she was surprised her tears hadn’t evaporated on contact. Pansy Parkinson had snickered, Daphne Greengrass had looked vaguely sympathetic, and Draco had crumpled the parchment in his fist and stormed off without even glancing in Y/N’s direction.

That had been the start of it.

Now, at fifteen, the pattern was well-established. Every three months like clockwork, the notices would arrive. Draco Malfoy was hereby required to remain within close proximity of Omega Y/N Selwyn for the seventy-two hours preceding her estimated heat onset. He was to provide scenting upon request. He was to remain accessible at all times. Failure to comply would result in disciplinary action, up to and including suspension of prefect privileges and notification of the Ministry’s Omega Rights Division.

Draco had tested those boundaries exactly once in fifth year, when he’d deliberately sequestered himself in the Slytherin common room and refused to come out. Y/N had endured six hours of mounting distress before Madam Pomfrey had been forced to sedate her, and the subsequent inquiry had nearly cost Draco his position on the Slytherin Quidditch team. After that, even Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy had stepped in, their owled letter arriving with the Malfoy crest pressed into emerald wax.

Draco,

We understand your frustration, but this situation is not one you can afford to fight. The Selwyn family is old and respected. The omega welfare laws are ironclad. You will comply. Do not embarrass this family by forcing the Ministry to intervene. You are a Malfoy. Act like one.

Your Mother and Father

Y/N only knew about the letter because Draco had been so furious he’d shoved it in her face the next time he’d been forced to sit with her in the library, his grey eyes blazing with resentment.

“Are you happy?” he’d snarled, the parchment trembling in his grip. “Even my parents are on your side now.”

She hadn’t been happy. She’d been devastated, actually, because the letter made it abundantly clear that Draco wasn’t doing this voluntarily. That he would never do this voluntarily. That every moment he spent with her was being extracted from him through threats and obligation, and that when he looked at her with those storm-grey eyes, all he saw was a cage.

But none of that mattered to her omega.

Her omega, traitorous and desperate and utterly beyond her control, only cared about one thing: the alpha was here. The alpha was close. The alpha smelled like cedarwood and frost and home.

And as her heat drew nearer with each passing day, Y/N’s carefully maintained composure was beginning to crack.

“You’re staring again,” Ernie Macmillan said mildly, not looking up from his Arithmancy homework.

Y/N startled, nearly upsetting her goblet of pumpkin juice. They were sitting at the Hufflepuff table in the Great Hall, the dinner hour in full swing around them, and she had indeed been staring across the room at the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy was engaged in what looked like a deeply irritating conversation with Theodore Nott.

“I wasn’t staring,” she lied, dropping her gaze to her plate.

Ernie snorted. “Y/N, you’ve been staring at Malfoy for three years. It’s practically your hobby at this point.”

“It’s not a hobby, it’s a medical condition,” she muttered darkly, pushing a roasted potato around her plate. “A very unfortunate, very embarrassing medical condition.”

Hannah Abbott, seated on Y/N’s other side, made a sympathetic noise. “When’s your heat due?”

“Five days.” Y/N’s voice was small. “I got my notice this morning. The accommodations start day after tomorrow.”

“Accommodations,” Ernie said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Is that what we’re calling forced proximity with the prince of Slytherin these days?”

“I didn’t ask for this, Ernie.”

“I know you didn’t.” His expression softened. “I’m sorry. It’s rotten luck, imprinting on someone who’s such an absolute prat about it.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thing was, Draco Malfoy was a prat. He was arrogant and cold and casually cruel, and he’d made his feelings about their situation abundantly clear from the very beginning. But he was also, in the quiet moments that no one else got to see, something else entirely.

During her last pre-heat period, when her distress had spiked particularly badly in the middle of the night, he’d come to the Hufflepuff omega suite without complaint. He’d sat on the edge of her bed and let her curl up against his side, her face pressed into the junction of his neck where his scent was strongest, and he’d stayed there for three hours without moving. He hadn’t said a single word, but his hand had rested on her lower back, steady and warm, and his scent had wrapped around her like a blanket.

The next morning, he’d been back to sneering at her in the corridors, and she’d wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing.

It was the inconsistency that was slowly driving her mad. The way he would be cold and dismissive one moment and then, when her omega was truly in distress, he would shift into something almost gentle. Something that made her heart ache with longing for a version of him that didn’t seem to hate her.

“I just wish…” Y/N started, then stopped, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Hannah squeezed her hand. “Wish what?”

I wish he wanted me. I wish he chose me. I wish I wasn’t just an obligation to him.

“I wish I’d imprinted on someone else,” she said instead, and the words tasted like ash.

The Gryffindor common room was bustling with post-dinner activity, but Harry Potter had carved out a small corner of relative quiet near the window where he was ostensibly working on a Charms essay and actually watching Ron Weasley try to teach Hermione Granger how to play wizard’s chess.

“You’re not supposed to tell her all your strategies,” Ron was saying, exasperated. “The point is to beat her, not give her a manual.”

“I’m not asking for a manual,” Hermione shot back. “I’m asking why the knight can only move in an L-shape. It seems terribly inefficient.”

“It’s chess, Hermione, not a Ministry audit.”

Harry grinned, dipping his quill in ink, when the portrait hole swung open and Neville Longbottom climbed through, looking slightly flustered.

“Alright, Neville?” Harry called.

Neville made his way over, dropping into the chair beside Harry with a heavy sigh. “Just got cornered by Y/N Selwyn in the corridor.”

Harry’s eyebrows rose. “Cornered? By Y/N?” Y/N Selwyn was possibly the least intimidating person in the entire school. She was soft-spoken and gentle and had once apologized to a suit of armor for bumping into it.

“Not in a bad way,” Neville clarified. “She just… she wanted to know if I’d seen Malfoy. She looked really upset, Harry. Sort of pale and shaky. She said she needed to find him.”

Ron, who had apparently been listening despite his chess tutorial, made a disgusted noise. “Don’t tell me it’s that time again.”

“What time?” Hermione asked.

“The time when Malfoy gets even more insufferable than usual because he has to play nursemaid to some omega he can’t stand,” Ron said, moving his rook with a decisive click. “I don’t know why the school keeps forcing them together. It’s clearly miserable for both of them.”

“The school keeps forcing them together because Y/N imprinted on him,” Hermione said, her tone taking on the lecturing quality it always did when she was about to educate someone. “Imprinting bonds are serious magical phenomena. An omega in pre-heat who’s separated from their imprinted alpha can experience severe physiological distress, up to and including cardiac events. The Omega Welfare Act exists to prevent exactly that kind of medical crisis.”

“Yeah, but it’s Malfoy,” Ron argued. “He’s probably the one causing the cardiac events.”

“That’s not funny, Ron.”

“I’m not trying to be funny. The bloke’s a git. He made her cry in the library last term, did you know that? Susan Bones told me. Said he told her she was pathetic for following him around like a lost crup.”

Harry frowned. He didn’t know Y/N well—she was in Hufflepuff, quiet, mostly kept to herself—but he’d seen her around the castle often enough. She always seemed slightly sad, her eyes carrying a weight that didn’t match her gentle demeanor. And he’d noticed the way she looked at Malfoy. Not with the doe-eyed infatuation that some omegas displayed toward their imprinted alphas, but with something more complicated. Longing mixed with resignation. Hope that had been bruised too many times.

“Maybe he’ll come around,” Harry said, though he didn’t quite believe it. Malfoy didn’t strike him as the coming-around type.

Neville shook his head. “I don’t know. I felt bad for her. She kept apologizing for bothering me, even though she was clearly in distress. She’s too nice for her own good.”

“Too nice for Malfoy, that’s for sure,” Ron muttered.

Hermione was quiet for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. “You know, imprint bonds aren’t random. The magic responds to compatibility on a fundamental level. There has to be something in Malfoy that the bond recognized, something he doesn’t show to the rest of us.”

“Or,” Ron countered, “the magic just has a terrible sense of humor.”

Harry laughed, but his mind lingered on Y/N Selwyn, pale and shaky in the corridor, desperately searching for an alpha who didn’t want to be found.

The next morning, Y/N woke up feeling like her skin was too tight.

It was always like this in the days leading up to her heat. Her senses sharpened until every sound was too loud, every texture was too rough, and the world felt like it was pressing in on her from all sides. The only thing that helped was the alpha’s scent, but she didn’t have that yet. She wouldn’t have it until the official accommodation period began.

She dragged herself through her morning classes, barely absorbing a word. Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions while Y/N pressed her palms flat against the cool wooden surface of her desk and tried to remember how to breathe normally. Her omega was stirring restlessly beneath her skin, sending waves of need through her body that she couldn’t control.

Alpha, it whined. Where is alpha? Need alpha. Need alpha now.

“Shut up,” she whispered under her breath, earning a strange look from Justin Finch-Fletchley.

By lunchtime, she was in full distress. Her hands were trembling, her scent had soured with anxiety, and she couldn’t stop the little whimpering sounds that kept escaping her throat. She knew she should go to the hospital wing, but Madam Pomfrey would only send for Draco anyway, and somehow that felt even worse than suffering alone.

She was huddled in an alcove on the third floor, her knees drawn up to her chest and her face buried in her arms, when she heard footsteps approaching.

“There you are.”

Her head snapped up. Draco Malfoy was standing at the entrance to the alcove, his arms crossed over his chest and his expression unreadable. He was wearing his school robes with the Slytherin crest, his tie perfectly knotted, his hair immaculate as always. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a portrait of pureblood perfection, and the contrast between him and Y/N—disheveled, red-eyed, and shaking—couldn’t have been starker.

“You’re not supposed to be here yet,” she managed, her voice coming out embarrassingly wobbly. “The accommodation period doesn’t start until tomorrow.”

“Yes, well.” He shifted his weight, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “Your scent spiked about an hour ago. I could smell it from the dungeons. It’s…” He paused, his jaw tightening. “It’s distracting.”

Y/N’s cheeks flamed. Of course. He wasn’t here because he was concerned about her. He was here because her distress was inconveniencing him.

“Sorry,” she whispered, dropping her gaze. “I didn’t mean to… I can’t control it.”

“I know you can’t control it.” His voice was sharp, but when she risked a glance up at him, his expression had shifted into something less hostile. Irritated, yes, but also… resigned. “Come on. Get up.”

“Where are we going?”

“The omega suite, obviously. You’re in no state to be wandering around the castle, and if I leave you here, Pomfrey will have my head on a platter.”

It wasn’t kindness. It was pragmatism, wrapped in annoyance and tied with a ribbon of obligation. But Y/N’s omega didn’t care about the motivation. The alpha was here, the alpha was speaking to her, and the alpha was going to take her somewhere safe. That was all that mattered.

She unfolded herself from the alcove, her legs unsteady beneath her, and Draco’s hand shot out to grip her elbow before she could stumble. The contact sent a jolt of warmth through her entire body, and she couldn’t stop the small, relieved sound that escaped her lips.

Draco’s nostrils flared. He didn’t release her arm.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, but his voice had lost some of its edge. “You’re ridiculous. We still have a full day before your heat, and you’re already falling apart.”

“I know.” Y/N’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be such a burden.”

Something flickered across his face—too quick for her to identify—and then he was pulling her forward, guiding her down the corridor with his hand still wrapped around her elbow.

“Stop apologizing,” he said. “It’s annoying.”

They walked in silence. Y/N focused on putting one foot in front of the other, on the steady warmth of Draco’s grip, on the way his scent wrapped around her like a shield against the overwhelming chaos of her own senses. She was so tired. She was always so tired in the days before her heat, her body burning through energy faster than she could replenish it.

By the time they reached the omega suite—a small but comfortable room off the hospital wing, reserved for omegas who needed private accommodations during their cycles—Y/N was barely upright. Draco had to key in the access code himself, supporting her weight with an arm around her waist, and she was too far gone to even feel embarrassed about it.

The suite was warm and dimly lit, furnished with a large bed piled high with soft blankets, a small sitting area, and an adjoining bathroom. A stack of fresh towels sat on the dresser, and someone—probably Madam Pomfrey—had left a tray of light snacks and a pitcher of water on the nightstand.

Draco deposited her on the bed with considerably more gentleness than she’d expected, then stepped back, running a hand through his hair in a gesture she’d come to recognize as a sign of stress.

“Right,” he said, looking anywhere but at her. “You’re here. You’re safe. I’ll be back tomorrow when the official period starts.”

Panic surged through her. “You’re leaving?”

“I have classes, Selwyn. And a Quidditch practice. And a life that doesn’t revolve around—”

He stopped, but the words hung in the air between them.

Doesn’t revolve around you.

“Right,” Y/N said quietly, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Of course. Sorry. Go.”

Draco stood there for a long moment, his jaw working like he was chewing on something unpleasant. Then, with a frustrated exhale, he crossed the room and dropped into the armchair beside her bed.

“I’ll stay for ten minutes,” he said, not looking at her. “Just until you settle.”

Y/N’s omega purred with satisfaction. The alpha was staying. The alpha was going to watch over her while she rested.

She curled up on her side, her cheek pressed against the cool pillow, and let her eyes drift closed. The panic receded, pushed back by the steady presence of the alpha nearby, and she felt her muscles begin to unclench one by one.

“Thank you,” she murmured, already half-asleep.

Draco didn’t respond. But when she woke up an hour later, he was still there, a book open in his lap and a frown on his face, and his scent had settled over the room like fresh snow.

The official accommodation period began the next morning, and with it came the enforced togetherness that both of them had been dreading.

Madam Pomfrey had informed them that, due to the intensity of Y/N’s pre-heat symptoms this cycle, the standard seventy-two-hour requirement had been extended to a full week. They would be sharing the omega suite for the duration, with Draco permitted to leave only for essential classes and Y/N not permitted to leave at all. Meal trays would be delivered. Visitors would be restricted. And Draco would be expected to provide scenting upon request, which was a polite way of saying that Y/N was going to be clingy and needy and utterly incapable of functioning without him, and he was just going to have to deal with it.

“A week,” Draco said flatly, standing in the middle of the suite with his arms crossed and his expression murderous. “You’re telling me I have to stay here for a week.”

“I’m not telling you anything,” Y/N said tiredly from her nest on the bed. She’d spent the morning arranging her blankets into the perfect configuration, and she was too exhausted to deal with Draco’s temper. “Take it up with Pomfrey.”

“I did take it up with Pomfrey. She threatened to write to the Ministry.”

“Then I guess you’re staying.”

Draco made a sound of pure frustration and began pacing the length of the room. He’d done a lot of pacing over the years, Y/N had noticed. It was his default response to situations he couldn’t control, and their situation was very much one he couldn’t control.

“This is absurd,” he muttered. “Completely absurd. I’m missing a week of practice. A week. Flint is going to have my head.”

“I’m sure you’ll survive.”

He whirled on her. “You’re awfully calm about all of this.”

“What do you want me to do?” Y/N asked, her voice sharper than she’d intended. “Throw a tantrum? I’ve had three years to get used to this, Malfoy. You’ve had three years to get used to this. At some point, you have to stop fighting it and just… accept it.”

“I will never accept it.” His voice was cold, but there was something underneath it that she couldn’t quite identify. “I will never accept being forced into a bond I didn’t choose with an omega I didn’t want.”

The words hit her like a physical blow. She’d known, of course. He’d made his feelings abundantly clear over the years. But hearing it stated so plainly, so brutally, still hurt in ways she couldn’t articulate.

“I didn’t choose this either,” she said quietly. “I didn’t choose to imprint on you. I didn’t choose to need you so badly it physically hurts. I didn’t choose any of this.”

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it again. His expression flickered—guilt, maybe, or something adjacent to it—before settling back into its usual mask of irritation.

“Fine,” he said, the fight draining out of him. “Fine. We’re both stuck. Let’s just… get through it.”

He retreated to the armchair, as far from the bed as he could get while still being in the same room, and pulled out a book with aggressive determination.

Y/N watched him for a moment, then turned away, pressing her face into her pillow. Her omega was whimpering with distress—alpha is angry, alpha doesn’t want us, bad omega, bad—but she didn’t have the energy to soothe it. She was so tired. So tired of wanting someone who resented her very existence. So tired of being a burden, an obligation, a problem to be managed.

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she wiped it away before Draco could see.

The first two days were the hardest.

Y/N’s symptoms intensified as her heat drew closer, her omega becoming increasingly demanding and difficult to control. She needed constant scenting, constant proximity, constant reassurance. She couldn’t sleep unless Draco was within arm’s reach. She couldn’t eat unless he’d touched the plate first. She couldn’t think unless his scent was thick in the air around her.

It was humiliating.

“Please,” she whispered on the second night, her voice cracking with desperation. She was curled up in her nest, trembling with need, her skin burning and her mind foggy. “Please, alpha. Just… just for a little while. I can’t… I need…”

Draco was standing by the window, his silhouette sharp against the moonlight. He’d been keeping his distance as much as possible, but her distress was clearly affecting him. His scent had sharpened, his movements had become more agitated, and there was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there before.

“You need what?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Scenting.” The word came out as a whine. “Please. Just for a few minutes. I’ll be good. I promise I’ll be good.”

He turned to look at her, and something in his expression cracked. She must have looked truly pathetic—red-faced and teary-eyed, her hair a tangled mess around her shoulders, her hands clutching desperately at the blankets.

“Salazar’s sake,” he muttered, but he was already moving toward the bed. “Move over.”

She shifted to make room for him, and he climbed onto the bed with obvious reluctance, positioning himself against the headboard with a pillow between them like some kind of barrier. It didn’t matter. The moment he was close enough for her to press her face against his shoulder, the relief was instantaneous.

His scent flooded her senses—cedarwood and frost, clean and sharp and utterly intoxicating. Her omega keened with joy, and she felt the tension drain from her body for the first time in days.

“Thank you,” she breathed, her words muffled against the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you, alpha. Thank you.”

“Don’t call me that.” But his voice was softer now, and his hand had somehow found its way to the back of her head, his fingers tangling gently in her hair.

She should have been embarrassed by how easily she melted into him. She should have been mortified by the way she was practically purring, her body pressed shamelessly against his side. But she was too far gone to care. The alpha was here. The alpha was holding her. Nothing else mattered.

She fell asleep like that, wrapped in cedarwood and frost, and when she woke in the morning, Draco was still there. He’d fallen asleep against the headboard, his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle, and his arm had somehow ended up around her waist.

Y/N stared at him for a long moment, her heart doing something complicated in her chest. He looked younger in sleep, the perpetual sneer smoothed away, his features soft and almost gentle. She wanted to trace the line of his jaw, to press her fingers against the curve of his lips, to pretend—just for a moment—that this was real.

But it wasn’t real. He was here because he had to be. He was holding her because the alternative was listening to her cry. And when her heat was over and the accommodation period ended, he would go back to ignoring her in the corridors and sneering at her across the Great Hall.

She closed her eyes and let herself pretend anyway.

On the third day, Draco brought her breakfast.

It was a small thing—just a tray from the delivery cart outside the door—but something about the gesture made Y/N’s omega preen with pleasure. The alpha was providing for her. The alpha was taking care of her.

“You need to eat,” he said gruffly, setting the tray on the bed beside her. “You barely touched your dinner last night.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“You’re never hungry before your heat. That’s why I’m telling you to eat.”

She blinked at him. “How do you know I’m never hungry before my heat?”

He stiffened, suddenly very focused on arranging the toast on her plate. “It’s a pattern. I noticed.”

“You… noticed?”

“Don’t read into it, Selwyn. I notice lots of things. It’s called being observant.”

But Y/N’s omega was already latching onto the revelation, spinning it into something hopeful and dangerous. Alpha pays attention to us. Alpha knows our patterns. Alpha cares.

She forced herself to push the thoughts aside. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t mean anything.

“Thank you,” she said instead, picking up a piece of toast. “For the breakfast. And for…” She gestured vaguely at the bed, at his continued presence beside her. “All of it. I know this isn’t easy for you.”

Draco was quiet for a moment, staring at the wall. “It’s not your fault.”

The words were so unexpected that Y/N nearly choked on her toast. “What?”

“The imprinting. The bond. The…” He waved his hand irritably. “All of it. It’s not your fault. You didn’t choose it any more than I did.”

“I know I didn’t.”

“Then stop apologizing for it.” He turned to look at her, his grey eyes unreadable. “You’re always apologizing. For existing, for needing things, for being an inconvenience. It’s exhausting.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say to that. She’d spent so long feeling guilty for the burden she’d imposed on him that she’d never considered how her constant apologies might affect him.

“I’m sor—” She caught herself, then laughed, a small, surprised sound. “Right. No more apologizing.”

The corner of Draco’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but closer than she’d ever seen directed at her. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh.”

“Is it?”

“In three years? Yes. You’re always either crying or apologizing or looking at me like I’ve personally destroyed your entire world.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “I don’t look at you like that.”

“You absolutely do. It’s very dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic.”

“You cried for forty-five minutes last term because a first-year gave you a drawing of a bowtruckle.”

“It was a very good drawing,” Y/N said defensively. “And he’d clearly worked so hard on it. His little hands…”

Draco stared at her for a moment, then shook his head, something almost like amusement flickering across his features. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

“You’ve mentioned that.”

“It bears repeating.”

But his voice was warm—or as warm as Draco Malfoy’s voice ever got—and when he settled back against the headboard, he didn’t put the pillow barrier between them.

That afternoon, Y/N’s nesting instincts kicked into overdrive.

It happened suddenly, as it always did. One moment she was reading quietly, and the next she was seized by the overwhelming urge to make her nest perfect. The blankets weren’t arranged correctly. The pillows were in the wrong order. Something was missing, something essential, and she couldn’t rest until she found it.

She started rearranging the bed with frantic intensity, pulling blankets this way and that, fluffing pillows and then immediately un-fluffing them, making small distressed sounds in the back of her throat.

“What are you doing?” Draco asked from his armchair, looking up from his book with an expression of mild alarm.

“The nest is wrong,” Y/N said, her voice high and strained. “It’s all wrong. I need… I need…”

She didn’t know what she needed. That was the worst part. Her omega knew something was missing, but it couldn’t articulate what, and the frustration was building into a pressure behind her eyes that threatened to spill over into tears.

Draco watched her for a long moment, his brow furrowed. Then, slowly, he set his book aside and stood up.

“What do you need?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

“I don’t know.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know. Something. Something that smells like…”

She trailed off, but understanding was already dawning on Draco’s face. He looked at the nest, then at her, then at the nest again. His expression cycled through several emotions—resignation, irritation, something softer that he quickly suppressed—before settling on grudging acceptance.

Without a word, he unbuttoned his outer robe and shrugged it off. Then, even more surprising, he pulled his sweater over his head, leaving him in just his white button-down shirt.

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. “What are you doing?”

“You need something that smells like alpha,” he said flatly, holding out the sweater. “This smells like alpha. Put it in your nest.”

She stared at the sweater like it might bite her. Draco Malfoy’s sweater. A soft, charcoal-grey cashmere sweater that probably cost more than her entire wardrobe. He was offering it to her. Voluntarily.

“I can’t take your sweater.”

“You’re about three minutes away from a complete meltdown over a pile of blankets, Selwyn. Take the sweater.”

Her omega didn’t need to be told twice. She snatched the sweater from his hands and immediately pressed it to her face, inhaling deeply. The scent was perfect—cedarwood and frost, pure alpha, pure Draco. She made a sound that was embarrassingly close to a moan, then quickly arranged the sweater in the center of her nest, positioning it with the reverence usually reserved for religious artifacts.

The relief was immediate. Her omega settled, purring with satisfaction. The nest was complete.

“Thank you,” she breathed, turning back to Draco. “Thank you, that was… that was really…”

She stopped. He was looking at her with an expression she’d never seen before. His grey eyes were dark, his jaw tight, and there was something in his gaze that made her stomach flip.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing.” His voice was rougher than usual. “Just… your scent changed.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s…” He seemed to struggle for words, which was unusual for him. Draco Malfoy never struggled for words. “Sweet. It’s sweet. Like honey.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. Sweet was what omegas smelled like when they were happy. When they were content. When their alpha had provided for them.

“Oh,” she said, because she didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah.” Draco cleared his throat and abruptly turned away, heading back to his armchair with slightly too much speed. “Oh.”

The tension between them was different after that. Charged in a way it hadn’t been before. Y/N curled up in her nest, Draco’s sweater pressed against her cheek, and tried very hard not to think about the way he’d looked at her.

She failed spectacularly.

The jealousy incident happened on the fourth day.

Y/N’s heat was due to start within the next twenty-four hours, and her omega was becoming increasingly territorial. She wanted her alpha close, wanted his scent on everything, wanted the entire world to know that she belonged to someone. It was primal and irrational and completely beyond her control.

Which was why, when a knock sounded at the door and Draco opened it to reveal Adrian Pucey—a Slytherin alpha who’d graduated two years prior and was apparently visiting the castle on some kind of alumni business—Y/N’s reaction was immediate and overwhelming.

Adrian had always been friendly to her. Too friendly, in her omega’s opinion. He’d offered to help her with Herbology once in fourth year, and her omega had been suspicious of him ever since. Now, standing in the doorway of the omega suite with his easy smile and his curious gaze, he represented a direct threat to everything her instincts were screaming at her to protect.

“Malfoy,” Adrian said, looking surprised. “Didn’t expect to find you here. I heard you were stuck on omega duty, but I didn’t realize it was quite so… literal.”

“What do you want, Pucey?” Draco’s voice was cold, but not as cold as it could have been. He and Adrian had been on the Quidditch team together, Y/N remembered. They were friendly, or at least as friendly as Draco got with anyone.

“Just delivering some paperwork from the alumni office. Thought I’d say hello.” Adrian’s gaze drifted past Draco to the bed, where Y/N was half-hidden beneath her blankets, and his expression shifted into something that made her omega bristle. “Selwyn, right? Y/N? You look… comfortable.”

It was the way he said it. The slight emphasis on comfortable. The way his eyes lingered on the nest, on Draco’s sweater still visible among the blankets, on Y/N’s flushed cheeks and disheveled hair.

Her omega snarled. The sound that came out of her mouth wasn’t words—it was a growl, low and warning, completely involuntary.

Both alphas froze.

Adrian’s eyebrows shot up. “Possessive little thing, isn’t she?”

“She’s in pre-heat,” Draco said, and there was something new in his voice now. Something sharp. “Her instincts are heightened.”

“Clearly.” Adrian’s smile was amused, but there was an edge to it that Y/N didn’t like. “You know, I always wondered why she never accepted any of the offers she got. Plenty of alphas would have been happy to help her through her cycles, imprint or no imprint. But she always refused. Guess I know why now.”

Y/N felt her face flame. It was true—she’d had offers over the years. Kind alphas who’d offered to court her, to help her manage her heats, to give her an alternative to pining after someone who clearly didn’t want her. She’d refused them all, because her omega wouldn’t accept anyone but Draco, and because some small, stubborn part of her kept hoping that maybe, eventually, he might…

“She’s not interested,” Draco said, and his voice had gone dangerously quiet.

Adrian shrugged. “Maybe not. But if you ever get tired of playing nursemaid, Malfoy, send her my way. I’ve always had a soft spot for Hufflepuffs.”

The growl that rumbled from Y/N’s chest was entirely involuntary. But the growl that came from Draco was something else entirely.

It was a full alpha growl, deep and threatening, the kind of sound that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Draco stepped forward, positioning himself between Adrian and the bed, and when he spoke, his voice was ice.

“She’s not going anywhere. She’s mine.”

The words hit Y/N like a physical force. Mine. He’d said mine. Her omega practically sang with joy, even as her rational brain tried to remind her that it was just territorial posturing, that alphas got possessive during pre-heat exposure, that it didn’t mean anything.

Adrian held up his hands in surrender, though his expression was more intrigued than intimidated. “Alright, alright. No need to get territorial. I was just making conversation.”

“Make it somewhere else.”

“Right. I’ll just… leave the paperwork here, then.” Adrian set a folder on the small table by the door, then retreated into the corridor. But before he left, he glanced back at Y/N with a knowing look that made her want to hide under her blankets. “Take care of yourself, sweetheart. And if you ever change your mind…”

Draco slammed the door before he could finish the sentence.

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/N stared at Draco’s back, her heart pounding, her omega still vibrating with possessive satisfaction. He’d claimed her. In front of another alpha, he’d claimed her.

“Malfoy,” she started, her voice uncertain.

“Don’t.” He didn’t turn around. His shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. “Don’t read into it. It was just… he was being disrespectful. I wasn’t going to let him talk about you like that.”

“You called me yours.”

“It was territorial posturing. It didn’t mean anything.”

But his voice was strained, and he still wouldn’t look at her, and something in Y/N’s chest cracked open just a little bit wider.

“Okay,” she said quietly, sinking back into her nest. “If you say so.”

She didn’t believe him. And judging by the tension radiating from his frame, he didn’t believe himself either.

Her heat hit early the next morning.

Y/N woke up burning, her skin slick with sweat and her entire body throbbing with need. The world had narrowed to a single point of focus: alpha. She needed her alpha. She needed him now.

“Draco,” she gasped, her voice barely recognizable. “Draco, please.”

He was at her side in an instant, his expression alert despite having been asleep in the armchair moments before. His nostrils flared as he took in her scent—the honey-sweet omega fragrance that had shifted into something deeper, riper, unmistakably in heat.

“It’s starting,” he said, and his voice was rough in a way that made her shiver. “Your heat. It’s starting.”

“I know.” She was crying now, tears streaming down her cheeks, her body arching toward him without her permission. “I know, I know, please, alpha, it hurts, please help me.”

Draco’s face cycled through several emotions—concern, hesitation, something that looked almost like fear—before settling into grim determination. He’d done this before. They’d done this before, three times a year for three years. He knew what she needed.

But something was different this time. Something in the way he looked at her, the way his hands shook slightly as he climbed onto the bed, the way his scent had shifted to match hers.

“I’m here,” he said, and his voice was almost gentle. “I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere.”

The use of her first name—something he almost never did—sent a spike of warmth through her chest. She reached for him desperately, and he let her pull him down into the nest, let her press her face against his neck, let her wrap herself around him like he was the only solid thing in a world that was rapidly dissolving into fire.

“Scent me,” she begged. “Please, please, I need your scent on me, I need everyone to know…”

“Shh.” His hand found the back of her head, cradling it gently. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

He scented her slowly, methodically, his wrists dragging across her neck and shoulders, his chin rubbing against her hair. It was clinical at first—the perfunctory motions of an alpha fulfilling an obligation—but as Y/N’s distress began to ease and her omega began to purr, something shifted.

His movements became slower. More deliberate. His nose traced the line of her jaw, and she felt him inhale deeply, taking in her scent.

“You smell…” he started, then stopped.

“What?” she whispered, barely able to form the word.

“Nothing.” But his voice was strained, and his arms had tightened around her, and when she risked a glance up at his face, his eyes were dark with something that made her stomach flip.

“Draco.”

“Don’t.” His voice cracked on the word. “Don’t, Y/N. Not like this. Not when you’re in heat and I’m… I can’t think clearly. I can’t trust myself.”

“What do you mean?”

But he didn’t answer. He just held her tighter, his face buried in her hair, and let her omega soak up his presence like a starving thing.

The next three days passed in a blur of heat and need and the steady, grounding presence of her alpha. Draco never left her side. He fed her when she could eat, held her when she cried, scented her whenever her omega demanded it. He slept beside her in the nest, his body curved protectively around hers, and when the worst of the heat finally broke, Y/N woke up to find herself tangled in his arms, her head on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath her ear.

She should have pulled away. She should have given him space, retreated to her side of the bed, pretended that the intimacy of the past few days had been nothing more than biological necessity.

But she didn’t want to. She wanted to stay here forever, wrapped in cedarwood and frost, pretending that she was more than just an obligation to him.

“You’re awake,” Draco said, and his voice was sleep-roughened and soft.

“Barely.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “How long was I out?”

“About twelve hours. The heat broke around midnight.”

“Oh.” She should move. She really should move. But his arm was still around her waist, and he wasn’t pushing her away, and maybe… maybe…

“Y/N.”

“Yes?”

He was quiet for a long moment, his grey eyes searching her face. “I need to tell you something.”

Her heart stuttered. “Okay.”

“I’ve been…” He stopped, frustration flickering across his features. “Salazar, this is difficult. I’m not good at this.”

“At what?”

“At feelings.” The word came out like it was being dragged from him by force. “At admitting when I’m wrong. At… at any of this.”

Y/N held very still, afraid that any movement might break whatever spell had fallen over them.

“I’ve been angry for a long time,” Draco continued, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “About the imprint. About being forced into this. About not having a choice. And I took all of that anger out on you, because you were the easiest target.”

“It’s okay,” she started, but he cut her off.

“No. It’s not okay. I made you cry. Repeatedly. I called you pathetic. I made you feel like a burden, when the truth is…” He took a shaky breath. “The truth is, I was scared. I’ve always been scared. Because from the moment that bond snapped into place when we were twelve years old, I knew that you were going to mean something to me. Something significant. And I didn’t know how to handle that.”

Y/N’s throat was tight. “Draco…”

“Let me finish. Please. If I don’t say this now, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to.” He finally looked at her, and the vulnerability in his eyes made her heart ache. “You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’ve never been a burden. You’re kind, and you’re gentle, and you cry at drawings of bowtruckles, and you’re the only person in this entire castle who’s ever looked at me like I might be capable of being something other than my father’s son.”

“You are capable of that,” she whispered. “You’ve always been capable of that.”

“I’m starting to believe that. Because of you.” His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear she hadn’t realized had fallen. “I’m sorry it took me three years to figure it out. I’m sorry I made you feel unwanted. I’m sorry for every single time I made you cry.”

“You already said I’m not allowed to apologize anymore,” she said, her voice wobbling. “So you’re not allowed either.”

A surprised laugh escaped him. “That’s not how that works.”

“It is now. New rule.”

“You can’t just make up rules.”

“I just did.” She was smiling now, despite the tears still tracking down her cheeks. “No more apologies. From either of us. We just… move forward. Together. If you want to.”

Draco stared at her for a long moment. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead.

It was the softest kiss Y/N had ever received. Barely more than a brush of warmth against her skin. But it sent a cascade of sensation through her entire body, and her omega practically melted with happiness.

“I want to,” Draco murmured against her skin. “I want to try.”

She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. “Then try.”

The days that followed were strange and wonderful and entirely unexpected.

The accommodation period officially ended, but Draco didn’t move back to the Slytherin dorms. He stayed in the omega suite with Y/N, ostensibly because she was still recovering from her heat and needed continued support. Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Professor Sprout gave Y/N a knowing smile that made her blush.

They settled into a new rhythm. Draco walked her to her classes, his hand resting on the small of her back. He sat with her at meals—not at the Slytherin table, but not at the Hufflepuff table either. They carved out their own space at the end of the Ravenclaw table, and if anyone found it strange, no one said anything.

Pansy Parkinson did try to say something, once. She’d cornered Draco in the corridor, her expression venomous, and demanded to know what he thought he was doing with “that Hufflepuff charity case.”

Y/N had been standing right there, her hand clasped in Draco’s, and she’d felt him tense beside her.

“That’s my omega you’re talking about,” he’d said, his voice quiet and deadly. “Choose your next words very carefully, Parkinson.”

Pansy had gone pale and retreated without another word. Y/N had stared up at Draco with wide eyes, her heart pounding.

“Your omega?” she’d repeated, once Pansy was out of earshot.

Draco had looked at her, his expression somewhere between embarrassed and defiant. “That’s what the bond says, doesn’t it? You’re my omega. I’m your alpha. Might as well start acting like it.”

And then he’d kissed her—a real kiss, right there in the middle of the corridor, in front of a group of gobsmacked third-years and a very surprised Professor Flitwick.

It was, without question, the best day of her life.

The jealousy incident, as it came to be known, was only the beginning of Draco’s possessive streak. He developed a habit of glaring at any alpha who so much as looked at Y/N for too long, and his scent would spike with territorial aggression whenever someone tried to flirt with her.

“You know I’m not going to run off with Cormac McLaggen,” Y/N said one evening, thoroughly exasperated. They were sitting in the library, ostensibly studying, though Draco had spent the past twenty minutes scowling at the Gryffindor alpha three tables over. “He’s not even my type.”

“What is your type, then?” Draco asked, his voice carefully casual.

She smiled, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Arrogant Slytherins with white-blond hair and a pathological inability to express their emotions.”

“I express my emotions.”

“You told me you ‘tolerated my presence’ yesterday. That was your idea of a romantic declaration.”

“It was accurate. I do tolerate your presence. More than tolerate it, actually. I find it…” He seemed to struggle for the right word. “Acceptable.”

Y/N burst out laughing. “Acceptable. I’m acceptable.”

“Stop laughing. I’m trying to be sincere.”

“I know you are. That’s what makes it so funny.” She sobered, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I find your presence acceptable too, Draco. More than acceptable. I find it…”

She trailed off, suddenly shy.

“You find it what?” he prompted, his voice softer now.

“Essential,” she admitted. “I find your presence essential.”

He stared at her for a long moment, something shifting in his expression. Then he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Essential,” he repeated. “I think I can work with essential.”

Spring arrived, and with it came the Hufflepuff versus Slytherin Quidditch match.

It was, historically, one of the least competitive matches of the season. Hufflepuff and Slytherin had very different approaches to the game, and the rivalry between them was more good-natured than the Gryffindor-Slytherin blood feud. But this year, something was different.

This year, Draco Malfoy was dating a Hufflepuff.

The stands were buzzing with speculation. Would Draco go easy on Hufflepuff because of Y/N? Would Y/N cheer for Slytherin because of Draco? Would the whole thing devolve into a romantic spectacle that made everyone uncomfortable?

Y/N sat in the Hufflepuff section, wrapped in a yellow scarf that Draco had grudgingly scented for her before the match. She was surrounded by her housemates, who had taken the news of her relationship with Draco with varying degrees of acceptance. Ernie had been skeptical. Hannah had been cautiously supportive. Susan Bones had asked, with genuine concern, if Y/N had been confunded.

“I’m happy,” Y/N had told them. “I know it’s strange, and I know he hasn’t always been kind, but he’s trying. He’s really trying. And I…” She’d ducked her head, her cheeks flushing. “I love him. I’ve loved him since I was twelve years old, and I don’t think I can stop.”

That had mostly silenced the objections. Ernie had muttered something about “imprint bonds making people irrational,” but he’d also clapped Draco on the shoulder the next time he’d seen him and told him, in no uncertain terms, that if he hurt Y/N, the entire Hufflepuff house would come for him.

Draco had looked genuinely alarmed. It was the first time Y/N had ever seen him intimidated by a Hufflepuff.

Now, watching him soar through the air on his broom, his Slytherin-green robes billowing behind him, Y/N felt her heart swell with pride. He was beautiful like this—confident and focused, every inch the aristocratic alpha he’d been raised to be. But there was something different about him now. Something softer around the edges.

He caught her eye as he circled the pitch, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in a small smile. It was barely there, gone almost before she registered it, but it was for her. She knew it was for her.

Hufflepuff won the match—barely—and Draco took the loss with surprising grace. He even shook the Hufflepuff captain’s hand without sneering, which Y/N considered a major victory.

“You played well,” she told him afterward, finding him in the corridor outside the changing rooms. His hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled like soap and cedarwood and something uniquely him.

“We lost.”

“I know. But you still played well.”

He looked at her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped forward, backing her up against the stone wall, his hands coming to rest on either side of her head.

“You cheered for your house,” he said, his voice low.

“I… yes? I’m a Hufflepuff.”

“I saw you. Cheering when they scored. Waving your little yellow scarf.” His eyes were dark, but there was humor lurking at the corners. “Traitor.”

Y/N grinned up at him, unrepentant. “You knew what you were getting into when you decided to date a Hufflepuff.”

“Did I?” He leaned closer, his nose brushing against hers. “I’m not sure I did. I think you’ve been secretly corrupting me this whole time.”

“Corrupting you? I’m the nicest person in this entire school.”

“Exactly. It’s insidious.” He kissed her then, soft and sweet, right there in the corridor where anyone could see. When he pulled back, his expression had shifted into something more serious. “I’m proud of you, you know.”

“For what?”

“For being you. For being kind, even when people don’t deserve it. For putting up with me for three years when I was an absolute prat. For giving me a chance when I finally pulled my head out of my arse.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re remarkable, Y/N Selwyn. And I don’t tell you that nearly enough.”

Y/N felt tears prick at her eyes. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“You cry at everything.”

“I do not.”

“You cried at breakfast this morning because your toast was shaped like a heart.”

“It was a very good piece of toast.”

Draco laughed—a real laugh, bright and unguarded—and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest, breathing in his scent, and marveled at how different everything was from a few short months ago.

The world had shifted. The axis had tilted. And somehow, against all odds, Draco Malfoy had learned to love her.

The end of the school year approached, bringing with it the inevitable conversation about what came next.

They were sitting by the Black Lake, Y/N’s head resting on Draco’s shoulder, watching the giant squid wave its tentacles lazily above the water. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold, and the air was warm with the promise of summer.

“My parents want to meet you,” Draco said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Y/N tensed. “They do?”

“Officially. As my intended omega.” He glanced down at her, his expression uncertain. “I told them about us. About… everything. How I feel about you. That I want to make this permanent.”

“Permanent?” Her voice came out slightly strangled.

“Not right away,” he added quickly. “We’re still young. We have time. But eventually. When we’re ready. I want…” He took a deep breath. “I want to bond with you. Properly. A full mating bond. If you’ll have me.”

Y/N’s heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it. “You want to mate with me?”

“I’ve wanted to mate with you since the moment I realized I was in love with you,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. “Which, for the record, was approximately three days into our last accommodation period, when you reorganized your nest for the seventh time and then fell asleep with your face pressed against my sweater. You looked so peaceful, and you smelled so happy, and I thought… this is it. This is what I want. This is what I’ve always wanted, even when I was too stubborn to admit it.”

“Draco…” Tears were streaming down her cheeks now, but she was smiling so widely her face hurt. “I’ve been in love with you since I was twelve years old. I’ve wanted you since the moment I imprinted on you. I never thought… I never dreamed that you might actually want me back.”

“I do want you.” He cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away her tears. “I want all of you. Your ridiculous kindness, your impossible optimism, your absolutely infuriating habit of apologizing for things that aren’t your fault. I want your hair and your eyes and your nest-building and your moonflowers and your drawings of bowtruckles. I want everything.”

“Even the crying?”

“Especially the crying. It’s very endearing, in an exasperating sort of way.”

She laughed, the sound wet and wobbly. “You’re such a romantic.”

“I’m trying.” He pressed his forehead against hers. “I’m trying, Y/N. For you. I’ll keep trying for the rest of my life, if you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes.”

He kissed her then, deep and thorough, and when they finally broke apart, the sun had fully set and the stars were beginning to emerge overhead.

“I suppose I should warn you,” Draco said, his voice dry, “my mother is going to be insufferable about this. She’s been dropping hints about grandchildren since I was fourteen.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “Grandchildren?”

“Not immediately,” he assured her. “She can wait. We have time.” He paused. “Though she did mention something about a family heirloom she wants to give you. Some kind of betrothal necklace. It’s been in the Malfoy family for generations.”

“She wants to give me a family heirloom?”

“She’s very excited about this, Y/N. My father is too, though he’d never admit it. The Selwyns are an old pureblood family. It’s a good match, politically speaking.”

“Is that the only reason they’re excited?”

“No.” Draco’s voice softened. “They’re excited because I’m happy. They haven’t seen me happy in… a long time. Maybe ever. And they know it’s because of you.”

Y/N leaned into him, her heart so full it felt like it might burst. “I’m happy too,” she said. “Happier than I ever thought I could be.”

“Good.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “That’s all I want. For you to be happy.”

They sat there by the lake, wrapped in each other, as the stars wheeled overhead and the castle glowed warm and golden behind them. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. The giant squid splashed lazily in the water. And Y/N Selwyn, omega of Hufflepuff, finally felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Three years of pining. Three years of heartache. Three years of wanting someone who seemed determined to push her away.

But he’d come around in the end. Her alpha. Her Draco. Her grumpy, stubborn, secretly soft-hearted alpha who’d spent so long fighting the bond only to discover that surrendering to it was the best thing he’d ever done.

The next morning, Y/N woke up in her nest to find Draco already awake, propped up on one elbow and watching her with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

“What?” she asked, suddenly self-conscious. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No.” He reached out to trace the curve of her cheek. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?”

“About how lucky I am.” The words were simple, but the way he said them made her breath catch. “I spent three years being angry about this bond. Three years resenting you for something that wasn’t your fault. And somehow, despite all of that, you still gave me a chance. You still let me in. You still…” He shook his head. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Draco…”

“I know. No apologizing. New rule.” He smiled—a real smile, soft and unguarded. “I’m not apologizing. I’m just… grateful. Grateful that you imprinted on me, even though I made it miserable for you. Grateful that you didn’t give up on me, even when I gave you every reason to. Grateful that I get to be your alpha.”

Y/N reached up and pulled him down into a kiss. “You’re being very sincere this morning. It’s slightly alarming.”

“I’m trying something new. It’s called emotional honesty. I read about it in a book.”

She laughed against his lips. “You read a book about emotional honesty?”

“Hermione Granger recommended it. I think she was trying to be helpful. It was deeply uncomfortable.”

“Poor baby.”

“Don’t patronize me, Selwyn.”

“I would never.” She kissed the tip of his nose. “Thank you. For trying. For being emotionally honest. For… all of it.”

He pulled her closer, settling back into the nest with her body tucked against his. “You’re worth it,” he murmured into her hair. “You’ve always been worth it. I was just too stupid to see it.”

They stayed in the nest for most of the morning, talking about nothing and everything, trading lazy kisses and softer words. Outside the window, the sun climbed higher in the sky, and the sounds of the castle waking up filtered through the door. But inside the omega suite, time seemed to slow to a crawl, stretching out like honey.

Eventually, Y/N’s stomach growled, and Draco reluctantly disentangled himself from her arms to retrieve their breakfast tray. They ate sitting cross-legged on the bed, sharing toast and fruit and stolen glances that made Y/N’s heart flutter in her chest.

“I have a question,” she said, nibbling on a piece of bacon.

“Mm?”

“When you said I was yours. To Adrian Pucey. Did you mean it? Even then?”

Draco was quiet for a moment, considering the question. “Yes,” he said finally. “I think I did. Even then. Even when I was still fighting it, still telling myself it was just territorial instinct. Some part of me already knew.”

“Knew what?”

“That you were mine. That you’d always been mine. That the bond didn’t force anything—it just recognized what was already there.”

Y/N’s eyes welled up with tears, because apparently that was just her default state now. “That’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.”

“You’re absolutely crying.”

“It’s just…” She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I spent so long thinking I was a burden to you. An obligation. Something you tolerated because you had to. And now you’re saying things like that, and I don’t know how to process it.”

Draco set aside his plate and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her. “You were never a burden,” he said, his voice fierce. “You were never an obligation. You were a gift that I was too blind to appreciate. And I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for it.”

“The rest of your life?”

“Is that not clear enough for you?” He tilted her chin up so she had to meet his eyes. “I’m going to mate you, Y/N Selwyn. I’m going to bond with you and marry you and give you as many children as you want, and I’m going to spend every single day telling you how much you mean to me. Is that clear enough?”

She stared at him, her heart pounding, her omega practically singing with joy. “That’s… very clear.”

“Good.”

“Very clear and very… very…”

“Very what?”

“Very unexpected from the boy who told me I was pathetic for following him around like a lost crup.”

Draco winced. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“I will never forget about that. I’m going to bring it up at our bonding ceremony. In my vows.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I absolutely would.” She was grinning now, bright and mischievous. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the bonding of Y/N Selwyn and the alpha who once told her she was a pathetic lost crup…”

“I’m going to regret telling you about emotional honesty, aren’t I?”

“Probably.”

He groaned, but he was smiling too, and when he kissed her, she could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest.

This was it, she realized. This was what happiness felt like. Teasing and bickering and soft kisses and the steady, grounding presence of her alpha. This was what she’d been waiting for, what she’d been hoping for, what she’d been dreaming of since she was twelve years old and her world had tilted on its axis in the middle of Transfiguration.

She’d imprinted on Draco Malfoy, and it had been the worst day of her life.

But it had also, in ways she couldn’t have imagined then, been the best.

Because without the imprint, without the bond, without three years of forced proximity and reluctant care and slowly, grudgingly softening hearts, she might never have found her way here. Wrapped in his arms, bathed in morning light, loved more completely than she’d ever thought possible.

“I love you,” she said, the words easy and natural and true. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

“I love you too, Y/N Selwyn.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, gentle and reverent. “My omega. My heart. My impossible, ridiculous, absolutely essential Hufflepuff.”

And outside the window, the sun continued to rise, and the castle stirred to life, and somewhere in the distance, a bowtruckle drawing was probably making someone cry.

It was, Y/N thought, absolutely perfect.

The summer after sixth year was, by all accounts, the best summer of Y/N’s life.

She spent most of it at Malfoy Manor, getting to know Draco’s parents in a way she’d never expected to. Narcissa Malfoy turned out to be warm and welcoming, delighted by her son’s happiness and thoroughly charmed by Y/N’s gentle nature. She taught Y/N the Malfoy family traditions, showed her the gardens, and presented her with the promised betrothal necklace—a stunning piece of silver and emeralds that had been worn by Malfoy omegas for six generations.

Lucius Malfoy was more reserved, his approval given in clipped words and formal gestures rather than open warmth. But Y/N caught him smiling once, watching her and Draco walk through the rose garden hand in hand, and she understood that this was his way of showing acceptance.

And Draco himself was… perfect. Not in the polished, aristocratic sense he presented to the world, but in the small, private moments that no one else got to see. The way he brought her tea in the morning, remembering exactly how she liked it. The way he read to her when she couldn’t sleep, his voice low and soothing. The way he held her during the thunderstorms that rolled across the Wiltshire countryside, knowing she was afraid of the lightning even though she’d never told him.

He’d learned her, she realized. In three years of forced proximity, in all those hours spent together during her pre-heat periods, he’d learned her habits and her preferences and her fears. He’d been paying attention all along, even when he’d pretended not to care.

“You know,” she said one evening, curled up beside him on the sofa in the Manor’s library, “I used to think you hated me.”

Draco’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “I never hated you.”

“You were very convincing, then.”

“I was very stupid.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “I thought if I pushed you away hard enough, I could break the bond. I thought I could make you stop wanting me.”

“That was never going to happen.”

“I know that now.” His voice was quiet, contemplative. “I think I knew it then, too. That’s why I was so angry. Because no matter how hard I tried to fight it, some part of me wanted you too. Some part of me recognized what we could be, and it terrified me.”

Y/N twisted to look up at him. “What could we be?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely at the two of them, the library, the warm summer evening beyond the window. “Happy. In love. Building a life together. Becoming the kind of alpha-omega pair that people write stories about.” He paused, a hint of his old sneer flickering across his features. “Not that I would ever admit to reading those kinds of stories.”

“Draco Malfoy, have you been reading romance novels?”

“Absolutely not.”

“You have! You’ve been reading romance novels!”

“I was doing research,” he said stiffly, a flush creeping up his neck. “On appropriate courtship behaviors. It’s important to understand the expectations.”

Y/N burst out laughing, joy bubbling up inside her like champagne. “You read romance novels to learn how to court me.”

“I will deny this to my dying breath.”

“It’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”

“I am not adorable. I am a Malfoy. Malfoys are not adorable.”

“You’re adorable.” She climbed into his lap, draping her arms around his neck. “You’re the most adorable alpha in the entire world, and I’m going to tell everyone.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

He glared at her, but the effect was somewhat undermined by the way his hands had settled on her hips, pulling her closer. “You’re a menace, Y/N Selwyn.”

“A menace you’re going to mate.”

“A menace I’m going to mate,” he agreed, and kissed her before she could say anything else.

Later, much later, when the stars had come out and the Manor had settled into its nighttime quiet, Y/N lay in Draco’s arms and thought about the future.

There would be a bonding ceremony, probably next summer, after they’d both finished their seventh year. There would be a life built together, a home filled with laughter and love and probably a truly excessive number of plants, given Y/N’s Herbology inclinations. There would be children, eventually—little Malfoys with white-blond hair and Y/N’s eyes, or maybe her hair and grey eyes, or some combination thereof.

But more than any of that, there would be this. This quiet, steady, bone-deep certainty that she was exactly where she was meant to be. That the bond that had caused her so much pain had also brought her the greatest joy she’d ever known. That the alpha who’d once called her pathetic was now the alpha who held her like she was precious, who looked at her like she was the sun, who loved her with a fierceness that took her breath away.

“What are you thinking about?” Draco murmured, his voice sleepy.

“The future,” she said. “Our future.”

“Mm. What about it?”

“How happy I’m going to be. How happy I already am.” She pressed a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “I used to think the imprint was a curse. The worst thing that had ever happened to me. But it wasn’t. It was a gift.”

“A gift,” Draco repeated, his hand coming up to stroke her hair.

“A gift,” she confirmed. “Because it brought me you.”

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “I don’t deserve you.”

“New rule,” she reminded him. “No apologies, no self-deprecation. Just… this. Just us.”

“Just us,” he echoed. “I can do that.”

“Good.” She snuggled closer, breathing in his scent. “I love you, Draco.”

“I love you too, Y/N.” His arms tightened around her. “My omega. My heart. My everything.”

And as sleep claimed her, wrapped in cedarwood and frost and the steady beat of her alpha’s heart, Y/N Selwyn smiled.

The worst day of her life had turned out to be the best thing that had ever happened to her.

And she wouldn’t have had it any other way.

The Hogwarts Express pulled away from Platform 9¾ at the start of their seventh year, and Y/N found herself tucked into a compartment with Draco, his arm draped possessively over her shoulders and his expression daring anyone to comment.

No one did.

Crabbe and Goyle had been relegated to another compartment, at Y/N’s gentle request. Pansy Parkinson had taken one look at them and retreated with a sniff. Even Blaise Zabini, who’d always been Draco’s closest friend among the Slytherins, had merely raised an eyebrow and settled into the opposite seat with a book.

“You’re hovering,” Y/N murmured to Draco, though she made no move to dislodge his arm.

“I’m not hovering. I’m providing appropriate alpha support during travel.”

“You’re hovering.”

“You like it.”

She did. She absolutely did. But she wasn’t going to tell him that.

The train ride passed pleasantly, with Blaise making dry observations about their fellow students and Draco occasionally interjecting with scathing commentary that made Y/N laugh despite herself. By the time they reached Hogsmeade station, she was feeling more relaxed than she had all summer.

The new accommodation arrangement had been approved by Madam Pomfrey before the start of term. Given the established nature of their relationship and the strength of the imprint bond, Draco and Y/N would be sharing a private suite near the hospital wing for the duration of their seventh year. It was unprecedented—normally such arrangements were only made for mated pairs—but the school had made an exception in light of the “extenuating circumstances.”

“Extenuating circumstances,” Ernie Macmillan had repeated when Y/N told him. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“What else would we call it?”

“I don’t know. Fate? Destiny? The universe’s very pointed attempt to get you two idiots together?”

Y/N had blushed and changed the subject.

Now, settling into the suite that would be their home for the next year, she felt a sense of rightness settle over her. The room was larger than the omega suite, with a proper bed and a sitting area and a small kitchenette. There was even a fireplace, crackling merrily, and a window that looked out over the Black Lake.

“It’s perfect,” she breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

Draco was watching her from the doorway, his expression soft. “I made some requests. For the furnishings. I hope you don’t mind.”

She looked at the bed—already piled high with soft blankets and pillows in shades of yellow and grey—and felt tears prick at her eyes. “You nested for me.”

“I attempted to nest for you. I’m told my technique is ‘adequate but lacking in omega intuition.’” He looked slightly embarrassed. “You’ll probably want to rearrange everything.”

“I love it.” She crossed the room and threw her arms around him. “I love it, I love you, I love everything.”

“You’re crying again.”

“Happy tears. The best kind of tears.”

He held her close, his chin resting on top of her head. “Welcome home, Y/N.”

And it was home. For the first time in seven years, Hogwarts felt like home in a way it never had before. Because she wasn’t just Y/N Selwyn, the soft Hufflepuff omega who’d imprinted on the wrong alpha. She was Y/N Selwyn, Draco Malfoy’s intended mate. His partner. His love.

His.

And he was hers.

The months that followed were some of the happiest of her life. They fell into a rhythm of classes and meals and quiet evenings by the fire, of study sessions in the library and walks by the lake and lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in their nest. Draco’s possessiveness mellowed into something steadier, more secure. Y/N’s anxiety eased, her constant need for reassurance fading as she grew more confident in his love.

They still fought, of course. Draco was still Draco—prickly and proud and occasionally insufferable. Y/N was still Y/N—sensitive and emotional and prone to crying over things that didn’t warrant tears. But their arguments were different now, underpinned by the knowledge that they would always come back together. That the bond between them was strong enough to weather any storm.

“You’re infuriating,” Draco told her one evening, after a particularly heated disagreement about whether or not she should be allowed to adopt the stray cat that had been hanging around the greenhouses.

“You love me anyway,” she shot back.

“Against all reason and logic, yes.” He pulled her into his arms, his frustration visibly draining away. “I do.”

The cat, as it turned out, was adopted. Draco named it “Pestilence” and pretended to hate it, but Y/N caught him sneaking it treats when he thought she wasn’t looking.

Winter brought snow and holidays and a memorable Christmas at Malfoy Manor, where Y/N was formally introduced to the extended Malfoy family as Draco’s intended. There were curious stares and whispered comments and one particularly uncomfortable conversation with Draco’s great-aunt Walburga’s portrait, which had shrieked about blood purity until Narcissa had firmly covered it with a velvet cloth.

But there were also moments of genuine warmth. Draco’s younger cousins, fascinated by Y/N’s gentle manner and her willingness to play games with them. Narcissa’s quiet pride as she showed Y/N the Malfoy family tapestry, where her name would eventually be woven alongside Draco’s. Lucius’s grudging toast at Christmas dinner, acknowledging the “fortuitous nature” of the bond that had brought their families together.

And through it all, there was Draco. Steady and present and increasingly, surprisingly, openly affectionate. He held her hand during the formal dinners. He pressed kisses to her temple when he thought no one was looking. He told her he loved her, every single day, without fail.

“Who are you,” Y/N teased him one night, “and what have you done with the alpha who told me he’d never accept the bond?”

“He grew up,” Draco said simply. “He realized what he had. And he’s never letting it go.”

Spring came, and with it, the anniversary of their first real kiss. Draco, in a display of romanticism that would have shocked his younger self, arranged an elaborate picnic by the Black Lake. There were floating candles and a charmed blanket that stayed warm despite the evening chill, and a spread of all Y/N’s favorite foods.

“You’re spoiling me,” she said, utterly delighted.

“You deserve to be spoiled.” He poured her a glass of sparkling elderflower wine. “Besides, this is nothing compared to what I have planned for our bonding ceremony.”

“Our bonding ceremony?”

“Next summer. At the Manor. My mother is already planning it.” He looked at her, something vulnerable flickering in his grey eyes. “Assuming you still want to.”

“Draco.” She set down her glass and took his hands in hers. “I have wanted to bond with you since I was twelve years old. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change.”

The vulnerability in his expression melted into something softer, something almost awed. “How did I get so lucky?”

“I think the question is how did I get so lucky? You were the one who had to be dragged kicking and screaming into this relationship. I was just… here. Waiting.”

“You were patient.” He lifted her hands to his lips, pressing kisses to her knuckles. “You were impossibly, inexplicably patient with me when I didn’t deserve it. And I will spend the rest of my life being grateful for that.”

“No more gratitude. No more apologies. Just…” She smiled, leaning forward to press her forehead against his. “Just us. Just this.”

“Just us,” he agreed. “Forever.”

“Forever,” she echoed.

And somewhere in the castle behind them, a portrait of an old headmaster smiled knowingly, and the Black Lake rippled gently in the moonlight, and two hearts that had been bound together since childhood beat in perfect synchrony.

It was, Y/N thought, the beginning of everything.

The bonding ceremony took place on a warm June afternoon, in the rose garden at Malfoy Manor.

The roses were in full bloom, their fragrance perfuming the air, and the guests were seated in rows of white chairs arranged around a flower-bedecked arbor. Narcissa had outdone herself with the decorations—floating candles and enchanted butterflies and ribbons in soft shades of yellow and silver, a nod to both Hufflepuff and Slytherin.

Y/N walked down the aisle on her father’s arm, her hair woven with baby’s breath and her dress a simple column of ivory silk. Draco was waiting for her under the arbor, resplendent in formal robes of deep green, and the look on his face when he saw her made every hardship, every heartache, every moment of doubt worth it.

He looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

He looked at her like he couldn’t believe she was real.

He looked at her like he loved her, completely and unconditionally, and always would.

The ceremony was traditional, the bonding vows ancient and solemn. They spoke the words together, their hands clasped and their eyes locked, and when the magic of the bond settled over them—deeper than the imprint, stronger than anything Y/N had ever felt—she felt tears spill down her cheeks.

“I love you,” Draco whispered, wiping them away with gentle fingers. “I love you, my omega. My mate. My Y/N.”

“I love you too,” she managed, her voice wobbly. “My alpha. My Draco. My everything.”

The reception was a blur of congratulations and dancing and champagne. Ernie Macmillan gave a speech that was equal parts heartfelt and embarrassing. Narcissa cried, elegant tears that didn’t smudge her makeup. Lucius shook Draco’s hand and said something that made Draco’s expression flicker with surprise and something almost like hope.

And then, when the party was over and the guests had departed and the Manor had settled into its nighttime quiet, Draco carried Y/N over the threshold of their new quarters—a suite in the east wing that Narcissa had decorated especially for them—and laid her gently on the bed.

“Mrs. Malfoy,” he said, testing the words. “Y/N Malfoy.”

“That’s going to take some getting used to.”

“You have the rest of your life to practice.”

She pulled him down beside her, curling into his warmth. “The rest of my life. I like the sound of that.”

“So do I.” He pressed a kiss to her mating mark—the fresh one, still tingling with magic—and she shivered. “So do I.”

Outside the window, the stars wheeled overhead. The roses bloomed in the garden. And somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, as if offering its own quiet congratulations.

Y/N closed her eyes and breathed in the scent of her alpha—cedarwood and frost, now mingled with her own honey-sweet fragrance—and smiled.

The worst day of her life had become the best.

And the best was only just beginning.

Years later, when their first child was born—a daughter with Draco’s white-blond hair and Y/N’s eyes—they named her Aurora, for the dawn.

“Because that’s what you are,” Draco said, cradling the tiny bundle in his arms with a tenderness that still, after all these years, made Y/N’s heart ache. “My dawn. My new beginning. The light that came after the darkness.”

“You’re going to make me cry,” Y/N warned, even though she was already crying.

“You always cry.”

“Because you always say things like that.”

He looked up at her, his eyes bright with unshed tears of his own. “I mean every word. You saved me, Y/N. From myself, from my family’s expectations, from the path I was on. You saved me, and you keep saving me, every single day. And I am so, so grateful that you imprinted on me in the middle of Transfiguration when we were twelve years old.”

“Even though you were mortified?”

“Even though I was mortified.” He laughed softly. “Especially because I was mortified. It’s a good story. We’ll tell it to Aurora when she’s older.”

“We’ll tell her everything,” Y/N agreed. “The forced proximity, the nesting, the jealousy. All of it.”

“Maybe we’ll skip the part where I called you a lost crup.”

“Absolutely not. That’s the best part.”

Draco groaned, but he was smiling, and when he leaned over to kiss her, Aurora made a small, contented sound between them.

And Y/N thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, that the magic of the imprint bond was a strange and wonderful thing. It had caused her so much pain, once upon a time. It had brought her so much joy.

It had given her a grumpy, stubborn, secretly soft-hearted alpha who’d fought the bond for years before finally surrendering to it.

It had given her a home, a family, a future.

It had given her Draco.

And that, she decided, was worth every tear she’d ever cried.

“I love you,” she said, the words as easy and natural as breathing. “I love you, Draco Malfoy.”

“I love you too, Y/N Malfoy.” He kissed her forehead, gentle and reverent. “My omega. My heart. My dawn.”

And outside the window, the sun began to rise.

Excerpt:

You were down to the last few slices of fruit when his hand came up to brush against your breast. The fork you held slipped out of your grasp. You sat in attention, breathing becoming shallow as he fondled you and you felt him drop a kiss against your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?”

“What are you doing—” You moved to turn to him but his hands came to your waist to keep you facing forward.

“Eat.” How very rude of him to demand so as his fingers rubbed against your nipple.

A frustrated sound came out of you as you felt heat travel from your feet up to the crown of your head. “I can’t,” you complained. Not when he was touching you like that. Not when you needed something more important than food. A shiver ran down your spine as the fire flared again and you spread your thighs to push your hips down against his. You heard him growl against your neck, fingers digging into your hips as you humped his thigh like a bitch out of control. “Alpha—Alpha, please.”

The heat shouldn’t have come back so soon but the thought was soon wiped out of your mind when he pushed you up to stand and the high pitched screeching of the chair against tiles filled the room. Before you could even work your brain, he was dragging you back into the bedroom, pulling you down on the bed and yanking your knickers off. Never mind the dress you were wearing. He kicked off his pants and joined you in the bed, effectively shutting down your mind as he sealed your lips with a demanding kiss.

He wasn’t patient this time. He bunched up your dress and pulled you closer, inserting two fingers to make sure you were wet and ready for him before aligning himself with you. He immediately bottomed out, not waiting before moving his hips in rapid thrusts. You grabbed onto a pillow and pulled it over your face, biting down to muffle your screams as he took you at an unrelenting pace.

He took the pillow away and tossed it aside, “Don’t hide your face. I want to see you moan for me.”

You wanted to cry. It felt like you were floating. Like you were disconnected from your body. You couldn’t feel the fabric of your dress nor the mattress beneath you. Only him. Only pleasure. Only the slide of his cock against your walls. He stretched you so well. You wanted more—you needed his knot. Your entire world shook as he moved against you. You felt hot all over and the only thing you could focus on was the silver of his eyes waning as his pupil dilated. They were bright with something you couldn’t name. And you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you drowned in pleasure.

You were deaf to the world as the sheets got torn. You didn’t even realize you were grabbing onto the mattress directly and you made even less sense of the world when Draco’s lips twitched upwards, zeroing in on his mouth as he lowered himself to kiss you again. You shamelessly moaned against his mouth, feeling his knot swell once more. You knew you were near. You couldn’t hold on for longer. Not when his knot filled you like that.