Redemption | Drarry

003: Inheritance pt.2 (Draco) (Edited)

Draco sat at his desk, carefully reviewing the final lines of his Flitwick assignment. His quill moved with effortless precision, and he placed a final, deliberate full stop before setting it aside. The parchment was immaculate-no smudges, no wasted ink, no error in structure.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. Hogwarts had the audacity to assign such an insufferable workload over the summer. Was the holiday not meant for leisure? A reprieve from the demands of academia? The sheer volume of assignments suggested otherwise. He supposed it was the cost of excellence, but it was still irritating.

He glanced at the grand clock on the far wall. 11:51 PM.

"That's my cue," he murmured, stretching his stiff limbs.

With practiced efficiency, he packed away his materials, brushed his teeth, and changed into his silk nightwear. Bathing could wait until morning. He was too tired to indulge in such rituals tonight.

But as he reached his bed, the world tilted.

A sharp, searing pain crashed over him-intense, unforgiving, as though he had been hit with a dozen Cruciatus Curses at once. The agony was all-consuming, and for a horrifying moment, he couldn't even scream. His throat locked up, his muscles seized, and his vision swam in darkness.

Dumbledore.

The pain was almost identical to the unbearable torment the old man had once inflicted upon him, but worse-this was internal, something clawing its way through his very blood.

He barely registered his own strangled gasp as he collapsed, clutching desperately at the bedpost before his body gave out entirely. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was the dim glow of the crescent moon filtering through his window.

---

Morning, August 1st

Draco awoke to the sensation of damp hair clinging to his forehead, his body drenched in sweat. The lingering ache in his limbs was dull but persistent. His throat burned, parched beyond belief.

The door creaked open.

"Draco, dear! You're awake!" Narcissa's voice was rich with relief as she swept into the room, carrying a silver tray laden with breakfast.

Draco tried to sit up, but the effort left him lightheaded. "W-what happened?" he rasped.

His mother set the tray on the nightstand and gracefully handed him a glass of water. "I heard a noise last night and came to check on you. When you didn't respond, I entered and found you unconscious on the floor." Her voice remained composed, but her pale blue eyes betrayed her worry.

Draco took slow sips of the water, his mind struggling to make sense of the ordeal. He was not prone to fainting. He maintained a disciplined schedule. There was no logical reason for this to have happened.

"You underwent your inheritance, dear."

Draco stilled. His mother's words hung heavy in the air.

"Inheritance?" he repeated cautiously.

Narcissa nodded, smoothing a strand of his damp hair. "Yes. I imagine your father has spoken to you about such things before. The Malfoy and Black bloodlines carry strong creature heritage, particularly Veela and Neko ancestry. Given your lineage, you were always expected to inherit one or the other."

Draco exhaled sharply. "Then I must be a Dominant, surely. Father always said-"

"Your father was mistaken," Narcissa interjected gently, but firmly. "Your scent tells me otherwise. You are Submissive."