A Veela's Mate || Draco Malfoy

ғɪɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴀᴛᴇ, Dʀᴀᴄᴏ

Day One - Monday, September 2, 1996

Draco Malfoy was sitting at the Slytherin table, fighting the urge to bang his head against the hard surface. He was slowly going insane, and there was nothing he could do about it. At least not yet.

The Veela inside him was singing in his blood, urging him to go and find his mate and claim them so that no one else could get their grubby hands on her. The urge was only getting stronger the more he resisted, and Draco wasn't sure how much longer he could fight the siren song that was his other half.

Draco had known almost all his life that he was a Veela; his father had made sure that he knew both of the dangers and the benefits this entitled. Considering the misfortune Lucius had had with his own mate, Draco was very aware of the pitfalls that awaited him until he had safely claimed the other half of his soul, which made fighting the mating urge even harder.

However, he was a Malfoy, and he was not about to do anything foolish that might jeopardize his entire future. If only his father would bloody well hurry up and get here!

"Are you alright?" Blaise asked, sending Draco a worried glance. Of all the Slytherins present, he was the only one who had an inkling what it was Draco was going through. In spite of his dark looks, Blaise Zabini carried Veela blood as well in his veins. It was diluted though, and not many of the Veela gifts had manifested themselves when he turned sixteen, but he knew the stories, and he understood, somewhat, the urges Draco was currently fighting.

"No!" Draco snapped harshly, only to immediately apologize. "I'm sorry, Blaise, but this is driving me batty. She is here, I can sense her, she is smelling so sweetly, but she is so sad, Blaise, so sad. All I want to do is find her and hug her and make everything better, only I can't." Draco said in frustration.

The blond boy clasped his teacup in an iron grip - it was a miracle it didn't shatter under the strain – just so he wouldn't do anything foolish, like tearing his hair out. Or run up and down the tables, sniffing the air. Where the hell was his father? It wasn't as if he hadn't been kept waiting forever as it was. He had been waiting the entire, bleeding summer for Salazar's sake!

Draco had turned sixteen at the beginning of June, and once he had recovered from having his Veela blood awakened, something had been niggling at the edge of his senses. It had been extremely distracting, and it was a miracle he had managed to perform as well as he had on his O.W.L.s.

The only thing stopping him from hunting down his mate was the fact that he couldn't pinpoint who it was, which indicated that whoever it was, hadn't turned sixteen yet. A fact that somewhat put a damper on Draco's spirits. What if their birthday wasn't until Christmas? No way in hell was he going to manage to get anything done while being distracted like this.

Lucius had been sympathetic, but there wasn't much he could do, other than making sure to keep Draco busy. This had resulted in one of the best summer holidays of the young Veela's life. His father had taken him on an extended trip around the world, visiting places of prominence in both the magical and the Muggle world. Draco had loved every minute of it.

Father and son had ended their vacation by spending two glorious weeks on an unplottable island outside the coast of Australia, doing nothing more strenuous than sunning themselves, lying on a soft, sandy beach, or swimming in the warm ocean. And this was why the blond had returned to Hogwarts with a most healthy tan, causing just about everyone who saw him to drool. Because, if Draco Malfoy had been pretty before, he was now downright beautiful, with his pale blond hair that was almost resembling a halo as it contrasted against his nicely tanned skin, which was no longer looking like alabaster.