The Grey Feathers - Chapter 8 - AstraMorgana - Harry Potter (2024)

Chapter Text

“Marry me.” He said this aloud? Damn!

She stared at him, her eyes big and dark, her swollen mouth slightly open (his co*ck had just been in that very mouth, bloody hell). Then she... laughed. Decided that he was joking. He was a joke to her.

Draco pulled on a fake smile twitching his lips. His animal heart was pounding madly, racing blood through his body at a frenzied pace. He stupidly gave away his innermost desire while he was high. Well, now he wasn’t high anymore. He was scared (he really hated the feeling).

He was ridiculous. She would not marry him. Not tomorrow, not a year from now, not... never.

Actually, he could lose her at any moment. She could move on without looking back.

She could stay. Could eventually change her attitude towards him, become cruel - people always tend to be cruel to those in their power. She could put him on a chain. He hoped (a vapid feeling) that she wouldn't.

But, to be fair, the fear of losing her was far greater than the fear that she would torture him. The latter he was ready to endure.

All last week he had been alive, but not living. He had never known such agony, neither under the Dark Lord nor in a cage. After she'd allowed him near her, let him touch her, f*ck her, and then thrown him away... if she would do it again... No. Anything, He was willing to do anything to make her keep him.

She kept watching him, her eyes dark, full of lust. Draco cursed to himself. He had one job. And he still hadn't done it, letting her soothe and please him (she sucked him off!). Miserable bastard.

He wrapped his arms around her wrists, pulled her toward him. She went willingly. He laid her on the couch, hovering over her. She was perfect. He couldn't get enough of her. Would never get enough. But she was with him now and he could imagine that she was his. He leaned into her, gently kissing her mouth, opening it with his tongue, aching to breathe her in. Intoxicating.

He fondled her small breasts that fit so perfectly in his palms, then undid the zipper on her skirt and pulled it down with her knickers. She squeezed her thighs together, rubbing them against each other. The scent of her arousal was driving him insane. He couldn't hold on any more. He put his hands on her knees, looked into her eyes, waiting for permission. A blush spread across her cheeks. She nodded. He slowly spread her knees apart.

From the sight of her c*nt his mouth instantly watered. She was pink and delicate there. Swollen and completely soaked. Even the inside of her thighs glistened. Was she really that turned on by the blowj*b? The thought made him dizzy. He was painfully hard again (he hadn't lied to her when he said he was always hard for her). He slowly inserted two fingers in her. Wet, hot, incredibly tight. His eyes rolled back. He tried to be careful and patient, but he so desperately wanted to be in her that he could barely focus.

He withdrew his fingers and wrapped his co*ck with a trembling hand, smearing her slickness on it. He barely waited for her to cast the contraceptive spell and toss the wand away. She was panting, a blush flooding her cheeks.He pushed himself into her. The feeling of her c*nt made his mind reel. It was bliss. He forgot himself. Drove into her. They both cried out. He from the overwhelming ecstasy. She–

No, no, no. Did he hurt her? She was so small. He could have injured her. He tried to pull his co*ck out.

“Draco,” she drew him to her, pressing him against her body, letting him stay inside her. He ducked into her neck, feeling her pounding pulse with his lips. Her breath warmed his ear. “It's fine. Move.”

He immediately complied, forgetting everything. The fear, the pain, all was gone. He wanted to stay inside her forever. He was still unable to fully realize that she had let him. That he was her first man. The only man, he thought with a tinge of dark jealousy.

She lightly pushed his chest with her palms, forcing him up on his arms. He met her gaze. She was peering into his very soul. Tugging at it as if by an invisible hook, pulling it to the surface. All his feelings, all his thoughts. Everything was right there in front of her. He was on top, but really at the very bottom. He was hers for the taking.

“I lo-”

She instantly reached out, circled two fingers around his lips, pressed, forcing his mouth open. He obediently began sucking on them, swirling his tongue. She moaned contentedly, throwing her head back. She didn't want more of his ridiculous confessions. He must have annoyed her. He was here solely for her pleasure. That was what he was supposed to give her. The mere fact that she allowed him to touch her in his human form should have been enough. He couldn't have everything.

He slid his hand down between their bodies, tracing his fingers around her cl*t. Moving into her harder, sharper. He would fulfill her needs. She wouldn't want to chase him away, she'd let him stay.

He came as soon as she squeezed his co*ck and arched her back in climax. So hard that his vision blurred.

He regained consciousness tucked into her mane, still in her, still hard. No. Already hard. Her c*nt twitched slightly around his co*ck, too sensitive. She stroked his hair. He moved his hips.

“Draco,” she exhaled, shocked. He didn't stop.

She trembled around him, pliable, engorged. He thrust into her with wet slaps till he felt her clench around him again, milking him, driving him wild. She shoved him away before he could come again.

“It's too much,” she babbled almost unintelligibly. “Too much.”

He squeezed his co*ck at the base, trying to quell the painful throbbing. He stared between her slightly spread legs. His seed was leaking out of her c*nt.He wanted to put himself back inside her. She wouldn't let him.

“I have to shower,” she whimpered, but never got up. Her wand was lying nearby on the floor.

He was perfectly capable to clean her to a shine with his tongue. He leaned down.

“Don't even think about it!” she shrieked, figuring out his intention.

She pulled him up by his hair, allowing him to press her against the back of the couch and rest his face on her shoulder. Inhale the scent of her skin.

He fell asleep almost instantly (not even his hard-on got in the way). The absolute record of the last few days, when he'd stayed up until dawn, and was tormented by nightmares when he finally managed to fall asleep.

His home. Not a Manor, but his own one. His bed. And she is in it. With him. "Draco," she whispers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I love you." He blinks and finds himself against the wall with a collar around his neck. The wall is cold and damp. As always. He shivers. "Do you fear pain?" asks Zabini. "Of course you fear it, you weakling," Flint points his wand at him. "Crucio." He is quite familiar with the spell. Intimately. He is squirming. Hermione looks at him from the door. Turns and walks away. And somehow it hurts much, much more. "Don't go," he whispers faintly, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Don't leave me."

"Draco," someone stroked his hair, going through the clumped strands. So gently. No one has touched him like that in the cage. "I'm here. I went to feed Crooks. He's sulking."

Hermione. He didn't understand a thing she was saying to him, except... She was there for him.

Caressing palms on his chin. Lifted his head. He opened his eyes. Hers, worried, tender, were right in front of him. Not a shadow of disgust, of contempt. He was shivering, though he was under the plaid. She tossed it back and he shifted immediately. She crawled into him, wrapped her arms around him and pressed her chin to the top of his head.

He snuggled into her knitted jumper. She continued to stroke his hair, his neck, his shoulders. Soft, affectionate. Kind. Strong, brave and talented. And him... Broken, cowardly, weak. The complete opposite of her.

She pulled away slightly, brushed a wet strand off his forehead. "Bad dream?"

"They're all bad. Without you," one confession more, one less. He was already a total downer.

She smiled sadly. "I should have woken you up, but you were sleeping so soundly I thought I'd have time to shower and feed Crooks."

She didn't have to explain anything to him. He wasn't her problem. Or was he? A little charity project that gave her sexual experiences and org*sms in the meantime. From whom she could move to someone more deserving afterwards. He got angry. He was jealous of her with this yet-to-exist new suitor. He wanted to say something disgusting. To ruin everything. He could already feel his face twisting into a familiar sneer, a precursor of disaster. He wanted to ask her when she was going to kick him out, how soon she'd get sick of him, how quickly she'd move on from him. He needed to know that.

"I-," he shut his mouth. Just in time for once.

"What?"

"Nothing."

She kissed him on the edge of the sneer he'd never wiped off his face. Her gaze was gentle and perceptive. Her touch soothed him. Wrapped his very soul in a soft cocoon.

"I don't want you to be afraid to talk to me," she muttered softly.

Draco nodded cautiously in response. But prudently kept silent.

~

At breakfast, she crammed as much food into him as she could. She must have hated his thin body. Draco promised himself he'd make it up to her. Just as long as she didn't leave him. He would do anything. Gain weight, build muscle. Anything to make her content. So that she would never look at other men.

After finishing eating, he checked the time with Tempus. Seven in the morning. Why get up this early?

"I have to be at work at 8.30," she informed him.

Ah, yes. At work. Where she would be stuck until the evening. From where she'd come so tired, where the pay was so low. He would be all alone the whole time.

"You don't have to work, I can take care of you, you just-" she shut him up with one eyebrow raised.

"I love my job and under no circ*mstances am I going to abandon it," she pointed out tepidly. Implying that he was a spoiled lazy bastard.

Draco was indeed a spoiled bastard. A rich one at that. Infamous one. Alas, she didn't need his gold, she didn't need his family name. He had no career, he had no future. He has nothing to offer her at all (he once looked down on her, the idiot). Why hasn't she kicked him out yet? Why?

His heart was pounding too fast. The tips of his fingers were freezing. Something was pressing into his skull from the inside.

"Draco," her hand on his chest. Above his racing heart. Her lips on his icy forehead. "Shh, calm down. Breathe."

He breathed. Along with her. She put her other hand on his neck, massaged the underlying muscles. They always got stiff under the collar (she wouldn't put a collar on him, would she? He hadn't told her he was afraid of it).

She kept breathing with him. His heart slowed. Stupid animal reactions. He was sick of them.

Finally he dared to ask. "Will you let me meet you from work?"

She smiled. Nodded. He should have been relieved. But all he felt was fear.

~

His worried parents were waiting for him at home. Mother, having taken a hefty dose of Calming Draught (Draco found it disturbing), cradled him against her and reprimanded for not letting her know his whereabouts. Draco felt bad for making her worry. He was ashamed to admit it, but yesterday he had completely forgotten about them both. For the first time in his life.

When mother was done with him, father took him into his study. There, on the desk, smuggled books on dark magic were spread out. In contrast to Hermione, Head Auror Robards loved Malfoy's dirty gold and hated to work hard.

"Look," father was in a pretty good mood. He always was when he was about to get into dark magic, bribery or blackmail. "I have everything prepared. Was only waiting for... Miss Granger to let you get close."

He pointed to an open book with some suspicious dark stains on its pages. Draco leaned over it.

An ancient spell. A bond of souls that couldn't be broken.

"I won't-," Draco swallowed hard. "I won't-"

"Don't be foolish, son. It's the best solution, she'll be bound to you," Lucius was smiling the same way he had when he had given Draco personal vault for his last birthday. "The ritual is simple. If you can't do it, just cast a Dreamless and bring her here, I'll do everything myself."

Draco felt nauseous. Deceive her. Kidnap her. Drag her to Manor where she was tortured. Let father cut her wrist.

He'd love to have her to himself forever. So she couldn't run away from him. Drive him away. He couldn't do that. She would hate him for the rest of their lives.

"No," he exhaled. Yes. He wanted to. No. He couldn't. "She saved me."

"Indeed. Very noble," father rolled his eyes. "And now you what, going to be her plaything? You want her to boss you around? Even though you have a particular predicament, you're a man. And a Malfoy. You should be in charge."

"Tell that to Mum," Draco hissed irritably. Father pretended he hadn't heard.

~

His bed was suddenly too big and empty. Draco liked comfort. But right now he would have preferred an old worn out couch (his back was still aching). With her in it.

He never got any sleep. But he made himself eat. It was for her. So she wouldn't be disgusted.

The time dragged on endlessly. He kept thinking about her. What if she changed her mind? What if she got bored with him already? What if she left him again? Fear. Fear. Fear. As if he hadn't experienced it enough in his life. Draco instinctively scratched his left forearm. He would probably never get rid of this habit.

Father offered a solution. She wouldn't leave. She would be with him. In the cage.

~

He'd been waiting for her at the apparition point for over an hour. She must have reconsidered and decided not to waste her time on him. There were so many Gryffindors around, those stupid brave lions. Why would she want a snake with feathers? Definitely changed her mind. Used the Floo. So she wouldn't have to see his face.

She was coming towards him. Her smile blinded him.

"Sorry," she mouthed, walking up to him and pulling back his hood. Kissing his cheek. As if she was glad to see him. "Got stuck because of the mermaids. They had a conflict with the grindylows that turned into a scuffle-"

She was telling him about her work. Detailed, thorough. Like she wanted to share. Like he was her boyfriend. He was smiling like an idiot.

~

She never cast him out.

She was kind to him (Draco now knew how to appreciate real kindness, rather than taking it as weakness and abusing it). She didn't hurt him (he especially appreciated that). She touched him (he never had enough of her). She allowed him to sleep in her bed, to cradle her to him at night (she could have ordered him to sleep on the rug by the bed, he would have agreed. But she was kind to him). She let him make love to her (Draco suspected that was the main reason she kept him to herself). Oh, he was willing to f*ck her twenty-four hours a day. But she had to sleep and she had to work. Draco hated her bloody job. It was stealing her time from him.

She taught him how to prepare toast and make coffee. Since then, he'd been bringing her breakfast in bed. Once he'd even tried to feed her cat himself to give her a longer nap. Nearly lost his fingers.

A week later he once again told her during sex that he loved her. She let him. He said it every chance he got from then on (she never returned the sentiment).

She was constantly prompting him to speak his mind, to be open with her. And persistently never scolded him when he overstepped. Draco occasionally capitalized on that. Usually when he couldn't shut himself up in time (it seemed like he was just incapable of learning it).

~

She always talked about Potter and Weasley. Harry this, Ron that... They were always around her. An important part of her life.

His mate had her own mates. He had to accept it. He was terribly jealous.

He'd found out that Potter was still seeing Ginny Weasley. Relief. He asked about Weasley.

"It's all complicated," she replied grimly. "I hope he comes to his senses. She's not worthy of him."

Draco, the coward, didn't dare to ask for details. What if Hermione didn't approve of Weasley's girlfriend because she was.... jealous?

No. No. She was with him. She'd let him. He was her one and only. He pleased her.

~

"Maybe I'm overly sentimental, but I believe that without love, a relationship is doomed," she said when Draco told her about Greg and Millie's arranged marriage.

Draco instantly panicked. He realized perfectly well what that statement meant.

~

A bracelet had appeared on her wrist.

"Ron gave it to me. A gift," she replied when he asked casually about it.

No.

Draco brought her a bracelet with rubies and diamonds (father only rolled his eyes and mother said "long overdue"). She gawked and said it was too much. They wouldn't understand at work. The werewolves - her clients - still didn't have a proper wolfsbane. She couldn't shake a fortune in front of them.

She looked at him and frowned, displeased. He had no idea how to fix it. So he sat her on the kitchen counter, yanked up her skirt and pulled down her knickers. Nestled himself between her silky thighs. She threw her head back and ran her hand through his hair. Things went back to normal temporarily.

Weasley's bracelet consisted of three laces tied together. She never took it off.

~

She didn't love him, she didn't love him. She had not fallen for him. It had been a month and a half and she hadn't returned any of his confessions.

Draco went on a daily spiral between panic, dumb apathy, and excessive aliveness. She still didn't love him. She was unlikely to fall in love with him. After all, what was there to love him for? He was Draco Malfoy. Her tormentor. Coward. Former Death Eater. Magical being.

She still kept him to herself. She hadn't had enough of him. Maybe there was still hope.

What if she had set herself some sort of deadline to fall in love with him? And, if that didn't happen, to move on. Hermione liked schedules and timetables, he knew that much. What if his time was running out? What if today she told him that it didn't work out and that he was no longer welcome in her home? What if she didn't come out to him at all?

There was always a bloody book lying in father's study. Always open. Since a while, instead of a bookmark, it had contained a small, sharp knife.

Bella knew how to work a knife. Draco was her favorite nephew.

Every morning the knot in his chest twisted tighter. Every evening as she walked towards him, smiling, that knot loosened slightly. To twist again in the morning. Tighter. Tighter each time.

He'd read about the ritual. A small cut on the wrist, he could heal it right away. The ritual could even be done in her sleep. She'll always be there for him. She won't be able to give him up. Drive him away. Draco took the knife, put it in the pocket of his robes. Just like that, he now carried it with him.

He was a total wreck.

~

He had worn her out and now she slept soundly in his arms. She knew he wouldn't hurt her.

Her right wrist beneath the Weasley's bracelet was fragile, thin with a pattern of blue veins. In his robes lay a knife. Draco was so dumb it was even funny. He could never touch her skin with it, let alone make an incision. Or let father to do it for him. A stupid fantasy, a fool's game.

She pressed herself tighter against him in her sleep. Smiled. She was with him, in his arms, she still let him into her home and her bed. Even if she didn't love him and never would, his love was enough for two.

Weasley's bracelet was disgusting though. A hideous trinket. His gifts she was unwilling to accept. Perhaps a knife could be good for something after all. He Accioed it from the pocket of his robes. In the morning he would say that the bracelet must have been torn in her sleep. Draco picked up the bracelet with the knife.

The bracelet flashed scarlet. The knife melted into his fingers and palm and dissolved with a hiss, leaving a gruesome burn. Draco screamed silently. The pain was comparable to the Crucio. Only concentrated in one place. He whispered a cooling charm. It didn't help much.

The bracelet took on its original colour and wrapped harmlessly around her wrist. Not a bracelet. A talisman. From the likes of Draco. If he touched her skin with the knife, he'd probably lose an arm.

She suspected he might want to pull something like that. And hadn't she been right about him? He wanted to. He couldn't, of course (he always backed up at the crucial moment). But he wanted to. He deserved this pain. He deserved to be kept in an iron cage, chained and collared. He didn't dare get out of bed and wander around the house looking for the burn salve. She might wake up and see. There was no way he would be able to excuse himself.

"What's wrong with you, Draco? Is that a burn? Where did it come from?" she would ask, examining his arm with concern. He was so used to her care by now. To the way she had stroked his hair, caressed his body, rubbed murtlap tincture into his scar to make it thinner. She didn't blanch.

"Stuck my hand in the toaster," he would say.

"In the toaster?" she would raise her eyebrows in surprise. And, for once, change her tone to commanding. "Tell me the truth, Draco."

"I was just messing around, I was jealous of you and Weasley and his bracelet," he would say. "And the knife? Well yes it's a family heirloom for dark rituals. My father gave it to me to cut your hand and perform a bonding ritual. But I wouldn't, truly!"

She would run her hand through his hair, tilt his head back, but not for a kiss.

"You insidious, conniving creature," she would utter with hatred. "Get out and don't you dare show yourself to me again."

Draco had been awake all night.

In the morning, he hid his mangled palm from her eyes, clenching it into a fist (the hellish pain), or casually tucking it behind his back. He was so afraid. If she saw, if she realized.... He would fall at her feet, he would beg. She... would never forgive him again. He'd gotten to know her better. Trust was everything to her.

But she didn't trust him fully. And rightly so. He'd brought a knife into her home.

"You are pale," she lifted him by the chin. There was kindness and concern in her eyes, all-consuming fear in his. "Did you not sleep well?"

He jerked his head. "Couldn't." He told her the truth.

She kissed the tip of his nose and stroked his cheek. "Let me cheer you up."

She pushed him to the nearest wall. He rested his head and shoulders against the hard surface. Clenched his aching palm into a fist. She ran her hand over his still naked torso, hooked the elastic band of his joggers. He was breathing heavily and frequently. She pulled his joggers down slightly and wrapped her hands around his co*ck. He was ready for her. No matter what.

She kept repeating the simple motions - he was almost losing his mind. From the sharp pleasure in his loins and the searing pain in his palm. He came with alarming speed, coating his abdomen and her palm. He nuzzled into her neck. She pressed her lips to his temple.

"Do you want to talk?"

He exhaled convulsively, giving himself away miserably. "No. Please, not now."

"All right," she hugged him tighter. She didn't push him. She never did.

~

"Keeping up old habits?" mother snarled at father, treating Draco's arm with everything they had in their home medicine cabinet. "Going to ruin his life completely? You're on the right track in that case."

Father was pale.

"Thank Salazar it is curable," mother said in relief, applying the third burn remedy. She gave father a last irritated look and focused on Draco. “My dear, I know you're used to witches falling at your very feet, but Miss Granger is not your average pureblood. Maybe for the best, though, given the recent events." Mother flared her nostrils slightly. "You have to be caring. Patient. Sensitive to her interests. We women do value that."

Draco subsided, mulling over mother's words. The simple truth hidden in them.

He had been hoping for Hermione to fall in love with him. And for what? For good shag, which he knew how to perform by default, being a Veela? He wasn't patient with her. Wasn't sensitive. He'd never done anything for her, only sat around wishing she'd quit the job she loved and dedicated her life to him.

Draco remained the same egoist he had been in his relationship with Astoria. Only now he was an egoist in love. There was really no difference.

~

"Who would you like me to be?" he asked her in despair that very evening. He wanted to fix everything. But he was a dork and didn't know where to start.

They were seated on the rug by the fireplace, his favorite spot. She - with a book, he - with his head in her lap.

What should I be to make you love me?

Hermione put the book aside. Lowered her gaze to him.

"Yourself," she pronounced evenly. "I want you to be your own person. You don't have to adjust to me."

"What if... you don't like that person?"

She shrugged. "I guess we'll just find out. None of us is perfect. I for one am bossy and paranoid, having ptsd and nightmares. You're quite entitled to have your own flaws."

If only she knew his flaws.

~

"You've gained enough weight and gotten stronger. It's time to try a shapeshifting," his healer said. And added grimly, "It has taken much longer than I had hoped. If you're nervous, do it with your mate present. It'll be easier."

Draco was nervous. Too many dreadful memories associated with his other form. What if his wings remained disfigured and he could never fly? He loved flying so much.

Hermione took him to a deserted wasteland and cast Cave Inimicum around them (Draco had come to a deserted place once with Astoria. It had ended badly. He pushed those thoughts away).

She squeezed his palm with hers. "It'll be okay," she promised him. "And if it won't, you'll try again next time."

He inhaled and... just shifted. It was so easy, as if his Veela had been waiting for him to make up his mind all this time.

Hermione transfigured the tin can into a mirror so he could examine himself properly. He spread his wings. They looked much better, most of his feathers had grown back. Hermione pulled a string with a long grey feather from under her sweater. She took it off and placed it to one of the few spots on his wing where the feathers were still lacking. Whispered a fixing charm. Draco felt the feather snap in place.

Male Veela's always were the protectors of their mates. Draco had it backwards. Probably because he was only a half-bird. While his mate was a full-fledged lioness.

He was able, albeit not as gracefully and easily as before, to take off. It was a delight. He missed the sky.

Hermione stood below and smiled, drawing him in like a shining beacon.

That night he f*cked her as Veela, thinking about all the things she'd done for him. How she cared about him. And how nothing was enough for him. Not enough to the point where he'd brought a knife into her house. He hadn't been patient or trustworthy. He was only pretending. A conniving beast. He deserved a cage. He deserved to burn.

She was on top when in a fit of self-loathing he took her hands and put them around his neck.

"Draco?" she whispered questioningly.

"I know you like it," he muttered, caressing her bare back with his wings. She shuddered, clutching him tighter inside her. Draco nearly came right then and there (every time with her was like the first). He growled. "Come on, squeeze."

She pressed her hands to his throat. Not too hard. He closed his eyes and shivered, imagining a rusty iron collar. She moved her hands from his neck into his hair, tilting his head back slightly. Making him open his eyes.

"I can't like things that hurt you," she said, pressing her forehead to his.

He'd never told her about his boundaries, no matter how much she insisted (though she'd never once forced him to speak). She just saw through him. Andnever used his weaknesses against him.

"I love you so much," he uttered, his affection and shame overwhelming him. She remained silent.

~

The Ministry was full of people. The staff were scurrying about, ignoring him (the hood as always helped). He was standing in the middle of the Atrium, his heart beating too hard. He should get in the elevator. Fourth floor.

She kept telling him about her job. It was important to her.

Enter the elevator. Small, cramped. Iron. Someone touched his shoulder, barely perceptibly. Draco spun in place. Too sharply.

Potter. Weasley. And a younger Auror with them.

"Hello, Malfoy," Potter smirked. Draco groaned to himself. Such a luck!

Harry Potter annoyed him permanently (it was probably Draco's default setting). But Potter was her friend. He (and Weasley, ugh) had helped her save Draco and never gave away his secret.

He reluctantly muttered hello.

"Came to see Hermione?" asked Potter with raised eyebrows. Draco didn't like his perceptive stare.

He nodded. And flinched when one of the passers-by grazed his shoulder. It didn't escape Potter's notice. Shame. Veela was supposed to be strong, dangerous. Draco was a mockingbird.

"I just remembered, I left my kit in the office," Potter announced suddenly to Weasley and the boy. "You go ahead, I'll catch up."

Weasley rolled his eyes and shook his head slightly. "Let's go, Flips," he said.

"Come on, Malfoy, you and I are on our way," Potter nodded at the elevators. Was he going to see Draco off? But why?

Draco suspected that Potter was going to have a chat with him.

The elevator crawled barely, stopping at each floor. They rode down, in silence. Potter leaned against the wall and watched Draco from under slightly lowered lashes.

Eventually Draco lost his temper. "Do I finally get threats to hang me by my balls if I mess up Granger?" he blurted out.

Potter darted his eyes in amusem*nt. And snorted. "Why would I threaten you?"

"Isn't that what Gryffindors are supposed to do? Best friend and all that rot," Draco replied irritably, feeling like a complete idiot. Who was pulling his tongue?

"Ah, Malfoy, I don't need to waste my breath on you at all," Potter smiled sympathetically at him, enunciating the words calmly and slowly, as if he were speaking to a retard. "If you mess up, Mione will deal with you herself, and all I'll have to do is just dig up your cold corpse."

"Funny," Draco said dryly. Potter didn't laugh. "Then why are you seeing me off?"

"I've noticed you have a hard time around a lot of people," Potter said simply. The tenacious Auror. Of course he had.

"I don't need your pity!" snapped Draco, feeling humiliated.

The elevator creaked open on the fourth.

"It's not pity, Malfoy," Potter said smoothly, gesturing for him to exit. "Just empathy. I know it's not honored in Slytherin. But you should try it sometime."

Hermione was busy and Draco spent an extremely uncomfortable thirty minutes in the company of the department secretary (a young girl. A Gryffindor, judging by the proud gaze. Draco might’ve met her previously at Hogwarts. Might’ve practiced Cruciatus on her on Carrow's orders. He was doing his best not to memorize their faces).

Finally one of the doors opened and Hermione stepped out, holding the arm of a shabby-looking boy in ragged clothes and slightly yellowish eyes. A werewolf. The secretary immediately straightened up at the sight of her. Draco felt a surge of pride.

"I'll be sure to think of something," she patted his forearm sympathetically. The boy sniffed his nose, nodded curtly, and headed for the exit.

Hermione looked up.

"Draco?" she uttered in amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"I-" what if she didn't want their relationship to be known about? He hadn't thought of it. Of course, for he was only thinking of himself. If he had been honorable, he would have left her alone. Disappear from her life and not embarrass her.

Draco was not honorable.

"It's alright, Dorothy," Hermione said imperiously, taking ahold of his bicep. "You brought me lunch? That's sweet!" She pulled him into her office.

Her desk was piled with papers, the cabinets bursting with books on magical creatures. Draco rested his eyes on the docs closest to him. Petitions from elves wishing to break the magical contract with their owners. Complaints about the poor wolfsbane.

"Werewolves are having a very hard time," Hermione said, following the direction of his gaze. "The coffers are still empty, the Ministry is ordering from lowly potion-makers. It's a disaster."

She looked tired. Draco unwrapped her favorite salmon sandwich, handing it to her. She smiled gratefully. "It's great that you came. I've been wanting to show you my work for ages, but I didn't want to rush you. Been waiting for you to come around."

What he did to deserve her?

He saw Gordon McLaggen's book on the very edge of her desk. There were numerous bookmarks sticking out of the book. Draco bit his lip. Who could say now that McLaggen was wrong about the likes of him?

~

Empathy. Potter said the word and it stuck in his head. Draco himself had never suffered from the affliction. Hermione, on the other hand, had an excess of it.As for Draco, he had an excess of Galleons. He went to Gringotts.

He thinned out his personal vault. He spent the whole day with the goblins (nasty slimey creeps. Magical creatures by the way, just like him) and set up a trust for werewolves in need of wolfsbane. With a special spending clause for the very best potion-makers and potion ingredients. The goblins sent a notice to the Ministry on his behalf (he didn't bother to hide it, he wasn't a goody-goody anonymous benefactor. He couldn't care less about the werewolves, he wanted her to know).

That evening, she fell to her knees in front of him and sucked his co*ck. He tried to take it out of her mouth before he came, but she wouldn't let him. She swallowed his sem*n (he thought of trying to cast Patronus based on that particular memory).

"You're just wonderful," she said before falling asleep in his arms.

"No, I'm really not," he whispered truth to her. "I just love you."

She remained silent, but pressed closer to him, wrapping her arms around his waist.

~

Marcus Flint and Blaise Zabini were sentenced to five years in Azkaban for torturing and kidnapping Draco Malfoy, and for attempting to kidnap Hermione Granger. Astoria Greengrass was sentenced to six months house arrest.

Draco and Hermione attended the trial. Astoria, upset, confused, kept trying to catch his eye. Draco wasn't looking at her. He was sitting next to Hermione. She was holding his hand.

Upon hearing Astoria's sentence, Hermione pursed her lips but said nothing to him. That evening, by tacit mutual agreement, they did not discuss the subject.

The hearing was adjourned, but next morning an article about it appeared in the Quibbler (with a lengthy musing on right choices in dire circ*mstances and atonement for sins).

~

Hermione dragged him out to Flourish and Blotts over the weekend. She held his hand tightly and he remained relatively calm. They were being looked over. She walked with her nose proudly up, and he walked beside her, hood pulled over his head, staring at the pavement.

They had a good time at the store, picking out books. She - mostly for work, he - supposedly for fun (in fact, he, covering himself with an issue of Transfiguration Today, was trying to sneak a peek at a book called "How to Make a Witch Fall in Love with You. 100 Tips for Clueless Wizards". It was a shame for Veela, of course, but the cover was just too bright).

They walked out of the store. Hermione turned him around to face her. Pulled back his hood. And kissed him in full view of the Alley.

"Come on, Draco," she smirked, looking into his stunned face. "I have yet to buy a glass jar."

She kissed him. In front of everyone. She wanted people to know about them. She wasn't ashamed of him! She wasn't afraid of the consequences. Bloody lioness! He grinned like an idiot their entire walk. He put the hood back on, though.

~

"I wiped my parents' memory before the war," she told him that evening, holding out a photograph. She resembled her mother. "And ended up all alone."

"You have me. I'll be with you... as long as you want me," he wanted to say forever, but didn't dare.

He thought that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't want to get rid of him. She had claimed him as hers in front of the whole Alley. She was lonely.

Next morning, the Prophet ran a neutral article about the affair between Hermione Granger, Golden Girl, war heroine and Ministry star, and Draco Malfoy, the philanthropist and benefactor. (Skeeter didn't even mention his previous career as a Dark Lord's henchman).

~

He asked her to marry him again. This time in a proper way (he tried to avoid even recalling the previous disgrace). He bought a ring, modest by his standards, and got down on one knee.

"What's the hurry, Draco?" she asked surprised. "We have a lifetime ahead of us."

He seemed to have given their going out into the Alley an undue amount of importance.

Somewhere in the house the sound of cat vomit was heard. Loud and disgusting.

~

Potter and Weasley were constantly flickering on the periphery of his life. He was beginning to get used to them.

They were good friends to his mate (he was a little jealous of their friendship, he'd never had anything like it. Because he didn't know how to be friends himself. Because no one around him knew how to be friends). They accepted him. Tolerated his presence for Hermione's sake. As he had tolerated theirs.

Draco watched Weasley and Hermione's interactions a lot. And shamelessly eavesdropped on their conversations. Just to be on the safe side.

("She's decided to go to France, some relatives," Weasley once said sluggishly. "Wants to start over." Hermione, who had outright gloating written all over her face, put her hand on his shoulder with fake sympathy. She obviously thought she'd pulled it off discreetly, but Weasley noticed. "Lavender was owling me by the by," he shared, smiling slyly. Hermione gave an anguished moan she didn't even try to disguise this time. Draco understood nothing of that chatter, except that she treated Weasley like a brother, not like a potential man. Thank f*ck).

They were playing Quidditch. Potter, Weasley and She-Weasley - on their brooms. He - without.

"Cheater!" yelled Ginny as he cut her off by doing a somersault. And they all laughed.

They looked at his wings with curiosity, but without greed.

~

He now accompanyed her to the outside meetings with her clients. It wasn't easy to persuade her. He had to resort to some low-level manipulation ("I have nothing to do all day anyway. I'm so lonely. I miss you so much." All pure truth, by the way). She'd roll her eyes and tell him she didn't need to be patronized.

She needed to be, as it turned out when they were attacked by a feral half-wolf - apparently the victim of a disreputable potionist - stuck between two forms (of course his mate needed to find it in person).

It came out of nowhere. It wasn't taken by Stunners, it dropped Incarcerous. Hermione was a brilliant duelist. There was only one problem. She was unwilling to kill the bloody dog.

The wolf lunged at her. Draco didn't even have time to be startled. He just got between them, in his Veela form (he didn't recall shifting).

The half-wolf proved to be easy prey for Veela. Draco's claws were sharper, his wings stronger. He lifted it by the neck into the air. He was going to slaughter it. The wolf clawed at him, but Draco didn't notice. He was in a state of rage like he'd probably never known before.

"Draco!" there was fear in her voice.

Draco shoved the wolf aside. It darted away, whimpering and tucking its tail. Perfect! Let it know who the real predator is. Pathetic dog. He was bloodthirsty and delighted with himself.

And then... Hermione appeared in front of him, wrapped her arms around his face. He was breathing harshly. His animal heart was beating too hard.

"You're not hurt? Are you okay?" her voice shook. She was scared. But not for the wolf. For him.Always for him.

He'd taken her right there. Without any foreplay. Like the beast he was. And she didn't mind at all.

Afterward they'd found the werewolf, managed to Petrify him and give him a proper wolfsbane. Then she'd obliviated the boy it became. She was a professional. And she was guarding Draco's secret.

~

Draco glared angrily at the secretary. The secretary glared back spitefully.

"Ms. Granger said not to receive visitors," she informed arrogantly.

Draco gritted his teeth, contemplating which auror would come running to clasp his hands if he ignored her (if Potter or Weasley, fine). He didn't visit Hermione in the Department often, preferring to have lunch with her in a nearby restaurant or just go for a walk (she needed fresh air). Nevertheless, her colleagues knew him well. A volunteer, a fundraiser, a friend (like they haven't read the Prophet).

"She's waiting for me," he barked, pulling his wand out of the holster. In his pocket, shrunken, Hermione's lunch was getting cold (she said him this morning she had a lot of work to do, and he was sure she'd stay hungry until evening). He wasn't going to starve his mate for that cow.

"I'm warning-" shrieked the secretary.

"What's the matter, Dorothy?"

Hermione stood at the door of her office and stared coldly at her.

"You said no visitors without an appointment today-"

Hermione walked over to them. Extended her hand to Draco. Intertwined her fingers with his.

"It's not a visitor, it's my aide and partner," she said in an icy tone. "Don't you recognize him? A department secretary must have an excellent memory. It's one of the basic requirements. You have a problem with that?"

The cow fidgeted. His lioness snorted irritably and pulled him with her into the office. Draco was overtly gloating.

~

After the werewolves, they dealt with the elves. Hermione offered to free the two remaining Manor elves. Set an example. Lucius, hearing this from Draco, launched a bottle of firewhiskey at the wall. At that point, negotiations were temporarily suspended.

Draco had made a trust to ransom the elves who had been mistreated by their masters. His vault was thinning, but he didn't give a damn about the money. All he cared about was Hermione. And her being happy.

Surprisingly, he also did care a little about the elves.

~

"Like hell you're going to meet an entire herd, and in a forest at that!" yelled Draco. He knew his limits. If anything went wrong, he was no match for a herd of centaurs. "Have them send a representative!"

Hermione… smiled contentedly. Wrapped her arms around his neck.

"There's my man."

She told the centaurs to send a representative to neutral territory.

~

She added him to the list of urgent contacts at St. Mungo's. As a member of her family.

~

She woke up less and less often from having nightmares. He always comforted her if she did. He only had nightmares when she wasn't around. That was almost never now.

~

She took the bracelet off her wrist. Draco swore to himself that he would never betray her trust.

~

She was willing to tolerate mother. She refused to communicate with father (father wasn't upset, to be honest). She never came to the Manor. Draco didn't insist. Some things were impossible to fix.

He thought they could buy a new house. Or live in her parents' place. He didn't really care. He was willing to live in any shack as long as she was there to hold him.

And there she was.

~

They were in bed on a lazy Saturday morning. Draco lay with his eyes closed, Hermione stroking his hair. He loved the scalp massage.

She suddenly removed her hand. He opened his eyes. She was lying on her side, propping her cheek up with her palm and looking at him intently, thoughtfully. Piercingly.

"What?" he asked curiously. Since some time, the unknown had aroused that pleasant feeling in him - curiosity.

"I wanted to show you something," she said quietly, picking up her wand from the bedside table and waving it.

A book flew into the bedroom. A book he knew well. Hermione opened it to the front page. Turned it around to him. The book by Gordon McLaggen had been annotated by Hermione Granger. Draco raised himself up on the bed to read.

"This particular opus is a perfect example of how personal grudges sometimes lead to malicious distortion of facts about someone who is unable to defend themselves. Gordon McLaggen is the reason that for many years in UK (and in the part of mainland Europe where this book was published) Veelas were regarded as monsters not worthy of protection and care."

Next came a list of facts about the Veelas that McLaggen had deliberately twisted and misrepresented and recommendations from Hermione Granger and a Bulgarian Veela expert not to consider this book as a guide to the study of Veelas.

"These annotations will be enclosed in all books that are in the public domain. It's more difficult with private collections, of course, but overall I'm happy with the result," she said. And, smirking, added. "Cormac sent me a howler. Offended his family. You purebloods are so funny. Like it's my fault his great-great-grandfather was an asshole."

"You-" he exhaled convulsively. "You did this for me?"

He should have stopped being surprised by this a long time ago. But at times like this, he still couldn't help himself.

"Yes. But not exclusively," she replied somewhat sheepishly, "Bill and Fleur have Victoire. What if her genes manifest? Besides, if one day we have a-" she cut herself short, blushing slightly. "All Veelas and half-breeds need protection. And after enactment of my amends to the punishment for abusing magical creatures and beings, I'll probably worry about you a bit less.”

His chest suddenly felt tight. She... wanted to... With him?

Hermione placed her palm over his heart. She always did that when she noticed he was worried. Less and less lately.

His heartbeat slowed under her palm. She owned his heart, his soul, and his thoughts. He was hers. And he was his own. Not only had she saved him, she had healed him with her kindness and patience. She had given him his self back. No one else would have matched him better, would have made him become a little better.

And if she was considering the possibility… Maybe she finally…

Hermione looked at him as if she could read his mind. She leaned down to his ear and whispered softly.

"I love you, Draco. And I'm going to spend my life with you. Where's that terrible ring of yours?"

"It's not terrible, you know nothing of jewelry," he said falsely offended, blinking back tears.

Hermione reached out to him, her lips drying teardrops (Veela's priceless tears, the ones others coveted. The ones that were simple tears of her lover to her).

Draco pulled out the ring he had been patiently carrying around. Hermione held out her hand to him.

He slipped the ring - a beautiful and dainty one, it should be noted! - onto her finger and whispered.

"I love you. I'm willing to wait for you indefinitely if I have to. But I'll be happy if you marry me tomorrow."

She smirked at him and said, "Tomorrow works for me. Tomorrow is our day off."