Authors note: Now we all know why the latest Letters update has been put off so long. I apologize for blowing up your emails. Apparently, my first go at this came through sporting all the code. I cannot apologize enough for that mistake. I hope you enjoy this summer romance. Thanks to Rachel for beta'ing and Nicole, Bailey, and Geneveive for consoling me through failed idea after failed idea and offering genuine love and support while this beast nearly broke my resolve. BIG THANKS to Indulgentbookworm for alerting me immediately to the format issues.
All recognizable characters are the property of JKR. This will be the only disclaimer.
What's left to say?
These prayers aren't working anymore
Every word shot down in flames
What's left to do with these broken pieces on the floor?
I'm losing my voice calling on you
'Cause I've been shaking
I've been bending backwards till I'm broke
Watching all these dreams go up in smoke
Let beauty come out of ashes
Let beauty come out of ashes
And when I pray to God all I ask is
Can beauty come out of ashes?
Ashes - Celine Dion
"Master Draco?" Tilly's high, squeaking voice called from behind him. He'd heard her pop into his room, but kept himself facing away, staring out at the grounds being enveloped by nightfall. He'd dealt with a perverse sense of foreboding since his eyes opened this morning. Draco knew nothing good would come from Tilly's sudden appearance.
"Yes, Tilly?" he responded in a quiet voice. He was almost always quiet now. Never seen, never heard. That was the only way to survive living with a monster like the Dark Lord.
"Master is needed in the drawing room, sirs. The snatchers have come and they have three young ones in their possession. Master is needed to identify them." Finally looking away from his window and back to his personal elf, Draco licked his lips nervously.
"Identify?" he whispered while nerves turned his stomach sour. Why would they need him to identify anyone? They never had before and -
"They is thinking that it might be Harry Potter, Master," Draco couldn't hold Tilly's saddened tone against her, as he was feeling much the same. Potter was, as much as Draco was loathe to admit it, their only hope in defeating the Dark Lord. "They has two young men and a pretty young girl, and Master needs to get to the drawing room immediately."
Tilly reached out and gently patted Draco's balled fists and offered him a tremulous smile, offering comfort where she could before giving a tiny curtsy and popping away, leaving Draco alone to face the cacophony in his mind. His movements felt wooden and slow, but he made his way down the stairs and to the drawing room, nevertheless.
His father looked excited. Of course he did. If they were the ones to hand over Saint Potter, all would be forgiven and the Malfoys would once against be favored by the Dark Lord. Though, if Draco were to be entirely honest with himself, he didn't believe for a moment that turning Potter over would change anything. The Dark Lord was a megalomaniac. Everything was for his pleasure, his gain. He cared not for the wizards and witches in his charge, they were merely his implements of destruction.
Draco loosed a heavy sigh just before the doors opened wide, his lovely mother followed by the snatchers and, yes, the Golden Trio being dragged along, Granger by her wild and unruly curls. Draco felt his blood run cold, and the sharp bite of blunt nails digging into the flesh of his palms as he took in the scene before him. He barely heard the gleeful voice of his father, and barely recognized the harsh, cold voice belonging to his mother.
All Draco could focus on was Granger, and how absolutely terrified she was. He could practically taste her fear on his tongue, and even more surprising, it moved something within him. He didn't feel like kicking her when she was already down, he didn't feel like crowing that they had indeed captured Saint Potter, his Weasel side-kick, and Mudblood Granger. Instead, he longed to offer them sanctuary and safety, somehow.
Staring at Potter's huge, shiny, pink, horribly disfigured face - Draco could only try to buy them time. Surely the Order would be arriving any moment, ready to rush in and save the day, right?
After much prompting, Draco finally said, with hesitance he didn't feel coloring his tone, "I can't — I can't be sure." Of course, since it was not the answer his father hoped for and his son's uncertainty weighing heavily on his mind, Lucius begged him to look closer. Where was the Order? Potter's ugly mug might buy them a few minutes, but the second anyone paid remotely any attention to the pair flanking the Chosen One...well, Draco didn't exactly want to think on that too much.
He offered an 'I don't know' to his father's continued questioning - of course it was his scar, stretched and puckered as it was, but maybe if he just kept feigning his uncertainty then the Order would have enough time to - to...Draco sighed as he turned his back on the Trio kneeling on his drawing room floor and stared into the flickering flames contained within the grate. He swallowed thickly when his parents turned their attention to Granger and the Weasel. They were just too recognizable, and while he was sure it was Granger's quick thinking that masked Potter's identity, she'd done nothing for herself or the Weasel.
Draco didn't want to be their harbinger of doom. He didn't want to affirm, in any way, that these three people might just be exactly who everyone thought they were. He wanted them to escape and save the bloody world. Still, when his mother prompted:
"Wait," said Narcissa sharply. "Yes — yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"
"I . . . maybe . . . yeah."
"But then, that's the Weasley boy!" shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. "It's them, Potter's friends — Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name — ?"
"Yeah," said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. "It could be."
No one could know that it took all of his strength not to cry when he uttered those words. He constantly found himself in these horrific situations, with no reasonable way out. Draco had been thinking, plotting in his mind - grandiose rescue attempts that never failed to end with his death as well as the others. He was still staring into the flickering flames when he heard a voice that stopped his heart dead in his chest.
Aunt Bellatrix had come to play.
Foolishly, Draco had hoped that his Aunt would merely frighten them before tossing them in the cellar while they all convened and decided on the best course of action. Of course, he should have learned long ago to never hope for anything - it never seemed to work out for him in the end. When his crazed Aunt laid eyes on the slightly garish looking sword and had flown into a predictable rage, Draco knew there'd be trouble. He'd just begun levitating the unconscious snatchers towards the front entry like ordered, when he heard her cold, but sinisterly gleeful voice demand, "Leave the Mudblood."
Feeling as if someone had just drenched him in ice water, Draco rushed through his task, hurrying back to the drawing room - though he was certain he didn't wish to see what would be happening there. Slowing his pace, Draco returned to the drawing room, mostly unseen, and reclaimed his spot by the fireplace. He refused to face the flames once more, some long-forgotten or oft buried sense of nobility reared its ugly head, and whispered cajolingly through his mind: Granger was better than this. If she was going to suffer through such horror, the very least he could do would be to offer his own silent strength to her. He'd be there if she needed someone familiar to reach out to, even if only in presence alone.
But the moment her first torture-induced cry cut through the otherwise silent Manor - everything changed.
Draco's aristocratic face rapidly paled, as though all the blood had been forcibly and quickly drained from his person. A slow tremor ran up his spine and before long he found himself trembling, staring in wide-eyed horror at the girl he'd tormented and bullied relentlessly for years, writhing under his vicious Aunt's wicked Crucio.
And there was nothing he could do.
Bile filled his mouth and he choked around it before swallowing it back down, relishing in the burning pain. He deserved to feel such pain. Not someone like Granger. She was the epitome of good. All light, and kind, and loyal to a fucking fault.
'Just tell her! It'll stop. Just tell her!' his mind screamed.
A second voice, not unlike his own mental timbre, snarled and growled menacingly at the thought.
Perhaps it was because he was so disturbed and distressed that Draco didn't question the animalistic sounds bouncing around inside his skull, but instead, understood immediately why that wasn't an option. The moment Granger caved, the moment the information Aunt Bella wanted slipped past her lips - she was no longer useful and his Aunt wouldn't be bothered to 'do away with vermin.' The snarling only seemed to grow louder with each of Granger's soul-shattering screams, and when she'd whimper, Draco would hear an echo of it within his mind.
The room seemed to start slowly revolving and a cold, sick sweat soon covered his body. His rational mind was screaming at him to look away, but he couldn't take his eyes off her broken form. He felt his body sway, luckily it was in the direction of his mother - he wasn't sure how he could explain falling to the floor right now. Try as he might, Draco couldn't breathe. It felt like his lungs were being crushed in an iron grip and he just couldn't breathe…
A sharp look was exchanged between Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, when their preternaturally graceful son stumbled into his mother's side. One look at his drawn and ashen face, taking in his rigid and straining muscles, as well as the slick sheen of sweat coating his skin - dread settled into the pit their stomachs, as the first vestiges of panic accelerated their heartbeats. The latent Veela gene in the Malfoy line had been a topic of many discussions between the man and his wife.
Though Lucius himself hadn't held the gene, he oft wondered if his son had. Draco very rarely showed any interest in the plentiful, outright beautiful Pureblood girls they had paraded in front of him from the tender age of five. Narcissa had been the one to inform him of the understanding Draco reached with Miss Parkinson - at first, Lucius had been relieved when he received reports that his son was seemingly courting the girl. Sadly, his wife had informed him, it was only a ruse.
Their son, their pride and joy, was exhausted by the tireless attempts at winning his favor. Apparently, none of the girls appealed to him, most were too daft, others too forward and most likely of loose morals. Pushed beyond his limits, Draco had taken his childhood friend aside and pleaded with her to simply act as if they were together - so the other girls would be forced to stop their maddening attempts on his person. Worry nigged at Lucius then, wouldn't this be behavior similar to an unawakened Veela?
It was a well-known fact that Veela had mates. One person, who was perfect for them in every way. There would never be any other in the Veela's eyes, and they couldn't be bothered by anything less than perfection. As Lucius stared at his son, who was looking more broken, sick and violently angry with each passing second, he recalled what had caused that tiny seed of worry to drop deep into the recesses of his mind and take root.
"And you must be Miss Granger, I presume? Yes, Draco's told me all about you. And your parents... Muggles, aren't they?"
He'd worried then that the only girl his son had ever paid any real attention to, had been the Mudblood girl. Lucius had consoled himself then with the knowledge that while his son had shown an alarming amount of interest in the girl, it was only to torment her. Nothing seemed to give his son more pleasure than annoying the 'Golden Trio.' Granted, Draco rarely paid much mind of the other Mudblood's at Hogwarts, but again Lucius had comforted himself with the certainty his son only did so to achieve his favor. Draco yearned for his approval, and it was easy to tell himself that was what lead his son's motivations.
Now, however, it was absolutely clear. A high-pitched, reedy whine escaped Draco then, easily covered by the girl's wails. A fissure a guilt rippled through Lucius, and once again he met the eyes of his own beloved. They were bright with her concern and determination.
"Cissa?" Lucius whispered, seeking guidance. What were they to do in this situation? Yes, they could let the girl be killed, Draco's Veela hadn't fully Awakened yet - he'd yet to transform. Perhaps, once the undesirable mate was remedied, the Veela would be forced to choose another upon awakening?
But is that a risk you're willing to take? Your son's very life could depend upon it.
"Draco?" Narcissa murmured, keeping a steadying hand on him at all times. When his eyes snapped to hers for the briefest of moments, acknowledging the worry in her tone and immediately seeking to offer reassurance, she gasped at the bleak desolation churning in his normally soft, grey eyes. "Oh my darling boy…" Narcissa whispered tearfully, keeping him close as she turned her glossy, ice blue eyes back to her husband. She held out her hand, wand flat across her palm in offering, "We must do something, Luc."
And Lucius knew she was right.
It was with no small amount of trepidation, illustrated by the shaking of his wand hand, that Lucius aimed his wife's wand at her sister's back and wordlessly cast the killing curse. They could leave none in the Manor on their side alive. As soon as Bella's body hit the floor, Draco catapulted himself across the room to the girl's side. She was whimpering as convulsions wracked her slight frame, the chit had obviously not been eating while on the run.
"Please. Please. Please…" the Granger girl whispered fearfully to his son. "Help me."
Lucius spared one last long glance at his son, tenderly brushing the witch's crazed curls away from her face and dabbing at the trickle of blood from her nose with his sleeve. He heard Draco making soothing noises and his voice telling her she was safe now; it was over - before striding out of the room to deal with the incapacitated snatchers Draco had disposed of, and the werewolf.
Truth be told, he very much looked forward to cutting that beast down. One too many a lingering look at his son, and Draco's near terrified avoidance of the creature told Lucius everything he needed to know. After Greyback breathed his last, the Malfoy patriarch bellowed for Pettigrew. He heard the snivelling man stumble in his race up from the cellar and rolled his eyes. A very petty part of him wondered why he'd waited so long to leave the Dark Lord's side when even the rat seemingly ranked above him in his Lord's eyes.
The look of shock never left Pettigrew's face as he fell, mere metres away from the stairs leading down to where their captives lay in wait. Lucius Malfoy was no ignorant man. He'd fought these children before and had no doubts the other two were cooking up an escape plan already. How best to handle this, admittedly, delicate situation? It was unlikely anyone down below would listen to a word he had to say, and just as unlikely that they would listen to Draco - though perhaps the familiarity and the fact that Draco had tried - ultimately failed, but tried nonetheless - to spare them by not identifying the lot might earn him a modicum of trust.
Still, there was enough bad blood between them - best to send Cissa, he thought.
His eyes were drawn to his family, his only son and wife were kneeling beside the girl, his son's personal house elf standing just behind his shoulder, wringing her hands together while large, silvery tears slid down her cheeks in an endless fashion. A damp cloth rested on the girl's brow and her eyes were screwed tightly shut as her body continued to jerk and twitch painfully with aftershocks.
Draco cast a cooling charm, most likely not the first, on the Granger girl while she clung to his free hand with a vise grip. "Shh. Shh, Hermione. I know. I know it hurts. It will pass soon, I promise. Do you hear me, love? It'll all be over soon. The tremors are already lessening."
Lucius could only stare in mute wonder, as he'd never heard Draco croon to another individual the way he was currently. There was a palpable tenderness in his voice, one that knocked Lucius back a step. His wife looked up to him then and he was horrified to see two glistening tear tracks slicing down her cheeks. With a painful swallow, he beckoned her forth and then stepped into the hall.
Moments later Narcissa joined him, daintily dabbing at her reddened eyes with a handkerchief. Unthinkingly, Lucius drew her into the circle of his embrace and allowed himself a moment to hold her, and offer her the same kind of comfort his son was currently giving the Mud - Muggle-born in their drawing room.
"Oh Lucius, we could have killed her," she whispered miserably. "We could have have killed her and then, when Draco finally reached his majority - he would have withered away right before our eyes, darling!" Lucius tightened the embrace, feeling her womanly form trembling against his own. Small, quiet sobs and sniffles we muffled by his chest.
"Shh, my love. All is well, for the moment. The Granger girl is safe. Draco is safe. Now, we must fight for our safety as a family."
Narcissa pulled back slightly from his embrace, and looked up at him with watery, miserable eyes. Those bright, depthless blue eyes of hers flicked between the stone cold grey of his own, no doubt trying to predict his next move. "What is it that you ask of me, Luc?"
"My darling, Cissa," Lucius murmured, taking a moment to press his lips gently against her own. They hadn't much time, but what with the world crumbling down around their feet, he felt taking a moment with his witch was worth the risk. "You must know we cannot stay here. The Dark Lord will return sooner than later, and we must all be long gone before he does. While I dispose of the bodies -" he ignored her flinch and soldiered on. "I'll need you to parley with Potter. Explain the situation and ask for protection in exchange for information. I'll work out a deal with the Order once he agrees, that will hopefully keep us from Azkaban. You're the only one who has a chance of getting through to them, they'd only try to fight with either myself or Draco. Take Tilly with you, Potter has a soft spot for house elves and Tilly adores Draco. Perhaps…" his voice finally trailed off and Narcissa cupped his cheeks affectionately while nodding her assent.
"Of course, my darling. Keep the wands from the fallen, you need one and the Order might need replacements, as well," she pressed a lingering kiss against his lips, melting against his sturdy frame for only a moment before stepping back and quiet calling out, "Tilly."
The small elf appeared with a soft pop next to her Mistress and awaited orders. "Follow me please, Tilly," Narcissa commanded gently. Whereas Lucius ruled with an iron fist and a cold countenance, she had always been softer, gentler in her ways. And it inspired devotion. Not only Lucius. Not only her son. But all the elves. The peacocks. And generally anyone she spent a fair amount of time with.
The loving couple went their separate ways, Lucius back into the drawing room to remove Bella's corpse and Narcissa, followed by Tilly, descended the into the darkness leading down to the cellar. "Lumos Maxima," Narcissa whispered. It was far too dark for her liking and she could hear the small elf behind her whimpering in fear. The elves loathed the 'dungeons' and Narcissa couldn't blame them. Too much darkness and death lined these walls.
The often neglected torches that lined the walls flared to life and the closer the Malfoy matriarch crept toward the wooden door, the more she could hear from their captives. One was repeatedly yelling for the Granger girl, ignoring those voices around him urging him to calm and quiet down.
"HERMIONE! HERMIONE! Why isn't she screaming anymore, Harry? I can't hear anything! What if she's - " here the voice broke on a ragged sob before, "HERMIONE! HERMIONE CAN YOU HEAR ME?!"
It was then that Narcissa opened the small panel at eye-level that gave her the ability to see the prisoners, as well as them to see her. "Miss Granger will be fine. Bellatrix is dead," no sense beating around the bush, she thought.
The angry, red-all-over one flew at the door, snarling vitriol at Narcissa. As she cringed away and not-so-discreetly wiped at her face, Lady Malfoy was momentarily struck speechless at the sight of the, very literally, spitting-mad young man. Ignoring his very detailed threats, Narcissa briefly thought it was a shame his family joined the Order, the Weasleys were obviously capable of the darkness the Dark Lord favored.
Narcissa pinned a now normal looking Harry Potter with her stare, "Mr. Potter, I know you have every reason to doubt us and I don't dare argue that point. However, the circumstances have changed. My family and I just killed the Dark Lord's most favored lieutenant, several of his snatchers, his pet werewolf and...well, I'm not really certain what Pettigrew was, but he met the end of my wand as well. All for your Hermione, and our Draco."
Her words were met with silence and she met his wary, emerald stare unflinchingly.
"What do you mean you did it for Hermione and Draco?" Ron all but growled at the Malfoy matriarch. Feeling his insides turn to sludge, it was all he could do to glower at the blonde woman with all the hatred he held for her family and all of their ilk. He hoped it burned.
Narcissa flicked her eyes to his and away, back to Harry, just as quickly. She'd already surmised the nature of this Weasley's feelings for the young girl upstairs and worried for her son, should the red one start trouble. No doubt Miss Granger would never forgive them if he were simply killed. Pity.
"While Bella was trying to get answers," Narcissa spoke to Harry, ignoring the Weasley altogether. "We noticed some startling changes in Draco, and it seems as though the latent Veela gene that runs in the Malfoy family has surfaced."
Harry's eyes widened to a near-comical proportion, he'd spent hours in the library with Hermione - picking her brain and allowing her to proofread his six feet of parchment on the creatures back in fourth year. If Draco was showing signs of Awakening at seventeen - Harry let out a slow, heavy sigh.
"What does that have to do with ANYTHING?!" Ron shouted at Mrs. Malfoy, thumping his fists against the heavy wooden door as he did so.
"Ron," Harry whispered morosely. Ron, hearing his tone and immediately cringing as he turned to face his best mate, he knew whatever was coming would not be happy news.
"Hermione is Draco's mate."
Narcissa and Harry, along with Luna, Dean, Mr Ollivander and Griphook watched as Ron's face turned a startling shade of purple as he glared at his best friend, daring him to repeat those hideous, hurtful words.
"It's true," a soft, lilting voice came from the back of the dank cellar. Luna stepped forward, standing shoulder to shoulder with Harry. Three shocked pairs of eyes flew to her and she nodded, with a dreamy grin on her face. The sprite-like Ravenclaw held a natural, Merlin-given, magical affinity for magical creatures, her opinion was surely damning.
Ron swallowed back the rush of bile that flooded his mouth and shook his head, adamantly denying the possibility. He'd only just realized how deeply he cared for the witch. It couldn't be possible. Not Hermione.
"I wondered for a while," Luna continued in her airy voice. "They never have gotten along, but their auras speak to a much deeper, more primal connection. One of those that soulmates have. The two of them together are nearly blinding."
"Yes," Narcissa hesitatingly agreed with the strange girl and Mr. Potter. "Miss Granger is Draco's mate, and once my husband and I realized this, we turned on the others to guarantee both their safety. My sister would have killed Miss Granger, make no mistake, and if she had - she would have signed my only son's death warrant as well. We could not allow that to happen. I would do anything for my son, Mr. Potter. His happiness is paramount to me."
They were all silent for heartbeat before a loud crack rent through the air.
"Harry Potter," the disheveled elf squeaked in a tiny, terrified voice. "Dobby has come to rescue you."
"That won't be necessary, Dobby," Narcissa's voice cut through the shock his sudden appearance wrought. "Though the attempt alone is very admirable."
The wooden door swung open, fully revealing the mistress of Malfoy Manor and another small house elf, standing protectively in front of it's Lady of the house.
"If you'll all follow me, I'll take you back upstairs. Mr. Ollivander will most likely need assistance. I've done my best to smuggle him extra food and strengthening draughts - however his imprisonment hasn't been kind to his health. Mr. Potter," she waited until he gave her his undivided attention before continuing. "My family will require sanctuary. If we stay, when the Dark Lord returns - he will kill us all."
Momentarily overcome with emotion, the Lady Malfoy covered her mouth as she weeped. She'd experienced terror on level most lesser mortals could never come close to imagining, but the thought of what the Dark Lord would do to her Luc, to her sweet Dragon, was enough to strike down her defenses and left her briefly exposed as the horrendously frightened witch she was.
"So?" Ron snared once again. "Sounds like the perfect way to end this nightmare I'm currently living."
Harry rolled his eyes at Ron's petulant behavior, though he did understand it. Narcissa found herself oddly thankful for the rude, red one. His vitriol was enough to shake her from her fit of emotion and erect her public mask once more.
"We'll give you all the information we know. We will fight for you. You have my word, though I'm sure it means next to nothing to you. Please, Mr. Potter - don't let our change of heart go to waste."
They had followed Narcissa up the stairs, while Tilly guarded her Lady's back, Dobby walked protectively in front of Harry. He found the little creatures' loyalty astounding. Those thoughts distracted him just enough to keep his mind from imploding as they traveled to the drawing room. As soon as his eyes fell upon the pair in the center of the room, however, he came to an immediate halt.
Draco Malfoy, looking far paler than Harry could ever remember, cradled Hermione's hand against his cheek and spoke in the softest voice anyone had ever heard from him before, with the exception of his mother. Harry could feel the rage rolling off of Ron, but luckily - or perhaps with a bit more intelligence than he normally displayed, the redhead stayed resolutely silent behind his best friend. Draco suddenly turned his attention to Ron with dangerously narrowed eyes, as if he could sense his hostility and was measuring the threat he made. He tilted his head to the side with a snarl before a soft, ducelt murmur brought his attention back to Hermione.
Narcissa rushed to their left, into the open arms of Lucius Malfoy, who had apparently finished his tasks and returned to watch his son fuss over his mate. The head of the Malfoy family felt hollow inside. He'd listened with rapt attention at his father's knee as he told how Muggles were jealous of their magic and longed to be able to cast it themselves, and how that jealousy had turned to something much darker and brought about the Witch Trials. He'd believed his father, and passed along his teachings to his son that Muggle-borns were not only beneath Pureblooded wizards and witches, but were malicious souls intent on stealing their magic and destroying their families.
While Lucius held his wife, he finally questioned all the things he thought he knew. How could Miss Granger be his son's perfect match? His soul-mate? If she were such a lesser being it would not be possible. Malfoys are known for their conceited nature, but that nature was based in fact. Draco was a powerful wizard, a gifted Legilimens, second in his class only to Miss Granger - Lucius wondered then if Miss Granger would have a gift with Occlumency since it went hand in hand with Legilimency. It would make sense, those complimentary magics.
Nevertheless, Draco was no small catch. Add in his wealth, and wealth of knowledge - Lucius truly believed any young woman would be lucky to call his son their own. And by that token, Miss Granger would have to be of a similar vein. He knew she was bright, brilliant actually. She was passionate in regards to equality, both for the magical community and for all the creatures within it. Loyal. Brave. Kind. And, like his son, powerful.
Lucius decided there and then to try and leave his old prejudices behind. The future happiness of his family depended on it.
Draco helped Granger sit up then, it was a slow process - the extended exposure to the torture curse had left her weak and reeling. He could tell she was confused and wary, but she clung to his hand like he was her only safe harbor in the midst of a terrible storm, and Draco found he didn't want to let go of her, either.
Granger stared him down for a long moment before movement by the door must have caught her attention. "Harry! Ron!" she gasped, her eyes lighting up even as they overflowed. Potter rushed to her other side, scooping up her free hand.
"It's alright, Hermione. You're okay. We're okay," Potter calmly reassured the witch. His presence, so close to Granger, bothered Draco tremendously - but he valiantly fought to bury the foreign emotions. He knew Granger needed this, and thus he would have to allow it. Rolling his eyes at himself, the pale wizard knew if she heard him say something similar, he'd lose his bollocks.
"I know, I know," Granger chanted, leaning against Potter's shoulder as tears of relief poured from her eyes. After a moment, she seemed to notice the missing presence of one of her permanently-attached-at-the-hip goons. "Ron?" Granger croaked, her throat raw and bleeding from all the screaming.
The ginger in question hadn't moved from the doorway, his arms crossed angrily over his chest. His glare never left Draco, though he did manage a low, "I'm fine, Hermione."
"You're obviously not fine!" Granger continued in that painful sounding croak. Draco quietly called Tilly back to his side, bringing Granger's attention back to him momentarily. "Tilly, would you please bring Miss Granger a glass of ice cold water and a pain potion?" The house elf was gone in a snap her long fingers, and back before Hermione could blink.
It was at that moment she realized her hand was still clutching Draco's, her cinnamon eyes had darted towards the redhead still glaring from the doorway. Dropping her eyes to her lap, Hermione gently pulled her hand from his and Harry's, thankful she had the excuse of desperately needing both the potion and the water. Pausing only for a moment to smell the potion and ascertain that is was indeed a very potent pain potion, Hermione swallowed the bitter fluid with a grimace. She then greedily gulped down every drop of the water.
"Would the little mistress likes more water?" Tilly, she had heard Malfoy call her Tilly, asked.
Startled by the little creature calling her mistress, Hermione only shook her head in response before her manners got the best of her. Her voice was still hoarse and raspy when she replied, "No, thank you, Tilly." The graceful curtsy she received in reply was even more disconcerting.
Looking up, Hermione found all eyes on her.
"Beyond the obvious, what's going on?" She asked suspiciously. Her attention bounced between her best friends - who both looked like they'd rather eat a Blast-Ended Skrewt rather than speak up, the Malfoys who each wore a guilty and pained expression, and the rag-tag group of prisoners that had finally moved past Ron and stood on the opposite wall from the elder Malfoys.
"Luna!" Hermione cried happily. "Dean! I'm so happy to see you both!" Dean gave her a brilliant, wide smile that lit up his whole face.
"I'm happy to see you, too, Hermione." Luna replied in her typical dreamy fashion and Hermione couldn't help but grin at the wispy, blonde girl. "And since no-one else seems to be willing to tell you the truth, I will. Draco is a Veela. And you are his mate."
The grin melted away quickly and Hermione felt the beginning stirrings of panic well in her chest. She looked to Malfoy, who also was staring at Luna, with wide eyes and a ghostly pallor. Was he ill? He looked worse than he had in sixth year, and that was quite a feat. Hermione watched as he looked to his parents, the question clear in his eyes. She couldn't contain her gasp of surprise when both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy nodded, looking guiltier by the second.
"Complete bullshite!" Ron shouted. "I refuse to believe this."
Hermione looked to Ron, (she felt much like she was spectating a tennis match - what with the way her attention kept shifting to and fro) his anger finally making sense. She wasn't sure exactly how to classify their relationship as of late. He'd certainly made his feelings known and apparent on his return, but Hermione had found in the weeks he was gone, the betrayal and hurt outweighed any romantic feelings she may have been nursing. After the Lavender fiasco, Hermione had promised herself if Ronald did anything to cause her that much heartache again, it would be last straw.
And now that she found herself in one of the most awkward situations she'd ever experienced in her relatively young life, she couldn't help but wonder if Bellatrix had indeed shattered her mind and all of this was simply fuelled by her insanity. Slyly, Hermione brought her right hand under her left arm and pinched the skin she found there rather savagely. Her hiss of pain was ignored, however, when Malfoy suddenly slumped to his side and his mother screamed.
"Malfoy?" Hermione called out to him in a panic, scrambling up to her knees as fast as her protesting muscles would allow. Hovering over his too-still form, she called out to him again, this time thinking she had a greater chance of getting through to him if she were more personal with him. "Draco? Draco? Can you hear me?" Fear gripped her heart then and her fingers flew to his jugular, needing to feel around for a moment before she found his weak and thready pulse thrumming against her skin. "He's got a pulse. It's weak though. We have to get him help, Harry," Hermione begged Harry with her eyes, she couldn't just let Malfoy die.
His family had thrown caution to the wind and saved her from Bellatrix, killing the criminally insane witch even though she was family. If they hadn't, who knows what would have happened to her? Hermione would likely be dead and if not dead, then mostly dead. Harry held her stare for a long moment, seemingly searching for something - and he must have found whatever it was he was looking for because Harry swallowed roughly before turning and levelling his emerald stare at Ron.
"Ron - c'mon mate, I know he's a right foul git and I know he's made our lives a living hell for the past seven years, but we can't just let him die. What about Fleur?" And Hermione would have kissed Harry for his quick thinking if that wouldn't have made just about everything a hundred-thousand times worse. "If he's a Veela, she'll know. She'll be best suited to help him if it's true, and we'll all breathe easier if someone we know and trust confirms or denies it."
Hermione could see Ron's jaw clench and unclench as he held Harry's weighty gaze and felt sorry for his poor teeth. She could practically hear them grinding together from quite a ways away. Glaring at Malfoy's supine form in a stony sort of silence, Ron seemingly ignored their pleas. Hermione felt her blood pressure spike and white-hot anger burn through her veins; how dare he?! If anyone had the right to hold a grudge against Malfoy, it was she. Her mouth opened to verbally castrate him but her words died in her throat when the most pitiful wail she'd ever heard echoed about the massive room. In the next moment, Mrs Malfoy was at her son's side, clutching his unresponsive form to her chest.
"Draco, Draco, Draco…" Narcissa whimpered through her desperate sobs, unwilling to let him go, and unable to offer him any help. "My love, my dragon...please. Please, baby. Open your eyes."
Hermione felt her chin tremble, and felt what had to be the millionth tear she had shed that day, slide down her cheek. Turning her horrified and anger filled eyes on Ronald, she was relieved to find him now staring miserably at Malfoy and his mother, his shoulders hunched and his arms limp at his side. When his cornflower blue gaze met her own once more, Hermione knew she'd won. The resignation and apology in his eyes were enough to appease her momentarily, and instead of a verbal lashing, she waited.
"All right, all right," Ron sighed, long and heavy. "We're heading to Shell Cottage. I would floo call my brother, Bill, and ask him to open the floo on his end - it would be safer for Hermione and Malfoy. But with the Ministry utterly compromised, and how easy it is to track floo travel we just can't risk it. Harry and I will hold Malfoy up if Hermione can manage to stand on her own...I-I don't feel comfortable apparating with more than four at a time, I'm afraid I'll splinch us all."
"Dobby can takes you lot, Mister Weasley."
And it was settled.