A/N: I would like all of the readers who stumble upon this fic to know that I am an extremely slow updater. If you look on my profile page you'll find three fics uncompleted, but I did finished one. I DO PLAN ON FINISHING THIS! So don't be unsure about reading it. It will just be a long FF in progress story, but I have everything already planned out for it so all I have to do is write. Plus, it's Dramione... my first one, but Dramione. I have to finish it. In addition, half of chapter two is already done.

What you do need to know is that this fic will have a high T rating because of the violence. There will extensive references to violence and torture. You will mainly see this in Draco's life throughout the fic, but you will see the biggest torture bit in year 7 because of Hermione's already existing torture from Bellatrix LeStrange in the books and movies. I will, however, go into detail even further when the time comes. In addition to this, there will be NO harsh coarse language or any smut whatsoever. There will probably be an occasional hell or damn when necessary, and probably a kiss or two in the teenage years, but nothing worth an M rating.

Disclaimer: I don't own any canon work from J.K Rowling, the Queen of literature, but its fun to pretend I do. I mean if she wants to rent out Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger for my use, I'd be down for it. I mean probably any Dramione shipper would be; we could finally free her from her idiot of a canon husband, and give her the man she deserves. (#SorryNotSorry for Ron Weasley basing) I will not add any more disclaimers on the continuing chapters since I have done so here.

Her Dragon, His Otter

Prologue

There once was a creature with four arms, four legs, two heads, and one heart and soul. These beings, however, were the largest danger there was to the known world. Their intellect, their love and devotion to their other half, caused them to be a constant danger to all of those around them. So, the masters of the era, the most talented and bravest wizards and witches, decided it was wise to separate these beings into halves. The name of the creature has been lost for eons, but the legend and certain fact remain; somewhere in the world that half of yourself is waiting and searching.

The only clue that these lonely halves had received was a marking, a tattoo if you will, that represented their better half.

Now the most common things to have were inanimate objects, but those were only for the lower class of these beings. The legend says that the more personalized the marking, the stronger the love was. The stronger the love, the more primal and territorial they got- this being the reason for the leaders of the era to separate them. Their mates would do anything for their beloved half.

For these creatures who had the more intimate sort of marking, on the other hand, were made of the very love that keeps them alive and delighted beyond measure. The very thing that kept the darkness away, and showed that light could come in the darkest of times. A thing as old as the beings themselves, and something that not every soul can create. Yet, the modern times had come up with another name for this bliss, this shield of love, one that most people knew by heart.

The masters and mistresses in the charms field called it a patronus.

She could tell you the first moment she fully understood what the weird shape on her chest meant, and nothing would ever take away that rapturous moment. She was only seven, but nothing would ever be the same again. Someone wanted to love her. Yes, her parents loved her, but she always felt something missing. Even if she couldn't tell what it was at first. She always knew.

She remembered on her fifth birthday, two years ago, that everyone she knew was smiling all around her. Their excitement and laughter ringing through the house from her family, but her smile barely reached her eyes. How could it when her heart was heavy and there was a sinking feeling in her stomach. Where was her happiness? Her parents knew when she was born that her life, until she found them would be difficult, but the silver lining in her cloud was that someone loved her to the point of death. They were out there, she realized only recently.

Somewhere.

And that led her back to that moment. The moment her naïve baby brain finally contemplated that someone wanted her like she wanted them. This yearning feeling that she woke up to every single day that only got worse as her mind discovered what the imbedded image in her skin meant. Where was her prince like in the Disney movies? Every time the questions popped up in her mind, she would rebuke them and silently answer to herself that she was a young lady of science and fact, and that her mind was no place for fairytales.

It was strange that her parents had no idea why she was born with one of the tattoos, they weren't common in her family. Her mother once said that her grandmother had one, but that was the end of that. Even the doctors that had delivered her on September 19th, 1979 said that it was almost an inexplicable event that a baby be born with such a marking- especially when it was the size of the one she had. That's why the doctors stayed silent, that's why her parents never let her be partially nude as an infant- her yellow and pink onesies always on, and that's why she was taught from the time she could speak that she was to hide her little secret.

Her mark to the modern world was eerie and to an extent, supernatural.

Therefore, when she figured it out, she forgot the world, and ran up to the bathroom next to her room. Her unsteady hands locked the door, and she threw off her tiny jumper. Her eyes immediately caught on the beast clinging on to her beanpole child figure; it's colors apparent but camouflaged at the same time against her ivory freckled skin. The beast's hues were ones of periwinkle and sliver with the occasional shade of charcoal or tint of white to the raised or sunk places on the beast. As she admired the creature on her skin, her mind of science and fact laughed in irony. Since of the creature marring her skin had to be of mythological origin, of course.

A dragon, to be exact.

The dragon's scaled tail curled deep around her ribs as its body laid against her sternum, and its head rested against her heart. If anyone else saw the beast, they would think it harsh and incredibly intimidating for a child to have it blemish her skin. To her, though, it was like coming home after a long day at sea. The dragon was kind and comforting and all she wanted to do was cradle the skin there as if were an actual creature resting against her.

She took one long last look at her shining dragon and sighed. She was a smart girl, and she knew that if anyone ever knew that she had her dragon, people would want her. For what, she didn't know, but for what she did know was that most of those intentions were as good as rotting compost. And that's why she needed to hide. So, she grabbed her jumper off the floor and shrugged it back on; she took a deep breath a second later after her head came popping up through the jacket as she tried to compose herself.

Only the doctors that had birthed her in hospital, her parents, and herself knew of her albino-like dragon. And it needed to stay that way. As she was trying to compose herself, her little seven-year-old-soul made a promise. No one would see her dragon, she would fight her hardest before she let them. She would fight even harder because of where it was placed. This would be one of the few times she would allow herself to admire her dragon because the saying did go, 'out of sight out of mind', and she knew if her promise was ever to be kept, she needed to keep her mouth shut.

And Hermione did.

His parents practically worshiped him, never mind that he was their only son, but for the sole fact that he had an intimate soul mark. Sure, it was mediocre sized, but it was there. Ever since he was born, the golden fuzzy otter had cuddled against his heart. Not that he particularly cared, mind. He was a pureblood, and if there was one thing that his father had taught him, it was the pureblood traditions.

His nine-year-old self grimaced at the thought of losing his other half, but he had to let it go. His father didn't hold to the legend of the creatures and their marks- even if his son had one. Nevertheless, he was still brought up with simple rules he had to follow to be acceptable to their society: have astounding manners, be agreeable, don't argue with the elders, and accept anything the elders do for you. These were the basic rules, but he had to have them perfect for his father to be anywhere near slightly pleased. Or bad things would happen.

His mother was strict- however, she was kind, but his father was cruel to a degree of brutality behind closed doors. He would dot upon his son in public, play the part of the prideful father for the press, but at the manor, he was anything but dotting. Lucius would flat out ignore his son for days if he didn't impress him in others company. If he was particularly snide or unbecoming, when they arrived back at the manor, Lucius would take him by the scruff of his neck and pull him off to 'knock some sense into the boy'.

His mother, Narcissa, would be powerless against her husband in fear he'd do the same to her. Both his mother and he knew the ways of the purebloods, and whatever his father said, went.

That included who he was to be betrothed to.

He, to some degree, had a choice between a few young ladies. One of his oldest friends, Pansy, another further off friend of his, Daphne, or her younger sister, Astoria. He wouldn't choose Pansy if his life depended on it. She was malicious and narcissistic to anyone she deemed unworthy of her presence. He himself had seen her sneer at other children, and spit acidic words at them with her sharp tongue. Then she would return to the conversation like nothing ever happened. He didn't want to choose Daphne either. She was frosty and vain. The thing he noticed she liked to attend to most was her hair. She wouldn't engage in normal conversation, and she would flat out ignore anyone who bothered her. Astoria was another story, she was still young, two years younger than her sister, and still moldable. So, he had no idea how she was going to turn out.

But he didn't want a cold and barren relationship. He wanted one of warmth and contentment- just like the feeling his curled-up otter gave him. His heart ached for the compassion he desperately wanted, and he knew the only way he was going to get it, was if he found his otter. So, he made a vow with himself. He would find the woman who gave his life meaning and warmth. It wouldn't matter if she wasn't like him- if she wasn't a pureblood. He had an inkling feeling she wasn't, and he knew what his father spouted about blood supremacy was complete codswallop; how could it be true if all blood ran red, and nothing like the sludge his father and his friends called them? He needed to keep his emotions and mask in place if he was ever going to keep her safe if she wasn't a pureblood. But no matter what he would find her, and forsake his father's decision even if it killed him.

And Draco would.