A/N- So, here it is! The final chapter! I actually wanted to wait and post this on the day that I published the first chapter and this story (2nd November), but as it was the final chapter and I had left you guys with nothing for so long, I decided to post this now as a little (Halloween?) present!
So horrah! Three, long years later, and this is finally getting wrapped up. Thank you to every single one of you 420 favourites (you're beautiful), and the 715 followers (you're just as stunning). Together, you guys have managed to review 354 times - that's an average of 9 reviews per chapter (although this isn't actually the case), and then some! - and every single one of those reviews have kept me working with this fic instead of giving up. And those who have been here from the start know that there were many times where I was close to.
Yet, 188,709 words later (yes, including author's notes and no, not including the word count for this chapter), we've reached the end!
Though, I may be posting an epilogue (or two!) as soon as possible following the release of this chapter.
"The Blood of the Covenant is thicker than the Water of the Womb"
"Here," she said, quickly slipping through the door into Hermione's newly allocated room. In her hands was a wreath of green, intricately woven and held gently, so as not to ruin their shape; the plants brought a fresh smell into the room.
Hermione saw all of this from her place in front of the floor-length mirror that she had been positioned in front of before Narcissa had left on an errand, to retrieve the final piece. She simply couldn't look away; much like her enrapture all those months ago, awaiting to leave her room to meet Draco at the Winter Solstice, Hermione was enchanted by the way that she looked, in the way that she felt. She knew that Narcissa felt the same, in the way that she looked at her, though she didn't say anything; much like a bee, she only buzzed to and fro, collecting and gathering things that Hermione would need for the ceremony, and dressing and decorating her with the upmost care, as if she was her favourite doll.
She was ashamed to say that it was with a weird enjoyment, that she allowed Narcissa to do every little thing for her. She was a goddess in her own right.
"There you are, darling." She settled the wreath onto her perfectly and precisely arranged hair, above the ring of plaits that Hermione could now see were necessary in balancing the wreath upon her head. "From Draco," she said. "Maidenhair fern. I suppose you know why he chose it for your crown."
She smiled, lightly touching the ferns, seeing their leaves curl inwards at her touch in the mirror. "No. I don't."
"It is not for me to tell you, then," she said secretively.
Slowly, she turned Hermione away from the mirror and to face her, though Hermione wouldn't admit that she wasn't quite done looking at herself. Narcissa's fingers danced across her face and down her dress, smoothing out any creases that might have appeared and checking that her tailoring was holding and that it fitted her perfectly. Hermione, apparently, was both shorter and wider - with less of a bust - than Narcissa was when she was preparing to be Bonded to Lucius all those years ago, and so the dress had to be adjusted to fit accordingly; across the years, Hermione thought, this dress must have been tailored hundreds – close to thousands – of times. Stepping back, and assessing her with a motherly pride that Hermione had begun to accept wholeheartedly – though still wished that her own mother could be here with her - Narcissa pressed her hands to her heart and nodded her head gently, a silent confirmation that she was perfect.
Hermione took her hands, softer than her own, and thanked her once more. She pulled her hands away after a light squeeze and returned to the dressing table to pick up her necklace, one of a twin pair. "You are almost ready to go," she said, walking back over to her. "Just this last thing. And a lovely choice you both made with it." Narcissa clasped it around Hermione's neck, letting it hang between her breasts, just skimming the fabric of her corset.
This necklace, however, was not a mutual decision. Hermione had tried to take an interest in the expertly crafted jewellery that she was shown on their searches from Oxford Street, to Parisian boutiques to a short visit in Los Angeles - but the finery was so impeccable, so beautiful, that it had been hard to choose which one she preferred and difficult to decide what was of a more skilled craftsmanship and worth the extortionate number of Galleons that they were commanding. In the end, she left it to Draco to choose, who had a trained eye when it came to seeing the quality in the gemstones, in the silver and the gold and the platinum. Finally, after a week or so of rigorous hunting (so busy with their preparations that Hermione would've forgotten New Year's Eve and the New Year had Draco - with, she presumed, his mother's help - not booked a small hotel room for them by the Thames, which they retired to after another scour for necklaces in London, to watch the fireworks) they chose the most wonderful, matching necklaces.
Hermione admired it greatly; it was ridiculously simple in appearance, despite the pear-shaped diamond pendant being a heavy carat weight, and was held on a chain of white gold. Most of all, she admired the clarity of the diamond and spent a few moments staring at it, turning it in her fingers, in awe of its transparency and the beautiful way that it reflected the spring sun pouring in from the windows. Soon, the same, clear, teardrop diamond, would be filled with Draco's blood.
Draco, of whom she had not seen a lot of since he passed the hundred-day mark early last month. Their contact was exclusively through his parents and written letters now, all four of them agreeing that Draco had begun to slip uncontrollably in and out of his Veela state too frequently now to be allowed near Hermione, after what happened when she and the Veela were last together, in spite of his apology. Of course they were both affected, as usual, by the separation, but they were helped by Narcissa and Lucius this time, and distracted themselves by counting down the days until they were able to see each other again, on their day of Bonding – today – when he had a mere fifty-four days left. The scarcity of the days that he had left by the time that they had finished with preparations was something of concern, wondering whether he would've made it to this day without becoming sick again or how feral he'd be by this time, but he seemed to have coped well. They both had.
"Now," Narcissa said, admiring her once more, "are you sure about doing this? It will only be worse – he will die - if you are not serious about Bonding with him."
"Yes; of course, Mrs Malfoy. I have no intent to allow him to die."
Her smile was small and she nodded her head once, sharply. "Then we best be going to the Seer. Lucius would have already dropped Draconis off." Gently and carefully, she took Hermione's hands within her own, and, closing her eyes, Apparated them to Diagon Alley. From there, she was led into Knockturn Alley, which was mostly abandoned now, and to an abandoned shack; Narcissa would leave her there, to make the rest of the way herself, after giving careful instructions ("yes, straight to the top, darling. All the way. There is only straight staircase, which opens into a room at the top. It is all perfectly safe."), as had been previously agreed.
Before she turned away, Narcissa made sure once more that nothing was going to be ruined for any of them this day. "You remember the ceremony, yes? And where to and how to-"
Hermione was as patient as she could be, knowing that only a flight of stairs separated her and Draco, less than what had been in between them for the past month. She smiled and nodded her head, taking her hands once more and promising that she knew exactly what she had to do.
"And drink it," Narcissa reminded her once more, kissing her on the forehead and turning away for good. "All of it. It should not be a problem once you get the first taste."
Nodding and puzzling curiously over what she had seemed to imply, Hermione turned and opened the rotting, wooden door to enter the building. Hiking up the skirt of her dress – chiffon, porcelain white, tastefully decorated with gold damask that spread up onto her bodice – she ascended the dust-covered, rickety staircase to her Veela.
The ruined portraits followed her to the top of the staircase, and to the landing, where an entryway opened to a large room. From where she was, she could see that it was dark within, as the windows were mostly covered with grime and dust – though, some rays of light made it through, from where the glass had been smashed - but candles that had been set out across the room in clusters helped to illuminate it further; yet, the parts that received no light remained in dense darkness. She could vaguely make out a low table in the centre - bracketed by two plush cushions - on which laid two chalices and a matching set of knives. This wasn't what Hermione had expected when she thought about Bonding with Draco, or where she imagined him to have received his prophecy. She almost imagined something beautiful – another manor, or castle, or even a forest – that matched the way that she was dressed; not a decaying, rat-riddled loft, which completely juxtaposed her gown and made her feel like the opposite of Cinderella.
She couldn't see anyone inside the room, but they may have just been cloaked by the shadows. She moved inside it, her eyes flitting about it to try and find where Draco was hiding; only when she was halfway in did she hear him.
He materialised from the shadows behind her, by the entryway, and with a call of "Mate", made himself apparent to her. Hermione assumed that she hadn't seen him because he'd been by the wall that separated the landing from the room, blocking him from sight, and would've silently watched her walk this far in from his position there. She watched him approach with ever increasing speed, swaggering and gleeful; as he removed himself from the darkness, she took care to notice how he had been dressed for the Ceremony, for that information hadn't seemed important and had been foregone.
With such a significant – practically sacred - event taking place, she was surprised to see him less clothed that she was; though Draco was clad in smart white slacks that had similar gold embroidery to her gown, with his family ring on his finger (as it had been ever since he received it at Christmas) and his father's cane held loosely in his fingertips - he was devoid of a shirt. For once (after all his consistent attempts to shield it from her), his mark of fifty-four days was blatantly and proudly displayed, with his wings – almost entirely white by this time – protruding from an unknown place in his back. They opened and closed slightly, his speed causing wafts of air to blow around the feathers, and made it seem as he wanted to take flight; she wondered if he knew how to. His matching necklace bounced against his chest as he moved faster, and it was only when she reached his face again did she realise that his eyes had returned to a familiar black. He observed her assessment of him smugly, as if he knew that she thought him angelic; beautiful and zealous and powerful. Before she had any chance of stopping him – or holding onto his bare arms for balance – he had lifted her by the hips and spun her around, the strange purring noise that she'd heard only once before, emitting from his throat.
"You're so beautiful," he said, setting her down after a few rotations, and nuzzling his face into hers. "So beautiful. I love you. I can't believe you're here. Finally."
"I love you too," she whispered back. She smiled, her fingers tracing his jawline. "And you – so handsome."
He hummed, grinning and looking wolfish. "I'm thrilled my Mate thinks so." He nipped her lips, but when Hermione tried to kiss him, he turned his head and laughed. She felt rather embarrassed, but he pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes admiring the crown of maidenhair fern that he had crafted for her to wear, and said, "I'm not going to kiss your pretty mouth until we're Bonded, my darling, and then it won't be so innocent."
She was transported back to a conversation that they had had about the Bonding Ceremony, and his particular description of "Bonding first, and then…bonding later"; his playful black eyes knew all too well what he was going to do once they were finished, but she could tell that he was more focused on the now.
"Come now, my lovely, my Mate," he said, picking up her hand and twirling her slowly. His eyes took in the full beauty of her dress as his other hand trailed over some of the decoration, before he pulled her back into his chest, as if this was some elaborate dance. His hands laced their fingers together. "We should begin. We've been waiting a long time for you." Draco nosed her head, then rested his chin on the top of her head, messing up her immaculate hair, and began to guide her forward. Hermione felt rather man-handled, as he was causing her to walk rather than dragging her alongside him, but due to his excitement, she allowed him to do it.
Appearing from the shadows, in a similar way that Draco had, was an elderly woman – the Seer, obviously - who had most obviously watched their delirious reunion. Hermione wondered what she thought about it; did she have any thoughts regarding how late they had left it, or was she indifferent to the happenings of it all. Did the Malfoys pay her for doing this or was it free?
Draco positioned her proudly in front of the Seer. "Ms Vera," he announced, "this is my Mate." Hermione smiled, then remembered that this Seer was blind and so it didn't matter whether she smiled at her or not.
She was short, this Seer, with only a few sparse wisps of grey hair left on her head and white eyes, a mouth as shrivelled as the rest of her, and clothes that seemed extraordinarily loose, as if she was only a skeleton; but still, she seemed to hold great power within her, no matter her stance on Divination. "What is your full name?" She asked, taking Hermione's hands from Draco's and into her own. He didn't seem so bothered about it, and instead crossed his arms across her body, hugging her to him; she heard and felt him sigh happily on top of her head. The Seer's fingers checked the ring finger on both of her hands, and then added, "Miss?"
Hermione knew that this was only to confirm that she was, indeed, his predicated Mate, to avoid any mishap such as what had happened at the beginning of the year, but she felt oddly nervous about giving her name in case something was wrong. She knew that there wasn't anything wrong, that they couldn't have come this far without realising, but when she (at Draco's nudge) said, "Hermione Jean Granger", it was almost if she was questioning it herself.
The Seer nodded solemnly and released her hands. "You've chosen correctly, Master Malfoy," she said. Hermione released a breath with the words. "She is who was chosen for you."
He hummed happily, knowing that he had, then kissed Hermione's forehead, rubbing his cheek against her head like a cat, and released her, stepping away to the other side of the room. He stood near to a collection of candles that cast his heavenly shadows against the wall, to await her next question, and wished the beginning would move faster so that he and Hermione could be joined for good. She stayed where she was, knowing that they had to be separated during this one part to make sure he wasn't influencing any of her answers with his Veela Charms, but missed his warmth and was possibly more distracted with him gone. She tried to stay focused on the Seer, but she could feel him covertly staring at her; when she caught his eye, a stern expression on her face, he grinned, winked, and turned to face the Seer, who was now in front of him. He sobered immediately.
"Master Draconis Malfoy," she said, "what is your desire?"
His eyes were closed now, and he'd pulled his chin to his chest as he reverently said, "I desire to Bond with my Mate, Hermione Jean Granger, whom I love."
Satisfied with the depth of his answer, she walked over to Hermione once more and asked her the same question, to which, she similarly replied, "I desire to Bond with my Veela, Draconis Lucius Malfoy, whom I love."
She nodded, weighting her answer. "And have you, Miss Granger, entered this of your own free will, without pressure or coercion from Draconis Malfoy or any other third party member?"
"Yes," she said, a bob of her head accompanying her answer. In her peripheral vision, she saw Draco watching her and ruffling his wings; she didn't think that he could look happier.
She turned back to Draco now, standing in the middle of them so as not having to continually pace to ask them specific questions. Though Hermione was prepared for this, she still felt rather interrogated; she wondered how Draco was taking it all. "Master Malfoy, as is your duty, have you fully informed your Mate of the weight behind agreeing to Bond with you today, and how she her life will be affected thereafter? Is Miss Granger under any illusions about what will happen today?"
"No," he said. "She's been fully informed. She understands."
"Miss Granger, do you fully understand what you are agreeing to do today and stand by your previous declaration to Bond with Master Malfoy? Do you accept that if you're not going into this wholeheartedly, you will be responsible for his death from heartbreak?"
She felt that all the times she had been asked or told the same or similar things – it had just been leading to this moment before her.
"Yes," she said. "I do."
"And do you agree to be completely faithful to Master Malfoy, and only consider the possibility of being with another partner until after his unforeseen death, whenever that may be?"
She knew as a part magical creature that his lifespan was longer than the average human's was, and that as Mate's their lifespans were unfortunately linked. Yet, she didn't mind potentially outliving her friends. She would be with him, until her own death, where he would follow her into the Veil. She didn't even think, at this moment, that she would ever find someone else, should Draco be the first to die. "I agree."
There were only a few more questions about their seriousness and intent – Hermione feeling as if she was receiving the brunt of them – until the last one, about the blood-drinking, led them to the next stage in their union. Draco had laid his cane down at his feet in preparation, and looked at Hermione appreciatively and smugly once more. He didn't say a word to her; since the questions he had been so, so quiet and Hermione didn't see that changing during the blood drinking.
The Seer had given them each a small vial containing a potion that was supposed to prevent either of them from catching a blood infection during the process, as well as smothering – no matter how fatal the consequences – his Veela healing powers. This potion, she made it very clear, was not effective against preventing someone from bleeding out, should that accident happen – which was why the both of them had to partake in lessons from Lucius and Narcissa about where an appropriate place to make the incision on the neck was, and just how careful and precise they had to be.
Hermione's dress was sleeveless, only being held up by a tight corset for the very reason of having easy access to her neck. Draco admired it from standing opposite her for a long while; admired the length and the smoothness, and the strength of her scent there, the pulsing of her blood contained only under a thin layer of skin. How simply easy it would be to plant his face there whenever he so desired. He admired it with such intensity that he could see the small shreds of concern and fear in Hermione's eyes as he took his time with the knife, making sure that the incision was neat and non-fatal, as he caressed her skin with the blade, letting beads of blood form and run down it. The pain was duller than she had expected, as if he had somehow taken it away from her; the only sting she primarily felt was the coldness of the knife's blade.
The blood dripped on the floor, stained his hand, stained her skin and stained her dress. The urge to clean it all with his tongue was overwhelming.
Hermione thought that he was looking at her as if he wanted to devour her whole. As if he knew that she was going to be the best goddamn meal he would ever have, before he had even tasted it. Before he had even tasted her.
That still puzzled Hermione deeply. He was going to drink her blood. Drink it. As if he were some vampire, as if he were some leech, some cannibal – as if he were some heathen warrior participating in a blood ritual. And she was going to do the same to him. She couldn't even begin to think about how bizarre it was in general and how bizarre it was that she was actually going to do it. Hermione wasn't sure whether she was completely ready, or if she should be as excited as Draco was – his hand visibly shaking as he pressed the lip of the goblet to her skin to catch the rivulets of blood, which his eyes joyously followed – but she calmly went through the steps for cutting his neck when it was her turn.
He bared his pale skin proudly, tipping his head to the side so that she had unrestricted movement and watched her intently as she did it, seeming almost as aroused by his own blood as he had hers. He closed his eyes as it collected in the other goblet, and listened to the silence being interrupted by the sounds of liquid hitting liquid. He breathed deeply, the scents of their blood mingling in the air.
When she was done, she regretfully pulled away from his warm embrace and put distance between each other once again. In both of their hands, they held each other's blood, their very essence. Draco clutched his goblet tightly, with such a grip, that if it had been made of anything other than stone (nephrite, to be precise), then it would've shattered or become deformed. They stood there for a moment, holding onto their cups and watching each other, before they both stepped forward, towards each other, and paused again; the Seer held out two more – slightly smaller - goblets, one in each hand, in between them and instructed for them to pour – both of them at the same time, into the same goblet.
Hermione licked her lips as she watched it begin to fill, and then as one - as they felt their own and the Seer's magic wrap around them - they recited, "My flesh to your flesh, my essence to your essence, water of life mingle here and join us as one." Draco deeply, throatily; Hermione, reverently, as if all the breath had gone from her body.
They filled each one to the brim with their mixed blood, only stopping when they were instructed to do so. After a few more charms and incantations, the Seer carefully handed them to Draco and Hermione and took the almost-empty ones away from them to use later, when they would pour the excess into their necklaces.
Draco looked down at his cup, his hands struggling to stop quaking so as not to spill a single drop, and then back at her, who was looking at the cocktail with furrowed brows. Hermione, for some reason, always imagined that when she looked down into the cup, her and Draco's blood would be separated from each other, like oil and water. She imagined that she would still be able to tell what part was hers and what belonged to him – but it was not like that at all. Blood was blood, after all. With that thought in mind, she lifted her eyes from her drink, and watched as Draco – as had been earlier planned by them – pressed the rim of the goblet to his lips first and opened his mouth for his first taste, his body visibly shuddering like a force contained. He held her eyes all the while, and Hermione felt on fire.
Following that first, sweet taste, he greedily swallowed mouthful after mouthful, his Adam's apple rhythmically bobbing as he went, and such soft, low groans escaping his lips. He seemed to be drowning in such pleasure, that it was almost a struggle for him to keep his eyes from drooping shut; yet he kept them open. From half-lidded eyes, he watched her watch him; watched her deep, fast breaths, her eyes fixed on his mouth and the cup, and his neck. With his speed and lack of care, small amounts of blood escaped his mouth from the sides, and trickled down his chin and onto his chest; he took such delight in watching her follow the trail.
As if she was unaware of the extent of the desire that either of them felt, the Seer was reciting more Charms as Draco finished his drink. The only line that stayed with Hermione throughout her stupor was, "As the blood of your bodies joins and becomes one, so do your lives and spirits merge."
Once he was done, he solemnly passed the goblet back to the Seer. His chest rose and fell quickly, as he gained his breath back and calmed the excitement in his veins, but he was sated and he had stopped shuddering; even his wings seemed to become less restless. He looked ridiculous in this dream-like state, Hermione thought as she brought her own goblet closer to her mouth; he only patiently waited for the first taste, licking away any remnants of her blood from around his mouth.
The coppery scent was overwhelming – and even the taste was no better than she had imagined – but after that first, slow taste, she had become no better than Draco had been. The Seer recited the same things that she had said when it was Draco's turn, and she had been fine (though a little sore from her neck wound opening again). It still tasted awful, as if she was licking copper pennies, but a force within her just couldn't help itself; her hands pressed the rim so hard into her mouth that she believed that she may have cut her lip and opened her mouth as if she wanted to drown in it.
Yet, unlike Draco, she had started gagging, the metallic taste becoming too much for her to consume so quickly. Still, she did not pull away from the goblet.
The taste and the desire to finish it was overwhelming, and Draco's black, burning eyes were only encouraging her to finish the last dregs; but then his hand was on the foot of the chalice and gently pulling it away from her. "I'm pleased you enjoy it so much," he said (the first thing he had chosen to say to her in over an hour), sounding unreasonably breathless, his eyes dropping to her rouged lips once he had managed to take it away from her, "but you're going to make yourself sick going that fast. You can't be sick." Hermione had nodded, dazed and slightly embarrassed about how heathen she must've looked right then, with the chalice and the blood, but Draco certainly didn't seem to mind (of course he wouldn't, she thought stupidly to herself) – and the Seer, blind as she was – and Hermione was comforted. He accepted her comprehension, and passed the chalice back into her hands; though, he kept a light hold on it as she pressed it back to her lips, in case she lost herself again. His other hand moved to her shoulder – after a cautious look to the Seer - as she swallowed a mouthful, and he warmly cautioned her with "slowly" every time she gagged until, finally, she was done.
He took the cup from her before she came out of her stupor and handed it back to the Seer. His hands did not return to her. "It's so very hard for me not to kiss you right now, Hermione," he said huskily. "To taste our blood on your lips."
She blushed, and also wished that she could touch him – but both of them stayed put. At the Seer's indication, Hermione moved her mind away from thinking about touching him and the way he had looked when cautioning her and during his own turn with the blood, and removed her necklace from around her neck as Draco did the same. They had them both hollowed out, with a tiny stopper at the curve so that they were able to open it to fill it and keep it closed forevermore; with careful movements, they unscrewed the cap. The excess blood was too shallow to just drunk their necklaces into it and let them fill, so it had to be poured from the chalice into the necklace, no matter how wasteful it was for most of the contents to end up splattering on the floor; Hermione's blood went into Draco's pendant and vice versa. The act of doing so stained both Hermione's dress and Draco's slacks.
When full, they screwed the caps back on, hung them back around their necks (where they would stay until death) and layered spell upon spell onto them for the preservation of the blood and to make the crystal resistant to major damage.
There was a quiet, reflection moment afterwards.
She was able to touch him again, which she gladly did, pressing into his warm side as he did his reading; one hand held the paper, whilst the other touched her arms and shoulders and neck. Hermione had no idea what he had selected to read for this part in the Ceremony, so secret he had kept it, but she was filled with admiration and love with the way that he read it, before she had even recognised it as Shakespeare's Sonnet 116. It was perfect, she thought. Absolutely perfect. His wing lightly brushed her shoulders as he curled it around her, and it was only then did she notice that all the black feathers that she had seen at the beginning had given way to new, white ones, making him completely angelic. However, Hermione still didn't feel any different than when this had begun and she quietly puzzled over it, wondering and worrying about whether anything had gone wrong; but no one else had mentioned it, and so, she thought, it must be fine. Draco would know if anything had gone wrong – the Seer should know before either of them.
At the end of the reading, there was only a few more blessings from the Seer and then they were free to go.
Draco grinned manically, and lifted her into his arms and spun as he had done at the beginning – although this time was faster and longer now that they had all the time in the world. She had to hold onto her wreath to make sure that it didn't flutter away. When he finally set her down, the Seer had vanished to somewhere. He picked up his cane from the floor, and moved back over to her to press his face to hers again, then took her hand and ran down the stairs with him trailing behind him, laughing and grinning.
When they burst through the door to the outside, it wasn't as sunny as it had been in the morning. In fact, there were dark grey clouds gathering overhead. However, Hermione was pressed back into his warm embrace and so was shielded from the drop in temperature that she would've surely felt without a jacket or shawl.
He was breathing heavily again, his heartbeat continuing to thump fast and hard against his chest, as if it was trying to break free; she was being held so closely to him that she was acutely aware of it all. His hands moved across her body as if he didn't quite know how he wanted to hold her, as if he wanted to touch her everywhere. She breathed it all in - his cologne, the sweat, and the blood that was recently spilled and consumed – and let her hands travel his bare back and his wings (which he seemed to take pleasure in her touching), for he was completely hers now and there was nothing wrong with touching or enjoying him.
His teeth was grazing her jaw, nipping places that he deemed acceptable. Hermione tried to catch his lips with her own, but he only turned his head and hummed in an amused way, letting her lips brush his cheek instead, as he moved to the other side of her face. He was terrible with his teasing, but he was only slowly slipping away from his Veela, and he still thought it was wonderful to frustrate his Mate this much, to have her desperately try find his lips.
"Yours," he purred. Draco brushed the side of his face against hers, still not letting Hermione's mouth achieve what she wanted – but at least he was speaking again. "I'm yours, now. Eternally yours."
She hummed, enjoying the rough feeling of his stubbly face rubbing against hers. "You've always been mine."
"But now it's real," he said. "Now I'm officially yours."
"And, am I yours?"
"Not unless you want to be." Her lips curved into a smile. "You saved me, but you're not mine. I'm your Veela. You chose to be with me."
"My Veela," she said smugly, attempting to kiss him once more. He smiled and bent his head, so her lips pressed against his forehead. His mouth found her neck and the incision that he had made; he tasted some of the blood that had dried there, careful not to reopen the wound. She shivered, but still thought that he was being unfair; she turned her head to bite his own jaw. "You said that you would once we were Bonded."
He laughed; Draco lifted his head and pressed their foreheads together. "I know," he said. "It's hard not to. You know how hard it is not to. I just want to wait a little bit longer, until after we've left here."
Although she wanted to kiss him desperately, as he knew all too well, Hermione didn't quite want to return to Malfoy Manor with Draco – and, she must admit, herself – as he was; she'd rather stay where they were, outside the abandoned shack. "I don't want to leave," she whispered.
"I do," he said, looking up at the sky. As if on cue, it rumbled. "It's going to rain. We're not having you get ill; we have things to do."
"Things?"
Draco was terribly, terribly amused and wolfish; he pulled away from her and cocked his head. "I want you inside, out of this dress, on the sofa, on the bed, on the floor – under me. I want you, my darling, my Mate. I want to kiss you." It looked as if he was trying to stop grinning, and raised an eyebrow as if he was curious about whether she was serious or not. "This bonding isn't over yet." His tucked a loose curl behind her ear delicately. "I've told you that. You remember, right?"
She blushed deeply. "Of course," she stammered. In fact, she had remembered and thought about it before the Ceremony had begun, what seemed to be ages ago now; she couldn't believe that the knowledge had flown from her mind so soon after.
He seemed concerned at her flustered state instead of being endeared by it. "Are you okay with this, Hermione? I can wait a while longer – until you're ready. I'm yours."
"I just – it completely slipped my mind. I'm fine," she said. "I want you to make me yours."
The breath seemed to flow out of him; he felt light-headed. "I'm not going to get you pregnant yet," he promised. "This is too new, we're too young. You've got things to learn first. We'll be safe."
She nodded, dazed at this man before her. "Just not in your childhood room. That's sacred ground."
He howled. "You think that I would take you back to Malfoy Manor after this? Oh," he crowed, "you have a lot to learn."
I'm sorry that it might not have been as fulfilling as a last chapter as you might've expected! (If you want any extra information that was foregone in this chapter, just PM me and I'll let you know!) For the record, Maidenhair fern stands for a "secret bond of love", as no one actually told Hermione about it in this chapter.
AND Sonnet 116 is actually one of my favourite sonnets by Shakespeare, and I'd encourage you guys to read it to see how it fits in it!
Follow, favourite and review please and I'll see you guys one final time for the epilogue!