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The world was still dark, Draco thought absentmindedly, staring out the window of his bedroom at Malfoy Manor.
The last time he had stood here, moments before he had first learned about the Princess and the mark and his role and his task, his impossible task, he had been thinking the same thing.
Contemplating the night sky, the stars, the moon, the lack of light, and the dull grey which had overtaken his life. Now, what was only a month later but seemed like an eon, he did not feel as if his life was grey.
The sky was dark, the stars were hidden, and if an outsider was so fortunate to observe him now, there would be no obvious difference.
But there was a difference. A huge one. One with beautiful brown hair and piercing green eyes.
Draco raised a glass of firewhiskey to his lips, mimicking his actions from a lifetime before.
When his father had hugged him earlier, showing more emotion than Draco had seen in his entire childhood, teenager years, and adulthood combined, he had told Draco that Hermione had decided on him as his 'other'. Without explaining the term further, his father had forced him upstairs to shower and dress, and await the arrival of the Dark Lord, who, according to Lucius, would be overjoyed at this news.
Her 'other'? The term nagged at him, scratching the inside of his head searching for answers. He knew nothing more about the Le Fays and Hermione's mark than what Voldemort had told him that fateful afternoon in Malfoy Manor. This new term had not been stated that day.
But, at least based on Lucius' reaction, it would change everything.
Draco took another swig of firewhiskey.
The events of earlier replayed in his mind. The battle at his summer home had been fierce. He remembered helping that Gryffindor idiot, Longbottom, who had managed to be tag teamed by a group of Death Eaters. As he had fought the two back, a wave of cold wind rushed through his body, stilling him momentarily. He turned just in time to be pushed to the ground by Hermione.
He watched in horror as the following moments unfolded. Hermione had pushed him out of the way of a killing curse, shot skillfully from across the room. If she hadn't shoved him down, he would've been hit.
However, her actions resulted in Hermione standing in Draco's spot. He wanted to scream as the flash of green light finally reached where he had been standing moments ago.
Instead of crumpling, Hermione raised her marked arm, and the Avada Kedavra made contact with the willow tree tattoo-ed into her.
In a moment that could not have lasted longer than five seconds, but what felt like an eternity, her mark absorbed all the light, before the curse ricocheted off her and back towards the caster, killing him dead.
Draco's fist clenched around the whiskey glass in his hand. Taking a deep breath, he flexed, trying not to shatter it, knowing it would cause more problems than solve.
Yet, the anger he felt in his soul at Hermione's action made him want to shatter a thousand whiskey glasses, screaming the whole way through.
How could she have done it? It was not as if she had known the curse would rebound, she admitted as much as he accosted her about it later. But she had done it nonetheless, throwing herself between him and the killing curse with abandon, willing to make that final, ultimate sacrifice for him.
The emotion it conjured in him was hard to describe. Overwhelming, certainly. Painful, absolutely. But there was something more there. Something deep in him that he did not recognize and that he had never felt before. It made him want to kiss her, to sob into her hair, to hold her until the end of time.
But he could do none of those things. He was here. And she was not.
"Draco," a voice said from the doorway. He turned slightly to see his father watching him. "Come downstairs, he'll be arriving soon."
Draco nodded curtly, putting down the now empty glass and following his father from the room.
Awaiting the Dark Lord's arrival had never been his favourite pastime, but Draco stood stoutly next to his father and mother in their drawing room, keeping his face blank and his muscles tense. He had a role to play in this mission, and he was the devoted solider, was he not? Infiltrating an enemy group, lying to them, getting closer and closer to the Princess with the goal of returning her to the Dark Lord, to pureblooded royalty.
Was that not where she belonged?
Draco pursed his lips. The words I have a mission played on loop in his head. However, every single time he repeated them, they seemed to matter less. This may be his mission, his mission which he had no idea how to succeed at, but there was something more now.
There was Hermione and him.
A chill filled the room. Draco took a deep breath, forcing himself to stare forward as the Dark Lord appeared before him.
"Why, Draco," Voldemort said, his voice as harrowing as Draco remembered. "What a surprise to see you back so soon."
Draco bowed his head. "My Lord."
The words did not feel the same.
The snakelike eyes flicked from him to his father. "Lucius, would you care to explain why you have summoned me here since I do not see any sign that the Princess is here as well."
Lucius nodded sharply. Draco could practically feel the excitement coming off his father in droves.
"My Lord," his father started, his voice quivering. "As requested, earlier today we awaited the Order at our summer home, with the expectation that they would come to rescue the newly moved prisoners."
Draco's eyes narrowed. They had known.
"We were able to subdue the Order and speak to Miss Le Fay," Lucius continued. "Her power, my Lord, is immense. She is all commanding. However, she did not take our offer to stay in exchange for the lives of her compatriots. The battle that followed was immense."
"Any casualties?" Voldemort asked, the dryness in his voice indicated he did not give a damn about the lives of his followers.
The realization hit Draco sharply.
Lucius nodded. "Rookwood, my Lord. He was killed at the hand of the Princess."
This admission seemed to take Voldemort by surprise. He raised a thin eyebrow, his snake eyes piercing.
"Did Rookwood aim at the Princess? It was made explicitly clear that she must be alive…"
"He did not aim at Hermione Le Fay," Lucius assured, before turning slightly to stare at his son.
"He was aiming at Draco."
The silence that followed was suffocating as Draco watched the Dark Lord turn towards him.
"At Draco?" his voice was deadly silent and eyes narrowed. "And the Princess killed Rookwood in retaliation?"
Lucius shook his head. "No, my Lord. Hermione Le Fay jumped in between my son and the curse. She took it herself. It rebounded off her mark, causing Rookwood death at his own hand."
Draco forced himself to remain expressionless as he was reminded of what Hermione had done for him. The foreign emotion returned, filling his chest almost to bursting.
He stared forward.
A few moments of silence followed, as the implications of Lucius' words seemed to hit Voldemort. The Dark Lord turned to face Draco fully.
"My, my, my young Draco," the Dark Lord murmured, taking several steps towards him. "You may not have the Princess here today, but it seems you have been busy working on your task."
He nodded, forcing his mind's walls to remain standing.
Voldemort cocked his head. "Tell me, Draco, what has become of your relationship with Hermione Le Fay?"
"We have grown closer, my Lord," Draco replied, as the night they had spent together flashed through his mind.
"How close?" the Dark Lord said, his voice a low hiss.
Draco found he couldn't respond.
Voldemort turned before pacing around the room, deep in thought.
"Dear young Draco," he murmured, his cold voice filling the space. "When I assigned you this task, I had full faith in your capacity to fulfill it. The Dark Lord choses his followers wisely."
"Thank you, my Lord," Draco muttered, finding no conviction behind the words.
"But you have done more than fulfill your responsibility, Draco. You have succeeded far beyond my wildest expectations of you. You have served me well."
"My Lord," Draco said, frowning slightly. "I apologize, but I do not understand. I have not succeeded yet. I have not returned the Princess to you."
"You do not have to now," Voldemort replied. "She will come herself and kneel at my feet."
"How do you know that?" Draco burst out before biting his lip. He should never have allowed an outburst like that in the presence of the Dark Lord.
However, Voldemort did not seem to mind.
He watched Draco thoughtfully, before responding to his question.
"The Le Fay bloodline is designed to survive. The mark on Miss Le Fay's wrist is a representation of that. The mark is a power centre where all of Hermione Le Fay's power is funneled. I imagine on occasion it has caused her issues or acted in a way that she did not expect."
Draco nodded, countless incidents flashing through his mind.
"The mark protects the bloodline, at whatever cost. That's why it sometimes acts without Miss Le Fay's knowledge, since it is designed to protect her when she may not even know she needs protection. That mark is one of the most powerful tools of the Le Fay family, which is why she only gains access to it at age twenty, when she becomes the Protector."
Protector. The word rang through Draco's mind and he remembered the first time he had heard it used.
"The Mark of Morganna only appears on the bearer's arm at the age of twenty. Unless I am mistaken, the Princess must have just received it." The Dark Lord said.
"Why does it do that?" Draco asked.
The Dark Lord sat back down in his chair. "It signifies that the new Generation has become a Protector. The mark on her mother would have faded as her role was handed to her daughter."
"Protector of what?"
The Dark Lord hesitated for only the briefest second. If Draco had blinked he would've missed it.
"Protector of the family line," he answered smoothly.
Forcing his mind back to the present, he listened as Voldemort continued.
"The mark is designed to protect the Le Fays and their kin," the Dark Lord was saying. "Yet, today, it protected you, Mr. Malfoy, in the most serious of ways. Hermione Le Fay's mark allowed her to survive the killing curse, but specifically, allowed her to save you from that fate."
"What does that mean, my Lord?" Draco asked, his brain screaming again at the memory.
"It means, Mr. Malfoy," the Dark Lord smirked. "That Hermione Le Fay has chosen you as her other."
Draco stared at Voldemort blankly, unsure what to say, unsure what to think, unsure what to feel.
"Have you ever heard the term before?" Draco shook his head.
"The Le Fays are fascinating witches, Mr. Malfoy. Their lives' ambition is to protect their bloodline, and to pass it on. Therefore, they choose only one partner for life. A mate, if you will."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Like veelas?"
"The concept is similar, though the Le Fays could never be compared to those halfbreeds. The Le Fay women, since they only ever have daughters, each choose one man to be their lifetime partner. The man must have a caliber of magic that can handle theirs, therefore, the Le Fays only ever married wizards. A Le Fay of every generation choses a man to be the father of the next, and in return, she protects him as long as she can, with all the power she would use to protect herself or her daughter.
"This man, in the mythology of Morganna and the Le Fays, is known as the other."
The words hit Draco with quick succession, entering his mind one at a time, before the meaning fully hit him.
He began spluttering, trying to express the emotions he felt.
"My Lord," he said. "Are you suggesting that Hermione has chosen me…as her lifetime partner?"
"It would appear so," Voldemort said. "Otherwise, her mark would not have protected you earlier today. You would be dead."
Draco did not know what to say.
"But, my Lord," he said, his breathing growing ever shallower. "Hermione would never choose me for…for anything like that."
"The choice is often unconscious, Draco," Lucius said, speaking up for the first time since the Dark Lord's arrival. "Her blood makes the best choice possible, not her mind, or her heart."
Voldemort appraised him for a moment. "Now, Draco, you've said your relationship with Miss Le Fay has changed."
He nodded, shaking slightly.
"Have you been physical?"
Pushing aside the strangeness of the fact that the Dark Lord had just asked him that, Draco forced himself to nod curtly, struggling to keep his mind on the situation at hand, and not on Hermione's skin.
"And how did it feel?"
Blissful. Erotic. Magical. Pleasurable. Perfect.
"It felt like we were complete," he answered finally.
The Dark Lord smirked. "It would seem that Miss Le Fay has made her choice then. If a Le Fay is physical with a man besides her other after the mark has appeared, it is often a chaotic magical experience, leaving both parties drained. The Le Fays are designed for only one man, who is the only one who can handle them."
This cannot be happening, Draco thought to himself. This has to be a dream, a fantasy, an imaginative nightmare.
But yet.
Hearing that Hermione had chosen him as something permanent, something that meant forever, calmed his blood in a way he had not thought possible. His brain may be fighting against the idea, but his body, his heart recognized the truth in Voldemort's words even as they teared Draco's world apart.
What had he thought after that night with Hermione? That everything had changed, irreversibly.
She had chosen him.
Shaking him out of his reverie, the Dark Lord kept talking. "Therefore, Mr. Malfoy, all you need to do to succeed in your task is remain here. Miss Le Fay will appear, and she will stay."
"How can you be so sure?" Draco asked.
"The choice of a Le Fay's other is permanent," the Dark Lord said. "And if you did your job well, Miss Le Fay will think that you are in imminent danger at our hands. As she did earlier today, Hermione Le Fay will protect you at all costs. You are a part of the bloodline now."
At all costs, Draco thought to himself, the words imprinting themselves in his soul before he was filled with dread.
She would come to save him, in good faith, to protect him as her other.
And she would learn that he had betrayed her from the beginning.
Some lifetime mate he was turning out to be.
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