Gratitude and adoration for my team LightofEvolution, In Dreams, and Mcal. I don't know that I tell them often enough how much I appreciate them :)
Boundless affection to all of you reading. I hope you are well and would love to hear from you in a review. This chapter is a biggie...
Disclaimer: My Latin is googled. Don't expect too much lol
Draco doesn't think much more about the Weasleys in the days ahead. He is otherwise occupied with enjoying evenings with his witch, in both his marten form and otherwise, and his impending commitment to his family and legacy.
It's a dreary Tuesday in Wiltshire when he approaches the front gate, steeling his resolve and putting on his best unaffected expression. He finds his parents waiting for him in the Southern garden, expectant looks on their faces. They stand straight and proud in some of their best robes, coordinating in black silks with brocade trims.
"Draco." His father's voice is firm, but Draco thinks there is gratitude hidden beneath his typical pride. Narcissa nods with the hint of a smile, but doesn't speak.
Draco stops short of his parents at the end of a line drawn using powdered ingredients, a mix of potions and wand lore elements with magical properties, sulphur and salt amongst them. The lines are like spires, radiating from a single point, equidistant from the three Malfoys. Crossing the lines, a circle is likewise drawn, the powder darker in tone hinting at the dusted lava rock included. A small golden bowl rests in the center, lined with the blue feathers of a jobberknoll.
Days before, a missive had been waiting for Draco at the post with final instructions as to the ritual they are about to conduct. He and Hermione had been through it carefully, along with the texts from the Manor library, in preparation. Knowing his part, Draco pulls a small silver knife from his robes and readies his resolve.
His mother speaks first, reciting a simple incantation that asks the homestead to accept the bond. She is not required to let any blood, as hers, being of Black descent, is not tied to this land. Instead, she acts as initial binding, her magic reaching to caress the earth.
"De fide recipere."
Soft wind rustles the leaves of the cherry trees that line the nearby foot path, symbols of rebirth and renewal that are strategically placed to this consecrated ground.
Draco turns his eyes to his father.
Lucius, next, entreats the earth's magic to acknowledge their family's claim and right to its protection. He palms the blade of his own knife, his blood falling in controlled drips into the golden bowl.
"Accipere dominium nostrum. Da nobis praesidium."
Another rustle of the trees, light whistling of the breeze through the branches, as if the air is punctuating the ritual with its acceptance.
Finally, it is Draco who must seal the connection, tying himself and his defendants to the dirt and the air. Without hesitation, he runs the silver blade along his palm in a shallow but sure slice. He steps forward and drips his lifeblood into the bowl, careful not to spill any outside the circle and watching it pool with his father's. Once bled, he casts a healing seal across the wound, watching as the skin knits itself together and leaving only a small scar in its wake. This scar, much like the Sectumsempra gash across his chest, will never heal. A price and a reminder that magic is never truly under the dominion of man.
"Nos pertinent ad caelum et terram ."
The powdered symbols glow for but a moment, but Draco knows it's done. He feels calm in his bones and his blood, the earth beneath his feet grounding and secure. He feels a sense of belonging, of home, that he feels compelled to share with his family. Thoughts flit to Hermione and the future.
Suddenly, he can understand why his father has been ever-hesitant to leave. Even when Riddle had invaded their home, he seemed bound. Draco feels it now, that sense of symbiotic partnership with the land. It is his home and he is its steward. The grounds have never appeared more beautiful.
Looking up, he finds his father eyeing him with something like pride, something like envy.
"It's done," the man says. "You can feel it, can't you?" he asks with reverence.
Draco nods and glances at his mother. She gives him a cautious smile. He pities her, never knowing such a complete feeling of home.
After a beat of quiet, even the breeze fading to silence, Narcissa speaks, addressing both of her wizards. "Come on, then; let's see to the house. I don't expect Pipsy to know how I've decided I'd like my draperies."
With quick steps, she takes to the Manor. Her husband grins after her, watching her with adoration before turning to his son. "Shall we? Perhaps she will trust the elf to make tea at least."
Draco smiles in spite of himself and starts to follow his family into their home. Before he can disappear into the house, however, he stops to look behind him. The day that had seemed dreary is now merely appropriate. There is a melancholy in the passage time. What had been his father's for decades, had been his father's before, is now Draco's by right of magic and by blood. His eyes sweep the landscape, and he silently thanks the land, knowing he is truly bound. For better or worse, he is rooted to England. The magic thrumming in his blood calls him, and leaving, though it hasn't been a priority since a bossy little witch fell into his life, is no longer in the cards.
They take tea in the solarium. His mother eventually excuses herself in favour of overseeing repairs to the dining room. Lucius, likewise, pardons himself and sets about righting the long disused receiving rooms.
Draco spends the afternoon wandering the eastern wing, eyeing the suites on the far side of the Manor from his parents' western residence. He supposes he can't imagine he will live at Grimmauld forever, regardless of whatever happens between himself and Hermione. Preparing for an unknown future, he stares out the window of the southern most room, shedding his youth and selecting a new bedroom for his inevitable return.
It's a rare thing for Draco to show up unannounced, yet here we are. Hermione takes him in, finding his expression to be complicated with more emotion than he usually shows. She stands aside and invites him in, explaining that Harry is out so they have the house to themselves.
He holds a rolled parchment in his hands, fingering it nervously all the while. They sit, and Hermione cuddles close, happy to see him but slightly concerned. "Is everything alright?"
His hand closes over hers where she has laid it on his knee. "I've accepted my inheritance," he tells her. "Officially."
She turns his hand over and traces the scar on his palm that she suspected she would find. "It won't fade, will it?"
"No. A reminder of my covenant with the magic of the earth. A small price."
She nods in answer, more than familiar with magical scars. Pointing to the missive in his other fist, she asks, "And that? Something related to the ritual?"
Almost as if he'd forgotten he had it, he denies, "Oh. No, this is something entirely different. Slightly unsettling," he adds with a slight grin. She's happy to see the expression. "It's an invitation owled over this afternoon. Here."
Draco handing it over, she accepts and unrolls the parchment. Inside, she finds the slightly messy penmanship of Molly Weasley.
My Percy tells me you are a bit of a fixture in our favorite Muggle-born's life. Since I can never seem to drag that girl here on my own, perhaps you could convince her to visit. We eat on Sundays at one. You don't need to bring anything but yourself and my wayward Hermione. Though, wine is never turned away.
Hermione is stunned. "She invited you?" she asks, slightly dumbfounded.
"So it would seem."
She looks over to find Draco watching her. "We don't have to go," he adds. "That is, I don't have to go."
She huffs at him, handing the paper back and fighting a smile that's winning the battle with her lips. "Of course we do. She's never sent a written invitation before. I can hardly turn that down."
Draco is studying her, unsure. "If you'd rather go alone, I do understand."
"Nonsense." She interrupts him without hesitation. "We're going." Seeing his eyes dart between hers, disbelieving, she takes his hands and presses on. "I've given you the impression I didn't want to take you, but that's not it at all. I want to take you everywhere, Draco. I'd be with you everyday if you'd let me."
She feels suddenly unsure and drops her eyes, hoping she hasn't offered too much of herself. Hoping the feelings are, as they say, mutual. Distantly, she hears the clock begin to note the hour. It doesn't even reach the second set of chimes before he lifts her chin and kisses her softly. "Potter might take exception when I show up more frequently, but fuck him; anything you want."
All nervousness abated, Hermione laughs then kisses him back hard. She trails sensual kisses across his jaw to his ear then pauses to whisper, "Molly likes horrible sweet whites. I have a bottle of cheap Riesling on standby."
He laughs heartily at that and pulls her onto his lap, her legs straddling him as his mouth seeks hers. She's eternally grateful that Harry is out for the night, punctuated with clarity when her knickers hit the floor in the middle of the parlour, her beautiful wizard backlit by the soft glow of the moon through the window as he moves with purpose beneath her. She climaxes twice before he finds release, her face buried in his neck, indulging in the feel of his erratic pulse.
It's late when he says he should go, nearing midnight. They stand at the front door of Grimmauld, hands clasped between them. "I'm going to make an effort at spending some time at the Manor," he says. "I've even chosen a master suite."
She smiles, happy for him and his attempts to adjust. And, secretly, selfishly, giddy that his attempts to leave England are more officially thwarted by even more than his relationship with her. Seeing him take to his decision, making forward-thinking plans, gives her hope that he will not regret his choices. She smiles at him broadly. "Benedick will appreciate you clearing out. He never seems to come around when you're here."
His smile falters, and she hopes she hasn't offended him. Maybe he doesn't care for animals. That will have to be addressed as the relationship progresses but not today.
Rather than commenting, he puts a semblance of his previous smile on his face and leans in to kiss her. "I'll owl you tomorrow," he tells her. "I need some guidance on what one wears to a Weasley Sunday roast."
With a snort, she assures him, "Anything you want. I promise whatever you choose will be overdressed."
With one last cheeky grin, he opens the door and steps out into the night. "Goodnight, pretty witch."
"Goodnight, Draco," she answers on a happy exhale, closing the door slowly between them.
Draco, as usual, slips back around Grimmauld that night and up into Hermione's room, scaling the tree with his tiny paws and slinking through the window. She coos and cuddles him, whispering that he's a very sweet thing and how she only wishes he would come around when her wizard is on site. She grins as she readies for bed, humming all the while.
Even the guilt of his deception can't completely diminish the pride he feels at leaving her so obviously content. He remembers when the summer began and her moods were melancholy more often than not. How she had cried frequently, wetting his fur with her tears, her heart pounding in her chest as her body wracked with sobs.
Now, she smiles often. It's a dangerous thing to allow himself the justification, but can he be truly awful for his ruse when it has brought her joy? What would have happened to Hermione Granger if Draco had hitched a proverbial ride with another student and vanished to parts unknown? Would she have wasted away in this bedroom, Potter galavanting about with Weasley and Nott? Would her days have consisted of too-long hours at the Ministry, only to return to an empty house?
He has to do something, of course, about this whole affair. He knows this... But not yet. Not until he can find a way to do so and keep her happy. Perhaps he can orchestrate Benedick finding his real home. Maybe he could enlist the help of a fellow Slytherin. Not Theo. He's too close to the Gryffindors, but if he could just find someone else…
Draco sleeps fitfully, mind racing in circles as to whom might be of assistance, might owe him a favour, but not even entirely sure the idea has merit. In the end, he wakes early, or late, depending on your perspective, and makes his way to the window at just past three.
Shambling clumsily down the tree, he's exhausted, beady eyes a bit bleary. Draco thinks he is probably lucky he didn't hurt himself as he resumes his form and pulls himself up to full height. He brushes dust and grime from his person, always a bit irritated by the bits of fluff that stick to his fur on his low belly and his short legs. Perhaps there isn't any at all, but he always feels like he's sweeping up as he scampers so low to the ground. He sighs, ready to make his way to the Manor to try and sleep alone, but with the snap of a twig, his eyes flit up to lock with the green gaze of a seething Harry Potter.
"You utter bastard." The tone is quiet. Seething.
Draco knows fear, similar to being stared down by a dog in his animagus body, when Potter starts to charge him from across the garden.
"I'll kill you, you nasty little ferret-"
"You can't tell her!" Draco blurts out in a stage whisper, voice as low as one can scream and arms instinctively held in front to protect his face. "You can't say anything, Potter, please."
Amazingly, the wizard stops and gives Draco a look he isn't sure he could properly describe. His eyes somehow squint and blow wide all at once, the corner of one positively twitching in anger.
"Are you fucking serious right now?!" he whisper-yells back. "How am I going to not tell her?"
"Because it would kill her, you knob! Completely destroy her. You can't do that."
"Oh, well, you should have thought of that before you started this…" He gestures wildly to Draco's person, mouth working as he searches for words. "This… whatever evil scheme this is!"
"It's not-" He stops, lowering his voice further to a hiss, mindful of the proximity to the window of the witch in question. "It's not an evil scheme, alright? It was… it was like an accident. I didn't intend for this, but you can't… Merlin, Potter, just think. You know how much this will hurt her."
"Of course it will!" He has the decency to also soften his voice to an even lower volume, for which Draco is grateful. "But that's on you. I won't stand here and let you take advantage of her-"
"Take advantage?! The fuck do you think I'm doing? Having my way with her with my tiny marten paws? I'm just… she needed someone, alright? She was lonely and for some ridiculous reason, I ended up being what she was clinging on to."
Potter seems to be at a loss for words for a moment, but then shakes his head and asks, "How did this even happen? How do you accidentally end up someone's bleeding pet?"
Draco sighs, leaning his head back to stare into the heavens just briefly. He collects his thoughts and decides on a half truth for the git.
"She found me. On the grounds before we left Hogwarts. She thought I was some lost familiar… that my wizard had died or something."
The other man huffs at that. "She can never resist picking up the unloved."
Draco levels a look at the orphan turned martyr that says a lot about other lost causes his witch has picked up.
There is a moment of silent reflection before either speaks again. Finally, Potter squeezes the bridge of his nose in frustrated indecision and asks, "If I were to even consider keeping this secret… for now… what is your plan, eh? How do you intend to break away with any amount of damage control?"
"I don't know. I… maybe I can find her a new familiar? Gift her one as myself…"
Potter looks downright irritated. "You really think she's the type of person to just replace one beloved creature with another? Do you even know her?"
The question strikes Draco in a way he doesn't like at all. He does know her, thanks very much. "I'm not saying she won't miss the marten, but she did replace that kneazle with me."
"She mourned that blasted cat for two years, Malfoy," Potter hisses back.
Grumbling, Draco admits, "Well, I'm still here, as you can see. I've obviously not quite worked out my exit yet, and I won't just abandon her."
"So, what? You keep sleeping in her bed and cuddling up with her, and you think this ends in any way without her being completely heartbroken?"
The resurrected anger in Potter's voice pushes Draco back to frustration as well.
"Look, I'm trying, alright? I was supposed to be in Aruba by now, but I stayed. For her. At least I'm doing something, Potter. Where were you when she was crying herself to sleep not so long ago? Where were her friends when she was so lonely she was taking a fucking animal on outings just to have something to do? Where were you when she was willing to have tea with Draco Death Eater Malfoy? Nowhere. You were all fucking nowhere, and she needed someone; so I let it be me."
The wizard is staring at him as if he's been physically struck by the short tirade. Finally, Potter nods and agrees, "Maybe I wasn't there like I should." Draco snorts, but doesn't say anything yet, sensing the man isn't finished. "Though I've been trying to remedy that. She's always been the strong one. Sometimes, it's easy to forget she is the most compassionate between us."
He's lost for a moment, staring into the distance, then his green eyes snap back on Draco and he continues. "I'll give you a few days, Malfoy. Merlin knows, I don't want to have to tell her this either. But you had better come up with a plan. I can't keep this from her forever."
Draco nods. "Acceptable." He pauses then offers a bit more truth. "Despite what you may think, I don't have a grand scheme. I'm not gaining anything from this."
Potter tilts his head, acknowledging. Draco takes that as his dismissal and starts toward the garden gate.
"Oi, Malfoy."
His hand is on the gate, and he's nearly out into the Muggle neighborhood. He pauses and looks back, waiting for whatever warning or threat Potter is about to heroically bestow.
"Thanks, alright." He grimaces as if the words pained him to say. "I mean, it's a rubbish situation, and you're a complete cock, but… I'm just surprised you wanted to stay around. She does seem happy. Not sure if that's because of you as a wizard or you as a marten, but I suspect it's both."
Draco nods, considering walking away without responding. Finally, he shrugs, and says simply, "I love her," then makes his way out into the night.
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