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Changing Scenery

Chapter 3: Captured

Draco stared at Potter's pen, wishing it would catch fire so that he wouldn't have to answer his question. Unfortunately, there was an entire stand of quills to take its place. Potter might notice something afoot if all of the quills in his office spontaneously combusted. Even he isn't that thick.

He cleared his throat, annoyed that Potter just stared at him, waiting patiently. "This is strictly confidential. If so much as a word appears in the press, I'll have your head on a chopping block."

Potter frowned at him and Draco had the insane urge to smooth the wrinkle that appeared between his brows. "Don't insult me, Malfoy."

Draco scoffed. "The Prophet seems to have an inside track. I'm just making sure that my confidential statement doesn't get leaked."

Potter raised an eyebrow. "You never thought that perhaps the Ministry leaked certain stories to the Prophet to keep them distracted?"

Malfoy sneered. "I would never give the Ministry that much credit. Especially not one run by a Hufflepuff."

Harry rolled his eyes. Draco noticed that he did that a lot. "Oh please, Malfoy. Haven't we all moved past House affiliation?"

Draco resisted the urge to scoff. "Naturally, Potter."

"Glad to hear it. Your statement?" Potter waved his quill.

Draco cleared his throat again. "Yes. Well, three weeks ago I was returning home from a friend's house…"

"Which friend?" Potter interrupted.

Draco glared. "Blaise Zabini."

"To which house were you going? And why not Floo?"

Draco nearly groaned. At this rate, he'd have to stay past eleven o'clock, and miss a meeting –that he hadn't planned to attend anyway, if he were being honest with himself – or come back another day. "I was going back to my London apartment. And I prefer Apparition to the Floo."

Potter nodded and noted some things down. "Very well. Continue."

"Thank you for your permission, Potter," Draco sneered. "As I was saying, I was returning home and as I was walking to the Apparition point, which was about three blocks away, I was accosted. A Body-Bind hex caught me by surprise. The man then Stunned me before Apparating me to the house you found me in."

"Did you recognize him?" Potter asked.

"No," Draco replied.

"Describe him."

"Short, maybe a couple inches shorter than you. Light brown hair, brown eyes. Pale."

Potter nodded and made a few more notes. Draco resisted the urge to grab the quill and break it.

"Go on," Potter prompted when Draco remained silent for longer than necessary.

"Right. He took me back to the house and put me up in that room you found me in. He then used various curses and hexes to instigate a transformation." Draco suppressed a shudder at the memory. It had been a hellish few days.

"Did he use any Unforgiveables?"

"No. He stuck to some of the nastier legal curses." Draco had to give the man credit for creativity.

"Hmm. Unfortunate," Potter muttered.

"Excuse me?" Draco exclaimed. "Still holding grudges, Potter? I would have expected better of an Auror." It hurt more than Draco cared to admit that Potter still hated him after all these years. Yes, that's the reason it hurts.

Potter ran his free hand through his hair. "I didn't mean it like that."

Draco snorted.

Potter fixed him with a look. "I'm serious. I was only thinking that if he had used an Unforgiveable, he could get a much longer sentence."

"Oh." Draco felt something vaguely warm in the region of his heart. He's protective of me! No, he's just doing his job. He's an Auror. He protects everyone. And I don't need him to protect me.

A hint of a smile flickered across Potter's face. "Despite past evidence, I don't hate you, Malfoy. Now, he was trying to initiate a transformation into a Veela?" Potter's voice had reverted to professional, and Draco appreciated that he didn't sound pitying or disgusted.

Draco nodded sharply.

"Were you aware that you were a Veela?"

Draco hesitated. Blood was still a sensitive topic, even after all these years. "No," he finally admitted. "Veela characteristics often lay dormant if a person is less than half Veela."

"Did you know you had Veela blood?" Potter asked.

Draco reluctantly admired Potter's ability to see to the heart of the matter. "Yes. It comes from both sides of my family. I was therefore…less surprised than I could have been when he succeeded in triggering a partial transformation."

Potter nodded. Draco was more grateful than he expected that Potter didn't say anything about the obvious hypocrisy of his and his family's former beliefs.

"So you transformed due to mental and physical stress." It wasn't a question. "That was what Hermione theorized."

Bloody Granger. Involved in everything.

"Yes. It took about a week. He forced nutritive potions down my throat once a day, from what I could tell. Once I'd transformed, he didn't come back for a couple days. He'd constructed wards that allowed me to move between the bed, the wardrobe, and the bathroom across the hall. If I tried to move elsewhere, the backlash was unpleasant. He'd taken my wand the first night, and the wards were far too strong to be broken wandlessly." Draco grimaced, remembering the boredom and fear.

"Eventually, he came back. He Stunned me again before using magical bindings to keep me still and then took some blood and hair. He did that for at least another week. He came back every day until the Aurors showed up. By then, I had mostly shut down. I was healthy physically, thanks to nutritive and Blood-Replenishing potions, but mentally I…disassociated." Draco forced himself to stop talking, aware that he was heading into territory past strictly necessary information.

"And that's how we found you," Potter concluded. "That explains why the diagnostic revealed no recent spells cast on or by you."

"Yes, he was quite careful about that after I transformed."

"Did he say anything to you when he was taking those samples? Anything to indicate what he was doing?"

Draco grimaced. "Unfortunately. He seemed to want someone to talk to. And he seemed to have this idea in his head that he could somehow persuade me to help him if he explained what he was doing." Blathering idiot. "He had fallen in love with a Veela, who rejected him, naturally, and he somehow got the notion that if he made himself into a Veela that she'd love him."

Potter stared at him. "He was trying to make himself a Veela? Is that even possible?"

Draco sneered. "Of course not, Potter. But the idiot thought it was. He'd found some ritual in an old spell book that he thought could do it. Obviously he didn't succeed."

"Obviously," Potter murmured.

Draco narrowed his eyes. "What is that look, Potter?"

Potter shook his head. "Nothing. Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

I'd like to snog you. Wait, what? "No," Draco snapped, unnerved at the thought in his head.

Potter gave him a strange look, but nodded anyway. "Right. Well, with your statement we should be able to finish the investigation. The man who was holding you will stand trial and then probably be sentenced to Azkaban. If we need any clarification or any further information, I'll owl you."

"Fine. Is that all for now?" Draco asked, impatient to get out of there. The longer he spent in the room, the itchier he felt and the more anxious he got. He could smell Potter and it was distinctly…pleasant. What the fuck?

"Yes, thank you. But you will be required to attend the trial and testify as a witness." Potter stood, offering his hand. "You'll get an owl with a court date."

Draco stood, rather more clumsily than normal. He still wasn't quite used to the extra weight of his wings. "Right. Good." He grasped Potter's hand. A shock ran up his arm. From Potter's face, he'd felt it too.

Potter released his hand quickly. "What was that?"

"No idea. Goodbye, Potter." Draco rushed out of the room, clutching his wand and desperately trying not to think about the shock. He was sure it was a figment of his imagination. It has to be.

Once to the Ministry's Apparition chamber, Draco Apparated to the Manor, where he'd been staying since being freed. His mother had been terrified when he disappeared, and he'd opted to stay for a while to ease her mind. He didn't really mind living at the Manor again – his mother had extensively redecorated and renovated after the war and it felt like an entirely different building.

He Apparated into the front hall, alerting the house elves, one of whom immediately appeared.

"Master Draco, welcome home."

"Thank you, Pipsy," Draco said, handing over his traveling cloak. "Would you tell my mother that I've returned?"

"Of course, Master Draco," Pipsy said. "Does Master need anything else?"

"Tea in the Blue Parlor, please. Inform my mother of that as well," Draco requested.

"Yes, Master Draco." With a snap, Pipsy Disapparated.

Draco slowly walked to the Blue Parlor, one of the new rooms that had been created when his mother gutted the East Wing. Neither she nor Draco had been able to set foot there until after it had been completely finished. Too many bad memories had lingered in the dark corners and thick carpets.

Tea had already been laid out when he entered, and Draco took a seat on the pale blue low-backed sofa. The design allowed him to spread his wings out behind him without having to flare them awkwardly to either side. The fact that his mother had purchased such a sofa made him wonder about a number of things related to his heritage.

While he waited for his mother to arrive, he poured a cup for her and himself, and by the time she came in, dressed in pale green robes that perfectly accented the couch she sat on, he had doctored them to their respective tastes.

"Draco, dear, how are you?" she said, taking the most excruciatingly polite sip of tea.

"I'm well, Mother." Draco held his cup, savoring the warmth the delicate china imparted.

"How was your meeting this morning?"

"It was fine."

"Did you get this awful business sorted out? I do so hate to leave things unresolved." She took another tiny sip.

Draco shrugged slightly. "It should be resolved very soon. Potter said that they had all the evidence they needed."

"If that awful man doesn't get at least a decade in Azkaban, I will take it up with the Minister."

Draco knew she would do no such thing. They hadn't had that kind of standing since the war ended, but he appreciated the thought. "I'm sure Potter will see to it."

His mother gave a tiny hum that could have meant she was horribly upset or that she was terribly pleased. "Ah yes. Mister Potter. Is he the lead Auror on this investigation?"

Draco nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

His mother sighed. "Well, I suppose he'll be fair. He has quite the reputation."

"I'm sure I don't know," Draco said evasively. Of course, that was a lie. He'd done research into Potter almost immediately and discovered that he had an exemplary record as an Auror and was fast on his way to becoming Deputy Head Auror in the next couple years.

"Do you still dislike him, Draco? Really, after all these years that's quite disappointing." His mother gave him a look over the rim of her tea cup.

"I don't dislike him. I barely know him. We haven't spoken more than a few times since the war ended." Which was true. Aside from Ministry balls and other tedious social events where they'd exchanged polite small talk, they'd meticulously avoided one another. Well, Draco had avoided Potter. He wasn't sure if the reverse were true.

"That's quite good to hear." She gave a tiny smile. "Have you seen Daphne, recently?"

Draco didn't react to the abrupt shift in conversation. "I saw her at Pansy's luncheon last month. She seemed to be doing well."

"Such a lovely girl, and her sister as well." His mother poured herself another cup of tea and topped up his own.

Draco groaned internally. He could see exactly where this was headed. "Yes, I believe Astoria was there as well."

"They're coming over for lunch tomorrow; I trust you'll be able to join us?" His mother smiled sweetly.

"Of course, I'd love to." I'd rather eat glass.

"Excellent, they'll be over at eleven. Do be on time, dear. It's so terribly rude to be late."

His mother made rebukes into an art form.

"I wouldn't dream of being late, Mother."

"Naturally. Now, tell me how things are going with your new abilities." His mother gestured elegantly at his wings in a way which could never be considered rude.

"They are going quite well. Father has been…helpful in providing information," he replied. His father had given him a number of books about Veela and diaries of what his father had called "unfortunate" ancestors who had also come into their Veela inheritance.

"Your father is doing his best. You know how he is, he'll come around." She fluttered her fingers carelessly. "He simply never expected you to come into your inheritance. I think he thought that after you turned seventeen with no sign of transformation, you never would."

"He was wrong," Draco said, a hint of anger coloring his voice.

"Your father was wrong about a great many things," his mother agreed.

What an understatement. Draco set down his empty cup. "Undoubtedly. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm rather tired."

"Of course, dear."

His mother remained seated when he stood. He leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you for lunch tomorrow."

Since returning to live in the Manor, Draco had taken up residence in his old rooms. The second floor, with most of the living quarters, had been extensively redecorated after the war. He had kept a similar color scheme to what it had been during his Hogwarts days; his room was decorated in shades of deep green and black, with silver and white accents. Living in the dungeon for seven years, he'd gotten used to the dark décor and found it comforting even years later.

When he reached his bedroom, he sprawled on his lavish four-poster. It was ridiculously decadent and he loved it. He stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about anything at all.

The first night after he'd been…rescued, he'd been anxious about falling asleep, more than a little worried that his dreams would be haunted by the torturous weeks. Instead, he'd been treated to vague but intriguing dreams about figures he couldn't identify but felt tantalizingly familiar. He'd woken early in the morning, panting and with a hard-on that would not go away. He'd been more than a little embarrassed, even though he'd been alone. He hadn't reacted that way to a dream since Hogwarts. And he would not go there, because he would absolutely never admit who he dreamed about.

As he stared at the ceiling, the plain white interrupted by extravagant molding, he replayed the last moments in Potter's office. The shock had run straight up his arm and then burrowed into place behind his heart. He could still feel it there, a sizzling warmth he didn't know what to do with. Probably just some strange interaction between our magics. It'll probably be gone this time tomorrow.

He refused to dwell on it any further. He levered himself up and then went into his office next door, determined to get some work done that day. And not to think about Potter. At all.

The next morning, the warmth was not gone, but Draco was determined to ignore it. He walked into the sunroom at exactly eleven o'clock to find his mother, Daphne Greengrass, and her younger sister Astoria seated at the glass-topped table. He kissed his mother on the cheek in greeting and then took a seat between his mother and Daphne, across from Astoria. Beverages had already been laid out, and a house elf appeared to pour him a glass of lemonade from the pitcher on the table.

"Draco, how nice of you to join us," his mother said sweetly, as though she hadn't demanded his presence.

"Mother," he said, nodding. "Daphne, Miss Greengrass, lovely to see you both." He nodded at both of them, pureblood etiquette rising to the fore.

"Draco, it is so lovely to see you again," Daphne said, smiling.

"I trust your parents are well?" Draco asked, placing his napkin delicately into his lap.

"Oh yes. Mother and Father have gone off on holiday to Spain. The weather there is quite lovely this time of year." Daphne smiled at him again.

"And how are you Miss Greengrass?" Draco asked.

"Please, call me Astoria. And I'm quite well."

"That is good to hear, Astoria." Draco took a sip of his lemonade.

Daphne stared at his wings. "So, it is true then? You are a…Veela?"

Subtly was apparently lost on the elder Greengrass. "Yes. The transformation is quite recent."

Daphne practically leered. "That must explain why you were always so popular at school."

We slept together once, don't expect a proposal. "I'd like to think some of it was natural charm," he said instead dryly.

"Astoria, dear," his mother said, interrupting Daphne's blatant attempt at flattery, "Pansy was telling me the other day that you started volunteering at the new Ministry charity?"

Astoria smiled shyly. "Yes, the home for war orphans. Such a terrible thing, to be an orphan."

Draco hid his surprise. He wouldn't have thought either of the Greengrass sisters would be inclined to charity work, but then, his experience was entirely based on Daphne. He'd barely spoken two words to Astoria during the years they overlapped at Hogwarts. Perhaps she was different from her sister.

"A worthy cause," his mother said, praise tinting her voice.

"Do you enjoy it?" he asked.

Astoria's eyes widened. "Oh, yes. The children are really quite lovely. A couple of them are starting at Hogwarts this year."

"How nice," his mother said.

Daphne smiled thinly. "Astoria has recently developed a soft spot for those…less fortunate."

The war changed us. He looked at Daphne's poorly-disguised disdain. Well, some of us. Draco could easily see that Astoria was intimidated by her older sister, and he couldn't help but take pity on her. Fortunately, lunch arrived, delivered by house elves, and temporarily distracted everyone at the table.

"I'm sure the orphanage appreciates your help," he said kindly when everyone had settled in to eat.

Astoria smiled at him. "I really do enjoy working there. I've gotten to know the other volunteers quite well," she said brightly.

"Oh? Anyone we know?" his mother asked.

"I'm not sure," Astoria said nervously.

Draco would bet money that very few former Slytherins besides Astoria worked at a home for war orphans. Volunteering among purebloods was best done from afar and through judicious donations, not through physical work.

His mother made a dismissive gesture. "I'm sure there is someone?"

"Well, Cho Chang volunteers there," Astoria offered. "She was in Ravenclaw."

"I remember her," Daphne said. "She was obsessed with Potter and Diggory."

"Ah, yes," Astoria said nervously. "But she's married now and she is really very nice."

"Married?" his mother asked. "To whom?"

"I don't remember his name," Astoria said. Her hand shook as she lifted up her glass to take a sip of lemonade.

Probably a half-blood or Muggle-born then. Maybe even a Muggle.

"It doesn't matter," his mother said, waving her hand. "Who runs the charity? I don't recall seeing a name in the papers."

Astoria bit her lip. "Well, she didn't want her name in the papers."

"Her?" Daphne sniffed. "What truly respectable young lady would run a charity?"

"It's Hermione Granger."

Of course it's bloody Granger. He was suddenly assailed by a memory of a soothing voice and wide eyes, but quickly pushed the image away.

"I don't know why an attention-grabbing Mudblood wouldn't want her name in the paper," Daphne sneered.

Astoria looked horrified at Daphne's comment.

Draco wanted to grab Daphne by the hair and throw her out of the house. Just for her rudeness. Not because she insulted Granger. His respect for Astoria's sweetness was growing; if Daphne was the example she'd had for manners, it was amazing she had any charm.

His mother looked at Daphne disapprovingly. "Let us not forget, Miss Greengrass, that Miss Granger helped put an end to that awful war."

Daphne apparently sensed that she'd displeased his mother and dipped her head. "I apologize, Mrs. Malfoy."

With that, the conversation turned to idle gossip about other pureblood families, and Draco finished his lunch in silence. He had no desire to participate in the conversation, and would have left if he didn't think his mother would give him a thorough dressing-down later. She was far too polite to ever raise her voice in company.

When Daphne and Astoria finally rose to leave, Draco had never been more relieved. He walked them to the front door.

"Daphne, Astoria, it was lovely to see you both again," he lied smoothly.

"Draco, it was so wonderful to see you," Daphne simpered. She held out her hand and Draco raised it to his lips, kissing the back as lightly as possible.

He had to resist the urge to wipe his lips when he released her hand. The brief contact had triggered his gag reflex and the urge to get as far away from her as possible was nearly overwhelming.

He turned to Astoria to hide the disgust he wasn't sure he'd fully kept from his expression. He mustered a smile. He raised her hand to his lips nervously. She blushed. He brushed a light kiss to the back of her hand, as he'd done with Daphne. Even though he liked her a great deal better than her sister, repulsion welled in his gut again.

"It was lovely speaking with you this afternoon," he said, managing to keep his voice even, despite the violent urge to push her away. Why is this happening?

"And you, Draco," she said, smiling up at him.

Even as he looked at her, all he could think of was the fact that her brown hair and blue eyes weren't right. The hand he wanted to be kissing belonged to someone with curly brown hair and brown eyes. It was Granger's hand he wanted to be kissing. I'd like to kiss something else of hers. No! No, I wouldn't!

The direction of his thoughts shook him, and he was barely able to finish seeing them off before he was rushing upstairs into a very, very cold shower.