AN: It's a week late, but it's here! I don't really want to go into a long-winded explanation but suffice to say that life is never convenient, especially when making plans. Thank you all so, so much for your support and all your lovely comments. The fact that people are still out there waiting for this story even after almost two years is just incredible. So thank you, thank you, thank you!

Changing Scenery

Chapter 27: Gardens

"I'm fine, Mother."

His mother paused in the middle of reaching to adjust his pillows for the fifth time and brushed a lock of hair off his forehead instead.

"Of course, darling." She clasped her hands in front of her, the picture of pureblood elegance. "But a mother worries."

Draco tried to smile. "Of course. But the healers did an excellent job, and I should be fully recovered in a few more days."

"Hmm." She smoothed his bedspread, the closest he'd ever seen her get to fidgeting. "Call if you need anything, dear." She laid a hand briefly against his face, her fingers cold against his skin, before stepping back.

"I will."

She nodded and then left, her robes trailing behind her elegantly.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Draco fell back against the pillows. His mother had been hovering incessantly since he'd returned from St Mungo's the previous morning. He could hardly blame her – almost losing her son twice in three months after managing to keep him safe during the horrors of the War couldn't have been easy.

Still, Harry's visit later that day was a very nice change. And an even better distraction. Draco felt a deep satisfaction when Harry agreed to wear the robes he'd picked out for him. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or not that Harry didn't question why Draco had a bespoke set of dress robes ready and waiting, but since it saved him the effort, and embarrassment, of explaining, he decided to be thankful.

Draco wished that Harry had tried them on at the Manor so that he could've seen how they looked on him, but he would just have to settle for waiting until the next time Harry needed dress robes. Which would be soon, if Draco had anything to say about it.

On Thursday he woke up feeling very nearly back to normal. He stretched and felt all his joints pop in a very satisfying way. He got out of bed, slipped on a pair of house shoes, and then went over to the French doors leading out to the balcony. It was cold – his breath formed clouds of frost on the window as he looked outside – but he opened the door anyway.

The cold breeze quickly penetrated his silk pajamas, raising gooseflesh and making him shiver, but it felt good to be outside and breathing in fresh, crisp air. Checking his surroundings, he carefully let his wings out. Stretching them out to their fullest, he felt like he could breathe properly for the first time in weeks.

The slight breeze ruffled his feathers, casting rippling shimmers on the floor as the weak sunlight reflected off the silver. He curled one around his front and let the other fold up along his back. The heat from his wing quickly warmed him up, dispersing the chill of the late November morning.

He looked over the garden. They hadn't yet had the first snow of the year, but rime covered the winter bones of the garden, though the sun was slowly melting it away. He frowned as he saw creeping vines where they shouldn't be, the overgrown bushes, and the weeds that had begun creeping into his mother's beloved rose garden. That, more than anything, told him how worried his mother had been. The last time the garden had gone untended was the awful year the Dark Lord had made the Manor his home.

Chilled in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature, he stepped back inside, closing the door firmly. He debated tucking his wings away, but he felt more…himself with them out. He'd never thought to feel that way when he'd first found out he was Veela, but the wings had become a part of him and tucking them away felt like caging part of himself.

He dressed and then went downstairs to get something to eat.

His mother was waiting in the breakfast room, sitting to the right of the head of the table reading the Prophet. A collection of dishes was laid out on the sideboard. Draco took his seat to the left of the head. They never talked about the empty seat between them.

As soon as Draco sat down, a house elf popped in to serve him. A selection of his favorite foods was set in front of him along with a phial filled with blue liquid before the house elf disappeared again.

"Good morning, Mother."

His mother looked up, smiling politely, her eyes flicking briefly to his wings. "Good morning, Draco. How are you feeling today?"

"Much better."

She gave him a real smile. "I'm pleased to hear that."

The room was quiet again for a few minutes again as Draco ate while his mother read the paper and sipped her tea. Things felt almost back to normal.

Once he'd finished eating, Draco quickly down the potion the house elf had brought – the last dose of Restoration Potion the Healers had ordered. It didn't taste particularly good, but it certainly wasn't the worst potion he'd ever had to drink.

As Draco was standing to leave, his mother looked up.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you, you received a letter this morning."

"From who?"

She held her hand out and a house elf popped in to hand her the letter. "The Ministry, I believe," she replied, glancing at the seal.

She handed him the letter which did indeed have the Ministry seal.

"Thank you, Mother."

"You're welcome, darling."

Draco walked out, holding the letter. He considered the thick parchment as he headed back up to his bedroom. The seal was for the DMLE, rather than the generic Ministry seal.

Once safely alone in his room, he used one talon to crack the wax. He hadn't even noticed that his talons had come out, but he was just glad that it was in the privacy of his room rather than at the table with his mother.

Unfolding the letter, he quickly scanned the message inside.

Dear Mister Malfoy,

This is your official notice that the trial for Alfred Dunham, in which you are the prosecution, has been rescheduled for Thursday next, November 24th. The trial will be presided over by Chief Warlock Lionel Burnroot. Due to the circumstances surrounding the previous trial, your presence will not be required or requested on this date. You will need to provide testimony regarding the most recent events to the Lead Auror of the case, namely Harry James Potter, no later than Tuesday, November 22nd. Your previous testimony has been entered into the official record. You will be notified by owl when a verdict has been reached.

Percy Ignatius Weasley

Court Scribe of the Wizengamot

Ministry of Magic

Draco sat down on his bed, more relieved than he'd expected. Even though he wanted to see Dunham brought to justice personally, the thought of facing him in a courtroom yet again filled him with dread. He would never forget the terror he'd felt as the Portkey had dragged him out of the courtroom. He was very, very glad that he wouldn't have to return.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, noting absently that his talons had punctured the parchment. He laid the letter aside and then focused until his talons receded. It took less effort than it had when he'd first practiced right after becoming Veela. That's something, I suppose.

When Bitsy popped into his room early that afternoon, he was glad of the distraction.

"Yes?"

"You is having a visitor, Master Malfoy."

Draco tilted his head. "Who is it?"

"Mistress Granger. She is waiting in the Blue Parlor, Master."

"Please prepare tea and have it sent to the parlor. I'll meet her there."

"Yes, Master," she said before Disapparating.

Draco resisted the urge to fly down to the parlor. Aside from her brief visit to the hospital and the trial, he hadn't seen Hermione properly in weeks. His Veela was clawing inside to see his mate, the vague feeling of unease that had permeated his body growing to a painful buzzing.

He walked so quickly through the halls and down the stairs that several of the portraits gave him disapproving looks. Fuck them. It had been years since he'd sought the approval of his ancestors, and he'd be damned if he waited any longer than necessary to see his mate.

When he arrived at the door to the Blue Parlor – swung partly shut – he took a moment to straighten his robes and ran a hand through his hair to make sure no strands were out of place. Satisfied, he pushed open the door.

Hermione spun around at his entrance from her position by the window.

"Oh! I didn't expect you so soon, your house elf said you were busy."

He swept forward. "Never too busy to see you." He gently took her hand and kissed the back. The blush that rose in her cheeks was deeply satisfying.

"Charmer."

He thought it might have been meant as an insult, but it lacked any heat or malice. He smirked. "I'm glad you finally noticed."

She rolled her eyes. "Believe me, everyone noticed."

"I don't care about everyone else, Hermione."

He let just a hint of what he felt come out and saw when she realized. Her lips parted and he had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss her until she knew exactly how charming he could be. Fortunately, Bitsy popped in to deliver their tea at precisely that moment, preventing him from ravaging her on his mother's favorite chaise lounge. Just as well. It wasn't exactly the impression he was going for.

"Tea?"

She breathed out. "Yes, thank you."

He led her over the chaise, taking his seat after she'd sat down, letting his wings drape over the low back. He saw her lingering glance and resisted the urge to grin in smug satisfication. He poured them each a cup from the delicate china teapot to keep her from seeing his expression.

"Sugar?"

"Just a splash of milk, please."

He doctored both of their cups before handing her the one with a bit of milk.

He took a sip of his tea, watching her from the corner of his eye. She looked vaguely uncomfortably, though he couldn't quite tell why. He didn't think it was because of the house, since this was the same parlor they'd had tea in before, but he wasn't sure why else she would look so… out of place.

"I'm glad you came to visit," he said sincerely.

Hermione traced a finger over the rim of her cup. "I almost didn't."

He frowned. "Why?"

"After what your mother said, I wasn't sure I'd be welcome."

A deep sense of dread filled him. "My mother?"

She looked at him in question. "When she came to visit? She made it clear that she wasn't, shall we say, especially fond of me."

He had to focus to keep from accidentally breaking his teacup. "What do you mean?"

She hesitated. "She mentioned that I wasn't…that I hadn't done enough to help find you. And she's right. I stepped back and let the Aurors do the work, I didn't even try to work a different angle, or see if I could find something in Dunham's notes or-"

"When, exactly, did she come to see you?"

"Um, right before you were rescued. A week and a half ago? Did she not tell you?"

"No, she did not." Blast it, mother.

"Oh."

"What did she say?"

"You mean aside from how I should have been helping more during your rescue? Well, she, uh, she mentioned…never mind."

Draco eyed her for a moment before setting down his cup and then taking hers from her gently and setting it on the table as well. "Knowing my mother, whatever she told you – it's not true." He took her hands. "What did she say?"

She looked down at their hands. "She said…she said that I needed to fix the-" she pulled one hand away and waved it expressively, "mess we were in. She made it clear that it was my fault that you were unhappy because I wasn't good enough for you."

His wings flared and Draco fought the very real urge to go throttle his mother. As it was, the only reason his talons stayed sheathed was the knowledge that he will still holding one of Hermione's hands. The very last thing he wanted to do was hurt her.

"Listen to me very carefully, Hermione. This mess we're in? It is absolutely not your fault. If anyone is at fault, it's me and Potter. We're the ones who treated you poorly. You tried to make it work and we didn't. Merlin, Hermione, you came to the Manor for me, a place you were tortured. If anyone isn't worthy it's me. I can't believe that you can even look at me sometimes, let alone that you want to try to make things work between us."

She looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I was at your trial, Draco. I know that you never wanted any of that."

"That doesn't change the fact that I didn't do anything. That I just stood there and let it happen in front of me."

She snatched her hand away. "And I didn't do anything either! I should have done more to help find you."

"So you just went home after I was kidnapped? Had a glass of wine, maybe read the paper?"

"Well, no, but–"

"You didn't help the Aurors or do any research?"

"I mean, a bit, but–"

"And of course, Aurors always allow civilians to work on cases, especially when they have an emotional investment in the case?"

"No, not usually, but Harry worked on the case–"

"Harry is the Lead Auror on the case, of course he did. And I'm sure that if he had shown a single sign of being compromised, Robards wouldn't have hesitated to pull him off completely, Lead Auror or not."

She looked uncertain. "I suppose that's true."

Draco folded one wing around her shoulders. "You're not an Auror, but I have no doubt that you did everything you could."

"But it wasn't enough."

"Don't be ridiculous," he said firmly. "Just because you weren't on the front lines doesn't mean you didn't help save me. You're one of the only things that kept me sane. That's more heroic than breaking down doors or firing off spells."

She rolled her eyes but looked less upset than she had. "I don't want to be hero."

"Are you sure? I'd be happy to erect a statue of you. Maybe have a topiary shaped like you on the front lawn?" He smirked. "I could charm it to be red and gold."

She shook her head. "You're ridiculous."

He shrugged one shoulder, letting the feathers brush against her. "Maybe."

She pursed her lips. "Would you really make some poor house elf shape a hedge like me?"

"Don't be silly." He paused and she sighed, relieved. "That's what magic is for."

She hit him lightly on the arm. "You are insufferable."

Considering she didn't move out from beneath his wing as they finished their tea, he was fairly sure she didn't mean it.

After they'd each had another cup of tea, chatting idly about Pax and their friends and nothing fraught, Draco suggested going for a walk.

"It's a bit chilly, but the gardens are lovely even in winter."

Hermione smiled. "That sounds nice."

Her simple reply warmed him far more than the tea.

He called for a house elf to bring their cloaks and then led her to the solarium at the back of the house which had a door leading out the gardens. The house elf was waiting for them, their cloaks bobbing in midair. He helped her into hers, a heavy wool muggle jacket, before swinging his cloak around his shoulders.

Outside, it hadn't warmed up much at all. Their breath created clouds of mist, though the frost from the morning had mostly melted away. He led her toward the winter garden, past empty, skeletal beds waiting for summer.

She gasped as they stepped inside the walled enclosure. As well as regular plants like holly and Cyclamen and Camellias, there were magical plants like Russian witch hazel and Frostflowers. The whole effect was breathtaking, even without a blanket of snow for contrast.

"I used to come here all the time when I was younger. During the holidays, the first thing I would do when I got home was come out to visit this garden."

"It's beautiful," she said with feeling.

"It's even more beautiful in the snow."

"I can imagine."

He led her through the garden, naming the various plants. "This is my favorite," he said, pointing at a waist-height plant that had white leaves with delicate deep green veins. The flowers that climbed up the stem ranged in color from yellow at the bottom to fiery red at the top.

She leaned down to inspect it. "What is it? I've never seen it before."

"It's called a Snowdrake."

She gave him a sharp look, narrowing her eyes. "It's because of the name, isn't it?"

He shrugged, smirking. "So quick to judge, Granger. Maybe red is my favorite color."

She snorted. "Not bloody likely."

He grinned. "I find myself becoming exponentially fonder of the color."

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They spent a few more minutes admiring the garden before heading back into the garden proper. They wandered aimlessly, down paths Draco had memorized before he'd even learned to ride a broom. When she started shivering he put a wing around her. She leaned into it and he smiled sappily.

It felt good to spend time with her. It felt right. His Veela was pleased, rumbling in satisfaction in the back of his mind, especially when he took her arm and she wrapped it around his like they'd done it a thousand times.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said abruptly as they strolled past an iced-over pond.

"Always."

She gave him a look. "Why did you take Harry out to dinner and not me?"

Oh. That wasn't at all the question he'd been expecting her to ask. "It was a part of courting, actually."

Hermione frowned. "Courting?" She thought for a moment. "Like the book you sent me?"

He nodded. "Exactly."

"Oh."

"Why did you think I did?"

She flushed, turning away. "Er, no reason."

He pulled them to a stop. "Did you think I was ashamed of you?"

She shrugged. "A little."

He tilted her chin up. "I'm not ashamed of you at all. Not even a little bit. I had planned to ask you to dinner as well. It was never supposed to be one-sided. Harry actually gave me the idea because he mentioned the meetings that are a traditional part of courtship. It was our first 'meeting,' as it were."

"So we, the two of us, I mean, were supposed to have a 'meeting' as well?"

"We were."

"Oh. Well then."

Draco bit the inside of his cheek. It wasn't in his nature to be particularly demonstrative, but he didn't want Hermione to go on thinking that she somehow wasn't worthy of him. As though she could be anything but perfect in his eyes.

"Everything about this has been a bit backwards, but Hermione, you mean a great deal to me, Veela or not, and I never want you to feel unequal or unworthy." He took a deep breath. "Normally I would request this formally through a letter, but I would be honored if you would go to dinner with me."

She blinked up at him. "You don't have to do this just because you think you should."

He held her gaze. "It's not because I think I should. It's because I want to."

Hermione bit her lip. "Okay." She looked up at him. "Then I'd love to."

He smiled, letting how much it meant to him show through. "Good. How about dinner on Sunday?"

"That would be lovely."

He lifted her hand and kissed the back of her glove. "Thank you." He let a bit of the Veela out and saw her cheeks flush as her other hand went up to touch her lips. He winked.