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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.

He had contemplated 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. The sky could still not condone the chaos of the earth.

But there was a difference. A monumental one. One with beautiful brown hair and piercing green eyes, one that had encircled him, her roots tying him under her willow tree.

Draco raised a glass of firewhiskey to his lips, mimicking his actions from a lifetime before.

The amber liquid burned on the way down.

But no amount of fire in his throat could distract him from the new mystery unfolding in front of him.

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 word nagged at him, scratching the inside of his head, searching for answers, flying around as it tried to grab on to something tangible.

To find understanding.

Draco's knowledge of this old wizarding legend was bare bones at best. He knew nothing more about the Le Fays and Hermione's mark than what Voldemort had told him that fateful afternoon in Malfoy Manor.

He had not heard the term 'Other' that day. But, at least based on Lucius' reaction, it was not a trifle addition to the every-growing Le Fay canon. Like Hermione herself, it seemed monumental.

Draco took another swig of firewhiskey.

How had he even ended up here?

The events of earlier replayed in his mind, like wizarding photographs bursting across his eyelids. The battle at his once summer home had been fierce – chaotic. He remembered helping that Gryffindor idiot, Longbottom, who had managed to be tag teamed by a group of Death Eaters. Draco had jumped in without thought – if he apparently an Order member now, he would play the part convincingly.

He had barely noticed how little it bothered him to fight against his old comrades.

After regaining the upper hand alongside Longbottom, Draco had felt a wave of cold wind rush through his body, stilling him momentarily.

He had turned just in time to be pushed to the ground by Hermione.

The following events had unfolded like a scene straight out of his nightmares.

Once Draco was on the ground, he had looked up just in time to see a burst of green light shooting across the room towards them. The realization had been striking – if she hadn't shoved him down, he would've been hit.

However, nothing could ever be more striking than the consequences of her decision.

Her actions resulted in Hermione standing in Draco's spot. He wanted to scream as curse finally reached where he had been standing mere moments ago.

But.

Instead of crumpling, Hermione raised her marked arm, and the Avada Kedavra made contact with the willow tree tattoo-ed into her.

She had looked death in the eye unflinchingly.

Taking his place.

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 what remained of his soul at Hermione's action made him want to shatter a thousand whiskey glasses, screaming the whole way through.

Destroying them the way he had almost been destroyed today.

Almost.

How could she have done it? It was not as if she had known the curse would rebound, she admitted as much when he had accosted her about it afterwards. 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.

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. Something all consuming. Something permanent.

It made him want to kiss her, to sob into her hair, to hold her until the end of time.

If they ever got that far.

But he could do none of those things. He was here.

And she was not.

"Draco," a voice said from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. 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 like an obedient follower next to his father and mother in their drawing room, keeping his face blank and his muscles tense. Lucius seemed giddy; Narcissa was muted, he could not read her.

He took a deep breath, focusing his mind. 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, with each repition, their potency faded. It felt like a phrase you had repeated a thousand times, so often that the words held no meaning.

He had a mission. He had a mission. This was of the utmost importance.

But he knew that was wrong because something had taken precedence, gained the upper hand in his hierarchy.

There was Hermione and him.

A chill filled the room. Draco forced his face into ice, not betraying anything, as a tornado of wind swept through the room, settling in a cloak of dark robes and the darkest wizard of his lifetime.

He felt those snake-like eyes on him, burning like acid.

"Why, Draco," Voldemort said, his voice as harrowing as Draco remembered – does absence make the heart grow fonder? "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 indication of Miss Le Fay's arrival."

Lucius nodded sharply. Draco could practically feel the excitement coming off his father in droves.

It was suffocating.

"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.

Of course, they had.

How had the Order not realized?

Simple, Draco thought, answering the question as it appeared in his mind. They did not realize who Hermione was.

They did not realize the weapon they had. They did not realize that people would fight for her. That people would kill for her.

He thought of the Death Eater Hermione had killed with his own curse.

That people would die for.

"We were able to subdue the Order and speak to Miss Le Fay," Lucius continued. "Her power, my Lord, is as you suspected - great. However, she did not take our offer to stay in exchange for the lives of her compatriots. The battle that followed was intense."

"Any casualties?" Voldemort asked, the dryness in his voice indicating that 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 made him want to sink into the ground – disappear for all eternity - as Draco watched the Dark Lord's gaze turn sharply in his direction.

"At Draco?" his voice was deathly quiet as his 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's death by 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, crushing it under thick Occlumency.

A few moments of silence followed, as the implications of Lucius' words seemed to hit Voldemort. The Dark Lord turned to face Draco fully, his eyes as closed to excited as Draco supposed a snake's eyes could be.

"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."

Draco nodded, forcing his mind's walls to remain standing. Brick by brick by brick by brick…

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 after a slight pause, as the night they had spent together flashed through his mind.

Brick by brick by brick by brick…

"How close?" the Dark Lord said, his voice a low hiss.

Draco found he couldn't respond.

Silence was a confession.

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 chooses 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."

Draco paused, unsure if he had heard correctly.

"My Lord," he 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.

Or even notice.

His mind was much more heavily occupied.

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.

His bricks were crumbling. That foreign emotion was breaking through – waves disintegrating them into sand on a beach.

"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," Voldemort drawled. "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 half-breeds. 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. 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."

It was if the sentence floated towards him slowly, as he heard the Dark Lord speak, followed by a few moments of incomprehension, before meaning reached his mind with the force of a tidal wave.

He began spluttering, trying to express the myriad of thoughts racing through his mind.

The kaleidoscope of emotions spinning through his heart.

"My Lord," he said, unable to keep his voice neutral. "Are you suggesting that Hermione has chosen me…as her lifetime partner?"

"It would appear so," Voldemort mused. "Otherwise, her mark would not have protected you earlier today. You would be dead."

Draco did not know what to say.

Were the words for this situation?

Or did this predate language?

"But, my Lord," he said, his breathing shallow. "Hermione would never choose me for…for anything like that."

"The choice is often unconscious, Draco," Narcissa said quietly, speaking for the first time since Draco had entered the drawing room. "Her blood makes the best choice possible, not her mind, or her heart."

Draco turned towards his mother, meeting seemingly neutral eyes and a detached gaze.

But he knew his own mum.

And this was not neutrality.

This was warning.

Voldemort appraised him for a moment, as he focused his attention back. "Now, Draco, you've said your relationship with Miss Le Fay has changed."

He nodded, shaking slightly.

"Have you been physical?"

Forcing any desire for privacy down, Draco nodded 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 phrase feeling like a six-word death sentence.

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."

Hermione and Finnigan… that night he had overheard them in the bathroom.

Chaos incarnate.

Oh for the love of Merlin…

This cannot be happening, Draco thought to himself. This had to be a dream, a fantasy, an imaginative nightmare.

But yet.

Hearing that Hermione had chosen him permanently – in a way that meant forever - calmed his blood heartbeat, as his blood acquiesced to the inevitable. His brain was fighting against the idea, but his body and his shattered soul recognized the truth in Voldemort's words even as they threatened to tear Draco's world apart.

Unconsciously.

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.

God fucking dammit.

Some lifetime mate he was turning out to be.


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