New A/N: This is an edited and expanded (4200 new words!) version of a story I originally posted to FF under a different username. This oneshot was by far the best received thing I ever wrote on a different account. I started here because it's the shortest (and self-contained, sorry). I won't be starting on The Fallen Courageous until after Say Something is finished.

Original A/N: This is Deathly Hallows compliant, but the epilogue has been lit on fire and destroyed, just because. Snape is also not dead because I have a slight soft spot for him. The students have the opportunity to retake years missed due to the warfare.

And also, because the canon of Veela is so shady, I do what I want.

Minerva McGonagall could not catch a break. She'd hoped that things would slow down in terms of drama after the fall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, but alas— it didn't seem to be. She could still remember the day that she had sent the acceptance letter to the Malfoy family, and had immediately been invited to tea with Narcissa Malfoy, a cold witch who bore little resemblance to the sweet soul she'd been as a pupil.

"Of all of the old houses, yours is the only one that has asked for an audience after the posting of the acceptance letters. Have you called me here to tell me that you're sending the young Master Malfoy to Durmstrang after all?"

"No, Minerva. Take a seat, will you?" Narcissa said loftily, waving a hand with calculated grace toward a divan beside the fireplace. McGonagall pursed her lips and sat carefully on the edge, not liking either the angle the couch tried to force her to sit in, nor the liberty that Narcissa took with her first name.

"Well, Mrs. Malfoy, I am seated."

"I'm sure you've heard the… rumors… about the lineage of the Malfoy family," she began, taking a careful sip from a teacup that looked suspiciously like bone.

"Well yes, I reckon most have heard such 'rumors'."

And it was true. There had long been whispered that the regal House of Malfoy contained Veela heritage. Unlike the calculations that many undertook to estimate blood "purity", Veela heritage manifested in a family line in a quite different way. Every witch or wizard born into the family would technically possess the Veela blood, but it would not come to the fore in those who were seen to be incapable of wielding the great persuasive power that it necessitated. She knew that Lucius Malfoy himself had talked big quidditch about the Veela in his blood, but it had clearly not manifested in him in any discernible way besides the unsettling color of his hair.

Lucius Malfoy was many things, but he was first and foremost a follower. Influential as he may be, persuasive he was not.

"They are not simply rumors," Narcissa continued. "You're old enough to remember Abraxas and his father, I'm sure. We consulted a seer on the night of my son's birth, and I have reason to believe that this particular affliction will manifest in him. Despite him not reaching the age of expected maturity until after he is to matriculate from your particular institution, the seer insisted that it would occur while in the castle. He's always been quite precocious, my Draco. Imagine how powerful the blood must be in him that he is expected to find his soulmate before his 18th birthday!"

Precocious, indeed. While McGonagall hoped that the 'precocious' boy would indeed be a persuasive leader with the ability to lead, she feared that his upbringing and the reputation of the more recent generations of Malfoys would create a force that she did not have the patience to reckon with.

As the years had passed, several things had become clear. First, Draco Malfoy was not well suited to leadership. Yes, persuasive he may be, but the path that he sought to lead others down was not one that would lead to the betterment of others. Second, while he was indeed quite bright when he felt like being so, he was not such an exceptional wizard that he would find his magical heritage maturing years earlier than it should.

But then the war happened. Or continued, as it were. And among the papers that Severus Snape produced to prove his own innocence— signed by one Albus Dumbledore himself— was the evidence that Draco had a change of heart of his own once tasked with repairing a particular vanishing cabinet to usher Death Eaters into the castle. At Dumbledore's behest, Draco had completed the cabinet, indirectly caused the death of the headmaster, and spent the last year of the war funneling information through Luna Lovegood and to the Order.

Apparently.

If only he'd found a way to do it that didn't involve Luna spending six weeks locked in his ancestral dungeons, McGonagall might have found more solace in that knowledge.

After the war, she had almost managed to forget that odd conversation with Narcissa Malfoy, where she'd insisted that his maturity would occur within the castle. But then came the day where she'd received the list of names of returning students who planned to complete a very unorthodox 'eighth year'. Perhaps Narcissa's seer hadn't been all incense and tea leaves after all.

And now that day was upon her. Draco Malfoy's eighteenth birthday. She'd made the decision to allow students to return to the castle early for a summer session to aid in the repairing of the castle to help remove the scars of the Final Battle, and he was one of the many students who had returned to lend a hand. Unfortunately, so had the majority of students fourth year and older.

When a Veela received their magical inheritance on their 18th birthday, their bodies began the process of seeking out their soulmate. If their partner were unknown to them, nothing much would change. If they were in close physical proximity, or they were already acquainted with them, the Change would begin. If the mate were younger than they were, the Change would be delayed until the chosen partner had reached sexual maturity. If the person was nearer to their age, or older, the Veela would immediately begin a slow decline until their partner acquiesced to the pairing.

The Veela were sexual creatures by nature, but they lacked the power to be intimate with anyone other than their mate after their 18th birthday. All sexual urges and desires would become dormant until the mate was within a distance to be had: that was a telling factor for discovering the mates' identity. But although they were allegedly well matched sexually, their partner was said to be their intellectual match as well. After all, what is the point of an extended lifespan if they would be bored to pieces for the majority of their long lives.

And such was how Headmistress McGonagall found herself in Draco's room in the eighth year dorms waiting for him to awake so she could take him to the specially prepared chamber before the other students could stumble across him.

And awaken, he did.

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes and immediately let out a low hiss at the light coming in through his windows. The light that streamed into the new eighth year tower generally unnerved him, so much brighter as it was that the diffused light through the lake that typically bathed the Slytherin dorms in the dungeon. It seemed brighter than usual, and the smells of everything seemed so much more potent. He could smell that annoying perfume that both Patil twins wore as if they had poured it under his door like a toxic gas, and Weasley's unwashed quidditch kit that Potter insisted he keep in the hallway outside of their room. Zabini's imported Italian cologne, Parkinson's Parisian silks, and that stupid muggle gum that Thomas kept a fat wad of in his cheek.

All of the information that his father had told him over the years suddenly came flooding back and he forced himself to relax. However, there was one part of him that wouldn't relax. He pressed one palm against his arousal, trying to will it down, but was unsuccessful.

So his mate was indeed someone in the castle, or at least someone that he already knew. His mother had said it would be likely, but part of him had not believed it. His mate would be someone on par with him when it came to intelligence, cunning, and most other aspects of personality. There were very few people that Draco Malfoy would consider his equal, and even fewer that he could fathom spending the next two hundred years beside.

The unmistakable tones of Headmistress McGonagall felt grating to his ears as she cleared her throat from the corner. Suddenly aware again of the state of his body, he bent his knees up, hiding his arousal with a faint blush at the thought that she had been in his room watching him sleep.

"Mr. Malfoy, there is no need to be embarrassed. In fact, that is precisely the… sign… we were looking for. You will be moved to a private chamber for you and your mate immediately. The layout of the chamber will enable us to find your mate while keeping you, them, and the other students safe."

A quick flick of her wand resulted in the dulling of every one of his senses. The light was no longer blinding, the smells faded to the bad of his head, and his skin no longer felt as if it were stretched quite so tightly across his bones. She opened the door to his room and beckoned him to follow, leading the way out of the tower and to a hallway not far from its entrance. Despite the brightness of the sun, he could tell that it was still fairly early and as such there was no one else in the halls, which was best considering he was still wearing nothing but his pajamas and his arousal was still evident if one cared to look.

And Draco knew what the other students thought of him. Despite many still doubting his motives and loyalties, he knew many of them would care very much to try to look.

McGonagall led him to a statue of Aphrodite, which opened wide at a carefully whispered password. Inside was a warmly decorated common room with walls of bookshelves and a plush velvet couch, as well as a fireplace and what appeared to be a kitchen through another archway. She led him deeper into the room to a bedroom with a single, large bed in the center of the room. Draco sat heavily on the edge and ran a hand down his face.

"How will you go about finding out who she is?"

The headmistress pointed to a pipe jutting from the wall in the corner, from which fresh air flowed gently into the room. "There is a room on the other side of the wall. One by one, the students of the school will be led in, by year and house, and once the Veela in you recognizes their scent, it will be impossible for you to just stay in this room and keep still. You will be closely monitored by a professor who will only leave you once the two of you have been united. Do you have any questions?"

"Once we've been united?"

McGonagall sighed. "Once you've recognized them and they've been brought in. I guarantee none of us will have any desire to remain in this room with you while you become 'acquainted', as it were. Any further questions?"

Draco nodded briefly, lying back on the bed. "Is there any way you can not let them know that it's me on the other side of the wall? Not the general population, at any rate. Whoever they are, they need to know who I am before they come in, but I don't want anyone else to know before I am ready to make an official showing. But I would rather waste away and perish than have someone brought into these rooms without knowing what awaits them inside."

The woman nodded at him and turned towards the door, lightly placing her hand on the handle. "I don't believe that there is anyone in this school who would choose to let you perish rather than be paired with a newly awakened Veela. Furthermore, I do not believe that there is a 'what' that will be awaiting them, but rather a 'whom'."

With that, she flicked her wand at him again, and the full force of his senses returned. She slipped quietly from the room, and he could hear the heels of her boots as she left the room. He reclined on the bed, tilting his face toward the pipe on the wall and taking a deep breath of the clean air emanating from it. The scent of the air behind him changed, and in the back of his mind he recognized the door to the room open and close again. He glanced over at the doorway and saw his godfather leaning against the door, noticeably keeping a respectful and careful distance. Before he had an opportunity to say anything to greet him, the air coming from the pipe changed, and he immediately missed the fresh air from earlier.

Whoever was on the other side of the door was certainly not meant for him. They smelled sour, like a glass of milk forgotten in a warm room. A quick puff of fresh air was the only reprieve he had before the next occupant of the side chamber entered.

Hot dirt. Fresh air. Used cooking oil. Fresh air. Wet hair. Fresh air. Wet dog. Fresh air. Decaying roses. Fresh air. Cat. Fresh air. Butterscotch. Fresh air. Cigarette smoke. Fresh air.

This went on for what could have been hours, or could have been minutes. The time was running into itself and he was starting to get a headache. The throbbing pain would momentarily ease every time the clean air would come in, only to return with a vengeance with the latest scent.

The fresh air blew in again and he inhaled deeply and gratefully, preparing for the next influx of pain. Instead he received a lungful of wildflower and bergamot, and something that might have been sandalwood. His eyes slid shut and he rapidly exhaled before inhaling again quickly. He barely noticed Snape tap his wand against the door twice. Draco could feel himself starting to writhe on the bed as if his body were not his own, and a low keening sound came from deep within his throat. He could feel his cock, having softened slightly from the smells of so many undesirable people once again begin to thicken and lengthen. He clawed at the bed, before his eyes flitted around the room in search of a way out.

His eyes finally alighted on the door and Snape stiffened as the boy immediately rushed forward.

"Lie down, Draco."

He scratched at the door and his godfather, attempting to claw his way out, half mad with desire. "They're out there! I can smell them! Severus, please! I need to get out of this room!"

Snape pushed him hard into the bed and smirked when the door opened. "Let's see how you feel about that now."

Snape brushed out of the door, pushing past a small body as a woman took his place. Draco could feel his teeth sliding down slightly from his gums, elongating to prepare for the mating bite. She turned her back to him to face the door as she locked them in before resting her forehead on the cool wood. She was shaking slightly and tried to regain a sense of composure before turning to the preternaturally alluring creature that was lying on the bed, arousal standing proud in the air. Before she had a chance to turn, his hot body was pressed against her back as he gently swept her hair off of her shoulder, pressing his face into the side of her neck to seek out her scent.

He knew who she was, of course. Although she still hadn't turned away from the door, he'd spent enough time staring at the back of Hermione Granger's head to recognize her in the space between his rapid heartbeats.

— — —

He left teasing nips on her neck, pressing himself into her back. He was strong and persistent, and the phrase 'between a rock and a hard place' slipped through her mind as he pressed her into the door. He suddenly spun her around to face him and grabbed at her wrists, pulling her against him as they fell onto the bed. She knew she should feel terrified, or even revolted. After all, this was Draco Malfoy. And she was destined to be with him, until death, which would be many years coming.

But she also knew enough about Veela to know that it was meant to be her, had always been her, and she was in this room with him because she was meant to be. She'd had many things to fear in the span of her short life, but if she was in this room with him, then he was certainly no longer one of them.

She felt his lips at her ear and his whispered words tickled her sensitive and suddenly flushed skin. "Granger… Hermione… I know you must loathe me. But I need this… Let me have it?"

She relaxed into his arms, completely unsure of why she was willing to give Malfoy, of all people, this part of her. But for some reason, the fit of his arms and the warmth of his body felt right in a way that Viktor or Ron never had. Draco rolled them onto their sides before asking: "How much do you know about Veela mating?"

Hermione tried to shrug, but found she couldn't complete the movement within the band of his arms. "I did a modicum of research when the students from Beauxbatons were here. But I certainly wouldn't call myself an expert."

Draco pressed his face into her neck, breathing in her comforting scent as he chuckled into her skin. "'A modicum of research'... 'not an expert'... You probably know as much as I do, if I had to wager. First comes oral sex. Something about our fluids fueling the other's fire, or some such rot. Then penetrative sex. But unfortunately for you, this has to happen… pretty much immediately. We can talk as much as you want after, and I'll take you to the library to help you research more. But I don't know how much longer I'll be in control with you here with me. So how about we get on that, eh?"

Hermione nodded as his tone sent a blazing heat down her barely registered his words, but definitely registered his body sliding down hers. He paused to gently tweak her nipples through her robes, before he slid far enough down her body that his face was level with her cunt. He pushed her robes up, eyes flicking up to meet hers briefly, before he yanked her knickers from her hips and buried his face between her thighs, letting her robes fall around his shoulders.

He immediately began to suck on her clit, with one hand tightly gripping her thigh while the other slowly worked itself into her. He came out from under her robes momentarily to ask in a voice much deeper than his usual, "Are you a virgin?"

She shook her head, blushing slightly for some unknown reason, and he smiled lightly at her.

"Good. I don't know that I have the word 'gentle' in my vocabulary this morning," he purred before diving back under and once again dropping the robes around his head. It was extremely warm under her robe, but it smelled like heaven to him, and he wanted nothing more than to stay there until he couldn't. He fully focused his attention on her then, slipping his tongue into her. She was tight, even around something as insignificant as a tongue, but he put the thought out of his mind before drawing out to lick the whole of her.

She was writhing above him, her thighs twitching as she fought to pull them together, but she was denied by Malfoy's strong hands. He curled the tip of his tongue to create a hard point, which he used to encircle her clit. He was rewarded by a cry as she bucked down, hard, on his face. He felt almost like he had fallen into her, there was nothing he could see but darkness, nothing he could feel against his face but the warm flesh of her, and no taste in his mouth but hers.

Hermione's mind was, for once, blank. There wasn't anything running through her thoughts except for a sound that sounded faintly like a buzzing, thoughts of the word 'yes', and the feelings he was causing her to feel. She felt as though after everything she had survived, Malfoy's tongue would be the thing to finally kill her, and he was a demon or angel, she wasn't sure which, there to bring her body to limits it had never known.

He slid his middle finger deep inside of her and crooked it towards her stomach, searching slightly to find the place inside of her to make her cry out. After a moment he found the spongy tissue, and Hermione came, hard, hands clutching at the sheets beside her. If it were any other witch he wouldn't have gone through the effort to ensure her pleasure, but there was something about her that made him want to guarantee that she was enjoying herself. Something, that Draco felt, might have been completely unrelated to the fact that she was, apparently, his mate.

He emerged from her robes, face damp with her juices and his sweat, and a slightly dazed look on his face. Eyes flicking up to meet hers, he sucked on the pads of his fingers, before using his thumb to swipe the last traces of her from his face and into his mouth . He wanted to kiss her, but he was unsure as to how she would react to the taste of herself on his tongue and refrained from doing so. He could have scourgified his mouth and done it, but he wanted to keep the heady taste of her in his mouth as long as he could. He was still dressed in only his pajama bottoms and they were tented out from his hips in a way that made Hermione's mouth water slightly.

She sat up, sliding her long, hot robes off of her body to drop on the floor. Under her robes she was wearing her school skirt and button down, which she quickly removed. Hermione had limited experience when it came to the number of wizards she had been with, but she had done enough research to feel comfortable about the prospects of what was to come— especially if that… taste… h'd given her was anything to go by. She undid her bra, already having been divested herself of her knickers, and kneeled on the bed. She pulled Draco up to lie on his back.

She kissed his mouth for the first time, and was surprised to find that despite the Veela in him, he was surprisingly gentle with her. She placed her hands on his shoulders— surely they hadn't been this broad yesterday?- letting her hands slide down his chest to feel the muscle there. He wasn't bulky, but rather had a type of strength that was more alluded to than anything else. Letting her hands slide down his abdomen, she felt the hard muscles of his stomach and felt them tense under her hands. She saw the tent of his pajamas jump slightly, and she gently raked her hands through the hair descending from his navel and down into his pajamas. She slowly undid the drawstring of his sleepwear before sliding them down his hips.

For a male as slender as he was, a surprisingly long and thick cock was revealed. He was as hard as he had ever been, and was almost positive that his head must have been an alarming shade of purple. But instead of checking out the changes to his physique, he was focused on the witch who had a hand wrapped around him. Hermione lightly drew her hand up and down him, causing him to reflexively jump in her hand. "Was it this… impressive?... before your Veela came out?"

Draco glanced at himself, and shrugged, wrapping his hand below hers around his cock. "It seems a bit longer and thicker than usual, but I'm much more aroused than I usually tend to be when with a witch. We'll just have to see as our relations progress, won't we?"

She slowly slid to kneel beside his knees, taking the head of him into her mouth. She lightly moaned, causing him to shudder from the vibrations that traveled across his skin. She slid him from her mouth and smiled slightly at him. "What?" he asked, hips canting up towards the missing warmth of her mouth.

"Fuck, you taste good. Not at all like… well..."

He placed his thumb on the top of his cock and the index and middle fingers on the underside, near the head. He squeezed, and made short strokes, the foreskin sliding up. A surprisingly large amount of precum slid from his slit, covering his head and dripping down his shaft. Hermione dipped her tongue into the slit, tasting him. She opened her mouth and took in most of his cock. Somehow she was easily able to slide herself all the way down, getting most of him into her mouth. Her nose was buried in his surprisingly soft blond curls.

"There's something…" he forced out between shuddering breaths, "that's numbing your throat enough to let you do that… Father told me."

It made sense in Hermione's mind that his bodily fluids would make it easier for them to couple, given the nature of Veela. She swallowed around his flesh and continued to suck down the fluids seeping from him. He tasted like heat and virility, his taste filling her mouth. He placed a hand on the back of her neck, and gently controlled the speed of her movement over him. The air in the room began to shift, as his pheromones spread, thickening the atmosphere. She could feel his skin pulsing, the heat of it spreading through her. She gently grasped his testicles and rolled them lightly in her palm, the warm and slightly furred skin of them shifting between her fingers.

His balls drew up and she drew back to suck hard on the head of him. His hands clenched tightly in her hair as he released into her mouth in several long, deep spurts, filling her mouth with his seed.

He pulled her by her hair up into a kiss, the taste of their sex thick in their mouths. His cock was still pressed hot and hard against her thigh despite him having just come.

"It's time, Hermione. I hope you're still ready," he purred, one hand slipping down to slide between her thighs. "I did warn you that I don't think I can be gentle with you today. Maybe tomorrow. Or next week."

He quickly thrust into her. She felt as tight around him as if she were a newly claimed virgin, and he let his head drop down to her neck. She was wet and tight, and the feel of her was so much better than it had ever been… for either of them. Better than Pansy, or Viktor. Better than Astoria, and certainly better than Ron. He lifted his head from her neck again, and his eyes met hers. His pupils were so large that it looked as if his entire iris was black only barely ringed by grey. He ducked his head, his mouth meeting hers in a passionate kiss. He had never wanted to kiss a woman during sex before, but all of a sudden, he couldn't keep his mouth off of hers. Her taste was almost too intense for him when coupled with the feeling of her around him.

He swiveled his hips as he thrusted, pushing deep enough into her to hit places that she hadn't known existed. Malfoy's skin was touching hers on almost every inch of her body, and he was all that she could feel. He pulled away, saliva connecting their mouths still.

He shook his head, damp blond hair falling out of his eyes. His skin was getting brighter and brighter as he moved within her, until it had escalated to the color akin to fallen show. It was beautiful in a shocking way; the already intense color of his skin turning so light as to highlight the sharpness of his features. He was a powerful man, and his actions in claiming Hermione were proving to her that looks could, in fact, be deceiving.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once. Tracing her jaw, stroking her neck, tweaking a nipple, circling her clit. He was the very picture of sensuality, and despite the somewhat forceful way his hips continued to meet her own, he was certainly doing his best to ensure that she was getting hers.

The added stimulation was almost unnecessary, for his cock was large enough to bring her almost to the brink by itself, without being so large as to cause her pain. There was a small amount of pain that he was making her feel as it was, but it was less of a pain and more of a deep, dull ache. He was more satisfying to her than any man had even been before. Sex was something that she had long since expected to be pleasurable, a real pity considering that she was only 17. Yet a coil within her was winding tighter and tighter with every circle and slap of his hips.

He was going crazy, or so it felt. Her skin was hot and soft under his, and her smell was invading his head. All of his senses were full of Hermione, and all of a sudden it hit him- if he weren't such a prick, he probably could have had her years before.

"You do know," he whispered, kissing her hot skin, "that I will have to bite you. You are mine now, and you will always have the marks to show it."

"Do it," she moaned without thought, instinctively tilting her head back to make it easier.

He buried his face in her neck again with a shudder, his rhythm stuttering as he continued to work himself in and out of her.

If she were to be honest with herself, which she usually tried to be, she had always wanted Draco Malfoy. Well, maybe not always, and definitely not when she thought he was a mindless death eater fighting for blood supremacy. But for many, many years before his initial loyalties had become clear. Even when he was teasing her or she was beating him, he was still extraordinarily attractive to her. And she had found herself noticing things about him that no one else did, often ending up to awkward moments between her, Harry, and Ron. Harry and Ron used to get annoyed that she seemed to know so many things about him, and often teased her about "being in love" with him— somewhat maliciously, in Ron's case.

He was amazingly intelligent, and that fact turned her on more than his face. His beautiful, beautiful face. The beautiful creature, currently stroking his cock in and out of her, was the most sought after man in all of Hogwarts. She had heard rumors of the way Draco was during sex… according to Pansy Parkinson, he only really went through the motions and never really seemed much to care, or seem all that particularly aroused, despite his reputation as a sex god.

But now… This man who had somehow redeemed himself at the height of the war seemed to be falling to pieces around her, moaning and groaning, face buried in her neck. His cock was unbelievably hard, and he appeared to be enjoying himself greatly. He was also trying his damndest to get her to come, playing with her clit and nipples, as he lightly nipped at her neck.

As long as Hermione had thought about what she would have wanted in a lover, she knew she wanted someone who was intelligent, highly sexual, and faithful. And here she was, finding herself with a Veela lover who fit that description perfectly. It was in his blood to be faithful— despite the fact that his last name quite literally translated from French meant 'bad faith'. The thought wouldn't even cross his mind to stray, and he would be unable to be physically aroused except by her.

She was about to come, she could feel it. She was wound too tightly, and the knowledge that this would be waiting for her for the rest of her life lifted a weight from her shoulders she hadn't known she'd carried. Draco somehow seemed to sense it too, and began moaning, spewing out all sorts of thoughts that must've been in his head, filthy and altogether arousing.

"Fuck, Hermione. You're so hot… so wet… I bet you like it when I fuck you like this… yeah, I bet you do, you filthy little girl."

He sucked on her neck, and she knew he was going to leave a mark- but she couldn't bring herself to care. "How long have you wanted this cock, love?"

"Ages, Draco!" she moaned out. He grinned and captured her lips with his, one slim finger slipping down between them to circle her clit.

"C'mon, love. I want you to come all over my cock. I want to feel you let go. Can you do that for me? I want to feel you," he purred, punctuating his words with his hips.

She moaned and immediately her body complied with his request. letting go and having what was single-handedly the best orgasm of her life. He dragged his lips over her throat and down to her shoulder, lightly nipping at the skin with his elongated teeth. He sunk them into her shoulder, marking her as his equal as he pulsed deeply within her. She could feel the magic in the room shift again, seeming to somehow pull inward to coalesce around the sting in her shoulder.

He kissed her, slowly pulling out of her, his softening cock bringing with it the stickiness of their joining. He lightly traced his fingers over the mark on her neck, making her shive. It was deep, but not so deep that it would require being seen to. He placed a light kiss to the mark, before licking it. It may not be life threatening, but it would certainly scar.

As it should.

— — —

They didn't come down for breakfast that morning. Nor lunch, and certainly not for dinner. After taking a… working lunch… Hermione had shown him how to use the stove in their small kitchen to cook themselves dinner. Functionally— and legally, in the eyes of the Ministry— they were essentially married, and spent most of that morning and the following day in something not unlike a newly wedded bliss.

Eventually, however, they were unable to remain in their new quarters, and they both knew it was time to rejoin the student populace. While it was still the Summer of Rebuilding, as the Headmistress had taken to calling it, she knew that Harry and Ron would have noticed her absence. She was also quite positive that Ginny would have noticed both of their absences, and likely had some theories as to the reason why that were likely very close to correct.

She reclined on their bed together, sheets still rumpled and warm from a very good morning greeting that had left her gasping as he had once again buried his face between her thighs. Due to the lack of classes during their rebuilding time, students weren't required to dress in their uniforms— a fact she was grateful for as she watched him in the mirror as he toyed with the buttons at his neck as he decided whether one or two buttons undone at his throat would be more tasteful, before cuffing the sleeves of his shirt to display him forearms.

Professor Snape had found a way to break the dark magic that had marked their arms, tying them to their former lord even after his death, and for the first time in years Draco felt free enough to roll up his sleeves without shame for what was or wasn't burned into his skin.

"Ready?" He asked, meeting her eyes in the mirror. She nodded, sitting up to smooth the wrinkles from her skirt and blouse. He lightly pressed a kiss to his lips, grabbing her hands to pull her to standing. "Then summon that Gryffindor courage I hear you have so much of. Let's go face the children."

They walked down to the Great Hall, and as they stood outside the closed double doors she could hear the other students talking behind them as they ate. He stopped her just short of the doors, clutching her hands in his.

"Here's a proposal for you," he started.

"Not necessary, according to that owl from the Ministry."

"Not funny," he said, but chuckled nonetheless. "You know that's not what I mean. We take a few to talk to our individual cohorts. Mine will understandably recognize that my life is about to get infinitely better. Yours will like believe that you're being whisked away to a life of baby making and sexual slavery. I'll come join you when Weasley inevitably begins to yell."

Before she could respond, he kissed her forehead and slipped through the doors. She took a moment to take a few deep breaths, before following him in and heading toward the end of the long table meant for the eighth years— in the name of inter-house unity— that the Gryffindors had staked for themselves.

"'Mione!" Ron called through a mouth full of beans. "Where do you think you've been?"

"You're not my mum, so I suggest you watch your tone," she said as she dropped into a seat beside Harry, trying to ignore the way that Ginny waggled her brows at her from beside her brother. "And that's not my name."

"You're not my mum, either. 'Watch your tone'. Blimey. Forgive me for wondering where you've been holed up for the last three days. We couldn't even find you on the map," Ron said, blessedly swallowing his beans.

"Well it's no wonder that the map doesn't work properly anymore," Harry mused as he prepared a cup of tea for her which she gratefully accepted with a smile. "This castle isn't really the same one anymore that they mapped out. There's places that don't exist anymore, and several new places that they wouldn't have been able to include. Our days of marauding might be over, I fear. Which is to say— where were you?"

"Holed up with Draco Malfoy in their lover's nest, making the beast with two backs, shaking the sheets, playing tug-a-nug, twisting—"

"Ugh, shut up, Ginny," Ron scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. Or disgusting. Where were you?"

"Right in one, Gin. Holed up with Draco Malfoy in our lover's nest, of course," Hermione said with an eye roll, buttering a piece of toast.

"If you don't want to tell us," Harry said while narrowing his eyes, "You don't have to. But just say that."

"How's your neck, Hermione?" Ginny asked, smile growing wider.

"Sore, now that you mention it, you cow. Thanks for asking."

"Oh, were you in the infirmary?" Ron asked, tension immediately leaving him as he began to shovel more beans into his mouth like he had the last plate of them in the highlands. "Did you injure your neck in whatever part of the castle McGonagall put you to work in?"

"No, Ron, she wasn't in the infirmary. I told you I checked. What's wrong with your neck?" Harry asked, although it sounded rather more like a demand than a question.

"Oooo," Ginny cooed, leaning forward as if to pull the collar of her shirt. "Did he bite you, then?"

"Who is he?"

"Who did what?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, and sat back down in her seat before meeting Hermione's eyes in a long suffering look. "I swear they don't notice anything. The seventh and eighth years went first. I know they both went through that room. And neither one of them could be bothered to figure out why."

"Who bit you?" Ron asked, as Harry hand darted out with a speed that only a seeker would have. The feeling of his hand grazing the mark where her neck met her shoulder made her flinch away from him, and the combination of both of their movements made her top button pop off, baring the mark when her shirt pulled wider under Harry's grasp.

"Who did this?" Harry asked darkly, voice pitching down in something akin to anger.

"Calm down," she started to say. Before she could finish her sentence, two warm hands landed on her shoulder as a warm body came to stand beside her, one graceful hand quickly leaving her shoulder to flick Harry's off of her skin.

"I did," Draco purred, in an all too self satisfied voice.

"You did what?" Ron shouted, trying to stand from his chair before Ginny yanked him back down forcefully by the hem of his robes.

"Sit down before you make a fool of yourself," she said. "I don't know how you've managed to be friends with Hermione this long without absorbing at least any of her ability to find answers to questions. It's obvious, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Draco asked, sliding into the seat beside Hermione and pulling her slightly away from Harry, causing Ron to let out a strangled noise.

"Of course," Ginny said, sitting back in her chair and copying his smirk as she began to tick off her points on her fingers. "First, your eighteenth birthday was three days ago. Second, all of the sixth, seventh, and eighth years were paraded one by one through a room that stripped us of any perfumes and potions that could alter our scents. Third, Hermione disappears for three days, and fourth, so do you. Fifth, you came in within moments of each other. Sixth, you said something to your little Slytherin friends over there that made Nott and Zabini clap you on the back, absolutely baffled Goyle, and angered Parkinson and both Greengrasses. Seventh, you couldn't stop staring at our end of the table. And, finally, eighth, the second Harry touched her. you leapt out of your chair like someone told you there was a two-for-one sale of Poncy Prat Pomade. And that's not to mention that she's walking like she spent the weekend astride a thestral."

"Very good detective work, Weaslette," he said, stealing the cup of tea Harry had made for Hermione to take a long draw. "But I'll have you know I buy my pomade full price. I don't need to wait for a sale."

"Watch it, Malfoy!" Ron called, leaned forward to try to pull Hermione away from Draco, looking positively aghast when she leaned further into his side and away from the reaching hands. "What did you do to her?"

"What didn't I do to her?" Draco asked. "It's been a long three days, I can tell you that much. I won't, however, be telling you much else, as a gentleman never kisses and tells. A better question is what did Potter do to this cup of tea?"

Harry hadn't stopped frowning since Malfoy had appeared, and the furrow in his brow somehow got deeper. "Well I didn't make it for you, did I? I always make Hermione a cup of tea when she comes in."

Draco scoffed, and vanished the liquid from the cup to pour a new one. "How many years of friendship, and you still don't know how she likes her tea?"

"What, are you claiming that you know her better than we do?" Ron asked, turning back unhappily to his beans as he shot his sister a murderous look for her apparent unwillingness to complain about this new situation.

"You make her a cup with cream and all that blasted sugar because that's how you like your tea. Likely because those stupid muggles thought that you were somehow unworthy of such basic comforts, as a literal fucking child."

Harry's hands fisted on the table, but even he had to recognize that Malfoy wasn't wrong.

"Watch yourself, Malfoy." Ron hissed. "What do you know about it?"

"No cream, for starters. But rather a lot of honey," Malfoy said with an obnoxious smile, sliding the cup and saucer toward Hermione.

"Is she sweet like honey, then?" Ginny asked with a grin, leaning forward as if she could force him to share more secrets.

"You are what you eat, I suppose," he said, stealing a bite of the toast that Hermione had dropped to the table in shock. "But if that's true, I'll be so sweet soon that even Scarhead and Weasel over there will notice."

Hermione groaned, dropping her head to the table as Ginny cackled, and Ron and Harry made noises of protest.

"Oh, I like this," Ginny said, grinning at them both. "Please tell me we're keeping him?" she asked Hermione.

"You don't really have much of a choice," Hermione told her, mumbling into her crossed arms.

"Like hell I don't!" Ron cried, beans flying.

"Swallow, don't spit, Weasley," Draco drawled. "And no, you really don't. Mated for life, perfect partners, together forever, 'til death do us part', as it were. Confirmed and endorsed by the Ministry, too."

Harry rolled his eyes and scoffed, "Well you don't have to act so fucking smug about it. We all know you of all people can't be glad to be tied to Hermione for the rest of your life."

"Excuse me?" Hermione shrieked, sitting back up and whirling around in her seat, causing Harry to wave a hand at her placatingly.

"No offense, Hermione. You know what I mean. And you know what he's like. After how he's treated you?"

Ginny reached over the table to place a hand on Harry's forearm. "Looks to me like he's treating her just fine. And apparently they've been doing more than just mucking the mandrakes if he knows how she likes her tea. His magic wouldn't have chosen her if they weren't compatible."

"Compatible in all ways," Hermione said with a smirk, leaning back into Draco's side.

"I am trying to eat my beans!" Ron cried, hands coming up to cover his ears.

"We all had a part to play in the war, Potter. My apologies that it took me as long as it did to find the correct pages that my proper lines were on. I will spend the rest of my life atoning for my myriad of sins, but I want to make one thing very clear. I won't be atoning to you. I don't owe you anything. But I will spend every moment of every day of my life making sure that she knows who I actually am, and who I can be. They say that Veela inheritance only manifests in those who have the blood to lead with it. So I suppose that it's time to make sure that people know that while I'll fight for what— and who— is mine, I'm going to try to make sure that fight is a little more productive this time around. What do you have to say about that?"

Harry looked at Draco for a long moment, and Hermione held her breath. While Ron was well known for his tendency to 'yell first, ask later', Harry had the ability to say some of the most cutting things a person could say, slicing through to a person's insecurities in a moment of viciousness fueled by his own frustrations. She had no doubt in her mind that whatever Harry said next would set the tone for their eighth year— and possibly the rest of her friendship with him.

"I'd say that I think you've been hanging around the 'wrong sort'. I can help you there," Harry said, putting out a hand in a mirror of their first interaction.

A flicker of surprise flashed across Draco's face, and after a beat he leaned forward across her to take the proffered hand. "I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself-now. Thanks."

"If you hurt her—"

"Don't you know anything, Ron?" Ginny asked. "He literally can't. Just be quiet for once, I think he's redeeming himself."

Yes, Hermione thought to herself. I think I'll keep him around.