Dear reader,
Here's chapter two for you. My general plan is a chapter or two per week, but I'm somewhat on a roll right now. Let the ideas flow.
A/N: I don't own anything.
St Mungo's
It was deadly quiet. This was the first thing Blaise noted as soon as he exited the fireplace in the reception hall. But even though there seemed to be no medi-wizard to be seen, the place wasn't empty. There were patients and family, transfixed in place with frightened looks on their faces. When Blaise tried to ask them what happened, he found his mouth made no sound.
"Malfoy," his lips moved. It was amazing someone had managed to send out an emergency call. The magic hanging in the air was overwhelming. Blaise could only assume this was veela magic and that all the healers, protected by a spell, had rushed to Malfoy's room. He pushed through and slowly, but surely progressed towards them. He exchanged a couple of words with the person he'd left in charge and ordered them to move away. Draco needed space.
The first thing he noticed, as he reached his friend's room, was that technically, Draco was indeed awake. He was standing rigidly, his back to the doorway. There were long, scaly wings on his back and his hair was glowing.
"Draco? What the fuck?" Even if Blaise had known to expect some veela traits, an almost complete transformation should have been impossible. Draco was not even a quarter-veela.
The blonde man turned. His eyes were pitch black and he tilted his head. Small fireballs started forming under his palms. However, recognition flickered in his eyes for a moment and the fire died out. "Blaise," he growled. "Get me back in there."
"Can't." Zabini leaned against a white cupboard. All rooms had one like it. "You're being pardoned as we speak." It wasn't exactly a lie – putting an unmated veela into Azkaban was against the wizarding laws. Azkaban was meant for normal wizarding folk. While the place was equipped with runes allowing the imprisonment of veelas, the veela must have mated before imprisonment. A veela's mate was as important to the final judgment as the crime itself.
"No!" Draco roared, turning away from Blaise. His anger was growing. "She won't be safe…" He grabbed his hair and fell to his knees. A loud groan escaped him. His healer was almost amused. When Draco spun around to face him again, his eyes had a tint of their original color.
"Why am I out?" Draco's eyes were finally back to gray, when he asked that question, and his wings had neatly folded into his back. He looked human again. "Did the stupid Mudblood get me out?" There was still a hint of anger in his voice.
"Well, Draco," drawled Blaise. "It's a long story. And definitely not one for right now." He took out his wand and charmed the door shut. "Take a seat, you may still need some treatment."
"I feel fine." Draco hadn't spoken to anyone in years. Even when his mother came to visit, his lips were sealed and his voice gone. Now, it was quiet and raspy. Blaise made a mental note to monitor it's recovery. "What is this place?"
"St Mungo's. Stay still." Blaise used his wand to draw Draco's blood this time. If it was anyone else, the young man would have resisted. But Blaise was his best friend – had always been – and had earned his trust. "You have some veela blood in you. It went berserk. Long story, I'll fill you in later. We'll probably give you some draught of peace, so there won't be any repeat of what just happened."
There was a knock on the door and the healer went to open it. He exchanged a couple of words with another medi-wizard, closed the door and faced his friend.
„The Ministry has just agreed to reduce your Azkaban sentence to a house arrest. You'll be escorted to Malfoy Manor in the morning." He offered a comforting smile. „We'll have your official blood work back by then as well."
Draco ignored his words. There was an aching in his chest. A longing. He focused on it, letting it spread into his body. Images flashed in his head. Images about his years at Hogwarts, about life during war. How long had he been in Azkaban? He didn't remember. Yet his memory seemed to be intact, so it probably wasn't long.
"You're probably going to be fine!" Draco felt Blaise slap his back. His body dipped forward, not listening to his brain. "I'll be right back." The healer left. He intended to do the blood work himself this time to ensure the confidentiality.
Draco was left to his own thoughts – not that there were many. His mind was still muddled from the overwhelming magic that had protected him. One face emerged from his memory and made the young man clutch his chest. His last vision of her: she had tears in her eyes, arguing heatedly with another wizard. She had glanced at him, he had pretended not to notice. Wizengamot had ruled.
"I hope she doesn't remember." He had hoped to forget her in Azkaban. He had thought about her a lot in prison, hoping the dementors would suck the memories away. As far as he was concerned, he deserved that torture. Draco ran his fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had been ever before.
He felt the magic run through his veins. He didn't have a wand, but he felt capable of casting enchantments without one. He moved his wrist and thought Lumos. He wasn't surprised when light burst out from his palm. It was warm and stronger than he had intended. He tried another one. And another. A smirk crawled to his face, as he continued practicing late into the night.
It was after midnight, when Blaise got back. By then, Draco had got the general grasp of the magic raging inside him. Hearing the door open, he promptly erased the bird flock he had conjured. Blaise didn't say anything. He handed Draco an potion vial with the words "Drink it."
"What is it?" the wizard inspected the liquid.
"Draught of peace," answered Blaise. He took a step back and sat down on a white chair that was usually reserved for visitors. "Drink it and we'll talk. I'm not taking any risks here."
Draco downed it in a single gulp. He could feel his agitation fading away. He could think clearly for the first time since he was released from Azkaban.
"How long was I in there?" was his first question, "When you said veela earlier.. What did you mean?" second.
The first was easy to answer. The second, however, was more tricky.
"There was a veela in Malfoy family, many generations ago," said Blaise tentatively. "Your mother knows best. You should talk with her about it." He paused for a moment, letting his companion take this in. "We don't know exactly what happened, but your veela blood started eating you inside out." Blaise had expected Draco to show at least a little bit of his unhappiness at his new situation, but the ex-prisoner just sat there quietly, listening.
"It seems we got you out Azkaban just in time. It slowed down the transformation of your cells and it has almost stopped." Blaise hid his pity for the man well. "Your body is currently about ¾ veela. Now, this isn't very common and frankly, I haven't heard of this ever happening to anyone. But we expect you to show more veela traits than an average half-blood."
"I know it sounds like a bad dream. Especially since we don't know if it's possible to reverse this change." The healer hated being this formal with his friend. They hadn't seen each other in years: Draco had insisted on an unbreakable vow, so that Blaise couldn't visit him in Azkaban. Draco's sentence wasn't for life. They were supposed to keep distance for five years. Blaise could live with that and at the time, Draco had seemed reasonable enough.
"And as you're still a male," he added with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you might want to keep an eye on finding your mate."
This finally got a reaction out of the young wizard. "Mate?" he croaked, his mood souring even further. Even under the effects of the potion, he was aware of the sinking feeling in his chest, hearing that one word. Blaise laughed heartily.
"Yeah, mate. There's someone out there who you're going to care for unconditionally. Someone who is going to make you happy. Ain't that nice?" Draco's face distorted as he scrunched up his nose in displeasure. The sinking feeling deepened. An image of a brunette's face flashed through his mind. He could only hope his mate was anyone other than her.
Silence hung above them. Blaise hesitated whether to tell Draco what he wanted to say next. He inhaled deeply and spluttered it out anyway: "Granger never gave up, you know. Pretty sure she and Weasel fell out over you. You should send her an owl when you get to manor."
"No." The word was said harshly and with conviction. "No one asked her to help." Hearing the woman's name made his heart contract in pain. So much for the hope that she had forgotten him! He knew seeing her would make him happy. It had, after all, since day one. But she would be happier without him.
...
A restaurant in wizarding London
"I'm telling you, 'Mione, he's an ungrateful bastard." Ginny slammed her jug of butterbeer on the table. "It's about time you stopped wasting your time on him." Harry had filled her in about Malfoy's release and when Hermione had mentioned she was conflicted about sending him another missive, she had launched into a tirade about all his vices. "He bullied you ruthlessly at Hogwarts. Remember second year? He wanted you to die. And he sided with You-Know-Who in the war." She took a big gulp of the frothy drink before continuing. "And even when you tried to help him with this ridiculous time-turner case, he ignored your letters. He never apologized, 'Mione. Never."
Hermione didn't argue. They had gone over this multiple times already and Ginny's opinion never changed. Sometimes she even felt that the redhead was right. Malfoy had not wanted her help with his court case. She had simply picked it up from the Daily Prophet and decided it was unfair.
"What do you think is wrong with him?" Harry's intervention was perfectly timed. He gave his wife an apologetic smile, knowing how annoyed she was to be interrupted.
Hermione shrugged. "Could be anything, really. But it's not my problem anymore."
"It wasn't your problem in the first place!" accused Ginny. "You know that!" Hermione's lips curved into a small smile.
"I guess so." She could at least admit that. "But someone had to do something. I couldn't just stand by and watch him suffer like that when his crimes are pettier than the older Death Eaters. You know that!" Ginny laughed loudly, attracting the eyes of other customers.
"You're too good, 'Mione," she said. "I hope you don't regret it."
Hermione smiled kindly at her friend. "So do I."
