Songs – Blodfest by Danheim and Heldom, Bad Karma by Axel Thesleff, and If I Had A Heart by Karin Dreijer Andersson and Fever Ray

Chapter Twenty-Two: Tradition

But first, an interlude…

If you were fortunate enough to be able to rewind a few thousand years, and if you happened to situate yourself in exactly the right place, you might just have been able to witness the real start of all this.

You see, it began like it so often does, with a group of people searching for a better life. Land once covered by expansive ice quite suddenly, at least in geologic terms, become enticing to a brave few willing to deal with a bit of brutal cold. And where there is open land, people will move.

Those who came weren't rich, at least not initially, but they were resourceful, almost obsessively so. Survival was the game, and to win, you needed a kind of determination, a stubbornness if you will, that kept you moving despite everything in your body telling you no. It was a time when living to see the next season, or even the next day, meant understanding the things around you. A connection to the natural world wasn't just essential, it was everything, and the people who flourished, the ones whose genes still survive to this day, didn't take that knowledge for granted.

It might sound cliché, and no one could blame you for rolling your eyes, but great things – truly powerful, impressive things – are born from moments like this.

So, pay attention.

They say that magical ability comes from within, that it's literally written into your genetic code, and they're right… mostly. But what they forget, what is so often overlooked in the stories of any beginning, is that evolution is a fickle thing. Something, and not just anything, had to happen for any kind of magic to end up in there at all. And something stranger, an intervention of the gods some might say, is what it takes to tap into even more.

A little bit of luck lies at the heart of all beginnings, and in this particular story, the Norse, or more accurately, the people who would eventually give birth to the most powerful among them, were gifted with something rather out of this world.

It all started with a young adolescent girl, who, according to her mother, was a bit too curious for her own good. Her family were humble farmers in a very unforgiving landscape, as were most people in her high latitude neck of the woods, but as much as she respected what those around her did to survive, she yearned for something else – a little bit of adventure. She wanted, more than anything, to discover new things in places no one she knew had been.

But there were rules about where people could go, mostly dictated from men who dared to claim ownership over a land that could never truly be owned. And she tried to obey, she really did; she just found that she didn't much appreciate a few greedy old fools telling her what to do. So, she explored the old forests outside of her village anyways, knowing that if she was caught, she would face a great deal more than a simple tongue-lashing from her mother.

For a long while, nothing exciting happened. She didn't see anything abnormal; she, rather disappointedly, didn't witness anything otherworldly. But she learned, filling her young brain with more information than she knew what to do with. And then one day, while she was racing home to beat the setting sun, she was hit with a strange light, the strength of it knocking her right off her feet. She blacked out for a moment, and when she finally came to, she felt her body overcome with an odd sensation – a buzzing of sorts that reverberated all the way down to her bones.

Now, most people would have been terrified, or at the very least, would have found the entire situation a little odd, but the girl didn't have the privilege of lingering long enough to figure out how she really felt. There would be hell to pay if she didn't make it home before dark, and so she ran, deciding somewhere between the spot of the strange attack and her family's fields that she must have imagined the entire thing.

But she hadn't. What had happened was very real.

In the months that followed, strange things started to happen around her. At the beginning they were small, and as you will probably recognize, not unlike the things that happen around anyone maturing into their magical self. Things broke when she was angry. Her family's crops miraculously regrew after being attacked by blight. Food appeared on their table even when they had none. And then, without really knowing how, she learned to control her power, and that's when it would have become obvious to anyone practiced in the magical arts that she wasn't just an ordinary witch.

She was strong, impressively so, and could out-match even the most skilled of warriors with nothing but her fists. She could control people's emotions, especially when she was angry about something they had done. She could, when the fancy struck her, even manipulate the elements, although the effort would leave her too exhausted to do much else for a few hours. And as unbelievable as it sounds, she could read the minds of people she cared about both near and far. But perhaps what might be most surprising to anyone reading this, was that she did all of this – and quite a bit more – without a wand to assist her or a school to show her how.

So yes, she was special. And fortunately, it was a time when seers and mages weren't shunned; they were worshiped with a kind of fervor that might be hard to imagine in a world where magic is hidden from those without it. But being born with magic in her veins, especially when you consider that her parents had not been, would have been enough to set her apart from everyone else around her. What she had was different, however, and it would be the understatement of the past few centuries to say that she didn't thrive.

Now, the girl never truly understood just how lucky she had been that day in the woods, not until her mortal body had been long buried away, but since this is a story, an unwritten saga of sorts, we have a bit of perspective that she never could as a mortal being. Her curiosity, or rather, her raw determination and grit, had been rewarded with power. And not just any power. Someone or something, depending on where in the spectrum of belief you lie, gifted her with the tool to learn more, to do more. And, without even realizing there had been a purpose to all of it, she did.

Of course, no one lives forever, and when she finally passed, she left behind a legacy of magical feats – and similarly gifted children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren – unlike anything that had come before. Centuries passed, the old gods died, new gods were born, and most of the people of the land marched on none the wiser. But her descendants, at least the ones who had been fortunate enough to inherit her power, never forgot. They couldn't. Her gift was as much a part of them as it had been of her, and so long as they were careful, so long as they didn't muck anything up, it could never be lost.

Unfortunately, as you might have already guessed, they weren't careful at all. In fact, it could be said that they waltzed right into their own demise. And that my friends, is all you really need to know before we move on.

Well that, and perhaps trust that a bit of destiny can be an extraordinary thing.

"Will you stop your fidgeting," Theo said with a roll of his eyes. "It's a suit, not a torture device."

"Says the man waving a sharp object around in the air," Draco replied, suspiciously eyeing the large pin his friend was holding dangerously close to the top of his leg. "As much as I appreciate your help, it's still not entirely clear to me why you volunteered for this job," he added with a grumble.

"You learn how to do a lot on your own when the world shuns you," Theo explained, seemingly unperturbed by both Draco's mood and the solemnness that should have surrounded his comment. "And seeing as there would have been no way to tear your mother away from Hermione today, I figured you'd prefer these delicate hands over whatever ancient house elf your father would have sent to do the job."

He's not wrong, Draco admitted silently as he willed his limbs to relax.

Draco knew that if it weren't for the suit, Theo would have found some other excuse for his presence at the Manor. He had been over so much that Narcissa had stopped asking if was spending the night and instead had converted one of the countless guest bedrooms into Theo's own quasi-permanent residence. And no matter how much Draco argued with him, no matter how many times Draco told him it was safer if he stayed away, Theo refused to listen. It seemed that Hermione, intended or not, had won over the heart of yet another Slytherin, and there was simply nothing Draco could do to convince his friend that he didn't need to risk his life to help keep her safe.

"Well, for what it's worth, thank you," Draco said as he studied himself in the mirror, emphasizing the words as if to say that he wasn't just talking about the suit.

"Yes, yes," Theo replied flippantly before flicking his wand to close the open seams at the bottom of Draco's pant legs. "Although I applaud your attempts to find new and wonderful ways to torture Lucius," he said, taking a step back to admire his handiwork, "I can't say that I understand your continued refusal to just wear your damn dress robes like a normal wizard."

Draco exhaled deeply, pushing his breath out of his mouth roughly. "I just wanted to surprise her with something a little less…"

"Malfoy?" Theo supplied quickly, smirking as he grabbed another pin from the pile on the floor.

Draco chuckled. "Exactly."

He hadn't owned a suit in years – he certainly hadn't needed one during his travels or in his duties as an Auror – and although his relatively new dress robes would have worked just fine, he wanted to give Hermione at least one thing that didn't have Sacred Twenty-Eight written all over it when she walked down the aisle.

"She doesn't actually care how she marries you," Theo assured him as he pinned back one of the arms of Draco's jacket, "just that she does."

"I know," Draco said, his voice almost a whisper as his thoughts began to wander.

The saint that she was, Hermione didn't even hesitate in her agreement to be tied to his family through the vows that had bound generations of Malfoy's before, and the realization that she trusted him to know what was right, that she didn't even question his motives or change of heart, had shaken him to his core. He had wanted to give her the world, whatever world she wanted to carve out for the two of them and their child, but instead, the only thing he could truly promise her was the protection of a family he had not long ago swore he didn't want to be beholden to. From his perspective, it was another tick under the long column of reasons he didn't deserve her, and not even her insistence otherwise had been successful in changing his mind.

"You are doing the right thing," Theo told him, noting the pained look on his friend's face. "Outdated or not, the vows will ensure she's protected here the same as any other Malfoy."

Draco made a sound somewhere between a grunt and sigh. "She shouldn't have to do any of this," he said somewhat angrily, "but seeing as there's precious little else I can do to keep her safe…" he trailed off as his thoughts drifted to images of his most recent nightmare.

"Draco," Theo began, pausing his work to place a hand on Draco's shoulder, "you're doing everything you can."

"And what if everything isn't enough?" Draco asked seriously. "What if, despite everything I've planned, I can't get her away fast enough? What if whoever is looking for her still manages to find her?"

"We fight," Theo said rather simply.

"Theo," Draco warned, trying to swallow his anger, "we've discussed this."

"Yes, multiple times," Theo agreed, placing another pin on the arm of the jacket, "I've just decided to ignore everything that's come out of your mouth recently."

Draco threw his head back. "Of course, you have," he groaned, bringing a hand to the side of his face as he closed his eyes. "If I didn't know better, I would worry that you and my father have been conspiring behind my back."

"Oh, we are," Theo admitted a bit too freely. "Potter too."

Draco's eyes snapped open. "This is not a fucking joke," he nearly shouted, his fists balled at his sides. "Harry has a family."

"And Hermione is a part of it," Theo explained. The only indication he gave that he had noticed the angry hand inches from his face was a slight widening of his eyes, but Draco, who was too busy trying to calm himself, wasn't paying attention. "And good luck stopping the bloody Chosen One," Theo continued, unable to stop himself. "In case you've lost your damn mind and forgotten, many a dark wizard have died trying to do just that."

Draco sucked in a calming breath and let it out slowly. Why will none of them listen to me?

"I'm surrounded by idiots," he mumbled finally, accepting, at least for the moment, that arguing with Theo wasn't going to fix anything.

"Loyal idiots," Theo amended before deciding it was safe to continue his work and using his wand to maneuver a needle and thread to the edge of Draco's sleeve.

"To whom exactly?" Draco replied, watching the action happening at the end of his arm with a level of intent that suggested he was expecting the needle to pierce his skin at any second.

"You sure you really want that answer?" Theo queried, ignoring Draco's piercing glare as he turned his attention to the other sleeve.

"No," he asserted, shaking his head. It always comes back to her. "I don't."

The two friends were quiet for a moment as Theo finished the other sleeve, pausing only when the last seam around Draco's wrist had been closed.

"Does she know what you have planned?" Theo asked suddenly, taking a step back so that he could inspect his work.

Draco shook his head. "No," he told him, pausing to take a deep breath. "It would just break her heart," he added, his voice almost a whisper as he fought to keep himself crumbling apart. "She can't know. Not yet. Not until it's time."

The torment was obvious in Draco's face, and Theo swallowed rather heavily for a man who had long ago decided love wasn't actually real. "Maybe she'll never have to know," he offered despite knowing how unlikely that would be.

"Yeah," Draco somehow managed in reply, "maybe."

Planning Hermione's escape had occupied much of his time since being released from the hospital, and although he was confident that he had come up with a plan that, if everything went perfectly, would work, there were at least three things he wished he could do over again.

Draco had started his research with his father, asking him for every bit of information he had on the Malfoy properties that, for whatever dubious reasons, had been kept out of the family's official records. There had been a lot to wade through, especially considering how much Lucius had tried to hide from both sides before the start of the war, but when it became clear that there were only a handful of properties his father could be sure no one outside of the family knew about, he had selected the oldest, most obscure of the bunch knowing it was best they were going to be able to do for her.

But involving his father had been his first mistake. He should have known that Lucius would piece together what he was planning, but what was done was done, and the elder Malfoy's decision had been made. Draco, no matter how much he protested, wouldn't be facing whatever was coming alone.

His second mistake had been involving Harry, and that pill had been much harder to swallow. After picking the safe house and sending Wally to make sure the place was as properly abandoned as his father had promised, Draco had asked Harry if he could manage making a portkey without it landing on the Ministry's registration list. Of course, Harry had known what that favor meant, and only agreed after reminding Draco, rather annoyingly, that he was Harry fucking Potter and would do whatever he wanted, including making a bloody secret portkey and choosing to fight alongside Draco and his father.

If it weren't for Theo's aptitude for snooping around dark and dreary Manors, Draco might have succeeded in sparing at least one other person he cared about, but unfortunately, Theo was rather gifted in the sneaking around places he shouldn't be department and forgetting that somewhat major detail had been Draco's third and final mistake. Theo, like both Lucius and Harry before him, seemed to be infected with the same kind of risk everything heroism and had announced that whatever the fuck was going on, he was in.

And so now, despite having wanted nothing of the sort, Draco was in charge of wrangling a group of rather opinionated men. Their strange quartet, a rag-tag team of knights in not-so-shining armor, would have raised a few eyebrows in the outside world, and Draco, even as anxious as was about their involvement, couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. He only wished that he wasn't so bothered.

It wasn't that Draco didn't appreciate their support, that he didn't feel moved by their refusal to allow him to fight the unknown foe alone, because he did, very much so. What bothered him was that he couldn't trust that they'd be able to keep the whole secret if they were caught and tortured, and so, despite knowing their combined knowledge would likely improve Hermione's chances of survival, he let them believe that the safe house was the end of it. But it wasn't, and only his mother would know what to do after that.

"Can't say I wouldn't have taken the bet if someone told me three Slytherins, two of them former Death Eaters, would team up with Harry Potter to save Gryffindor's princess a decade after the war," Theo said, tearing Draco away from his thoughts.

Draco knew Theo hadn't said the words to be harsh, but he still couldn't stifle the cringe that followed.

"I can't disagree with you there," Draco conceded, forcing himself to smile despite feeling anything but chipper. "Honestly, I would have bet against anything that's happened in my life recently. I don't deserve–"

"I have absolutely no qualms about shoving a pin into your arse cheek if you finish that sentence," Theo interrupted without even the slightest hint of humor in his voice.

Surprising himself, Draco snorted. "I'd like to see you try," he retorted, wishing more than anything that he could just take everyone to a time and place where Theo's threat was the only thing troubling him.

Hermione shivered as she crawled into bed, her body immediately seeking out the warmth emanating from the man next to her.

"You're always so warm," she said as she snuggled closer, shoving her feet under his own as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Merlin, Hermione," Draco exclaimed, dropping the book he was reading as he tried to pull his legs away from her surprisingly strong death grip. "If you insist on invading my personal space, you should at least make sure your body parts are fully thawed."

"Pregnant, remember?" she mumbled somewhat incoherently into his shoulder. "You have no right to complain about anything."

She was right, of course, but he couldn't just let her minor act of bedroom treason slide.

"I'm sorry, your majesty," he jested, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Could you possible find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Hermione lifted her head and stuck her tongue out. "Shut it, Malfoy," she replied, brushing a few strands of his hair to the side. "I'm growing a human being. The least you can do is let me use you as my own personal heater box."

A small laugh escaped Draco's throat. "Yes, dear," he smirked. "Personal heater box, at your service."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but before she could say anything snarky in reply, he was kissing her, his hands moving softly over the swell of her stomach.

"I love you," he told her when he managed to pull himself away.

"Mmm?" she mumbled, her eyes still somewhat dazed. "I love you too," she amended quickly when she finally came back to herself. He was studying her, a small smile on his face, and she had to resist the urge she still felt to hide herself away from his piercing gaze. "Why do you always do that?" she asked curiously.

"What?" he replied absently, still too engrossed with the emotions swirling across her face.

"Stare at me like that," she answered, nodding her head at him.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked her.

"If it was, then I wouldn't be asking you, would I?" she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

Draco moved a hand to the side of her face. "I love watching how you react to things," he began, pausing to lick his lips. "Your face is incredibly expressive."

"Great," she groaned, "so I'm an open book."

"No, that's not it at all," Draco assured her. "I mean yes, anyone with a functioning set of eyeballs can see when you're angry or sad, but I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about what happens when I do this," he paused to trace his thumb over her plump bottom lip, "and this," he paused again, bringing his lips to the corner of her mouth.

Hermione inhaled sharply as a warmth spread across her cheeks.

"See?" Draco prompted, pulling back to study her again as she tried to steady her breathing. "It's hard to control myself when I see you reacting to me like this."

"And I'm supposed to believe that's an attractive quality?" she prompted nervously.

"Yes," he replied simply, his eyes moving across her face as if he was trying to memorize every curve and corner.

"Why don't I have the same effect on you?" she inquired curiously, bringing a hand to side of his face. She watched, waiting for some sort of obvious reaction, but the only change she caught on his face was a slight fluttering in his eyelids. "Why don't you blush like a teenage girl every time that I touch you?"

"Hermione, you unravel me," Draco admitted, his voice quieter than it had been a moment ago. "I lose my breathe when I catch you stealing a longing glance at me. I want to break things when you're sad. I literally cannot function if I don't know where you are." He paused, watching as she bit her bottom lip. "And I am absolutely terrified that I'm going to wake up one day and realize that this has all been a dream."

She wanted to protest, she wanted to tell him that the only person who had done any unraveling in their relationship was her, but when she saw the look of pure lust for her in his eyes, she found herself completely at a loss for words.

"You know," Draco began, amused with the disbelief still painted on Hermione's face, "you're lucky I'm not the kind of guy who requires actual verbal responses after baring my soul to you."

Hermione knew he was joking, but she didn't actually disagree with his words.

"I'm lucky to have you at all," she whispered, the gold in her eyes subdued slightly as she tried to fight back tears.

"Granger, if anyone is lucky to have anyone in this relationship, it's me who's lucky to have you," he asserted, pulling her closer to him before she could scoot away.

"You almost died because of me," she told him, blinking furiously as if that would help keep her emotions at bay. "You still–"

"Stop," he told her, his placing a finger over her mouth. "Rodolphus only came for me because he wanted revenge. Even without whatever task was given to him, he would have come for someone in my family eventually." He paused, brushing his fingers across her forehead before burying his hand in her soft curls. "And you are not responsible, nor will you ever be, for the actions of someone who is threatening your life and the life of our child."

Hermione was quiet for a moment, mulling over his words. "I know you're planning something," she said finally, the tone of her voice more accusatory than she had intended. "I know you all are, and I don't like being left in the dark."

Draco exhaled deeply. He didn't want to lie to her, but he also didn't think it was smart to give her a play-by-play. "We just want to keep you safe," he offered, hoping she wouldn't pry any further.

"But I don't want anyone else to get hurt," she admitted sadly, pausing to inhale a shaky breath. "I don't think I could live with myself if something happened to any of you."

She still blamed herself for not recognizing the ash tree sooner, and the limp that plagued Draco was a near constant reminder of her failure. She should have been more diligent about researching the tree. She should have spent the night after he disappeared buried in her books. Because if she had, if she had just done one thing differently, he wouldn't have had to withstand Rodolphus' brutal torture.

"I know the feeling," Draco told her, smiling weakly, the calmness in his voice calling her back to him.

They locked eyes, neither sure what to say to ease the tension in the air, before Hermione, despite every cell in her body screaming at her to demand answers, buried her head against Draco's chest and sighed. She didn't really need to hear him say the words to know what he was thinking because she already knew what they were.

I will kill to keep you safe.

Draco allowed his eyes to close as he moved a hand softly along her spine. The ceremony tomorrow was just a formality at this point. She was it for him; she had been since she had stumbled back into his life a short few months ago, and there simply was no going back to a life without her. Losing her would break him, and not simply in a grief-stricken kind of way. If anyone hurt Hermione, if anyone took her away from him, he didn't care what oaths he had sworn; he wouldn't rest until he made them pay.

"I can't believe you want to marry me," he heard her mutter into his chest.

His eyes snapped open and he rolled them before lifting her head so she could see him when he said what he was going to say next. "You are the single most difficult witch I've ever met," he began, brushing the wayward curls away from her face as she frowned. "And still there is absolutely no one I'd rather spend the rest of my life with."

"Brilliant speech," she groaned. "I hope you have something more romantic to say tomorrow."

"I wasn't finished," he told her.

His stupidly perfect smile made her heart flutter, and she pursed her lips together in attempt to keep herself under control even though all she wanted was to feel his lips against hers. And she was so caught up in her own thoughts, that she let out a yelp of surprise when he turned her onto her back and began kissing his way down her body, pushing her shirt out his way as he moved.

"Malfoy," she managed, despite the fact that his tongue was dangerously close to her nipple. "Shouldn't we– fuck– save this–" she paused breathing heavily "–for tomorrow?"

Draco lifted his head and moved a hand to her swollen stomach. "Fuck tradition," he growled before kissing her with such a fury that it took her breath away.

The room was as dark and dreary as it had always been, but something about the air felt different, ominous almost (as much as he hated to admit it).

A storm was raging outside his small hideaway, pelting the small windows of his humble abode with heavy drops of rain. The wind was howling as if it was calling to something hidden away in the darkness outside, and every old wood board in the walls to groaned in protest as it battered against the house.

It was the kind of storm that threatened someone's very existence, and many, his ancestors even, would have found some profound meaning in what was happening outside his front door. Perhaps on some level, so did he, but if he had learned anything in his exceptionally long life, it was that the gods only had power if you gave it to him, and he simply refused to give that kind of allegiance to anyone.

And honestly, god driven or not, the storm was really the least of his fucking problems.

Groaning, the man snatched the mug off the table in front of him and downed its contents, relishing the burn of the mead in the back of his throat as he swallowed and desperately hoping the alcohol would dull the discomfort shooting through his veins. The strange sensation in his fingers had spread and intensified more quickly than he had anticipated, shifting from a manageable tingle to an almost debilitating and near constant electrical shock. Perhaps it was his resistance to the change, or perhaps it was the fact that he'd let things get this far, but he couldn't remember a time feeling quite this tired and worn, and the only thing that seemed to help was copious amounts of alcohol.

Breathing heavily, he eyed the empty mug in his hand, trying to decide if he should drink more or just take the last of his potion for a bit of sleep. It had been days since he'd gotten any real rest, so the second option was temping, but not quite tempting enough and he snapped his fingers, watching with heavy eyes as his mug refilled in his hands. Sleep, he decided, could wait until this was finally over.

"Skål," he muttered to the empty room.

He sipped the mead more slowly this time, trying to find some sort of relief in the burn on his tongue as he swirled the cool liquid around in his mouth. The reprieve was much too brief, however, lasting only a few short seconds before his nervous system seemed to remember the electrical current still running through every inch of his body. Her cursed angrily and brought the mug back to his lips, ignoring the streams of liquid escaping down into his beard as he chugged the rest of his drink.

Inhaling deeply, he used his sleeve to wipe the remnants of the mead from his face before sitting back heavily in his chair. He rested a hand on the edge of the table while the fingers of the other toyed with the empty mug, trembling slightly as they traced around the lip. Weakness wasn't something he was particularly fond of, and the first time he had noticed the shaking in his hands, he spun into such a fury that by the time he calmed down he had nearly torn the entire house apart, but it had also awoken a part of him that had been asleep for far too long.

Living was easy – comfortable almost – it always had been for him, but overcoming a destiny designed to end in your demise was survival at its purest. And there was really nothing quite like it.

It had taken him much longer than he cared to admit finding a weakness in the wards, but that no longer mattered; he had finally found a way past them. In a few short hours, his wait would finally be over, and no one, not the golden boy, not the people whose house she was hiding in, not even the one he knew would die trying to protect her, was going to get in his way. He didn't care what his ancestors would have said about the whole situation; none of them were around to order him around anyways. The megin was his and his alone.

Fuck tradition.

a/n: I tried to channel my inner Neil Gaiman (à la American Gods) for the interlude in this one, and I hope it doesn't detract too much from the story. For those who haven't read AG – there are interludes littered throughout the book, documenting the origins of different gods. I quite like the approach for introducing material that the main characters aren't necessarily privy to, so I kind of ran with it here.

Also, I know this chapter is a bit of a filler, but I wanted to get a few things out that wouldn't have been possible if I had just jumped ahead to the next big thing. I promise you won't have to wait very long for the next one.

And as always, thank you so much to everyone who has been reviewing, especially to all those silent readers who decided last week was the week to finally say hello!