Part 2
The return back to Hogwarts after the holidays caused Draco conflicting reactions. On the one hand, his Veela was anxious and excited to be back within the vicinity of his mate. On the other hand, the intolerable situation of his mate being romantically involved with another was making him feel sick to his stomach. He didn't know how he was supposed to get through school and just act normally as if his entire future wasn't being hijacked by a freckly-faced Weasel.
His mother refused to give up hope. She was convinced that his mate would come around, although he still hadn't consented to give her the girl's identity. He imagined that if she knew his mate was the one and only Hermione Granger, Muggle-born extraordinaire, she would feel very differently. She might even appreciate why Draco spent most of the hols lying abed imagining all the ways he was going to live and die alone and unloved. He didn't see how it could be any other way.
Perhaps if he hadn't spent their school years purposely making life a misery for Hermione and her Gryffindor friends, there might have been a tiny bit of a chance for him. Like maybe if he hadn't slipped that extra pinch of ground up flobberworm into her cauldron during exams in fifth year, causing it to explode, and causing her to almost fail a Potions class. And maybe if he hadn't hexed her teeth to grow enormously large in front of the entire school during second year. And maybe if he hadn't said her name with a sneer every time it had crossed his lips during the last six years. And especially maybe if he hadn't called her that dirty M-word during third year. Never mind that he never used it again, and that he regretted it almost immediately and not just because she had punched him square in the face. He'd never even told his mother about that episode because he rather thought she'd be ashamed of such uncouth behavior.
Yes, maybe if it wasn't for those things, maybe then he'd have something he could work with.
Instead, he was sitting on the train in the prefects'cabin trying not to think about the hopelessness of his situation.
And trying to ignore the fact that he knew the exact minute when she appeared in King's Cross. His own heart was thrumming frazzled and erratic, anxiety over seeing her again causing him to breathe unevenly. Then suddenly her heartbeat was there, a bit faster than normal, as she was clearly excited about returning to school. The echo of it filled his heart, drowning out the feelings of mild distress, and calming him.
Since recognizing her the night of the Yule ball, it seemed his connection to her had grown stronger. He could almost feel her moving through the cabins. If he closed his eyes, he imagined he'd be able to see her like a blinding light heading straight towards him. His perception of her location was unerring.
He looked up just a moment before she slid open the door and stepped in.
Golds, yellows, and light filmy pastels swam before his eyes, coloring everything in front of him for a split second. The Veela inside of him let out a soft croon and he felt his heart dancing erratically again.
She was dressed properly in her robes already, nothing out of the ordinary, but he could feel himself staring. He hadn't taken any time to look at her that night at the ball, and had deliberately done his best to avoid her the next day on the way home. But now he couldn't help but take in all of the tiny details of the woman who the fates had decided would be a match for his soul.
He'd called her ordinary and plain many times, the memory of his hurtful words dimly ringing in the back of his mind. But she was anything but plain, and could never be ordinary. It wasn't the riot of curls framing her face, or the dotting of freckles across the bridge of her nose, or the slight twitching of her pink lips as she tried not to smile at some amusing thought. It wasn't even the way her spine was strong and straight as she stood and addressed the best and brightest of an entire generation of wizards and witches.
He thought it might be in her eyes, warm and soft like a cup of hot cocoa. They were kind as they looked around the assembled group with affection, despite the fact that many of them made her the butt of jokes on the regular. Those eyes briefly shot his direction as she spoke, and it took him a moment to register that his intense gaze was making her suspicious that he intended to disrupt her speech. He quickly looked away, feeling unnerved by those eyes looking straight into him. He hoped she couldn't see the twisting of his emotions, but he knew that even if she did, she'd never be able to make out what it meant.
When they got to Hogwarts, he waited patiently until he could feel for sure that she'd left the train and had moved a distance away, and only then did he get up to grab his trunks and catch a carriage with his classmates.
And yet, even with the awareness of her presence that allowed him to pinpoint her location, she managed to catch him unawares later that evening after dinner in the Great Hall. He'd known she was close by, but was practicing deliberately ignoring her, a skill he thought he was going to need to perfect very quickly.
Even when his internal Veela alarms started ringing, and his Veela made a purring sound indicating her closeness, he still hadn't suspected she was actually coming to speak to him until the finger imperiously tapped his shoulder to get his attention.
He turned, taken aback momentarily at how lovely she looked in the torchlight. The oranges of the flame brought out the soft golds and reds in her hair. She was irritated at something, if the scrunching of her brow was any indication, and somehow that looked lovely on her, too. It occurred to him, briefly, that seeing that adorable slightly irritated look on her face was one of life's great pleasures. Perhaps that was why he'd been responsible for putting that look on her face so many times in the past. He desperately fought a pleased grin, knowing it wouldn't be well received and not wanting to have to explain why he was suddenly so amused.
"Malfoy," she gritted out, the hard-pressed tone of her voice sending little sparks up and down his spine. Her voice had always gotten under his skin, an itch he couldn't seem to scratch. Only now he felt it like a thrumming in his veins, like little fireworks being lit under his skin. From his Veela came warm, affectionate waves, and there was a slight tingling on his shoulder where she'd touched him.
"What do you want, Granger?" His voice came out low and sultry, almost seductive. It surprised him. He'd been trying to make his voice gruff and acerbic like it usually was. He'd known that it was lacking the bite that tended to accompany their interactions, but the smooth mellow tones that seemed to lick at the air with pinks and purples were completely unexpected.
She must have thought so, too, because her eyes were suddenly confused and wary. "I saw you on the train," she began. She opened her mouth as if to continue, and his gaze was drawn down to her lips. They were a rosy pink and looked very soft. The purples around him deepened as he wondered, briefly, what her anger and frustration tasted like. Sweet, tangy, challenging, perhaps. The thought was familiar, almost as if he'd wondered it many times before, and he had to force himself to look up from her mouth to listen to what else she was saying.
"You have a problem with me, Malfoy? Then bring it out. We've spent long enough dancing around each other, and I'm tired of waiting to see what you're going to do next to undermine me. You have something to say, then just say it." Her chin jutted out just a tiny bit, stubborn, as she waited for him to explain his unusual behavior.
He wondered what her reaction would be if he said he had a suddenly overwhelming desire to nibble on that stubborn chin. His Veela crowed in approval, and he quickly clamped down on that line of thinking. It was only the first day back, and already he was losing control of his thoughts around her!
He thought back to what she'd just said, trying to pick through his options for the best answer. Normally he'd come up with something witty, and perhaps just a bit cutting. Instead, he schooled his features to remain steady and he answered, "I have no idea what you're talking about, Granger."
She scoffed, "I know you're up to something."
He shrugged, with a little effort. "If you're looking for trouble from me, Granger, you're wasting your time."
She laughed incredulously at that. "I have an entire folder marked Trouble, and I file it under 'M', for 'Malfoy'!" He tried not to be pleased he'd made her laugh, knowing that it was at his own expense, but he could see how she'd have difficulty believing him, not knowing as he did that it was going to be near impossible for him to cause her any trouble now. At least not in the way she was thinking.
He'd be more than happy to cause her all kinds of trouble, if she'd let him. His Veela chirped in amused agreement, and he forcefully shut down those thoughts again as she was still looking up at him suspiciously.
So he just shrugged again. "Granger, I'm just heading back to my dorm, nothing nefarious about it." When she looked at him in a disbelieving silence, he couldn't resist adding, "Unless, of course, you're planning on accompanying me. Then I suppose I could work something up."
Looking back, he supposed he was fortunate to have gotten away without being hexed or screamed at. He just chalked it up to her being surprised and disconcerted. He hadn't really meant the words to sound as they did, but his Veela apparently managed to turn everything he was saying into innuendo, a trait that was sure to get him into even further trouble with the Head Girl if he didn't manage to suppress it properly.
*-M-*
The days that followed had a surprising similarity to them. He tried to lay low and ignore her presence, but often found himself staring or catching her eye unerringly as he pinpointed exactly when she'd enter a room. Clearly flustered, she would scowl at him, occasionally confront him, and was heard to have said out loud to others that Draco Malfoy was 'being a right pain in the arse.'
He learned to distinguish a little bit her irritation from her anger. There was a slight difference to the rhythm. When she was annoyed or exasperated, her heart beat a funny little fluctuating staccato. When she was angry, it was a loud, marching, thumping. He was irrationally pleased when he discovered that most of the time she was upset with him, it wasn't the harsh, blood-boiling drumming, it was the off-kilter skipping.
The day Ron Weasley almost fell off his broom during a Quidditch game, he learned what her fear felt like. It was a loud thrumming, like the frenzied flapping wings of a trapped bird. His Veela had been upset, squawking in his mind and frantic. His mate was afraid! She was in danger!
High above the Quidditch pitch in the stands, watching the Gryffindors trouncing the Hufflepuffs, Draco had carefully swallowed the sudden acrid taste of fear and anxiety. If anyone noticed his sudden white-knuckled grip on his robes they never said anything. From where he was sitting he could easily see her, that she was safe, and so it took all his self-control, ropes and ropes of the blues and greens, to restrain himself from leaping to her side. And when his Veela finally settled, he took deep breaths to ward off the cloudy greys with angry red streaks that were like lightning in a storm, trying to ignore the fact that his mate was distressed over another man.
One night, he was lying in bed trying to will himself to fall asleep when her heart tapped out a completely new rhythm. It was still a bit earlier than his normal bedtime, but he was tired and exhausted from all of his pretending during the day. Pretending he wasn't watching Hermione Granger. Pretending he was still the same person that he'd been before. Pretending that seeing her with the Weasel every day wasn't tearing a hole into him.
But he couldn't sleep until she had gone to bed. It was her turn to patrol, and she was out doing rounds with Susan Bones. Her heart normally beat the patterns of a brisk walk, punctuated with the occasional irritation.
But this night his eyes shot open as her heart began pounding hard and fast. It was going so fast he didn't see how any oxygen could be getting to her brain. His Veela was not unduly distressed, but it was alert and demanding some kind of action, and he was on his feet before he realized it.
He had enough presence of mind to put a shirt on along with his trousers, and then he was standing outside of the dungeons wondering if he was acting crazy. But her heartbeat hadn't slowed. It was irregular and all over the place, loud and hammering in his mind.
He had no idea what he was doing. He knew where she was, up a level, and several corridors to the west. But what was he supposed to do, just come running up to her and asking why her heart was beating so fast? He couldn't do that, it was ridiculous. He ought to just turn around and march back down to his lonely little dungeon.
But what if she was in trouble? What if there was something wrong? Even if he had no right to come rushing to her side, he didn't see how he could possibly stand there so far away while she was in danger.
His feet were moving before he realized he'd finished convincing himself. He just barely managed to slow down before he approached the dark corner that he knew she was behind.
The shock of what he saw reverberated all the way down into his toes. His mate was up against a wall, her wand arm limp at her side while a large body held her immobile. His Veela screamed angry and murderous scarlets and crimsons that only he could hear.
The wand was in his hand, and a hex was on his lips before the small part of him not being completely overrun by the Veela registered the bright ginger hair of the other person. Realizing it was Weasley engaging Granger in a rather passionate snog did nothing to appease his Veela, who only screamed more agitatedly in anger and rage. The need to feel Weasel's blood running down his fingertips was overwhelming, but he was becoming a master of self-control and it was clear that she was in no danger from her boyfriend. And, as he'd suspected, he had no right to come rushing to her side.
He lowered his wand, and tried to leave before they saw him, overruling the Veela's driving desire to take his mate and fly away. But perhaps she'd sensed something, because there was a squeak as the couple suddenly disengaged. As he moved to turn the corner and flee back to his dungeon, her eyes flashed to his for an instant.
Later, as he lay in bed, a pillow over his face as if it could block out what he'd seen, he tried to ignore the feeling of her eyes on him, and the way he'd felt her heart jump when she'd seen him, probably scared and embarrassed to have been caught snogging her boyfriend while she was supposed to be on patrol. But he still couldn't sleep until she'd returned safely back to her dorm and her heart settled into its nightly rhythms. It was only a small consolation that he didn't feel that rapid, capricious pulsing again.
*-M-*
The next time it happened, he'd had a little more practice at sussing out her moods. He was beginning to think he could discern a little about how she felt beyond just that beating of her heart with which he was now intimately familiar.
One day in Potions he'd noticed how she'd forgotten to add one of her ingredients. Carefully chopped up and set aside, it was half-hidden by her cauldron. She'd find it as she was cleaning up, but by the time she did, she'd be too late to add it in before the potion bubbled. As he'd felt the clock ticking down, he finally said, without looking at her, "If you're not going to use all those bloodroot leaves, Granger, you might as well give 'em here. It'll only make mine stronger."
Her embarrassment had been amber and olive green as her eyes opened wide and she realized her mistake. Quickly fixing it, her heart set a rapid clipping pace as she waited to see if she was too late. When it was clear the crisis had passed, her confusion had been a bright cornflower blue mottled with peachy pinks, as she observed him out of the corner of her eyes. He pretended not to notice.
The afternoon he'd seen the 2nd year with the big bag again, he hadn't realized Hermione was watching till he sensed her amusement drifting by on clouds of lavender and magenta. The girl had tripped and Draco had once again helped her with her books. When she'd looked up at him, her swotty self and long curly hair so like his own mate, he'd taken pity on her and cast a stabilizing charm on her bag so it wouldn't overbalance her again. And that's when he'd felt the eyes on him, and saw the streaks of color on the air, and felt the light tripping of her heart and her breathing that told him she was laughing even though he couldn't hear her.
And when the prefects got the news that the Head Girl's pet project—a Career Day hosted for the 5th years and above—had been moved up an entire month, he'd felt her anxiety as snowy greys and strong sea greens. The announcement straight from Dumbledore had caused her heart to stutter and her breathing to grow shallow; he could feel each dragging breath in his lungs. But when he'd looked at her in alarm, she'd just responded with assurance to the headmaster that of course they would be ready.
During the last-minute evening organizational sessions, he could always tell when she was feeling overwhelmed by the complicated decorations or the changing layout of the Great Hall to accommodate each representative's unique magical requirements. So he would find a way to insert himself into the conversation, tell Hermione he'd take care of it, review the situation, and then cut out the unnecessary time-consuming preparations in favor of what was really needed. The first couple of times she objected to his heavy-handed maneuvering, but as the project quickly took shape, she began to look over at him when it was clear she had a task that required better supervision. He learned her relief and her gratitude were pale pastels of buttercream and honeydew.
When the Career Day went off without a hitch, and the excited students walked off chattering about how great the event was, her pride and excitement were sparks of fuchsia, plum, and cherry red.
So yes, he was beginning to know what all of her moods felt like—the colors, the rhythm of her heart, the pattern of her breathing.
When all of those things suddenly changed forcefully late one night, he jolted up out of his bed where he'd been lightly dozing waiting for her to return from her patrol so he could settle into sleep. Her heart was a slamming drum, her breathing was ragged with gasps like there were breaks where she wasn't breathing. He thought she might be screaming, but an unpleasant memory in the back of his mind suggested maybe she wasn't breathing because her mouth was occupied with Ron Weasley's again.
The dungeons were too far away from where she was in her rounds for him to see the tell-tale colors, and he hesitated, deliberating with himself on whether he should run out after her again, after what had happened last time.
But his Veela was becoming more and more distressed; he could almost feel his mouth hard and sharp like a snapping beak and phantom wings at his back. The agitation was just too much for him and he was up and out of the room before he'd had time for anymore doubts.
As he ran down the corridors in his bare feet, the feeling of dread only increased the closer he got to where his Veela senses pointed him. He put on a burst of speed, his hand tightening on his wand, and as he neared he felt the floor shake with an ominous thump. At the same time, he heard the sounds of smashing and objects crashing to the ground. A sharp bolt of fear like scarlet and black lightning lanced through him.
Bursting around the corner he was horrified to see what looked like a giant, small for its kind, but still fearsome in his hugeness, looming over the wreckage in the corridor. And in a corner, behind a fallen portrait frame empty of its subjects, his mate stood looking fragile in her smallishness compared to the giant that stood angrily in front of her blocking her way out. On her face was panic and a sense of determination and his head was swirling with the greys of her own fear and concern. Her empty hands were thrust out in front of her like she intended to hold him off with just her willpower, as it was clear her wandless magic was not sufficient.
Draco charged at the giant with a yell and the fury of a Veela defending his mate. He shot off a succession of slicing hexes that caught the creature in the arm as he turned to face the new enemy. Never before had Draco used spells like that outside of the occasional dueling club bout and he'd certainly never delivered them with that much strength behind them. But his mate was in danger, and his magic was responding with full force.
A scream of pain rang in the air from the now bleeding giant, and above the sounds he heard Hermione's voice.
"Malfoy, don't! He's just a child!"
"Hermione!" Draco shouted, the concern for his mate squeezing his heart, while his confused Veela was trying to respond to his mate's request to stand down. "Are you okay? Where's your wand?"
Another wail from the giant, which indeed looked like it might be small enough to be a young one, drowned out whatever her answer was. Thrashing in pain, the creature began pounding at the walls, causing debris to come raining down on them, and preventing Draco from reaching Hermione.
He wanted to use a Petrificus Totalus but was afraid that the large body would fall forward onto Hermione, and the risk was too great that she'd be injured before she could get away.
"Try a body bind!" she called out to him, and Draco quickly cast the spell, the ropes shooting out of the end of his wand. Too late he realized that the body bind wrapped around the giant's legs would also cause him to fall, and after teetering for a moment, he came crashing down with a cry.
Hermione managed to scramble out of the way, but as the floor shook with the heavy crash, she tumbled over the debris on the ground, striking her head hard on a brick.
"Hermione!" Draco climbed over the body of the giant with an expression of horror on his face. Once he reached her, he gently touched her face, noting the blood behind the back of her head. "Hermione?" His Veela was squawking and crying in distress. He'd failed to protect his mate! The guilt and the shame were suffocating. The fear for her was a pool of ebony black that wanted to drown him.
Her eyes were unfocused as she looked up at a point over his shoulders and said, with slurred speech, "Are those…wings, Malfoy?"
Almost immediately, her eyes rolled closed, and Draco felt his heart stop.
But hers kept beating, weak and wavering, and he knew she was still alive. Gathering her in his arms, he began running to Pomfrey's office. It was the first time he'd touched her more than a casual brushing of hands, and the feeling of completeness at having her near was something he had no time to enjoy. She was so light in his arms and he was running so fast down the corridors, he almost thought he could lift off the ground. But he was too afraid of her reference to wings to look behind him and he couldn't afford to waste a moment doing anything other than getting her safely to the medical ward.
His yells quickly brought the mediwitch out, her uniform still prim and proper like she was always on duty.
"Mr Malfoy!" she exclaimed, shocked. She stared at him for a moment, and then looked down to the burden he carried in his arms. On recognizing the Head Girl, she quickly moved into action, indicating a bed for him to lay her upon. "What happened?"
"A giant," he panted, trying to get his heartbeat to slow down so that he could breathe and speak. He pointed over his shoulder at the general direction he'd left the young giant bound in magical ropes. "She hit—her head," he gasped out.
Madam Pomfrey's wand was already at work, diagnosing and then sealing the head wound so that the bleeding stopped. "A giant in the castle? I must notify the Headmaster at once!" With a flick of her wand, she'd arranged to send a message to Dumbledore. "Where did you say it was?" she asked, and when Draco told her, the message quickly flew off.
Anxiously, Draco hovered over Hermione's bed, consoling his Veela that she was no longer in danger and that he had gotten her to the safest place to be treated. But the Veela inside of him was still in a high state of distress, the keening sounds echoing in his head. He found that he'd grabbed one of her hands and was holding onto it tightly, the feel of her skin against his giving him a measure of comfort.
How long he stood there staring at her he didn't know, but suddenly he heard a gentle coughing sound behind him, and turned to see Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall and Snape standing behind him.
"Merlin," he heard the bespectacled witch say under her breath.
"Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore began, approaching him slowly as if he were a wild creature. "Are you quite all right, Draco?"
"I—yes, I'm fine," Draco asserted. But he turned his attention back to his mate in the bed and said, "It's Hermione, she was injured." The words stuck in his throat and he had to force them out.
"Yes, we heard." Dumbledore nodded, his tone comforting. "Young Grawp caused quite the mess, but he has been returned safely to his family and will not be causing trouble here at Hogwarts again." He must have been referring to the giant. "Miss Granger appears to be safe now, though."
It was Draco's turn to nod, his hand still clenched tightly around Hermione's.
"Poppy says that Miss Granger will be perfectly fine, and will likely wake soon," McGonagall offered, and Draco took a deep, relieved breath at the words. He hadn't noticed when the mediwitch had left the bedside.
"Draco." Dumbledore's voice was now soft and coaxing. "Draco, don't you think it's time to put the wings away?"
"What?" He turned to them, shocked, vaguely remembering Hermione's words before she had fallen unconscious.
McGonagall quickly transfigured a large mirror for him, and held it suspended where he could see. He almost didn't recognize himself as the image before him. His pale hair and his fair skin seemed to be glowing with an ethereal light. He was relieved to see he didn't have a beak. But over his shoulders, protruding from his back were what looked like wings of fire. The lines of bright orange and red energy were gossamer thin, but they overlapped to sketch out the outline of two large wings, rippling in the air behind him as if disturbed by a breeze.
He quickly turned to look behind him, mesmerized by the twisting of the flames that looked almost like feathers. He couldn't feel them at all, didn't think he could control them. He reached up a hand to see if there was any heat, and his fingers simply passed through the lines as if the wings were just illusions.
"Draco," Snape drawled, bringing his attention back. "I assume your mother has revealed some family secrets to you recently."
Draco looked at the man who was his godfather and who had probably been aware of the Malfoys' hidden traits. It was also entirely possible Narcissa had contacted him to ask him to watch out for Draco in this year when he would be coming into his Veela heritage. "She didn't say anything about wings." He looked back up at the mirror and the red wings that were spread out behind him. "Am I—Is this…normal? For a male Veela?"
"Merlin, a male Veela," was the soft exclamation from Professor McGonagall.
Snape just pursed his mouth and after a pause said distinctly, "No." After a moment, he added, "But male Veela are extremely rare, and one of diluted Veela blood that can manifest physical Veela traits is also extremely rare. So there may be little record of others."
Confused and a little scared, Draco turned back to his mate, still lying still in the bed. "I think she saw them. Before—before she—" He couldn't bring himself to say it so he rephrased it, "After she was hit in the head. I think she saw them. Do you suppose she would know what that meant?"
The three adults all looked at the sleeping figure. "Well, she is very smart," McGonagall conceded. "She may well figure it out on her own. Perhaps you should tell her yourself."
The big flame wings suddenly whipped behind him as he felt the frisson of anxiety run down his spine. "No! I can't tell her! I can't take her choice away!"
Snape and McGonagall exchanged a knowing glance.
But Dumbledore just kept looking at him, his expression kind and a slight smile on his face. "No, Mr Malfoy, of course not," he said, kindly. "All in its own time. You can trust us to remain discreet while you finish your courtship of Miss Granger."
Draco was relieved to hear that, although he felt dismay at the knowledge that he still hadn't begun his courtship yet, and the year was already two-thirds finished.
"But Draco," Dumbledore cautioned, "if you don't want her to learn of your true nature, perhaps you should put the wings away now."
"I don't know how," he admitted. "I don't know how they came out in the first place."
It was Snape who provided the answer. "Veela respond to intense emotional circumstances. You were no doubt worried over your mate's safety, and the Veela protective instinct manifested. But she is clearly safe now. Perhaps if you concentrate on those feelings of safety and security you can control the Veela's distress."
Draco remembered the lessons with his mother on controlling his Veela emotions, and he knew Snape was speaking correctly.
He still held Hermione's hand in his, something he hadn't had when he'd practiced before. He closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel of her warm skin. The flow of her blood beat gently against his palm, and he drew out the sound of her heartbeat from the corner of his mind to magnify it. It was strong and steady, and the sound of it drew his own heartbeat into a matching rhythm. He called to mind the exact hues of golds and pinks that made him think of her as vibrant and strong and happy, and he could tell he was growing calmer. He reminded himself and his Veela that she was safe and that he'd saved her.
After several long moments, he opened his eyes again to see her still sleeping peacefully. A glance at the mirror told him not only were the fire wings gone, but the unearthly white glow had also faded.
"Very good, Mr Malfoy," Dumbledore praised him. "And just in time. If I'm not mistaken, Miss Granger's friends are due here any moment."
As if his words conjured them, Draco could hear the raised voices of Potter and Weasley outside the door, and he reluctantly let go of Hermione's hand. He'd just stepped away when the two Gryffindors came tumbling in, frantic for the safety of their friend.
The redheaded one went straight to her bedside, taking the hand Draco had just released, apologies spilling out of his mouth. It was all Draco could do to restrain the sudden hissing fury of his Veela at seeing another man touch his mate when she was wounded. The sharp look Snape gave him made it clear that he needed to leave before he did anything to jeopardize his secret.
"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall was saying, "It's really best if you give her some space. She's had quite the ordeal. Perhaps when she wakes up you can see her then."
"It's all my fault," Weasley moaned, "We'd had a fight and she left to patrol without me. I wasn't going to make her go alone, but I was mad, and I was late…"
The Gryffindor's voice trailed off into words that Draco couldn't hear over the violent squawking sounds in his head. His vision was obscured by a haze of red that was as dark as dried blood. This interloper had put his mate in danger! Before he realized it, Snape had forcibly grabbed him by the arm, and manhandled him to just outside the door. The force in the Potions professor's fingers as they clamped hard onto his forearm were belied by the calm, low voice with which he warned, "Control, Draco. Your temper will spark a certain fire if you are not careful."
With visible effort, Draco drew his eyes away from the room where his mate lay. He shook with the need to return to her side, but he knew his presence would be unwelcome and difficult to explain to her friends, or even to her if she should wake while he was there.
"Come, I will walk you back to the dungeons," Snape ordered. "It seems we have much to discuss." The vice-like grip on his arm didn't loosen until they were well on their way.
*-M-*
Draco did his best to follow Snape's advice to leave both Hermione and her friends alone. It was actually quite easy to do, considering how just seeing the Weasel's gingery hair passing through the crowd was enough to get his Veela puffed up with anger. Occasionally it was only the Weaselette, but it still took him a few minutes to soothe his own figurative ruffled feathers.
In their classes together, they had no reason to be near each other for their current projects, and after the Career Day event, the assignments for the prefects were entirely routine. So he had a little bit of time to try to forget what her body looked like bleeding on the debris-strewn floor.
But then he felt it again, that hard, angry pounding in his chest that told him she was upset.
This was different from the last time. It wasn't fear like the night he'd rescued her from the giant. It wasn't excitement or anticipation. She was pulsing with sickly greens and thick, sticky maroons. Almost like blood, he thought.
He tried to ignore it, knowing that she wasn't in danger, but it was useless. His Veela was demanding he go investigate.
Still, he had enough control to get completely dressed first. He put his shoes back on, and arranged his robes properly, and he even gave his hair a quick smoothing down so it didn't look like he'd already been in bed. In the event he got caught by a teacher, or had to explain himself before he could beat a retreat, he intended to make it sound like he was just out for a walk. It was late, almost curfew, but as a prefect and a Slytherin and a Malfoy, he was counting on the fact that no one would think it unusual for him to try to push the boundaries of the restrictions.
Of course, if it was Snape, McGonagall, or Dumbledore, they would know right away what was going on. He supposed it was serendipitous that his big secret was known by the headmaster and the heads of both Gryffindor and Slytherin House.
He walked briskly to where his Veela sense told him that she was, intending to slow down before reaching her so that he could assess the situation. There turned out to be no need, because he could hear the angry, hissing voices from two corridors away. He couldn't make out the words, but he knew without a doubt that one was his mate, and the other was her aggravating boyfriend.
He contemplated simply leaving, knowing he had plenty of time to avoid them, as they had no clue he was still around the corner. But Hermione had to be pretty worked up to be this loud in a public area. He could still feel the angry thrumming of her heart, and he could hear the strident tones of her voice as they echoed off the corridor walls. Plus, there was the mix of colors streaking across his vision. The Veela within compelled him to move forward and determine what the situation was.
Weasley was ugly in his anger. His red face clashed with his hair and his freckles. Draco had time to make this impassioned observation as he leaned against a column, curious whether the arguing couple would register his presence. Hermione was so caught up in her righteous indignation, that it was the normally unobservant redhead who said, "Oi! Malfoy! Get out of here. This is a private conversation."
Hermione's face turned to look at him, and when she saw him, he felt her heart make that funny little jump that happened whenever she saw him lately. He hadn't been able to figure it out. Tonight it seemed to be accompanied by a sense of embarrassment. And possibly a measure of relief. She clammed up and stopped talking, as they both watched Draco casually brush an imaginary speck of lint off of the shoulder of his robes.
"Trouble in Paradise?" he drawled, ignoring the Weasel's original demand.
"None of your business, Malfoy!" was the irate reply. Ron made a shooing motion at him, and Draco took a perverse amount of pleasure in not budging.
"Oh, don't mind me at all!" he protested. "But if it's not everyone's business, then I might suggest not shouting it out for everyone to hear. Even though I know loud and uncouth is your family's preferred method of communication."
Weasley growled and took a step towards him, and Draco stood up straight to face him. He welcomed the prospect of a fight, of being able to release this tension he felt in his shoulders whenever he thought about how Weasley had been the one to upset his mate enough for her to go out patrolling on her own and run headfirst into danger.
But Hermone's voice stopped him from giving the other Gryffindor the pummeling he deserved.
"Malfoy," she said, in a quiet voice that he normally wouldn't have heard while his blood was about to boil in his veins. But the sound of her voice and the tiredness in it cut straight through all of his anger. "Malfoy, I'd appreciate it if you gave us some privacy. And Ron and I will take this discussion somewhere else, so we don't disturb anyone else."
"There's nothing left to discuss, Hermione!" Ron shot back, redirecting his ire to its original target.
"Ron," she protested. But she didn't say anything else, looking pointedly at Draco until he finally turned around to leave.
The two men glared at each other, but Draco walked away and made it a point not to look back at the couple in the middle of their argument. Part of him was upset that he couldn't do anything to alleviate her distress. The other part of him was upset that he couldn't have just stayed in his dorm and followed Snape's advice to not get involved.
*-M-*
His resolution to stop running after her every time he felt the slightest bit of anguish was tested and broken the very next day. The feel of her breathing had turned ragged and shallow and he was certain that she was crying and taking little sobbing breaths. He knew he shouldn't do it, even as he felt himself changing direction to hone in on her location.
She was in the library, not usually the place for emotional outbursts. But it was a place that Hermione felt safe, he knew, and so he was unsurprised she would be there instead of the Gryffindor common room if she was feeling the need for a good cry.
He found her in the back of the library in a quiet little corner. Though she faced away from him and was nearly silent, he could tell by the set of her shoulders and by the hitch of her breathing that she was still crying. From where he stood he could see her parchment was dotted with tears, causing some of the ink to run. He just stood there, telling himself he had no business being there, but being unable to turn away.
When she spoke, it surprised him. "What do you want, Malfoy?"
He worried for a moment that she could sense him the way he sensed her, but then he saw her reflection staring at him from the window that framed her table. The cloudy day outside made it easy for her to see the lights of the library reflected and identify anyone who might sneak up on her. Perhaps that's why she chose that spot.
He took too long to answer, so she told him, with the stiff politeness she often adopted around him, "I don't really want company right now." Her voice was thick with tears, and she said it as if it wasn't highly unusual for him to keep her company in the first place.
He couldn't make his feet move, even though he knew she expected him to go, because he still felt her crying, and he could see her making the visible effort to stop. He was drawn by her sadness, and he had a need to comfort.
It pained him to say it, but he offered, "I'm sure Weasley will come around, Granger. I've seen far worse fights than that." Her back stayed straight and she didn't respond, didn't turn to look at him. He continued, "I honestly expected more objects flying through the air for a fight between two Gryffindors, actually."
She cut him off from saying more and said, curtly, "Actually, Malfoy, we broke up. And I don't want to talk about it."
He snorted derisively, and shook his head, thinking out loud, "Weasley is such a fool."
Her exasperated sigh was followed by her turning in her chair to look at him. Though her eyes were pathetically red-rimmed, her expression was still fiery. "Not that it's any of your business, Malfoy, but I broke up with him."
He grinned at her, suddenly feeling light-headed from the knowledge that she was finally unshackled from the Weasel. He covered up that little ripple of happiness with a joke. "Well, they all say you're the brightest witch of the age." It was somehow both a compliment and an insult—that she had gotten him out of the picture but took so long to do it.
The smile she gave at the double-edged acknowledgement, so typical of Malfoy humor, was a very small one, but he saw it. She turned back to her paper. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it, Malfoy."
Well, that was fine. It wasn't like he wanted to talk about Weasley, anyway.
He sauntered over to her table, and took a chair near her, causing her to look up in confusion. He could see the protest forming on her lips, so he quickly changed the subject.
"How's the head?" he asked, knowing she wouldn't be able to avoid answering.
She looked at him, exasperated at his obvious efforts to continue conversation when she didn't want to talk. Then she sniffled and turned back to her paper. He prided himself on the fact that she didn't ask him to leave again. Instead, she answered, "It's fine. Except now it tingles whenever there's a giant nearby."
He looked at her in surprise. That was something he'd never heard about before. "Really?"
She just rolled her eyes and he could see the smile forming on her face. "No, Malfoy. I do not have a spidey-sense for giants." He had no idea what she was talking about, but he was pleased that he seemed to have distracted her from the thoughts that had been making her cry. "My head is fine. Pomfrey healed it, and I took a couple of potions for the first few days just in case, but she said there was no lasting damage."
There was a pause, and she tapped her quill lightly on the parchment in front of her, a habit she had when she was thinking. It was clear she had something to say but was unsure about whether she should continue. He waited, curious, and finally she looked up at him. "I heard you took me to the medical ward after the problem with Grawp. And that you stayed with me until my friends arrived."
He didn't say anything, the curious tension that was in the air made him inexplicably nervous. When she just kept looking at him, he brought up the least important part of her statements.
"Is Grawp the name of that oaf who was intent on bringing down the castle that night?"
Taken aback, she answered, "Yes, Grawp is Hagrid's brother. I had no idea he had a brother, and he wasn't supposed to bring him to the castle. But Grawp got out and went exploring. I think I scared him when I jumped out with my wand."
That was a picture. "You scared him?"
She giggled a little, thinking about the absurdity of the statement. "He's really quite nice once you get to know him, if a little…high-spirited."
"I'll pass, thanks." Draco dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand.
"I never got to say thank you."
He felt a little awkward. "I didn't bring it up for your thanks, Granger."
"No, I know." Her face was earnest. "But I should have thanked you earlier. For finding me and for helping me with Grawp."
His dramatic rescue suddenly seemed much less impressive after hearing it was just Hagrid's brother.
"They found my wand under his foot," she added, conversationally. "That explains why it didn't come when I called it. He must have stepped on it after it was knocked out of my hand."
He remembered her standing there with her hands out, trying to hold back a giant with just her bare magic and her body, and the memory still made him feel cold. Even knowing she likely wasn't in any real danger from Hagrid's brother.
He didn't like the way the image made him feel, so he tried to make light of it. "Keep your wand on you, Granger. I won't always be around to rescue you." He almost managed the tone of voice that he used to tease her with, before he learned she was the other half of his soul and it began to color all of his words. He hoped she didn't hear the lie, because he was going to be doing everything possible to make sure he was always around when she needed rescuing.
He sighed to himself. She was a Gryffindor. She was probably going to need a lot more rescuing than a normal person.
Oblivious to his thoughts, she reacted predictably to his words, just like she used to, with a derisive snort. "It was a one-time thing, Malfoy. I'm sure no one expects you to play hero again."
He exaggerated a shudder. "Merlin, forbid!" He knew when she laughed that she took it as the joke he was trying for, but he was serious that he didn't want to have to ever rescue her like that again.
As the laughter faded from her face, she looked hesitant again. "Malfoy," she began. "About that night."
Draco thought he knew what she was going to say, and he'd been working on an answer for it.
"You—your—I thought I saw—" She paused, and he kept his face from revealing anything. "It looked like you had wings, Malfoy."
He let a slow grin play across his face. "You thought I looked like an angel, Granger? A heavenly rescuer?"
The blush that played across her cheeks pleased him. He could tell she was embarrassed, unsure about what she'd seen. The blow to the head was a good excuse for why she might have seen things that weren't there. Especially things that might have looked like wings made of fire. Snape had assured him that the other professors and Madam Pomfrey would say nothing to reveal his secret.
"No, Malfoy, I just thought I saw—" The grin on his face made her stop. "Oh, never mind!"
Her exasperation with him caused her to raise her hand to move some of her disheveled hair off of her face. When she did so, the light from the library reflected off of something light and shiny.
Draco felt all the blood drain from his face. He reached over with his hand to catch the locks of hair before they fell back down. The movement startled her, but she didn't protest as he softly pushed the hair to reveal what was underneath.
"Why do you have this?" he asked, hearing the slightest quiver in his voice, and hoping she wouldn't notice.
"Oh, that." She shrugged. "It's a souvenir of the accident. Pomfrey said it wasn't unusual in stressful situations, especially blows to the head, for hair to magically whiten." He didn't even remark on the fact that she considered a heated engagement with a giant lost in the castle to be an 'accident.'
She twitched her head away from his hand so that the hair fell down, covering it back up, and Draco nodded at her as if Pomfrey had given her a reasonable explanation.
Hair did occasionally whiten for many reasons. Except the streak he'd seen laying across her temple was not white. It wasn't the snowy white or even the silvery grey that comes with age and experience. It was the pale moonlight blonde that characterized the Malfoy family.
Just like how his mother had streaks of that same blonde throughout her black hair. He'd assumed that it was only the Veela that changed to match his mate. But the magic of the Malfoy's characteristics must be strong to work on his mate in this way.
He didn't know if he liked that, seeing her change, knowing she had no idea that it was because of him. Just the thought that she could be subjected to more change against her will caused a crushing, smothering feeling inside of him. He knew now why it was imperative that a Veela not reveal who his mate was until she had chosen him. It was because the idea that she was being propelled by fate against her will was painful.
Thinking that the Veela charm or the Veela mate bond that was even now spinning stronger between them would eventually force her into his arms made him want to howl with guilt and shame. He didn't want a mate who was forced or compelled, who couldn't resist the pull of the Veela. He wanted a mate who would love him for who he was, both man and Veela.
The feeling of fate crashing down on them both took him by surprise. Her magic was changing to match his, but he didn't know what to do next. He didn't know what he could do to win her heart before she found out the truth and despised him for it. And he didn't like the sudden feeling that everything was out of his control.
"Draco, are you all right?" he heard her say, the concern evident in her voice.
But he just made an excuse and made his exit, anxious to leave before he revealed too much.
*-M-*
He avoided her for the next several days. He did his best to avoid looking like he was avoiding her, but she must have suspected there was something wrong. He would catch her watching him from across the classroom. Even when he refused to look her direction, he could feel her eyes resting on him, a considering look on her face.
Whenever he passed her in the corridors, he felt a jolt in his heart upon seeing the tell-tale streak in her hair. It marked her as his, even if he was the only one who knew. He preferred when she wore her hair down so that it was hidden among the dark, russet curls that he loved. He didn't know why that blonde streak upset him so. He knew her friends thought it was amusing, as he heard them gently teasing her about it.
"They let you into the Old Witches Society early on account of how smart you are?"
"No, it's on account of how much she nags!"
"Well, I wouldn't have to nag you so much, Harry, if you'd just do your homework properly like you're supposed to."
"Yes, Granny."
"Oh! You prat! I'm going to let Ginny be the one to keep you in line from now on."
"Don't put that on me, I barely keep up with my own work!"
"If you must know, it's so that Grawp thinks I'm older than he is, and he respects me."
"Haha, that's great! We should go see Grawp!"
"Yes, let's!"
No one talked about how Granger and Weasley had broken up. The two were awkward around each other, but as they shared the same friends he often caught them with the same strained look on their faces, pretending to be normal to everyone else. To the Weasel's credit, there was no word of any more fights or blowups. Perhaps Weasley accepted his fate more easily than Draco seemed to be doing with his.
When he saw his own name on the prefects list to patrol with Granger, he quietly asked for Zabini to cover for him, citing a previous meeting with Snape as his advisor. He knew Zabini wouldn't doubt him, and his godfather would uphold the story if asked. But he didn't think he could spend the whole evening with the Head Girl and her prying eyes and her insatiable curiosity.
So when late one night he felt her heart rate jolt and then start pounding rapidly, he once again considered not leaving the comfortable isolation of his dormitory to track her down.
But there was something confusing about the situation. Her heart rate stayed elevated with sudden hard slams, but her breathing seemed unpredictable and her emotions were all over the place. He felt streaks of what felt like fear and concern, followed by what might have been amusement or nervousness. He took several moments trying to make sense of what could possibly be happening to Granger late at night when she wasn't even supposed to be patrolling.
A quick close of his eyes and a search for the thread of light that linked him to her, and he located her in the castle in the same place where they'd had their misbegotten fight against Hagrid's runty brother.
The location startled him enough to get up in anticipation of leaving. But then he felt a true jolt of terror streak through her emotions and he thought she might have been screaming.
He made it out of the dungeons and down the corridors in no time, uncertain of what he would find, still confused by the mixed signals he seemed to be getting. A strange yellow of anticipation seemed to be the foremost emotion on the heels of the fear.
The sounds of glass breaking reached him before he rounded the corner and found himself face to face with an ugly man-sized Acromantula. Though they came in many sizes, this one was about head-high, and close enough for him to see his reflection in the clustered orbs that were eerily black. He responded automatically with an Arania Exumai and was surprised to see it explode in a burst of blue sparks.
Granger was standing against the wall, her wand thankfully in her hand, and aimed at where the Acromantula had been. He was beside her in a flash, checking her for injury.
"What happened? What was that?" His hands came up to cradle her face, examining it carefully for injury. He checked all over for signs of blood. Her eyes watching him were big and confused, but otherwise she was fine.
A sound behind him of something falling to the ground caused him to whip around, wand out, body placed protectively in front of Hermione. Pieces of what looked like bent wood and metal rattled onto the ground as if dropped. With his wand held carefully in front of him, he approached slowly and saw that it was a toy spider that had been broken apart into several pieces.
He eyed them, confused, and then turned to look at Hermione.
She wasn't looking down at the toy pieces at all, she was staring at him.
"You came." She seemed surprised.
He resisted the urge to check if his wings had popped out again. If there were fiery red wings sticking out of his back, she'd surely have more than that bemused look on her face.
Another glance around the corridor confirmed that there was no further danger. His heightened Veela senses didn't feel anything else moving so he put his wand arm down. He schooled his features to a typical Slytherin stillness and turned back to her with a feigned expression that was at odds with his earlier frantic behavior. "I heard sounds and came rushing to see what was happening." He added, trying to distract her, "Getting yourself into some kind of trouble again? One magic fight in this corner of the castle wasn't enough?"
But she ignored his irrelevant questions, and said, astonished, "You walked right through the concealment charms and the Notice-Me-Nots like you knew exactly where you were going."
He hadn't realized there were any charms up. "What's going on, Granger?"
She was studying his face, her brow scrunched up like he was a puzzle she was trying to figure out. "I wondered if you would come. I thought…maybe…if I recreated that night…"
"What?" It dawned on him suddenly that she must have faked it. That was why he kept get conflicting emotions. She wasn't truly scared or in danger, just remembering what she'd felt when she'd faced Grawp. And she'd channeled magic into a construct shaped like an Acromantula for an added level of realism.
The thoughts flitted across his face as he put the pieces together, and he felt suddenly that he'd walked into a trap. His heart was beating too fast, thinking that she was too close, she was going to figure out his secret, and then how was he going to win her? He felt the hopelessness stretching before him.
"I don't know what you're involved in, Granger. If you're done playing games, you should go off to bed."
He shook his head at the toy pieces still lying on the floor, and made to walk away, determined to leave and get away before he inadvertently revealed anything else.
Her next words stopped him.
"You feel sad."
He couldn't help himself, he turned back to look at her again. "What?"
"I can feel it." She said it quietly, the look in her eyes questioning. "Draco, why is it that I can feel when you're sad?"
The thrill of her saying his name went through him like a wave of heat from a fire. He felt it as a tingle in his fingertips. The connection between the two flared so bright for a moment, he almost thought he could see it.
"I don't feel sad," he denied. It was technically half true. His emotions were much more complex than that. But if she could sense even a little bit right now, it was only a matter of time before she could read him as if he were one of her books. He tried to shut down that connection that bound them together, closing it until it was just a pinprick, wondering if there was a way to keep her out.
"I haven't been able to figure it out. Sometimes I turn, and you're there. Or I feel your presence before you arrive. I tried to convince myself that I was being silly. I was making up a connection that wasn't there because you'd rescued me, and I couldn't make sense of it. I was sure I was imagining it." This rambling description was followed by a short, deliberate breath. She cocked her head, her eyes boring into him. "But you came."
He didn't respond.
"Am I?" she asked, quietly, her tone somehow vulnerable like his answer held a power over her. "Am I just imagining this?"
He wanted to lie to her. He thought that her understanding of the situation was tenuous enough that if he continued denying it that she might continue questioning herself. But he couldn't bring himself to say the words that sounded like a rejection. His Veela couldn't allow it.
He sighed, and looked at her waiting for his answer. For all of his practice, he couldn't tell what the colors swirling around her meant. So he gave her the most truth he could manage. "No, Hermione, you're not imagining it."
And then he turned and left, leaving her there staring after him. As he ran away, back to the safety of his dungeon nest and away from the ever-increasing frustration that was dealing with his mate, he was surprised and slightly ashamed to find that he was more cowardly than he'd ever suspected.