Okay, so I actually had this written about a day after I put up the last chapter, but I decided to make you guys wait :3
Spoiler, this chapter contains an excess of cute. Yay, toddlers!
One day, in 1994, a part-Veela named Fleur Delacour talked to a blond boy who had no friends, only lackeys and acquaintances. He was never sure why she did, she singled him out, made his dorm jealous while he desperately tried to figure out why they all found her so attractive. True, she was pretty, and there wasn't a flaw in sight, but there was none of the pull everyone described. He never felt like suddenly bragging or asking her anywhere or praising her every step.
It was confusing.
Fleur told him about Veelas.
And the way she told him always interested him, saying 'we', not 'I', as if inviting Draco to something he never would have been a part of, the Veela world. Draco had never been invited into anything because he was already a part of it or his father considered it beneath them.
"We are beautiful, the pinnacle of human beauty, and though some might try to demean us by calling us beasts and half-humans, we know better. We always will."
And she had spoken to him, he was among these people who rested at the highest point of beauty, he was one they were trying to demean, but she spoke with such elegant pride, the French she spoke in just adding to the air, he knew that she really did know better.
And he wished that he was, that he could hold a room's attention with himself, not with family name or riches, not bragging, he wanted to be heard some days when he felt like he was speaking nonsense to a sea of empty nods.
"We are three-the eldest, they are almost gone now, beautiful women who can become animal shapes-wolves, swans, snakes and horses, they were warrior witches. The middle kind, everywhere, the ones usually called Veela, with scaled wings and harpy screeches, and then... There is us. The youngest, a bit of cross, we are feather winged and wolf-teethed, fast as the wind and silent."
Draco, a boy who had been raised on a broom and silent wishes for wings in his youth became addicted to the idea that a person could have real ones, real working ones, feathers fluttering. Fleur didn't help, showing him her wings. They were white, folding snugly against her skin from the curve of her shoulder to the small of her back, and when the three sections unfolded created a thirteen-foot wingspan.
Only then did Draco understand why people chased her so.
Who wouldn't want an angel?
Draco drew in a deep breath, listening to the sound shudder in his throat, as he realized he was crying a little. He wasn't even sure why, but the memories made him sad. He stared down at the firewhiskey in his hand and then tossed it back, leaning more heavily on Wicked's bar as he signaled for another. There was a small stack of empty shotglasses next to him, and the wizard had just started watering the whiskey with a frown, Draco could taste how thin it was, but was going to drink until the memories ended and the tears stopped. It would just take a little longer tonight.
He could hear someone calling his name, their voice familiar, and he dried the tears from his eyes and turned.
Blaise clapped him on the back in what looked friendly and was actually steadying. "Draco! You old prick, how are you!"
Draco grinned back. Why had he been sad anyway? "Perfect! Perfect... Zabini, I'm great!" He gave a charming grin to the girl to Blaise's right, who looked a little stunned.
"Damn, mate, you're planning some hangover here, need someone to take you home?"
"Nah, just drink right through it, find some little bird... I'll be fine!"
He fell off the barstool-possibly. He went from staring at Blaise's face to the ceiling, head hurting, but a different way from a hangover. He laughed and began to stagger up, Blaise helping him stay standing. He leaned in.
"Sorry, but I'm not-"
Blaise slapped him.
"Listen to me!" Blaise hissed. Draco clutched at the side of his face. Slap was being kind... It was like an open-fisted punch... "Get out of here, go home! Auror Granger's out, spewing some bullshit about how your mother hired her to find you! She's talking to us, trying to find out about you to understand your movements, and I'm not an Occlumence! If she pulled out Veritaserum, who knows what she could have made me tell her! Draco-Draco, would you put down the damn drink, you're worse than Theo!"
Draco sipped from the shotglass, tasting the drink for once.
"Mother can't find me, Blaise. I know how she finds people, so I planned against those. She's having to be careful not to do anything illegal, so I have a little extra security. If she's sunk to hiring Princess C-" the bartender wandered past his spot in the bar, "-she must be worried. It's nice to know Mother's worried."
Blaise stared at him, a very level stare. "Alright. Have fun dying." He ordered something from the bartender and slammed it down in front of him. "Have one for me."
His back screeched pain, like there was something under the skin, and Draco picked up the drink, emptying it in less than two seconds.
"Did it hurt, when you got wings?"
"Yes, quite a lot. But it is worth it."
He drank everything back into oblivion, and his last thought was that he didn't want to come back out.
. . .
Hermione wasn't sure she could do this. She paced in front of the fire, floo powder in her hand, rehearsing. "Tell me what you-too accusing. I heard you-no... Draco Malfoy-Bill will kill me!" She sighed and sat down on the carpet. "And she'll help. What am I doing? There's no way Fleur would go near Malfoy! She's one of us!"
Of course, the French definitely seemed different. Pansy and her husband, after all, with his little cheap insults for friendly banter.
She stood up, pacing again. "Okay. We'll go, we'll have some tea. I'll rant about this case. We'll see how she reacts. Good? Good. Let's go." She squared her shoulders, pulled out her wand and held it flat against her leg, and climbed into the fireplace. "Shell Cottage!" she tossed it at her feet. Bill and Fleur had given her an anytime invitation to come by. They were worried, constantly, about her paranoia.
She let her frustration take over as she climbed out, eyes darting all over as she entered the room. Fleur, heavily pregnant, was brushing her hair. "Es, Nev-eel?"
"Well, the roses need a lot of pruning, it looks like no one's touched them in fifty years, and I discovered there were flower-bulbs being choked by salt grass and ivy, so if it's alright, I'm going to uproot most of your english ivy to give them space to breathe again. Hello, Hermione," Neville said, clippers over one shoulder and dirt streaking his face. He smiled. "Welcome to the gardening party!"
She nodded curtly, yanking off her shoes. Fleur didn't want dirt on her carpet, ever.
"Want to join us? Yanking ivy will be good for that stress."
"I think... I'll entertain... Fleur-agh! Damn shoelaces!" She finally pulled her first shoe off as Neville set a teapot on the table. He sat next to her, untying the laces with ease.
"You shouldn't let your frustrations take control of you like this, it's not good for you. Doctor Neville subscribes a prescription of visiting Teddy when you're done here, and you will go, do you hear me, young lady?" Neville said this with a joking grin.
Neville was the one of the only people who had come out of the war in a good way.
He was a really good gardener.
"Yes, Doctor Neville..." she chimed back, edges of her frustrations melting away. She stood up and walked to the chair across from Fleur, where she could see her.
"Hermione," Neville said in a warning voice. "You will also not be suspicious of a pregnant woman! Sit by her, go, go," Neville shooed her onto the couch, then hefted his clippers and walked outside through the porch doors.
"What brings 'ou here?" Fleur asked, struggling to get the brush through her hair. Hermione, taking pity, took the brush and started at the ends. She had to keep from ripping through the knots. Fleur's hair looked perfect, but was extremely tangled.
"Work's... Just so... It's so aggravating! Why would anyone-The centaur herds have some new disease, so it has to be named and registered and studied before they let us start on a cure and meanwhile there are foals dying and what are they worried about? Could this possibly transfer to humans? Well the more we work with it to study it, the more likely that is to happen and they don't care that humans that just happen to have a different lower body than us are dying an-an-and I'm stuck having to find Draco fucking MALFOY!" She hurled the brush across the room.
"Malfoy ees missing?" Fleur stood up with a groan and waddled across the room, crouching to collect her brush. "But 'e's in the papers! I knew 'im, 'e was not too bad as a boy." She sat down on the couch with a huff. Hermione began to brush her hair again.
"His mother can't contact him, no one knows where he's living and at the rate he drinks he'll be dead in less than a year. She hired us to find him."
"Bribed?"
"Yeah, bribed. But we can rebuild Hogwarts with that money! So many children can... Come home... It was my home... It was everyone's home, and I'd live on the streets and never get paid if it meant it got rebuilt, but this way we don't have to shorten paychecks to give those children a safe space... We've had to leave muggleborns uncollected, their magic manifesting, for two years, those children could hurt themselves or others and don't understand what's wrong with them... And other children had to stay home, getting an owl-mail course, Hogwarts was only open one year after the war, to older students who wouldn't crawl into dangerous areas. Sixth and seventh and eighth... Hogwarts is like a graveyard without children..." She let out a slow, pained breath, tears like needles against the back of her eyes. "Please... If you know anything..."
Fleur rubbed her body-Victoire had kicked again, by her expression. "'E was only a little for-" She stopped, considered something, and switched to French. Hermione only set up her voice recorder. "He was only a little fourth-year, like all of you. I didn't even know his name at first. I just knew that somewhere in his family, there had been a Veela-he wasn't affected by me.
"It was a nice change from the usual, people hanging off me because of my blood. I enjoy company, but like to know that sometimes someone is there just because.
"He was a kind boy, rather innocent despite his name and background, he hadn't really understood the first war or the point of it, or realize the meaning of all the things he said to others. He was a good listener, and not too bad a conversationalist. He wasn't ready to question his upbringing, but anything else could be something he would throw himself into, trying to understand.
"He was a hawk to magic, instinctually knowing just how and what, sometimes crudely fashioned but his spells always came through. He was gentle with his pets, kind in how he tamed them, he was good with birds.
"Draco was a good child."
Hermione stared at her, trying to line up just how gently Fleur spoke of Malfoy with the person she had known.
She shook her head slightly, dispelling that. She couldn't just think of that mask. She knew about five Malfoys now. The one she saw, the one Parkinson loved, the one Nott remembered, the one Zabini grew up with, and the one Fleur knew.
"Thank you."
She smiled slightly, gesturing for the brush. Hermione finished one last stroke and gave it back.
"Geve my love to 'Eddy!"
"I will. Bye, Neville!" she called.
She flooed away. Keeping her elbows in, she banged around a little before entering the wider fireplaces of Andromeda's home.
Teddy was attempting to explore the fireplace today. Looking down at her feet, Hermione smiled and picked up the today-redheaded child, placing him on one shoulder. "Fleur and Victoire send their love, Teddy!"
He sneezed, hair turning pink. Hermione made a face. "But not for your sneezes." She conjured a tissue and wiped his nose.
"Love Flew!"
Hermione rolled her eyes, sitting in an armchair. An exhausted-looking Andromeda, grey hair fallen from its prim bun, bustled in. "Oh, there he is. Hello, Hermione."
"Hey, Mrs. Tonks. Neville told me I should visit, so here I am."
"That's lovely, I'll get the kettle put on," she said in a voice that sounded like it was going to take a nap without her. "Teddy only just got over his most recent cold, I haven't slept much. I nee-"
"I could take him for the day!"
"No, that's okay, you don't-" she sounded a bit panicked at the idea.
"I'll keep my wand away, I don't have dangerous objects, I'll give him some old magazines and crayons and let him color on peoples' faces. You'll love that, right, Teddy?"
"Love Melly!"
Teddy had mangled her name into Melly from the moment he could first speak it. Since he'd most often heard her called 'Mione, and he had trouble with the letter n, her name had been Miole for all of once before he decided to call her Melly.
Teddy was the only person who could.
"Yes, and Melly thinks Gran Andromeda is tired. Wanna come home with Melly, Teddy?"
"Go with Melly! Gran-gran, wanna go with Melly!"
"Keep both eyes on him, everything sharp or important behind a double-locked door, and don't let him on that balcony!" Andromeda instructed, and thrust her babysitter bag at Hermione. Inside would be two changes of clothes, a spare set of Teddy's favorite coloring supplies, and his favorite snacks. She slung it over her shoulder, picking up Teddy. His weight naturally settled on her hip, and she checked with Andromeda before turning on her heel, apparating into her apartment.
"Let's play a game, Teddy!" She pulled out every picture of Malfoy she had. "We have to draw a mustache on every picture of this man!" She set out the markers. "On your mark, get set, color!"
Teddy was quite the artist.
Thus, petty revenge :) Also, adorable children, Neville the therapist and badass, and a new Hermione nickname! 'Mione is overused :P
Also, quick, someone give me a word or prompt or character for the next chapter: Guess who's got a slight writer's block? You will be thanked.