A/N:
Hermione. Hermione. HermIOne. I don't know why I always misspell her name! I'm sorry. I'll go back and fix previous misspelling in chapter two eventually, but for now, I'm lazy.
SPEAKING of laziness, sorry I missed my self-appointed update day. I know, two days late here, but sometimes life gets in the way and you do what you can.
Anyway, without further ado, here is chapter three:
. . .
Draco stood at the landing below the stairs at the front entrance of the mansion. Beside him sat his trunk. His gaze followed the steps up to the second floor, into which his mother disappeared minutes ago. He sighed. So this was it. He was off to school again, off to wander the old stone hallways, off to find his mate. Mate. Every time the word entered his mind, his heart fluttered in his chest. What would it be like to have someone with him, someone who could fill his life with whatever was missing? Even though it had only been a week since his birthday, he could not imagine what it was like to go a day without feeling that pull in his chest. Now he wondered; had it always been there, just in the background of his mind? Had that knowledge of his mate been buried in him since birth? He couldn't remember anymore.
He brushed his robes, as if trying to remove lint from them. They were pure black, just the way they had always been. It was an adventure getting fit for them. Walking Diagon Alley taught him well: never before had he noticed how often people in crowds brush against each other. He felt a burst of pain with each accidental gesture. By the end of the day, his whole body ached from the repeated contact.
He and his mother had gone alone; Draco thought about going with Blaise, or Pansy, or Boot, or Nott, but honestly, he wasn't ready to show his face to anyone. Still, their companionship would be welcome, as soon as he stepped aboard the train. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling of Malfoy Manor and sighed. He'd see it again soon. He'd be back before he knew it.
He wondered what it'd be like to talk to them all. They never talked once after the final battle took place, not all together. What would it be like, to be sitting in a train car with his old friends, just like nothing had ever happened? Would he be able to laugh and talk like a normal person? Could he smile, could he hold a conversation with someone who wasn't his mother? These thoughts nibbled at the edge of his mind everyday now.
His ache, as he called it, seemed to be steadily growing, if very slowly. The dullness in his heart called out for his mate. He sighed. There wasn't going to be much avoiding the issue once he got to Hogwarts.
He couldn't decide how to feel. Some days it seemed like he was about to give in, to chase after that pull and go searching, to fall before the knees of the man with whom he was meant to be. Some days it felt like the part of him that got left on the floor in the final battle was the fight in his soul. Merlin, some days seemed empty and Draco, Draco was just tired.
Other days, he could fight it. Other days, Draco knew he would make it out the same man he went into it if he could just hold onto himself. A Malfoy was a Malfoy no matter what, and he had been raised to be a good man. A man who cared about his family, who watched out for stains on pants and hairs out of place. The kind of man who could live a proper life. And this whole "mate issue,' it was just one more obstacle that good men overcome in their lives. So too would he overcome it.
His thoughts swirled around him until he heard his mother's footfalls at the top of the stairs. She came down slowly with deliberate steps, and Draco could not help but watch her with a kind of easy appreciation. She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her handbag clutched in front of her. An audible sigh escaped her lips, but it could have been one of relief or one of anticipation.
"Are you ready, my Dragon?"
"Yes, Mother."
She nodded her head. "Then let us depart." Despite her manner, Draco saw the happiness, the sadness, the pain, the anxiety, and most of all, the love in her eyes. He gave her a small smile in return, and, taking hold of his luggage, turned on the spot and disappeared.
That familiar pull in his navel evaporated as he landed in Platform 9 ¾ with his mother landing by his side. They stood near each other, and Draco arranged his luggage beside him so as to keep a bubble of space around him. He didn't need to be taught that painful lesson twice.
The Platform teemed with people, which, in retrospect, shouldn't have surprised Draco. Nevertheless, he couldn't pretend not to be shocked by the fact that other people were going back. He sighed. Perhaps the best way to move past a war was to live life as if it had never happened. The sun in the sky shone brightly, and a few clouds shaded the train cars sporadically. Families waved goodbye to their children. Mothers hugged their sons. Draco looked at his mother, but she stared straight ahead, as if waiting for him to make the first move.
And the smells! Merlin, every person had a scent that was noticeable, permeable. Never had so many robust hormones met in so dramatic a manner as at a train station full of teenagers. Looking over the crowd, he wrinkled his nose. None smelled particularly appealing. A small bird of panic fluttered in his stomach, threatening to grow larger. What if his mate DIDN'T go to Hogwarts? He was counting on the truth of his mother's insistences. But if she was wrong, what hope did he have?
"Do you sense him?"
Draco jumped slightly, so slightly that only a woman like Mrs. Malfoy would have noticed the movement. He was so engrossed by the smells around him, that he hadn't noticed her lean over towards him and mutter near his ear. He shook his head at her, and she gave a short exhale, so that her nostrils flared slightly.
"Well,' he began softly. 'I suppose this is goodbye for now."
Narcissa smiled gently. "I suppose it is."
"I'll write."
"Draco," she chided, but still with a smile. "You've never been so sentimental before."
He couldn't help but smile back. "Maybe it's genetic."
She chuckled softly, and the happiness settled in the depths of her blue eyes. After a pause, she spoke.
"Don't worry if you haven't sensed him yet. Give it time. I believe in you."
He nodded half-heartedly. "Thanks."
She blew him a kiss, and he returned the favor. "I love you, my Dragon. Be strong. I know you are."
And with that, he dragged his luggage away from her, and towards the train. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her waving. So this was goodbye for now. He couldn't tell if that had been easy or hard. People looked at him, to be sure, while he stood a respectful distance from the line waiting to climb the steps. Plenty stared, but no one spoke to him. No one made eye contact. And he was content to allow them to gaze. Could he help it if he was gorgeous?
When the time came, he rose up the steps carefully, with light but deliberate steps. A Malfoy was nothing if not always poised. The sun receded from the back of his head as he entered the next train car. His mother had disappeared by the time he turned around to look for her.
Walking down the hallway, he felt the stares upon him. To be honest, it was more than he was used to. People had always stared at him, but often with eyes wide full of fear, resentment, perhaps envy. Now, he got wide-eyed looks of surprise from the reserved and open-mouthed gazes of awe from the intemperate. The smells took hold of him as he walked along, and he couldn't help wrinkling his nose in slight disgust. Nope, none of these people were even SLIGHTLY palatable.
He had been thinking about this whole mate thing. It seemed far-fetched, to be sure. There was one person, JUST ONE, with whom he was meant to be? Maybe things just got a little exaggerated as time went on. He couldn't deny that there was the pull with him almost constantly, but it was awfully imprecise. He figured that if he could find someone his body liked well enough, than he could call that person his mate and leave it at that.
"Bloody Hell, Draco, how you been?"
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. He recognized that voice anywhere, and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. He was about to call out to Theo Nott, but as he was turning, Theo cut him off.
"Bloody Hell, Draco. . ."
Their eyes met as Theo's voice trailed away. There stood the genial Slytherin, long and lanky as ever, with his short brown hair framing his face. There was a poorly-masked look of awe upon his face. For a Slytherin, he had always been the loudest of the bunch. Draco noticed his scent, though warm and somehow inviting, seemed to simultaneously repel him against his will.
"You want to find somewhere to sit?"
Theo nodded his head, but couldn't take his eyes off of the boy in front of him. Draco led the way along down the corridor, until they reached their old cabin. They had not said another word in the meantime, as Nott seemed to have recovered from his shock enough to recognize that whatever had caused Draco's radical change in appearance, it was likely he wanted it kept private. Pushing the door open, he settled in the seat under the window, while Theo put their luggage in the cart above them. He turned quickly and shut the door behind them, and spun on his heels to face the seated boy.
"Bloody Hell, Draco!"
"You've mentioned, " Draco drawled.
"What in Merlin's name happened to your face?"
Draco bristled. He liked Nott; he liked him quite well. He was a friend after all. But the boy could use a lesson or two in tact.
"What do you mean?" Draco gave a slight smile, feigning ignorance.
There was a pause while Theo stared at him, with wide eyes begging Draco to not make him speak. But Draco did not give in, so eventually Theo spoke again.
"You look. . . Well, you look, well, pretty!" Theo's face colored and he looked at his feet.
Draco wasn't sure what to say. He hadn't given this enough thought, what he would say to his friends. Surely they needed to know the truth eventually, but he couldn't quite bring himself to tell Theo. Besides, what if all of this turned out to be quite manageable? Would they even need to know? Perhaps he could solve this problem quietly, find his mate, bond with the bloke, and let no one else be the wiser. After a while, he realized that Theo was expecting a response. He cleared his throat, and said "I'll explain once we're all here."
Theo nodded his head in ascent.
He took a seat across from Draco, who gazed absently out the window, his head resting on his hand. Draco knew he was being rude; he knew he was being obscure. But somewhere inside him, the easy conversation of the past seemed to be frozen. He could not make the words come, so instead he sat and watched the window, seeing the hundreds of families milling about, together for the last time for months to come. Bitterness bubbled up in him. Maybe this time, most of those families might meet again, intact.
A sigh escaped his lips. This was going to be quite the year.
A knock sounded upon the door, and he looked up. "Come in."
Blaise walked in, with Pansy in tow. "Sorry it toke us so long to find you blokes. These hallways are crowded as Hell."
Blaise was muttering to himself, as he dealt with his luggage and Pansy's. Then he turned to face them, and upon gazing at Draco, his eyebrows shot up. "I see things have changed."
He smelled good and manly, if a bit distant. Pansy smelt sweet and flowery, but clearly neither of them was his mate. He sighed. Of course. It couldn't have been that simple. Pansy stood, looking at him with wide eyes.
"Blaise, Pansy." Draco stopped, and a smile broke out on his face.
"It's good to see you again."
"Likewise," said Blaise, though his eyebrows had not lowered.
"I've missed you, Draco!" said Pansy with open arms. Draco smiled at her, glad to have his best friend near him again. He stood to greet her, but did not reach out. She let her arms fall again, her eyes shining in confusion.
"I would return the gesture, Pansy, but I'm afraid I've come into some. . . awkward straights as of late and they're keeping me a bit restrained."
She nodded her head but a wary look remained in her eyes while she found a seat next to her best friend. She could barely keep her eyes of the boy in front of her with his soft features and light, clear eyes. Never before had he looked so beautiful and, she thought, almost fragile. When he spoke, his voice soft, she couldn't help but be captivated.
"As I'm sure you all have noticed, my appearance is a bit. . . different this year. And though I can't find fault with it myself, I understand how shocking it is to see." At this, he smirked, and a gentle smile appeared on Pansy's face. Many years ago, she had a crush on the young Draco, with his good looks and his sharp wit. It had been hard in fourth year, when Draco came to her and confessed his attraction to one Blaise Zabini. Still, getting over him hadn't been that hard when she realized what she gained: a true best friend.
Looking at him now, she saw the elements of the boy that attracted her, all those years ago. They were fused with new elements of his person that were beautiful and new. He was almost excruciatingly pretty.
Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the door opening yet again, with a slightly red-faced Terry Boot heaving his luggage inside.
"Merlin! What a crowd!"
He swore at the floor and began to shift his luggage over the runner of the sliding door. He turned around and nodded at the other passengers, until his eyes stopped on Draco. The smaller boy shifted in his seat under the gaze. Something about the firm gaze of a man made him feel, well, uncomfortable. But it might just have been that Terry was sharp as a whip, and any explanation of his . . . condition short of the truth wouldn't impress him much. And there was the scent, one that spoke of strength, intelligence, and power. It made him feel nervous in spite of himself.
"So it's true what they've been saying," he said nonchalantly on Draco's general direction as he heaved his luggage up into the carriage. "You do look like a girl."
Blaise chuckled and Pansy snickered, while Draco glared at both of them.
"Ah, what are you getting your panties in a twist about? You're the talk of the town. How is that different from usual?" Terry questioned with a smirk. "Besides," he continued, "your glare doesn't look as threatening as it used to."
"You're playing with fire there, Boot." Draco pouted.
"Aww, he's too cute to be angry with!" Pansy half simpered, a grin plastered on her face. Inwardly, Draco was smiling at their antics. Maybe this would all turn out ok.
Suddenly, a heavenly scent wafted through the window. It smelled of clean laundry and honeysuckle and soap, with a musky manliness undercutting it all. It settled warmly in his body, filling him up with an unmoving rock of contentment, and making his legs turn to jelly. He thanked the heavens that he was seated when it hit him, for it would have knocked him to the ground otherwise. His head snapped over to the window, and he looked outside. Damn! So many people. He rose slowly, so as not to alert the other members of the car to his acts.
"It's so bloody hot in here," he muttered as he wrenched the window open, and he thought he did a respectable job of keeping the shake out of his voice. His heart lilted in song as the scent grew stronger. Somewhere, somewhere very close.
He scanned the crowd for anyone he might recognize. He cursed; there were so many people from his year! Plenty of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs he had seen before. Then his eyes settled on Lovegood, Longbottom, and the bunch of redheads and bleeding Harry Potter! Something seemed to waft from over the group, but he couldn't even catch clear sight of a single face from this far away.
He shook himself from where he stood. He must be seeing things. Bloody Potter, his mate! That was practically too cruel to imagine. There were so many people in the crowd, he couldn't be sure. And, if he had seen his mate, he would have known, right? And, well, all he smelled was a nice smell. And what kind of evidence was that?
"Draco? You ok?"
Shit! Pansy was staring at him, her eyes wide. In fact, everyone was staring at him. Maybe he wasn't as smooth about it as he thought he was. He scratched his head in thought. If things were going to be this bad, there might be no hiding it. Just a smell of his mate, and he was swooning! He would have to come clean.
"As you were all so rudely pointing out, I do indeed look different this year. I'm afraid that's the product of a certain, shall we say, incident in the bloodlines of the Malfoys and the Blacks."
He started to pace the room and all eyes followed him. But he missed a step when the train started to move. Stumbling forward, hewas about to fall until he felt Terry's searing hand upon his arm. A sharp pain lick his arm like fire. He hissed and pulled away, massaging his bicep where the other boy grabbed him.
"Don't. . . don't touch me!" he choked out.
"Draco! What the Hell is going on?" Terry's eyes were wide with shock and pain.
"You can't touch me! None of you can touch me!" Draco clutched at himself, hunched over and wild eyed. He quivered with animalistic fear, his hair in disarray, his knees on his chest.
"Draco, you're scaring us." Pansy clutched at her chest.
Draco stumbled his seat, clawing at the air. Finally he sat and panted for a moment, regaining his strength. When he looked up to meet the stares of his friends, his face was calm.
"I'm sorry about that. I should have warned you. Until further notice, I won't be able to make bodily contact with anyone without excruciating pain. It is a rather unfortunate side effect of the inheritance."
"The inheritance?" Pansy's mind was spinning. "Do you. . . Draco, do you have non-human blood?"
He nodded his head, and she gasped. The wide eyes grew only wider.
"Both of my parents have veela blood," he spoke softly, making the statement as simple and direct as possible.
He didn't want to look at any of them. Sure, Malfoys were taught to be proud, to keep their heads high. But what would those who knew him say now? Would he still be human enough to them, that they might stay friends?
"Well," Blaise began, clearing his throat. "I have to say, it sure does explain a lot."
Draco looked around the room to see all heads nodding in agreement,
"So that's what the new look's about?"
"And the no-touchey rule?"
"Yes," said Draco.
Blaise and Terry sat with their arms folded across their chests. Theo still stared at Draco, but Pansy had the hint of a smile on her face.
"So, do you know who your mate is yet?"
Draco couldn't keep the shock off of his face. "How do you know about veela?"
She waved her hand dismissively. "Every pureblood knows about veela. I heard stories about them from before I could walk." The others seemed to agree.
"Really?"
"You mean you didn't?"
"Well, no, I suppose my father deemed it unimportant."
Pansy sputtered. "Unimportant? Every pureblood girl's dream is to be mated to a dominant veela. It's supposed to be heaven."
"But if you reacted like that to my grabbing you," began Terry contemplatively, "you're probably not dominant, am I right?"
Draco blushed, but otherwise did not acknowledge the question.
"I see."
Draco whirled on him. "Look, it's complicated. I'm still trying to put things together, so I apologize if I don't exactly know for sure."
"But I take it none of us are your mate," Blaise spoke slowly.
"Yes, that seems right."
Draco turned out the window at the flying countryside. He had seen these sights seven times before. It was quite lovely. Every now and again, he caught slight wisps of that scent. Only a ghost remained of it remained in his memory, and he wanted, needed to be near its owner. Hopefully this whole "mate" nonsense wouldn't take too much time to resolve.
. . .
"All I'm saying is that I think it's wise of you, for once, not to take the easy route. Advanced Potions may be a challenge, but isn't that what life's all about."
"Hey, Hermione, I know studying is great and all, but I like having time for other things like, you know, breathing."
She rolled her eyes at him, but Ron knew she wasn't serious. He let his head loll back, and counted the stains on the ceiling for the umpteenth time. Twenty-three distinct markings, more if you counted the barely-touching ones separately. He never remembered how long this train ride was. Conversation was good for the first two hours, but now that they had another two to go, the topical pickings were slim.
He glanced around the room, at Hermione, sitting next to him, her nose in her textbook for Seventh year Astronomy. Next to her, Neville sat, staring off with an intensity Ron had never seen in the boy before the War. Across from him sat Luna Lovegood, reading the Quibbler upside-down as usual. And next to her, his eyes closed, drool on his cheek, sat the-boy-who-kicked-the-Dark-Lord's-Ass.
Seeing them again had filled his heart with warmth. Hermione hugged him once they met at Platform 9 ¾ , but they hadn't touched since. They hadn't even held hands. Now, sitting next to her, he felt her closeness but also her distance. He hadn't tried to do a thing to change the situation. They would warm up on their own, right?
"Hey Luna, what's in the Quibbler today?"
Ron motioned towards the paper in the blonde girl's hands. She looked over the top, or rather, the bottom of the page and spoke in her soft melodic voice.
"Oh, it's a very interesting article my father wrote on magical auras."
Ron grinned. At least this was interesting. "Magical auras?"
"Yes. You know, they can tell one quite a lot about a wizard."
"How so?"
"Well, they can detect magical signals in one's aura. There are many different things. But, you see," at this she turned a page to them upon which an outline of a hand could be seen. "My father drew up a test. If you place your hand here," she pointed to the hand, "it will read your aura."
Hermione, who had been listening for a while now, cut in.
"Now, Luna, don't you think that sounds a little far-fetched? I mean, if 'wizard auras' could truly be tested, wouldn't we already know about them an how to test for them?"
"We do," said Luna matter-of-factly. "It's right here." Again, she pointed to the page.
"I want to try this, " said Ron, rousing himself from the chair and heading over to sit next to Luna. She looked up at him, beaming. He was grinning too. Hermione huffed, but he looked over at her and said "What? What harm can it do?'
Hermione crossed her arms over her chest. "None, I suppose."
Luna held out the page for Ron, and he dutifully placed his right palm upon it. True to its word, colors shot out from his fingers: a deep, velvety red. Ron looked at the page in awe for a minute, before he could summon words to speak.
"What does that mean?" he asked excitedly.
"Hmm," began Luna, turning the page sideway. "Let's consult the color chart." There was a moment's silence, while she examined something intently that Ron couldn't see. Eventually, she spoke again.
"Hmm, this IS interesting. According to this, a velvet red indicates the bonding of two souls."
Ron's eyes widened almost incredulously. "What?" he spluttered.
"It means that you are destined to be with one person, I suppose. You know, soulmates." She extended her hand to him.
"What?"
"Congratulations!" she said, grabbing his hand and shaking it.
"What?"
She smiled at him. "Surely, knowing that one's magic is forever intertwined with the magic of another is a wonderful thing. Not everyone is so lucky."
"I guess. . . thanks?" Ron withdrew his hand and rubbed at the offending palm, which had left the velvet red color on the page.
"Let me see this," said Hermione, pushing the book from her lap and onto the floor as she marched over to Luna. She had been watching the whole exchange intently while she pretended to read. Pressing her hand flat against the page, it turned an icy blue.
"What does that mean?"
Luna turned the page sideways again. "Hmm, ice blue. Apparently, that's a signifier of an unbonded magic."
There was silence. Hermione just stared at the page, while Luna looked away dreamily. Ron looked at the two of them and gulped. This couldn't be good.
"So this test says I don't have a soulmate, but Ronald does."
Ron looked at the floor. Her voice sounded calm, deadly calm. When she used the full name, he knew trouble was brewing.
"Well," she began, though there was hurt in her eyes. 'That's clearly nonsense. There's no such thing as reading a wizard's 'aura.' What rubbish."
"It seems that ice blue is also an indicator of rigid unwillingness to believe."
Hermione just glared. Ron sighed. This was going to be a LONG two hours.
. . .
They arrived at Hogwarts without a hitch. Unloading trunks, boarding the thestral-drawn carriages (thestrals, Ron might add, they all could see), piling through the entrance and into the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione had prefect's duties to take care of, leading the first years through to the Sorting. In the hubbub, Ron hadn't managed to catch Hermione alone.
He knew she didn't really believe in whatever stuff got printed in the Quibbler and, to be honest, neither did he. But that didn't mean she was happy about what it said. He saw how her eyes shone with anger and sorrow when her hand on the page didn't shoot out that velvet red.
It wasn't that Ron BELIEVED in soulmates, or bonded magic or whatever. It just seemed as if the two of them should have produced a similar color, or something, some indicator of their togetherness. He felt for her, how some little thing might be so disconcerting, especially after the day they'd been having. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her just what he thought of that stupid little test, but. . . somehow Hermione never seemed to be alone.
He thought about talking to Harry about it, but truth be told, he was too tired to explain the whole story. And besides, since he was busy leading first years through Hogwarts and Harry wasn't a prefect, they hadn't seen each other that much since leaving the train.
Speaking of first years, they sure looked cowed. He grimaced. He hoped that when he was their age, he hadn't looked nearly so terrified. And they were all so bloody short! When he thought about that first year, how a gang of eleven-year-olds took on the most powerful dark wizard in existence, he had to shake his head in disbelief. How they did it, he wasn't even sure. If they had known, back then, what they were getting themselves into, what the next seven years of their lives would bring, he doubted they would have made it.
That's all over now, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. None of these kids will ever have to do something like that. Thanks to us, their lives can be normal. Thanks to us, they can be kids when they're supposed to be kids. At least they'll get the chance at a childhood.
There was the sorting. Headmistress McGonagall gave a speech, welcoming back old students and new alike. Ron was too tired to pay much attention. Hours of worrying about Hermione left him exhausted. To much joy and applause, the new Headmistress announced that taking her place as the Professor of Transfiguration was none other than Remus Lupin. Ron whooped as loud as the rest of them, and it was the brightest moment of the night. He looked over at the Slytherins, expecting sneering derision, but finding only mute acceptance. He did note the strange absence of one Draco Malfoy, but concluded the smarmy bastard was just too scared to show. All in all, it was a wonderful night, and he had stuffed himself to the brim for the first time in far too long.
When he fell into bed that night, across from Harry, under Seamus, and next to Dean and Neville, he barely had time to thank his lucky stars for whatever fate had given him before his eyes closed and there was sleep.
. . .
Author's note:
Whoop! We got through the first day! Yeesh, I don't know about you, but that felt like a LOT to have go down in one chapter. I know, I know, 15,000 words in and our two lovebirds haven't met yet, but I'm almost CERTAIN that's our next chapter. And Draco smelled his mate, so THAT's something.
In other news, yeah, Remus Lupin's not dead. Also, thanks Andraste Straton for confirming that at least ONE person reads my notes. But anyway, yeah, that death was stupid so. . . POOF! It didn't happen. Through the magic of fanfiction. . . Actually, it solves the problem of trying to create a new character to fill Professor McGonagall's old post.
I think I'm bringing back one other old friend, just because. But you'll have to wait and see. oooOOOooo.
And another word about updates. I'll do my best, but life always comes first. (Stupid life, you always get in the way!)
OH! And thanks to all my lovely reviewers. Y'all are saying I'm writing the story you've been waiting for. Well, you sure know how to make an author blush! Thanks so much you guys!
Anyhoo, enjoy, and I'll see y'all again soon!