Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Depressing, but true.

Hee hee. So a few of you didn't like it initially when I made Ron evil, but there was pretty much a collective cheer when he got his ass handed to him on a platter by our main man Draco. I think I know where your loyalties lie. ;) Anyways. This chapter? Shit gets real! Major plot points emerge! Lucius is a peacock! Review review review!

Just like last weekend, I'm planning on taking the next two days off from posting (I can offer an out though: If I get flooded with comments, like, more than your usual awesomeness, I'll post a chapter on Sunday. It's up to you, silent readers! The regulars are out in full force! Otherwise I will see you here on Monday.) I'm trying to sort out how the story will end, so I'm going to be spending a lot of quality time with my laptop this weekend. I think we're looking at something like 20 - 22 chapters, but we shall see! (Are there any fellow Canadians out there? Happy Canada Day!) xoxo

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

Hermione drifted into consciousness, sluggishly taking inventory of her surroundings as she stumbled towards wakefulness. That sound in her ears must be her pulse. Her face felt sticky against her pillow. Her head... Oh God her head felt like it was splitting open. What the fuck had she done? How did she get here?

Draco.

Draco had put her in bed. The memory shone through the pain, fuzzy but real. He had found her in the bath, just another humiliating circumstance he had saved her from, another debt to add to the pile.

The tub had made sense at the time. She decided to crawl there after spending hours drinking away her sorrows in the woods, realizing with dismay that alcohol was not fixing her problems. The pills numbed everything, just the way she liked it. But this? This made her so bloody emotional that she was crippled with feeling. Hermione rarely drank, so she wasn't prepared for the difference between her usual drug of choice and the Firewhiskey. Instead of being muted, her heartbreak was sharper. Her disappointment was heavier. Her grief was overwhelming. All those emotions mixed together in a toxic slew of hysteria. Miracle she managed to get back home, really.

It was a failure of a night. The only thing she managed to do was worry Draco and give herself a terrible hangover. That explained the immense pain that was radiating through her, the apex of which gathering behind her eyes like a dagger.

She lifted her head off the pillow slowly, overly conscious of the tight muscles in her neck as they complained at being moved. She needed water, a hot shower, and then she had to find Draco and apologize. Shame on her for bringing him into this mess. Stealing his alcohol and trying to drink away her problems was so childish she couldn't believe she'd actually done it. Was this what addiction was like? You know something is ruining you, but you can't seem to stop? It was like jumping in front of a train without actually wanting to die. She knew it was a bad idea, but she had gone for it anyways, unable to imagine coping with her problems unassisted.

Draco didn't deserve that sort of nonsense. He had struggled enough without her issues weighing him down. Her job was to resurrect his business and help him be accepted into society again. Pulling immature stunts like this was unacceptable. Making him worry needlessly was a terrible way to say thank you for what he had done.

She turned her head.

Her eyes widened. Draco was asleep in her reading chair, his too-long legs falling over the arm and his head cradled in the wingback in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position. Blond hair a tousled mess. Fancy suit marked with dirt.

He had stayed.

Something funny twinged in her chest. Her brain raced to figure out what this meant. Just then, she saw his finger twitch, and then his whole hand, and then he groaned.

The thought of him waking up to finding her staring at him was strangely terrifying. Unsure what else to do, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Draco groaned. Sweet mother of Merlin, he was uncomfortable. Blinking his eyes open, he took an unfocused look at his surroundings.

"Fuck!" he whispered, shooting out of the chair and stumbling on his tired legs. "Fuck fuck fuck!"

Hermione was in front of him, fast asleep on her bed. The trouble was that he wasn't supposed to be here to see her. He had never intended to stay until morning. He had crawled into the chair right after she had fallen asleep, planning to rest for a while before heading down to his own flat. Apparently he had completely passed out. What would have happened if she had awoken? How could he spin that one?

Sorry Granger, I just felt the need to behave like a deranged stalker and stay in your room while you slept.

No. Absolutely not. This wasn't okay. His behaviour had officially gotten out of hand, and he knew it. He was a Malfoy for Merlin's sake. Cold. Aloof. Not under anybody's thumb. He should not be falling asleep in the room of his childhood nemesis after having torn up half of London looking for her.

Draco inhaled sharply and took one last look at Hermione before attempting to sneak out. She looked so peaceful, so unencumbered. The dragon in his chest twitched.

Christ. His body was having a fucking physical reaction to her. Seeing her safe and resting practically made his chest hum with satisfaction. That wasn't normal. Something was wrong with him. He needed to see a Healer. No, better yet, he needed to see his mother. She could tell him what was going on. The woman knew more about the Malfoy family history than anyone else... Maybe she had a theory as to why his body was being so traitorous.

Backing out of the room as quietly as he could, Draco slipped out of Hermione's flat, closed the door, and disapparated with a CRACK.

Narcissa's senses tingled as she heard the familiar crack of apparition in the distance. Slowly and elegantly, she walked over to the window and looked out.

A satisfied smile snuck across her face.

"You look awfully pleased," said Lucius, observing his wife from across the room. "Anything I should know?"

"Draco's here," she said, simply.

Lucius walked quickly over to the window and glared through the glass. Draco was racing up the lane, looking more distraught than usual, his body tense and his face clouded with worry.

"That was fast," she said, happily.

"I think he might just be here to visit," said Lucius stubbornly, knowing full well that Narcissa would probably never buy such a weak excuse.

"I think you'll soon be wishing you didn't make a wager on the outcome of this little situation," she smirked.

Lucius clenched his jaw. "'Cissa, for the last time, Draco is not falling for a Muggle-born."

"True," Narcissa said.

Lucius raised his eyebrows. It wasn't like his wife to admit defeat so easily.

"He's already fallen for her," she whispered, pecking him on the lips and walking out of the room.

"Hello darling," said Narcissa, walking down the marble staircase right as Draco threw open the main doors and marched into the lobby, looking jittery and agitated.

"Mother," he nodded. "I trust you're well?"

"Quite," she said. "You seem a bit tense, dear. Is it because of work?"

"In a manner of speaking," he said, uncomfortably. "Where's father?"

"In his study. Shall I fetch him?"

"No, no, that's quite alright. I was hoping to speak to you, actually," he said.

"How nice," she smiled. "Let's go to the garden. It's finally starting to bloom."

They walked in silence, Draco jumpy, Narcissa calm and poker faced. An old stone bench, recently scrubbed of the green algae that crawled insistently up its legs, sat nestled in a small corner of the yard. A small tree nearby was budding. The space was freshly pruned, quite different from the previous years when it had started to fall into disarray.

"It looks nice out here," Draco remarked.

"Thank you," Narcissa said. "With all the good news about the business, I started to get inspired again. It's amazing how much things change when you're not always fretting about money."

"Indeed," Draco said, clearing his throat, trying to decide how to broach the issue that was eating away at him. Narcissa gestured to the bench and they both sat down.

"What's bothering you, dear?" Narcissa asked. "I expected to see you much happier than this with everything going on."

"Well, everything that's going on is part of the problem, I suppose," he said, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"Would I be presumptive to inquire if Miss Granger is somehow involved in your troubles?"

"Actually, she is," Draco said with a touch of suspicion. "How did you know?"

Narcissa shrugged. "She's a rather new addition to your life, and she seems to have brought quite a lot of excitement with her. It's natural for you to feel thrown off balance."

"Well," Draco said, bracing himself. "The problem is that I'm feeling some other things as well."

"Oh?" Narcissa said, innocently. "What would those be?"

There was a long pause as Draco's stomach tightened with nerves. "I… I worry about her."

"Draco," Narcissa said in a soothing voice. "She's your colleague, and it sounds like she's got some problems in her personal life. It's natural for you to want to make sure she's holding things together."

He looked over and met her eyes, licking his lips nervously. "Mother, I don't just worry the way I might if Blaise was in trouble. My concern for her is more… Intense."

She has crawled into my brain and won't leave, he wanted to add, but didn't. She makes me want to murder those who cause her harm.

Narcissa appeared to consider this. "Well, perhaps you just have some mild feelings for her, son. A crush. Have you considered that?"

Draco wrinkled his nose, and she misunderstood.

"She's very pretty," Narcissa said. "And obviously very smart. There's no need to look repulsed. It's only natural to – "

"Mother! I'm not repulsed… It's just… I just…" He broke off, frustrated at his inability to communicate what he was feeling.

When she's in danger, I feel like something wakes up inside of me. I feel like I would do anything to keep her safe and happy.

"Is this about her blood?" Narcissa asked. "Because I should tell you that I've quite changed my perspective on that issue."

"No, it's not about her blood. I honestly don't care about that nonsense anymore."

"So what is it?"

Draco sighed, dropping his head into his hands. This was going nowhere. "It just doesn't feel like a crush, mother. That's all."

The birds chirped cheerfully, and Draco actively resisted the urge to blow them all up. Just bloody perfect. He had high hopes that his mother would set him straight, but now he felt more lost than ever. A crush? Really? This was bigger than a crush. Scarier. A whole fuckload more powerful. He needed a proper explanation, not just a weak excuse.

"There is of course the legend of the Gregales trait in the Malfoy line, but that's more of a myth than anything," she said, absently.

"The what?" he said, his head snapping up.

"Oh, it's really nothing, dear. Just some old tale about our family. There's supposed to be a magical trait that gets passed down through the generations. When a Malfoy finds their true mate, it's said that the connection between them is almost primal. It's described as an 'internal beast' in some of the old books in the library. Fascinating stuff."

Draco inhaled too quickly and then coughed out of surprise. Narcissa waited patiently for him to quiet down, her face still a mask of innocence.

"So… What more do you know about this trait?" Draco asked, hoarsely. "Just out of interest, of course."

"Of course," she said pleasantly. "Well, unlike a trait that's only passed by blood, this one eventually transfers over to the Malfoy's mate. Essentially, the Malfoy would begin by feeling some sort of powerful, protective bond with their mate, and eventually the feeling would be reciprocal. Magically, the other person becomes bonded in return. It's said to have destroyed a fair number of arranged marriages when the Malfoy in question became mated with someone else. Can't really ignore it when you're fated for someone. It's love of the strongest sort."

"How often is this said to happen?" Draco said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"If you believe the books, it happens about once every two hundred years," said Narcissa, inspecting her nails. "A magical match. Quite romantic, really."

Quite terrifying, thought Draco.

"And so far, all the instances of this happening has been between Purebloods, I imagine," Draco said, dread building in his stomach.

"Of course," Narcissa said. "Although who knows what the future will bring. Some have suggested that the trait comes out when the family is in need of something, either a change of course or a new advantage to the line. I suppose, if this trait exists, it could very well choose someone who is not a Pureblood."

"But isn't this all conjecture?" Draco said, scrambling to find a way out. "How can you know when something is magically fated as opposed to just being a crush, for example?"

"Valid point, and a good question," Narcissa said. "With this particular trait, there is a fairly visual clue that is said to develop when the connection is genuine."

"Which is…"

"Our hair."

"Are you saying that – "

"The Malfoy mate will eventually develop the same shade of hair as the rest of the family. It's more than fair colouring, Draco – it's an identifier. Rather clever to have it built in as part of the trait, I've always thought."

Draco stared at his mother, trying to gage her seriousness. A chuckle tickled his ribs, and then another rumble in his chest. Suddenly, he exploded with laughter. Narcissa looked alarmed as he guffawed into his hands.

"Oh mother, thank you so much," he gasped. "You've made me feel much better about things."

"Indeed?" she said, confused.

"Yes, indeed. I really appreciate it." With a wide grin, he pecked her on the cheek and stood up to leave.

"Son, I really think you and Miss Granger should come to the Manor for tea," she said, sounding slightly annoyed. "I'd still like to thank her in person."

"Of course, no problem," Draco said, waving his hand casually as he walked away. "Tomorrow would probably work. I'll send an owl to confirm."

When he was out of sight, a slight rustling in the bushes made Narcissa turn her head. Lucius stepped out from behind the foliage, like a terrifying peacock of death. Except the peacock was grinning.

"Well?" she said. "He certainly seemed to panic when I mentioned the protective bond."

"He also seemed genuinely amused when you mentioned the hair," Lucius gloated. "Seems to have blown his panic straight out the window. Can't say I blame him. I still think you're wrong about her. Ludicrous to think that she could really be his match. Imagine, those two in love. Even better, imagine her hair changing!" He snorted with amusement.

Narcissa rolled her eyes. "You remember, of course, that they said the same about us. They said we would never work together."

"Completely different!" he scoffed. "We were very clearly destined for one another. Those two are different in every way."

"Is that so? Are you still hung up on her blood, Lucius?"

"No," he said, firmly. "I can accept that times have changed. Those beliefs nearly wiped out our family, and I have no intention of clinging to them for the sake of tradition. That said, I am not about to believe that Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend and loud-mouthed Muggle-born, is somehow fated for our son. Not without some clear proof. You say the protectionism has hit him? I want to see it hit her with the same intensity. Then we'll talk."

"You'll be eating your words soon," Narcissa responded, coolly. "That girl has a fire inside of her. I pity the poor soul who ignites it. You'll see."

"Perhaps," Lucius said, thoughtfully. "But in the meantime, at least I'll be entertained."

Not for long, thought Narcissa, knowing full well things were about to speed right up. If Hermione really was Draco's mate, and if she took the potion that Narcissa had left for her, she was about to get thrown off an emotional cliff as the trait made up for lost time. Hopefully she was strong enough to make it to the bottom intact.

After all, once the Gregales got going, she was going to feel completely out of control.

Hermione arrived at the office with trepidation, trying to ignore the overwhelming pain in her head and the shakes that had developed since she woke up. Today was destined for disaster.

She had heard Draco's profanity while she was feigning sleep, and took that to mean that he didn't want to be seen after all. But where did that leave her? Was he ashamed of staying over? Was he going to downplay last night's events? Would he deny everything? She had been genuinely touched at the gesture, and found herself longing to know what he was thinking. Did Draco have feelings for her, or was he just being a good friend? Harry was the type to help someone out and stay over to make sure they were safe. Ron would have too back before his behaviour took a turn for the worse. Draco? Extremely unlikely under any circumstance. And yet, it happened.

So many questions, so many potentially difficult answers.

For now though, before she attempted to find out anything, she needed her medicine. She didn't notice it was missing until she had stumbled out of bed, and then realized with a groan that it was still at work. Goddamnit, she couldn't do anything right. When she needed it most, that blasted green potion was completely out of reach.

So here she was, after the world's quickest shower and a speedy brush of her teeth, she had apparated as close as she could to Trebax and then threw the cloak on to slip through the front door unnoticed. Sprinting nimbly up the stairs, she tried to stay calm about whatever awaited her inside.

She rounded the corner and looked in.

Nobody was there.

"Hello?" she called out, confused. No answer.

Hermione walked over to Draco's office and peeked in. Empty. She frowned, noticing a letter on his desk. Blaise's signature caught her eye as she picked it up.

Drake,

Met some charming witches after you both left the press conference and am taking a day off to celebrate the recent success of the business with them. Apologies for any inconvenience. You know how to reach me in an emergency.

Blaise.

"Hmm," Hermione said, creasing her brow. The note explained Blaise's absence, but not Draco's. Where could he be? Hopefully he wasn't hiding from her because he was embarrassed about last night. If anyone was to be embarrassed, it was her. She'd stolen his bloody liquor for crying out loud. If he was feeling anything, it should probably be anger and disappointment.

Just then, an odd popping noise drew her attention away from Blaise's note, and she walked out of Draco's office to find the source. On her desk stood a vial of bright blue liquid with a small card attached. She picked it up, curiously. Strange, but she hadn't noticed the vial when she first came in. Seemed like a hard thing to miss. Who on earth would have left it here?

To make you feel better, it read in Draco's elegant script.

Her shoulders relaxed. Draco must have left it for her. To help this monster of a hangover. He wasn't embarrassed after all – he had even managed to be thoughtful despite all the turbulence she'd left in her wake. The knowledge made her feel worlds better.

Chewing on her lip, Hermione inspected the blue potion. She'd never seen anything quite like it. A simple healing tincture, perhaps? So pretty. It was hard to get potions to reach this level of colour saturation - quite a bit of skill was needed to get those things right. It was almost a pity to drink it. With a shrug, she shook the vial and emptied it in one gulp, surprised that it tasted strongly of lavender.

A moment passed as she waited for her headache to go away, examining the note a little more closely in the meanwhile.

Oh dear.

At first glance, the writing seemed familiar, but now that she was really looking, it didn't appear to be Draco's handwriting at all. In fact, it was changing before her eyes. The flourish on the "y" was all wrong now... Much too feminine for someone like him. Similar, but not exact.

A second later, everything went black.