Draco awoke in the middle of the night to find his wand grasped in his hand and his body wracked with tremors. It was difficult to breathe at first, almost like he was drowning. For a moment, he thought he had come out of a nightmare—one of his worst. Except he was not filled with the usual slimy, violated feeling of the Dark Lord slithering through his mind. He sat up in bed and tried to parse it out.

Something's wrong.

He was still wrapped up in the soft cotton sheets of the guest room bed, warm and comfortable in the bungalow of an Italian vineyard. Yet he remained on edge, as if waiting for an intruder or attack—which never came. His body continued to tremble, even harder now; a spike of anxiety lanced through him without warning, unconnected to anything he could sense. It clicked then. This was not happening to him, but to his soulmate.

Placing his wand back onto his nightstand, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, but the sudden motion made the world blurry. He tried to collect his bearings, swiping at his eyes, only to find that he was crying. Whatever was happening to his soulmate, was affecting her physically. Prodding at the feeling—not quite a Sense, but also far more than a Sense—Draco was overwhelmed with feelings of terror and helplessness.

Even despite how little he knew about the mystery woman, he was outraged that something would make her feel that way. Pressing his hand flat against his shoulder blade where his Fatemark was itching with new intensity, he said aloud, "I'm here."

A whimper rang through the annals of his mind. Another spike of fear pressed against his forehead, and somehow he knew… this was a nightmare.

Draco was nothing if not intimately aware of how wretched a nightmare could truly be.

"It's alright," he assured her as he stumbled from bed, reaching for a blanket to pull around him for warmth, despite the comfortable ambient temperature. I'm here.

He felt a distinct shiver through the bond; the connection between the two of them was huge at the moment, clear and strong. He could almost see her in his mind's eye—or maybe it was only her aura; it was hard to say. Whatever she was going through, she was trapped in her own mind, as if held captive by her own memories… and she was shivering violently.

Well, he could do something about that last one. Hot chocolate, he decided.

Hoping it would work, Draco went immediately to the little en-suite kitchen attached to his guest quarters. As he set about heating milk in a pan and whisking in the cocoa and sugar, he whispered gentle hushing noises like one might make for a small child. Melting some chocolate into the milk, along with some spices and a splash of vanilla, he tried to quicken the pace as much as he could with magic.

Focusing on his soulmate, suffering on the other end of the solid connection, Draco quietly told her, "Keep it open, just like this."

When he took his first sip of hot chocolate, he felt a curl of surprise from her. Milky sweetness exploded on his tongue, rich and delicious. The warmth of it spread from his mouth, down his throat, and seemed to seep into his extremities. A feeling of uncertainty shuddered through him, sending tingles down his spine. She did not even really know him—and yet, there they both were, standing in front of this dark, intimate part of her. Together.

It felt impossible, and Draco was momentarily overwhelmed by her. Pulling himself together, he began drinking more chocolate, even as he began to prepare a second batch. Something told him this was going to call for more than one mugful… and he was going to take as long as she needed.

It was nearly an hour later—fraught with the battling of demons, nonspecific but vicious—that he finally felt her drifting off into sleep. The connection between them was fading, and though he knew it meant he had been successful, he could not help but lament its passing.

Just before the bond between them faded entirely to its usual latency, he heard a woman's voice, sleepy but distinct, say, "Thank you."

Shocked, he nearly forgot to reply. What eventually came out was a hoarse, "You're welcome."

Then she was gone… or as gone as she ever would be.

The experience, unlike anything Draco had ever felt or expected to feel from the soul-bond, was over for the time being. But for the first time, he felt like he knew what it meant to be Fatemarked.

.

.

"I need to go back to England," Draco told Blaise the next morning at breakfast.

Blaise frowned over his espresso. "Get a letter from home?"

Draco shook his head. "I think my soulmate is there."

"Really?"

"Based on her meal times, I've figured her general time zone to be western European. For the past three weeks, she's been eating a lot of English food: shepherd's pie, Cornish pasties, curries, Yorkshire pudding… it would make sense that she's at least living there currently."

He decided to leave out the part about her intense nightmare, and that he was pretty sure she suffered from some level of post-traumatic stress from the War. It seemed private—something only he had the privilege to be privy to.

Finishing the last sip of espresso, Blaise set his cup down on the saucer and leaned back in his seat to survey his companion. "So what is your plan? Go back to England, but then what?"

Begrudgingly, Draco admitted, "I haven't figured that part out yet."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot. I'm coming with you."

Draco frowned; Blaise had been talking of a two-month-long stay, but only three weeks had elapsed. "You just got here."

"Sure, and I was looking forward to reacquainting myself with the area a little better. But it'll have to be another time. You're going to make a fool of yourself for love, and I would not miss that for any quantity of galleons. I'm invested now. I have to meet this mystery woman."

Grimacing somewhat, Draco found he was relieved to hear Blaise would be coming along after all. Hesitantly, he admitted, "I'm not looking forward to returning to the Manor."

"What are the chances Narcissa will let you stay at a hotel?"

"Less than zero."

Following his release from Azkaban, Draco had needed to check in monthly during a probationary period, which had lasted for two years. Still, it had now been half a decade since he had officially shed those shackles as well, and he had never returned to England since. Technically, with Lucius in prison for life, Draco was the proprietor of the estate, and all Malfoy property belonged to him. If nothing else, a five years' absence was a long time to be away just from a business standpoint, nevermind the familial obligations he had been shirking. The very thought of seeing his mother again filled him with anxiety.

"You're welcome to stay as my guest."

"Thank you," Blaise accepted, grinning rakishly. "I'm looking forward to reacquainting myself with Narcissa as well."

Draco wrinkled his nose. "Don't make me regret this."

Blaise snickered. "Give me two days to close this place up, and we can leave."

.

.

Seven years ago ~

After settling into their hotel rooms—the first of what Draco hoped would be many—Blaise decided to celebrate their newfound freedom by visiting one of the hot springs. Though these were over an hour out of Akureyri's city limits, they were only a simple Apparation away for the wizards.

Draco had never felt more free than when he was standing under the open expanse of sky that evening, hints of the aurora borealis peeking through the blanket of deep blue.

"Are you going to get in, or what?" asked Blaise, the only other occupant of the hot spring. "You can stare at the sky from here too, you know."

Draco did know, but it was hard to come to grips with his current surroundings, given that he had been languishing in prison only two days ago. Stepping toward the hot spring, Draco unwound his towel from around his shoulders and settled it onto the bench before climbing it and getting comfortable.

There was a moment of silence before Blaise asked, "Is that what I think it is?"

Draco cocked an eyebrow at his friend.

"You're Fatemarked?"

He bodily stiffened at the reminder of the palm-sized patch of pale, discolored skin that blotched his right shoulder blade. After managing to keep it a secret throughout all of his years at Hogwarts (though he had not been able to keep it a secret from the Aurors that had thrown him in prison), he had not meant for anyone to see it now.

But there was no use denying it. "Yeah, I am."

"Huh," said Blaise. After a pause, he added, "Maybe since we'll be travelling, it'll help you find them faster."

Regretting having taken his shirt off at all, Draco replied, "I don't think that's how it works, but maybe."

There were a few minutes of silence. Draco, who had not had the luxury of true silence for some time now, basked in it. It was therefore especially jarring when his friend broke it with, "I can't believe you never said you were Fatemarked." When Draco did not immediately respond, he followed it up with, "Have you ever had a Sense? Did you ever—"

"Blaise," Draco interrupted irritably, "you're not an idiot, so come to your senses. Since I took such pains to make sure no one found out about it all through Hogwarts, and then the war, does that seem like I want to talk about it?"

Looking put out, the wizard retorted, "Fine. But when it finally happens, I hope to have a front row seat."

The idea of connecting with his soulmate now that he finally had his freedom made Draco feel hollow inside. He had once been a child with strict parents, then under the eye of a watchful headmaster, followed by a servant of the Dark Lord, and finally, a prisoner. He was only just released!

Will I ever have any choices left to make for myself?

.

.

Present Day ~

For two days after Draco had comforted his soulmate with hot chocolate in the middle of the night, he wandered the bungalow in agitation. Blaise used the time to tie up his affairs in the area, and to finish off a couple of small projects that needed to be done with the vineyard—Draco rarely saw him.

It gave him too much time to reflect on what was coming. All the legends and tales of Fatemarked people had led him to believe that something huge would be happening to him, and soon. So much so, that sometimes it was difficult to reconcile those stories with what Draco knew of himself. But since the dream, he could not get his soulmate out of his head. She had been so real, so tangible, and right beside him, needing him and allowing herself to be cared for by him. The intensity of it had been all-consuming. Finally, he understood why Fatemarked pairs did the things they did, withstood the trials that came with finding their mate, and kept them at all costs.

Whoever she is, she went through the war. He felt very sure of that; it was something about the distinct flavor of fear she had experienced during her vivid night terror. It tasted familiar—too close to his own innermost traumas. The fact that she had been telling him for the past few weeks that she was located in England, only seemed to confirm this instinct.

It awakened a fear inside of him. A very specific fear, which he had long refused to examine. What if she was personally involved with the war?

Even more worryingly, Draco could not decide if it would be worse if she had been on the opposite side of the war from him, or the same one. He feared both options equally: that she had been wronged by Death Eaters, or that she was one. Either way, she would not have much patience for him: a defector, but only right at the very end of things, putting in the minimum amount of effort to become a turncoat. How would the mystery woman react to the news that he was a convicted criminal who had spent a year in one of the most secure prisons in the world as penance for his misdeeds?

It had been cowardice; Draco had no illusions to the contrary. He had only turned tail when there had been nowhere else to run. Bitterly, he thought, Just like Blaise said, I ran.

He felt like he had been running his whole life. Now that he recognized the behavior for what it was, he was able to look back at the food war he had begun—nearly two months ago now—with a little more clarity. Had whatever tasteless thing his soulmate once regularly consumed, really justified attacking her via their shared Sense?

In a way, it had been its own form of running, as well.

We've been dancing around each other for long enough. He could not run now.

Over dinner on the evening before they were supposed to leave, Blaise dropped some news. "I need to stay an extra day. Some of the pruning never got done properly in the winter, and it's causing problems now. I've hired a man to fix it, but I need to give him his debrief tomorrow. We'll have to leave on Monday instead."

Draco, who had been counting on imminently returning home, did not want to wait another day. "I'm going to leave as planned, in the morning. When your business is finished, you're still welcome to join me at the Manor."

Blaise squinted at him. "Why the sudden rush?"

With a shrug, Draco replied, "It might be a good idea for me to go on a day ahead. I haven't seen my mother in half a decade…" He winced, anticipating the reaction he would be getting after such an absence. "And legally mine or not, I haven't any idea what sort of state the Manor is in either."

"That is true," Blaise conceded, possibly thinking of the vineyard's current demands on his own time. "Alright then. But you're not allowed to go meet your soulmate until after I get there on Monday."

Draco raised his eyebrows.

He grinned rakishly. "I want a front row seat for this."

It did not help dissipate the billywigs fluttering in Draco's stomach.

.

.

In some ways, the Manor was just as Draco remembered it. When he stepped from the fireplace, he was confronted by the twin staircases that ran up either side of the room, dominating the wide foyer. The black and white marble that tiled the room was the same, leading into the main drawing room just ahead. Tall, many-paned windows let in an austere natural light that made the handsome, dark-paneled walls seem intimidating, almost sharp.

In other ways, the space had changed. All of the gas lamps had been replaced with electricity—something Draco had used nearly constantly in the Muggle world these last seven years, and which he was surprised to see had been adopted here as well. The once-broken center chandelier had been replaced by an even larger piece, even more dramatic than the last gaudy thing.

Eyebrows knitting together, Draco had to frown. Clearly, based on the signs of life and the obvious cleanliness of the place, his mother was keeping the Manor up. The place smelled fresh and well-aired, instead of the unpleasant odor of prolonged dampness that had permeated during wartime. That was probably a good sign.

He set his suitcase down, just as a house elf appeared in the doorway. It was not an elf which Draco recognized; he looked older and had large, watery blue eyes. He was also wearing a well-tailored set of elf-sized trousers and a matching shirt, which almost looked like livery.

"Er, hello," he said.

"Good morning," the elf greeted squeakily. "Can I helps you, sir?"

"I am looking for my mother, who also happens to be the lady of the house. She wouldn't happen to be home, would she?"

The elf's eyes widened. "Mister Draco?"

He nodded his confirmation.

Nodding along as if he could not believe it, the elf gestured for Draco to follow him. "Comes with me, sir. I will takes you to her, she is just in the breakfast room. You can leaves your bag, sir. Jondey will take care of it!"

"Thank you."

Draco followed the elf down the east wing and into the breakfast room. He started when they entered, momentarily disoriented to find that the place had been completely remodeled.

"The young master of the house is returned back, madam," the house elf squeaked in announcement.

But having looked up when the door opened, Narcissa had already seen him. She was frozen in place, sitting at her customary place at the breakfast table, and staring at him as if seeing an unexpected ghost. Over his five years' absence, she had changed quite a bit; there were more lines on her face now, and a forelock of grey running through her hair. Even so, her coif was arranged as elegantly as ever.

"Hello, mother," he said.

His greeting seemed to snap her back to reality, and a second later, she glared at him. Draco was not surprised, as he had given her no warning of his return and she had therefore not been expecting him. This was not the sort of behavior which Narcissa Malfoy had ever looked on with a kind eye.

A moment later, she finally pulled herself together enough to admonish, "Some warning, Draco, really—"

"Yes, mother, I know. Poor form," he acknowledged. "How are you?"

"It's been very quiet here," she all but snapped at him.

"Jondey will go fetch the master's bag," the elf put in, making to leave.

"Thank you—" Draco began.

Narcissa immediately interrupted him to tell the elf, "Yes, and please tell Tipple that Draco will be joining me for breakfast, and have her send up a second place setting." Sniffing disdainfully, she added for Draco's benefit, "Unless you don't even have time to have breakfast with your mother?"

Despite that he already ate before leaving Italy that morning, he acquiesced, "I'd love to."

"Will the master be needing a bedroom?" Jondey squeaked.

"Yes," he replied, turning to his mother, "if that is alright with you."

"Really," she huffed indignantly, picking up her teacup. "The estate is yours, I only live here. Despite appearances." Turning back to the elf, she instructed, "Please have Draco's room aired for use as well."

"The young master's room is always kept ready." Nodding twice more, Jondey disappeared with a crack. It was only when the elf had finally disappeared that Draco realized the arrangement left him alone with his mother. In this place.

He watched her take a first sip of her morning tea, and felt anxiety begin to creep in.

"What happened to Zibbet?" he queried, wanting to latch on to any topic other than the massive guilt trip he knew he was about to be on the receiving end of.

It came anyway. "Some of the laws that have been passed, Draco, you would not believe! I was required to hire Jondey and a kitchen elf, Tipple, because there are elf labor laws now!" Narcissa exploded. Her words had come pouring out as if she had been stewing in them for ages, but had no one to vent them to. She set her teacup back down on the saucer with an aggressive clack. "If you had been home once in the past five years, you would know that I was legally forced to dismiss Zibbet four years ago!"

Draco's eyebrows raised. Labor laws for elves were new in England, though not exactly progressive for many other parts of the world.

With another crack, a second elf appeared in the room mere seconds later. This one was wearing a neat little dress with a prim apron over it, and had on a small hat with cutouts for her massive ears. "Jondey telled Tipple that the master of the house is home, and to prepare a breakfast!"

"I am, yes," Draco replied. "Thank you, Tipple."

Tipple grabbed both of her ears and pulled on them—though it was hard for Draco to tell if this was in excitement or agitation. "What should Tipple make for you, sir?"

Thinking back to his favorite dish which their old elf, Zibbet, used to make, he queried, "I don't suppose you know how to make a croque madame?"

"Tipple does!" She disappeared with another crack, but without another word.

Alone with just the two of them again, Narcissa resumed her complaints. "I simply can't understand why you could not give me any warning. Or better yet, why you felt the need to avoid me so completely." Picking up her teaspoon, she began to stir her tea for no apparent reason except to have something to do with her hands. She dropped the spoon again without ever having added anything, or even taking a sip. "You seem to be under the impression that the Manor can run itself, or that many of these pressing matters don't require your attention at all. You've been shirking your duties to the estate in order to go roaming the globe—and for what?"

"I've missed you, too, mother," he replied sarcastically.

"The last time you even saw fit to contact me was well over a year ago, and that was only because I had to hire someone to track you down in that place you were staying—"

"Addis Ababa," he supplied, remembering it well.

"Ethiopia, Draco!" she protested. "Why go to such lengths to elude me?"

"I wasn't there on purpose to elude you, mother, there's no need for such dramatics. I was there for the music."

She picked up her teaspoon to begin obsessively stirring again. "Or that time I had to track you down in— in—"

"Hanoi," he supplied for her, remembering well the moment that his mother's letters had been delivered to him by a dispatch goblin in a crowded Vietnamese Quidditch stadium.

In both instances, as well as others over the years, these missives had been admonishments for him to return home, which he had ignored.

"And how long will you be staying before you go off galavanting again?" she pressed.

"I'm not sure."

Narcissa pushed her lips together into a thin line. "Am I to assume you're here for pleasure rather than business, then?"

Recognizing her tactic for what it was, he decided to infuriate her only with a, "Perhaps."

"Oh, Draco, your attempts at being mysterious don't suit you at all," she snapped.

He was saved again by the arrival of breakfast, as well as a place setting for himself. Once Tipple was satisfied that they both had everything they needed, she disappeared back to the kitchen, perhaps sensing the tension in the air and not wishing to be a part of it.

Despite the fact that a new house elf had cooked his breakfast, Draco nonetheless sat down in front of the familiar sight of a croque madame with a perfectly fried egg on top, still slightly runny. Sweet ham coupled with creamy cheese, and the sharp tang of mustard, all on the same rosemary bread he had grown up eating so much of. He took a moment to enjoy the nostalgia of it.

Narcissa essentially popped his bubble with, "If you're so intent on becoming a nomad, Draco, I hope in future you'll at least give the estate some proper attention. Possibly even check in on your mother every so often."

Noticing that Tipple had laid out the Daily Prophet beside his table setting, Draco remembered his father reaching for the paper whenever Narcissa got into one of her tirades. Channeling that same nonchalance now, Draco picked it up and began to peruse it. From behind this flimsy barrier, he replied, "What do you think I'm doing right now?"

"Using the Manor as another of your layovers, it seems."

He flipped to the next page and opted not to reply at all. His mother's incendiary jibes were a classic move of hers, and as expected, she had latched right onto him with them. He tried to focus on the newspaper, but it was not very interesting. One thing it had in common with when he had left the country in the first place, was the amount of times Harry Potter was mentioned. The wizard still occupied much of the news, as he was quite active in philanthropic communities for a state-of-the-art wizarding orphanage, and for apparently having teamed up with Granger to put a bill through the Wizengamot that offered formal primary schooling to wizarding children.

A flutter of curiosity whispered through him, but it was then that his mother interrupted his reading by asking, in a new, serious voice, "Why have you come?"

Peering at her over the top of the newspaper, Draco noticed for the first time that she looked somewhat rattled. She had ceased her spoon-stirring, but her hand was shaking and her eyes were wide. "What do you mean?"

"You haven't been to see me in years, and now you simply show up? After such an absence, you may as well be a ghost." She looked him up and down. "You haven't been taking care of yourself either. How you've been living—it's been expensive, Draco, and you haven't even been maintaining your appearance or place in society—"

"There isn't a society here I want to belong to," he answered, attempting a composed dismissal and not quite hitting the mark. He lifted the newspaper back up to block her out.

"Are you listening to me?"

"You're not giving me much choice," he muttered.

"Is that any way to speak to your mother?"

He supposed she was right. With a long-suffering sigh, he re-folded the Prophet and tossed it back onto the table. "You now have my full attention."

"Why did you come back?" she asked again.

He supposed she was going to find out sooner or later. Running a hand nervously through his hair, he confessed, "Because my Fatemark told me to."

Several things happened on Narcissa's face in the space of an instant. She looked astonished, then offended, then immediately delighted, before the mask of neutrality was put back into place.

"Well," she finally said, "it's about time."

A/N: Guys...I can't even explain how much your comments have meant to me. Seriously, so many people have been so dang sweet and supportive. I just... can't. You're amazing. Thank you so much. Fanfiction can be such an unrewarding hobby sometimes, and this ship in particular (SS Dramione) has been spoiled with the amount and quality of content available. It's made me realize that I have the best readers out there. All my love to you.

I also would be remiss if I did not acknowledge the alpha assistance of both sarenia and Witches Britches. This chapter would be a hot mess without these two talented ladies' help, and I do NOT mean the kind of hot mess you want to hang out with on a Friday night. I mean the kind that you skirt around on the sidewalk and speed up a little bit! XD